(Open forum)
(Hard one to enter, but felt melancholic on a character's behalf. If it’ll end up a stand alone, consider it as a journal entry)
(Hard one to enter, but felt melancholic on a character's behalf. If it’ll end up a stand alone, consider it as a journal entry)
Sitting on the beach in Florida with her bare feet pressed into the sand it felt warm on the surface, cooler just beneath. Classic plastic flip-flops lay discarded beside her. Legs curled slightly, arms folded atop her knees and her chin rested on the shelf her body created. The sun had slipped below the horizon a while ago, yet she remained still. Muscles ached from the ten hour shift, but it was more than just physical exhaustion keeping her there. Melancholy clung tighter than the sweat-damp clothes on her back. There was no real reason to get up. The day had emptied itself into the next. Nothing waiting for her but a shower and a too short sleep before work demanded her again. Hard work she could bury herself in, hoping each aching limb could drown out the noise in her mind. Tonight, though, the trick had failed. The more her body pleaded for rest, the louder her thoughts became.
Blame it on the ocean. The waves had a rhythm that made it impossible to pretend silence existed. Calm crashes, soft and steady, filling the night air like a slow heartbeat. Even from her condo, the sound seeped in through windows, through walls, through the pillow she sometimes pressed hard against her ears. It haunted her. Not because it was unpleasant, but because it used to be everything. Once, that sound had meant safety. Freedom. Home. Raised in the Australian capital, she'd learned to swim before she could even walk. The ocean had shaped her; now it only reminded her of what she'd lost. What she'd thrown away and what she wasn't sure she deserved anymore.
Shifting her weight, she sat up straighter and leaned back onto her palms, fingers digging into the cool sand. Her legs stretched out in front of her, the fine grains clinging stubbornly to the backs of her thighs through the thin material of her leggings. The evening air had cooled quickly after sunset. Clothes hung on her frame, black leggings and a worn hoodie zipped halfway up to hide the bold, blue logo on the t-shirt beneath: Major Maids Cleaning Service. The hoodie and cap had both been thrift store finds, their frayed edges and faded color obvious in daylight. But they did the job, and she wasn’t about to waste a dollar on anything new when rent and food already strained the thin margins she was living within. A low ponytail poked out from the back of her cap.
Florida hadn’t been part of any plan, but here she was, forced into proximity of a once beloved ocean. It didn’t judge, didn’t stare and yet, it punished her in its own way. That sound, that endless rhythm, called up memories she couldn’t afford to revisit. Not without breaking.
Twilight had eaten the last of the colors, leaving behind the dull hum of night. The sand was growing colder now, and staying here much longer would stop being cathartic and start becoming foolish. Yet, she lingered. There was something comforting in the discomfort. In letting herself ache in the presence of something that once healed her. It felt like the right kind of punishment. Not too loud. Not too brutal. Just enough to remind her she was still here, still feeling, still trying to live a life. Tomorrow, she'd get up and do it all again, but tonight, she would just sit here and listen to the waves.
((I'm down to let her express melancholia; looking for a chance to air Dorian out anyway))
She wasn't alone in her thoughts of Florida having been an unplanned detour in the general story of one's existence. Dorian found himself in a similar situation, no doubt for a different reason, but cause and effect had led to his current circumstances. He was now a resident of the retirement capital of the nation, the Sunshine State, and one of the newcomers to the
He couldn't read minds but Dorian was rather adept at body language. He could smell her scent on the wind, the part that interested his peculiarities at least, but he'd let himself remain... beneath notice. It was a subtle touch; not invisibility per se but simply being so unremarkable, so unnoteworthy, so much a part of the background, that no one would notice him standing there at a sociable distance and watching the same waves which Kim found herself staring at. This was his first time seeing the ocean and Dorian wondered if he was supposed to feel something profound as he gazed at it. He studied the waves, the sand, and tried to conjure an image of romanticism about the whole thing.
Dorian took a deliberate inhalation through his nose, letting it swirl inside what was left of his lungs. It smelled like... air. Salty. He could smell faint odors of exhaust from cars or boats. Very little of note beyond the woman who currently shared the vista with him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, perhaps looking to see if she was getting anything of personal significance out of sitting here which he was missing out on. After a brief period, he decided to stop trying.
