[private] [Ivar] Here we go again, I feel the chemicals kicking in;

[Yidhra]

out in the deep, I've seen something real
the mouth of the void that the waves conceal

Once, twice… and now thrice.

The bottom of the sea is lightless and black, cold and pressurized: bones and blood bound and crackling; but more so notable is the easy of movement and how gracefully she moves through clattered and broken seashells… across fields of bones and carcasses infested crab and worm alike.

Leviathans and truer-to-form krakens slumber and stir, but Yidhra slithers in the murk and dark, through the vast expanse as she looks upward and feels the pulse in the water: the ebb and flow of the tide. With a quick motion she jettisons forward: swims and begins to ascend the reaches: the black fading to blue and green, to clear and warmth where the sun touches the sea.

Her flesh is the same, watery and porous: smooth and painted with spatters of gray and white atop the black and blue, and she still possesses the writhing mass of tentacles of her and hanging along her legs… on her shoulders and face. Stretching and wet they slowly pull across her own skin with barbs and suckers: the sand grasped between them.

She shimmers beneath the surface, breaking it suddenly and stepping out onto land with her head lifting and those awful eyes peering around the shore. Yidhra does not care for the cluster of women, nor for their babble and chatter: she disdains and avoids them- slithers through rock and alcove: stretches her legs as she presses herself into some cave amidst the cliff edges.

The cold rock is welcome, and she touches the walls: teases and tastes the brine. For a moment she considers the water just beside her, a single tendrils reaching down and brushing the surface- feeling the tension and pressure… the remnant of the sun.

“Ivar,” she calls out, mellifluous and sing-song, her gaze lingers on the entrance and the sea. “Come out to play darling.”

Yidhra

[Ivar]

It is not difficult for the kelpie to guess who might be within the cave, even if he had not had her description to go by, given by a babbling dark-eyed mare who he’d soothed to silence.

There is no one quite like Yidhra, and when he finds her toying with the water at her feet, a satisfied smile spreads across his toothsome mouth. A quick twist of his head, back and forth, rubs the scales of his throat against each other. The place she’d knicked with her beak has nearly healed, but the scales are dark and irregular, something he can feel each time he turns his head in a particular way. He has wondered, from time to time, if perhaps it’s not much different from the bite he marks his women with.

Seeing it on Yidhra brings a hum of satisfaction as he presses his pale muzzle against it, eyeing the curious barbs of her myriad of damp tentacles as he does.  

“Back so soon?” He asks with a quirked brow. Though he’d like to think the mottled mare has come to stay, she’d never made secret that she is pulled elsewhere. It is Ivar’s bad luck to that the only women who refuse to break as they should are those he finds most delightful, but he has never had cause to complain otherwise, especially when it comes to the cryptic creature lounging in his cave.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Ivar inquires, his metallic eyes half-shielded by the dark fall of his tangled mane. “Have you given up on your wasteland at last, and come to live in the sea?” She hasn’t – at least not in his sea – but Ivar hopes that her answer will be amusing. Yidhra has already proven herself a more worldly and moral creature than Ivar, and he finds her altrisum and dedication to a cure to the plague fascinating, even if it is less important than his own interests.  

@[Yidhra]