He let his unseen mantle slide off of him like oil off the back of the mind. Subtle as the initial touch, not a sudden ambush of a person, but he'd become a part of her sensory world distinct from the surroundings. The way people feel another's presence. The sound of the sand shifting under his feet as he adjusted his weight. Dorian wasn't dressed for the beach by a long shot. He wore a pair of dark gray slacks, a long-sleeve shirt tucked into his waist with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. No vest tonight, no tie, just the top button or two undone to the barest peak of a white undershirt was visible near his collar. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his eyes still looking over the waves as they slid into the beach. He didn't sneak up on her. He was on the far outside circle of her outer space, nowhere near the personal.
Did she live in the condos? Seemed like quite a few folks did, though his 'work hours' didn't allow him to see them during the daytime. He decided she had the general look of someone who might. Leggings and hoodies weren't beach-wear either. Well... whether he wanted to or not, Dorian was a Floridian for the moment, and as such, he may as well engage in some form of social activity. It was that or begin to go a touch mad from isolation and boredom. Florida, much like Vegas, had probably been more fun when the mob was running everything.
"There's a view, at least." He said by means of introduction. "I'd never seen the ocean before."
He saw her first.
It sat there like she was a part of the dusk—quiet, heavy, lovely in a way that hurt your chest. He stepped forward, ready to speak, maybe blunder into her group with some half-intelligent line—
Then some other guy beat him to it.
Mitch stood just behind the dunes, blending into the night like second nature. Arms crossed, jaw tight. He watched. The man was talking too much. All smiling and attempting.
She didn't move a lot. Didn't shine. Didn't tilt in.
Mitch knelt, elbows on knees, eyes locked on her. She looked like someone unraveling slowly, trying to hold herself together with quiet. And this man—this background noise—was doing it all wrong.
Nevertheless, Mitch didn't budge.
He wasn't gonna ruin her solitude just to save face for himself.
He waited for the waves to have their center stage back. Maybe ge would catch some sexy blonde for a bite to eat while he waited.
It sat there like she was a part of the dusk—quiet, heavy, lovely in a way that hurt your chest. He stepped forward, ready to speak, maybe blunder into her group with some half-intelligent line—
Then some other guy beat him to it.
Mitch stood just behind the dunes, blending into the night like second nature. Arms crossed, jaw tight. He watched. The man was talking too much. All smiling and attempting.
She didn't move a lot. Didn't shine. Didn't tilt in.
Mitch knelt, elbows on knees, eyes locked on her. She looked like someone unraveling slowly, trying to hold herself together with quiet. And this man—this background noise—was doing it all wrong.
Nevertheless, Mitch didn't budge.
He wasn't gonna ruin her solitude just to save face for himself.
He waited for the waves to have their center stage back. Maybe ge would catch some sexy blonde for a bite to eat while he waited.
The ocean had her. The way it pulled and pushed in endless rhythm had drawn her under, wrapped her thoughts in its hypnotic crashing until the rest of the world blurred. That’s why she didn’t notice him right away, right? She should have heard the steps, the soft, uneven grind of shoes moving through sand. When the sensation of someone nearby finally struck her, it felt like it came out of nowhere. The presence landed suddenly in her awareness, distinct and clear, but it was far enough away that she wasn’t alerted, just startled at her own inattentiveness. Only then did she shift slightly, chin lifting, head flicking sideways with a calmness.
Not threatening, she deemed it. The distance was safe, spaced wide enough to not make her feel cornered, though the approach made her sharpen her senses. Late evening. Nearly dark now. The beach thinned of people as the temperature dropped, but the city was behind her, close enough for comfort. And he’d stopped. Planted himself like he wasn’t going any closer, like he understood without needing to be told that this was a line not to cross. When he spoke, she turned again, meeting the moment almost at the same time. Her gaze swept over him. Shirt tucked into dark slacks. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked like he’d come from work, clean lines in the attire, hands in pockets. Probably something office bound. The kind of job where performance mattered more than results. Maybe, it was all guesswork based on a brief glance.
“Yeah, it’s pretty,” she said after a moment, the words slipping out softened and slow, but even as she said them, the word didn’t feel like enough. The view was more than that. Breathtaking in its stillness, haunting in its calm. The kind of beauty that hurt a little, at least to her.
“Really? I have such a hard time wrapping my head around that, to have never seen the ocean”. Her australian accent was already slipping out, spilling into the flattened syllables and the rise in intonation. It was usually subtle, at least to her own ears, but here it was. It wasn’t thick, at least not to her own ears, but unmistakable here.
Sometimes the vastness of the country was lost on her. The idea of someone never seeing the ocean struck her strangely. Not because it was shocking, exactly, but because it reminded her how differently people were shaped. Some people spent their whole lives in the middle of landlocked states, surrounded by flat fields and open sky. Others grew up in deserts, where the only water they knew was artificially brought there. It made her briefly think of Vegas, of that little town outside the neon glare that she didn’t know existed, but had recently been made aware of. Some folks lived by swamps, their world filled with gators and cypress trees and strange, brackish lakes that went on so far they may as well have been oceans. It was a kind of isolation she hadn’t understood until she was much older.
“Didn’t see snow ‘til I was in my twenties,” she said while the corners of her mouth twitched upward, the ghost of a smile there and gone again. It wasn’t an attempt to draw the conversation towards herself, god no, she didn’t want to talk about herself, but it was offered as a comparison. A pause hung between them. Not uncomfortable, just suspended.
“The sunset was better, though. Whole sky went red. Water lit up like fire. You just missed it.” She adjusted where she sat, drawing her hands inward to brush the sand off her palms, rubbing them slowly against each other before running them down her thighs. Still no move to stand. There was something steadying in staying here, even with company. Maybe especially with it. She’d expected company to feel like an intrusion tonight, but this didn’t feel like that. The distance he kept made it easier. It wasn’t connection, it was just… presence. That was all she sensed and noticed, the man nearest her who was having his first encounter with the ocean. she was blissfully unaware of another lurking presence that resided just outside of her peripheral in hiding. Waiting quietly and unseen, but not entirely gone.
Not threatening, she deemed it. The distance was safe, spaced wide enough to not make her feel cornered, though the approach made her sharpen her senses. Late evening. Nearly dark now. The beach thinned of people as the temperature dropped, but the city was behind her, close enough for comfort. And he’d stopped. Planted himself like he wasn’t going any closer, like he understood without needing to be told that this was a line not to cross. When he spoke, she turned again, meeting the moment almost at the same time. Her gaze swept over him. Shirt tucked into dark slacks. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked like he’d come from work, clean lines in the attire, hands in pockets. Probably something office bound. The kind of job where performance mattered more than results. Maybe, it was all guesswork based on a brief glance.
“Yeah, it’s pretty,” she said after a moment, the words slipping out softened and slow, but even as she said them, the word didn’t feel like enough. The view was more than that. Breathtaking in its stillness, haunting in its calm. The kind of beauty that hurt a little, at least to her.
“Really? I have such a hard time wrapping my head around that, to have never seen the ocean”. Her australian accent was already slipping out, spilling into the flattened syllables and the rise in intonation. It was usually subtle, at least to her own ears, but here it was. It wasn’t thick, at least not to her own ears, but unmistakable here.
Sometimes the vastness of the country was lost on her. The idea of someone never seeing the ocean struck her strangely. Not because it was shocking, exactly, but because it reminded her how differently people were shaped. Some people spent their whole lives in the middle of landlocked states, surrounded by flat fields and open sky. Others grew up in deserts, where the only water they knew was artificially brought there. It made her briefly think of Vegas, of that little town outside the neon glare that she didn’t know existed, but had recently been made aware of. Some folks lived by swamps, their world filled with gators and cypress trees and strange, brackish lakes that went on so far they may as well have been oceans. It was a kind of isolation she hadn’t understood until she was much older.
“Didn’t see snow ‘til I was in my twenties,” she said while the corners of her mouth twitched upward, the ghost of a smile there and gone again. It wasn’t an attempt to draw the conversation towards herself, god no, she didn’t want to talk about herself, but it was offered as a comparison. A pause hung between them. Not uncomfortable, just suspended.
“The sunset was better, though. Whole sky went red. Water lit up like fire. You just missed it.” She adjusted where she sat, drawing her hands inward to brush the sand off her palms, rubbing them slowly against each other before running them down her thighs. Still no move to stand. There was something steadying in staying here, even with company. Maybe especially with it. She’d expected company to feel like an intrusion tonight, but this didn’t feel like that. The distance he kept made it easier. It wasn’t connection, it was just… presence. That was all she sensed and noticed, the man nearest her who was having his first encounter with the ocean. she was blissfully unaware of another lurking presence that resided just outside of her peripheral in hiding. Waiting quietly and unseen, but not entirely gone.
It's pretty summed it up quite succinctly, even if it was an understatement compared to how many other poets and writers had described the ocean. Dorian had told a half-truth at any rate. This was only the first time he'd tried to admire the ocean. He'd seen it twice before but it had been no more novel then than any other thing. He'd been too young, too stupid to think much of it. A bit too seasick as well, the ship pitching and rising beneath him, to enjoy. That was an old memory which surfaced for a moment before dipping back under the black waves of the mind.
The Australian accent was also something he'd heard before. Dorian had been in the trenches with a number of her past countrymen, he suspected. Certainly at the hospital, for those who'd had too much of the Kaiser's party and were trying to mend before being sent back to the grinder. Tough men, from what he recalled, though he'd never made the trip down under himself. Nor was he likely to anymore... save for stranger things had happened. Case in point, Florida. His own accent had a slight tinge of the Midwest but it was only a sprinkling; Dorian had more of a transatlantic edge. Like how people in old movies sounded.
He remained where he was, neither retreating nor advancing. He was here for less sanguine purposes than at other times. Indulging certain vices in or near the apartments was shitting where one ate and slept. Clumsy. He wasn't hungry at any rate, no more so than the usual low simmer, which made 'normal' interaction easier. Missing the sunset was a good thing in his case, but maybe tomorrow. At some point, his own personal Van Helsing might manifest and decide to try and drag him out into the lovely Florida daytime.
"Plenty of snow where I lived before, up north. The novelty wears off quick. Closest we had to an ocean was the great lakes." He hadn't done much admiring of those either. "This smells different. I'm working on developing my appreciation."
He glanced to her, then back out towards the waves, hands still in his pockets but motioning with an elbow.
"What do you see, when you look at it?"
If Dorian was aware of Mitchell, he gave no indication.
The Australian accent was also something he'd heard before. Dorian had been in the trenches with a number of her past countrymen, he suspected. Certainly at the hospital, for those who'd had too much of the Kaiser's party and were trying to mend before being sent back to the grinder. Tough men, from what he recalled, though he'd never made the trip down under himself. Nor was he likely to anymore... save for stranger things had happened. Case in point, Florida. His own accent had a slight tinge of the Midwest but it was only a sprinkling; Dorian had more of a transatlantic edge. Like how people in old movies sounded.
He remained where he was, neither retreating nor advancing. He was here for less sanguine purposes than at other times. Indulging certain vices in or near the apartments was shitting where one ate and slept. Clumsy. He wasn't hungry at any rate, no more so than the usual low simmer, which made 'normal' interaction easier. Missing the sunset was a good thing in his case, but maybe tomorrow. At some point, his own personal Van Helsing might manifest and decide to try and drag him out into the lovely Florida daytime.
"Plenty of snow where I lived before, up north. The novelty wears off quick. Closest we had to an ocean was the great lakes." He hadn't done much admiring of those either. "This smells different. I'm working on developing my appreciation."
He glanced to her, then back out towards the waves, hands still in his pockets but motioning with an elbow.
"What do you see, when you look at it?"
If Dorian was aware of Mitchell, he gave no indication.
(Posted with permission to skip the post order till John decides they want to pop in again)
Kim adjusted her posture, letting her hands fall to the sand between her legs as she studied the ocean with an almost detached gaze. The salt in the air burned her nostrils a bit, and she briefly nodded when Dorian mentioned how different it smelled. Of course there were all sorts of other smells mixing with it, the smells of the city, of diesel from nearby boats and faintly of food cooking from the windows behind
“Yeah, snow isn’t all it’s hyped up to be,” she replied, her voice soft, almost wistful. The idea of snow, cold, silent, cozy, had its charm, sure, but it wasn’t for her. The crisp bite in the air, the numbing cold that seeped through even the thickest layers of clothing, the runny nose, the shoveling, no, it wasn’t for her.
“It’s the salt,” she added a bit out of context to his comment about how this smelled different., With a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she glanced sideways at him, making sure to keep her tone light. Florida ocean smelled different to what she remembered the coast of Brisbane to smell like, but there was the same burn in her nostrils from the salt. Her eyes returned to the water and she stared at the waves again, feeling their rhythmic pull, like they were trying to tug her back into something she wasn’t ready for. She felt Dorian’s eyes shift to her for a moment, but she didn’t meet his gaze. It wasn’t that she minded, the waves just had her focus.
He asked her what she saw in the ocean. The question was simple, but it would be much harder for her to answer than he might have intended. She let the moment stretch between them as she thought about how to explain it while taking in a deep breath through her nose. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t sound too heavy or out of place?
“Water,” she replied bluntly, her lips curling into a half smile, though it wasn’t quite aimed at him, but more at the irony of the answer. Then, she turned her head slightly to look at him, her eyes betraying the truth behind her jest.
“But if you really want to know,” she started, voice dropping a fraction, “it’s punishment.” Kim felt the weight of them as soon as they left her mouth. She didn’t know if it would confuse him. Hell, she barely understood it herself. What was the ocean to her, if not a reminder of everything she couldn’t have, everything she had lost? It was punishment in the most subtle way, a constant reminder of things she couldn’t touch or reach. Not yet, anyway. She felt her chest tighten, but she didn’t let it show. She didn’t want to talk about herself, not like this, with a stranger and she couldn’t bring it in herself to start explaining. so if the man had questions or wanted elaboration, she weren't in a position to want to give him one. She let her gaze, ever drawing.
“It’s a sad thing really” she confessed lowly.
“It’s just...” she trailed off to think, “something I have to endure. Honestly I might as well be self-flogging here, but” she clearly didn't have it in her right now to finish her sentences without a pause. She shifted slightly, pushing herself up to stand, pulling her hoodie tighter around her shoulders and sipping it, before beginning to brush off the sand that clung to the back of her legs.
“I dunno... I’m just not worthy of the ocean yet.” it sounded far out, even in her own ears, but it felt like the closest she would ever get to an explanation. Her brushing away of the sand stopped now, though there was no way she had reached it all. Feeling an odd sense of relief, the confession out there between them now. He might not fully understand, but the weight didn’t seem quite so unbearable anymore.
“What about you? What do you see?” She asked the perspective of a man who had never seen it and perhaps was as underwhelmed by it as she was of snow.
((Ditto then for me for now; hop in again whenever John))
"Water." He answered, half a smile touching his lips, but he didn't laugh. "Punishment I understand also... at least its sometimes unforgiving nature. I lost some friends many years ago when their ship went down in the northern Atlantic."
If you fell into the ocean, or if your ship was sinking, as had happened with his previously mentioned friends, the ocean would swallow you. Was he getting poetic now, he wondered slightly? Dorian ascribed no malice to the ocean; it wasn't sapient in any way he could comprehend though he'd heard some New Agers preach otherwise. Rather it was a difficult terrain, if one wasn't ready to greet it's challenges, and deadly to the unprepared.
"It's picturesque, in the right lighting. Moreso, I'm sure, in the sunset you described instead of the gray nighttime waves. Beyond that... it's a barrier. Separating here from there. It's foreign, full of its own kind of life. Mysterious in that it could hide anything in its depths."
He was trying. Thinking out loud, almost. The mental exercise did him some good. The social exercise was better. He was a ways away from his touchstones and establishing a few new ones would help keep himself from eroding. Little conversations like this reminded him of what he'd been instead of what he was. It made it easier to function.
"I don't know if the ocean would find you worthy or not... or if it would care. Clearly it's important to you, if you think of it in that way." Perhaps she was hiding from something here... she wouldn't be the only one, Dorian was sure. "I suppose the question becomes less about what happened to make you feel that way, and more about what would need to happen for you to feel worthy again."
She sounded like she missed it, truly. Dorian looked to her once more as she'd stood up.
"The past is a tyrannical master to dwell on. Sometimes more helpful to look forward." He shrugged and offered a smile which didn't reach his eyes. "For what it's worth, from someone who seldom takes his own medicine."
"Water." He answered, half a smile touching his lips, but he didn't laugh. "Punishment I understand also... at least its sometimes unforgiving nature. I lost some friends many years ago when their ship went down in the northern Atlantic."
If you fell into the ocean, or if your ship was sinking, as had happened with his previously mentioned friends, the ocean would swallow you. Was he getting poetic now, he wondered slightly? Dorian ascribed no malice to the ocean; it wasn't sapient in any way he could comprehend though he'd heard some New Agers preach otherwise. Rather it was a difficult terrain, if one wasn't ready to greet it's challenges, and deadly to the unprepared.
"It's picturesque, in the right lighting. Moreso, I'm sure, in the sunset you described instead of the gray nighttime waves. Beyond that... it's a barrier. Separating here from there. It's foreign, full of its own kind of life. Mysterious in that it could hide anything in its depths."
He was trying. Thinking out loud, almost. The mental exercise did him some good. The social exercise was better. He was a ways away from his touchstones and establishing a few new ones would help keep himself from eroding. Little conversations like this reminded him of what he'd been instead of what he was. It made it easier to function.
"I don't know if the ocean would find you worthy or not... or if it would care. Clearly it's important to you, if you think of it in that way." Perhaps she was hiding from something here... she wouldn't be the only one, Dorian was sure. "I suppose the question becomes less about what happened to make you feel that way, and more about what would need to happen for you to feel worthy again."
She sounded like she missed it, truly. Dorian looked to her once more as she'd stood up.
"The past is a tyrannical master to dwell on. Sometimes more helpful to look forward." He shrugged and offered a smile which didn't reach his eyes. "For what it's worth, from someone who seldom takes his own medicine."
His return of her joke wasn’t lost on her and it did manage to pull the corners of her lips into a smile that lingered for just a few seconds. Dorian spoke, his words reaching her in a gentle rhythm that were just on the cusp of being poetic. It was thoughtful, no doubt. He spoke of the ocean’s unforgiving nature, of the barrier it created and the mysterious depths it hid. It wasn’t about the ocean’s beauty or its brutality, but about its indifference, its vastness.
He spoke again, his tone shifting. What he said only enhanced the disregard a natural phenomenon like the ocean had for her and her melancholy. It was beyond that. The ocean was unconcerned about mundane human life and it’s problems. His words had formulated the right ones to hit her in a way that made her fold her arms around herself.
“I don’t know,” she wasn’t even trying and she knew that, so she stopped herself before continuing with her lie of an excuse. Kim shifted her weight slightly, but didn’t move closer, didn’t make any effort to fill the silence.
“I’m not sure what should happen to me before I can allow myself to enjoy the ocean like I used to. I’m not sure what would fix it, if I’m even able or if I even want to.” She looked to the side to look at him, for what, to see his reaction? But as her eyes settled on him, she knew she had looked for anchoring, because looking at him somehow made her accountable, like she owed him an answer now.
“The answer is so painfully obvious self acceptance, but I don’t know how… and when I think about it, I feel like I’m sinking." Slowly, she let her gaze fall to the waves again. She had expected the weight of her thoughts to be heavier, but somehow, it wasn’t. While she wasn’t ready to bare it all, she didn’t think she ever would be, there was something in his question that made her feel... heard. Not understood, but at least heard.
“We rarely practice what we preach,” she offered as a small connection to his words. It was the closest she was willing to get to humor in that moment.
“And the past seems to have a pull on us all… I can at least hear it does have it’s pull on you too,” she continued and offered him a side glance.
“Do you believe in atonement? If you can really atone for things. If you can make up for hurt and broken or if some things are beyond that? And are things really atoned for or have you just tricked yourself into believing they are so?” It was a big question she realized now, but she had nowhere to be other than home in her bed and he was still here, so perhaps he was just as restless as her and could continue entertaining her exhausted and raw thoughts. Because she was content just being here, in this quiet space with him. Neither of them fully understanding the other, but both willing to listen.
He spoke again, his tone shifting. What he said only enhanced the disregard a natural phenomenon like the ocean had for her and her melancholy. It was beyond that. The ocean was unconcerned about mundane human life and it’s problems. His words had formulated the right ones to hit her in a way that made her fold her arms around herself.
“I don’t know,” she wasn’t even trying and she knew that, so she stopped herself before continuing with her lie of an excuse. Kim shifted her weight slightly, but didn’t move closer, didn’t make any effort to fill the silence.
“I’m not sure what should happen to me before I can allow myself to enjoy the ocean like I used to. I’m not sure what would fix it, if I’m even able or if I even want to.” She looked to the side to look at him, for what, to see his reaction? But as her eyes settled on him, she knew she had looked for anchoring, because looking at him somehow made her accountable, like she owed him an answer now.
“The answer is so painfully obvious self acceptance, but I don’t know how… and when I think about it, I feel like I’m sinking." Slowly, she let her gaze fall to the waves again. She had expected the weight of her thoughts to be heavier, but somehow, it wasn’t. While she wasn’t ready to bare it all, she didn’t think she ever would be, there was something in his question that made her feel... heard. Not understood, but at least heard.
“We rarely practice what we preach,” she offered as a small connection to his words. It was the closest she was willing to get to humor in that moment.
“And the past seems to have a pull on us all… I can at least hear it does have it’s pull on you too,” she continued and offered him a side glance.
“Do you believe in atonement? If you can really atone for things. If you can make up for hurt and broken or if some things are beyond that? And are things really atoned for or have you just tricked yourself into believing they are so?” It was a big question she realized now, but she had nowhere to be other than home in her bed and he was still here, so perhaps he was just as restless as her and could continue entertaining her exhausted and raw thoughts. Because she was content just being here, in this quiet space with him. Neither of them fully understanding the other, but both willing to listen.
Dorian didn't approach either, remaining where he was from the get-go. His attention was on Kim more than on the ocean now, as the conversation continued and she expressed interest in taking it into more philosophical realms. While he might not be much of a poet, philosophy was something Dorian could connect with more easily. He'd spent a good number of years after the War pursuing different ones, mostly nihilism, before settling on what he was now... or a form of it. Nothing was entirely static, not even him, and change was a constant which had to be embraced.
He gave a tip of his head when she said she didn't know. He could sense there was more to it but prying would be rude. She decided to go on anyways without need of it and he listened. As she looked at him, she'd see him regarding her with a keen interest as the gears in his brain churned. It was likely too dark to make them out clearly but his gray eyes didn't lend themselves to appearing bright in this lighting.
Self-acceptance... but not knowing how... and sinking. He didn't delight in her misery but he did take some pleasure in finding another who'd experienced similar events in their life. Dorian understood that for sure. His lips crooked again as she mentioned the past having its pull. Oh yes... that it certainly did. Then she posed a question.
"I believe in it. Of sorts. People can choose to atone. As for what form it takes..." His hands slid out of his pockets, shoulders rising, as he gave her a shrug. "... that's up to the atoner. You could call my presence here a form of atonement for mistakes made elsewhere."
He left it unspecified where specifically 'here' was. The beach. Sunset Apartments. Florida. The USA. The world. Dorian should have died a long time ago and he'd been everyone else's problem ever since.
"Is it atonement you'd want then? Or forgiveness? They're quite different, though in my opinion, the latter is less useful than the former. Seeking to atone changes one's behavior more. Hopefully puts one on a better path. It's unfortunate that there isn't always a clear choice between 'right' and 'wrong' but I settle for 'less wrong' when I can."
That was certainly true in his world. 'Right' and 'wrong' might be highly subjective but the point still worked, he felt. He didn't know what she'd done. He didn't much care. Dorian wasn't sure there was any sin she could commit which would be worse than the myriad ones he'd enacted over the years. If he were a spiritual man, he'd figure there was a hot place waiting for him one night if Final Death came.
"So long as your eyes keep opening for another day or night, you can work on finding out what that means to you. Painfully obvious self-acceptance is easy to say but hard to manifest. It falls back on the atoner... do you want to atone, even if you're unsure it's possible?"
He had nowhere better to be either and his night was just beginning.
He gave a tip of his head when she said she didn't know. He could sense there was more to it but prying would be rude. She decided to go on anyways without need of it and he listened. As she looked at him, she'd see him regarding her with a keen interest as the gears in his brain churned. It was likely too dark to make them out clearly but his gray eyes didn't lend themselves to appearing bright in this lighting.
Self-acceptance... but not knowing how... and sinking. He didn't delight in her misery but he did take some pleasure in finding another who'd experienced similar events in their life. Dorian understood that for sure. His lips crooked again as she mentioned the past having its pull. Oh yes... that it certainly did. Then she posed a question.
"I believe in it. Of sorts. People can choose to atone. As for what form it takes..." His hands slid out of his pockets, shoulders rising, as he gave her a shrug. "... that's up to the atoner. You could call my presence here a form of atonement for mistakes made elsewhere."
He left it unspecified where specifically 'here' was. The beach. Sunset Apartments. Florida. The USA. The world. Dorian should have died a long time ago and he'd been everyone else's problem ever since.
"Is it atonement you'd want then? Or forgiveness? They're quite different, though in my opinion, the latter is less useful than the former. Seeking to atone changes one's behavior more. Hopefully puts one on a better path. It's unfortunate that there isn't always a clear choice between 'right' and 'wrong' but I settle for 'less wrong' when I can."
That was certainly true in his world. 'Right' and 'wrong' might be highly subjective but the point still worked, he felt. He didn't know what she'd done. He didn't much care. Dorian wasn't sure there was any sin she could commit which would be worse than the myriad ones he'd enacted over the years. If he were a spiritual man, he'd figure there was a hot place waiting for him one night if Final Death came.
"So long as your eyes keep opening for another day or night, you can work on finding out what that means to you. Painfully obvious self-acceptance is easy to say but hard to manifest. It falls back on the atoner... do you want to atone, even if you're unsure it's possible?"
He had nowhere better to be either and his night was just beginning.
Kim remained motionless for a while, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, instinctively seeking comfort in the tightness of her own embrace. The gentle pressure from her own body helped her feel tethered, pulling her back into the present moment amidst the swirl of her thoughts. The night air brushed her skin, but the sand under her bare feet felt grounding, for the earth beneath her remained steady despite the shifting sand.
She found herself surprised by the direction their conversation had taken. What had started as a casual exploration of the ocean and its symbolism had shifted into something deeper; redemption, self-worth and the weight of the past. His unexpected interest was evident in the way he looked at her and it caught her off guard. She hadn't anticipated the philosophical turn, nor the way his eyes seemed to pierce into her thoughts with that quiet understanding. Kim averted her gaze back to the waves, always seeking them out. Two strangers on a beach, yet there was a peculiar intimacy in the way he listened, as if he was actually truly interested in hearing what she had to say. Kim didn’t like this feeling of exposure, her inner turmoil laid bare for him to see. She didn’t invite people in, not like this. People had to drag it out of her. Yet, there she was, sharing fragments of herself. Fragments only, yes and it had to remain like that.
“I suppose that’s the centre of it, isn’t it? Atonement or forgiveness. Right or wrong” Kim spoke, her voice lowering, becoming more contemplative. “What makes one think they're capable of atoning for mistakes, for past actions, when none of us can really escape them?” She didn’t answer whether she wanted forgiveness or to atone, cause she didn’t know. In the most basic morals, she had done something unforgiven, but things were rarely as black and white, as right and wrong. She agreed with him on that. She agreed with him on a lot of it in fact. His line of settling for less wrong whenever he could, got a soft chuckle out of her.
“The past…” she trailed off, her voice softening, a tension in her shoulders easing as she glanced at him again, her gaze seeking his.
“It has a way of keeping us trapped, doesn’t it? Always lurking in the background, pulling at you always” The words felt like they slipped from her lips without thought, but they resonated deeply within her. In her case, she had a big red X over her past that made it near impossible for her to find a job, get decent housing or even vote. To him, the past must intrail something else that made him… Well be stuck here, in the early evening with nowhere better to be than talking with a stranger on the beach.
“Tell me why I could call your presence here a form of atonement for past mistakes?” The words slipped out almost like a quote, mirroring his own phrasing, but carrying the weight of her own, new inquiry. It wasn’t accusatory, it was a question, a direct invitation for him to reveal more of himself. Somewhat done to avert attention away from herself, she could admit that, but she also wanted to know. She had felt a quiet intensity in the way he looked at her, the way he spoke and it made her wonder just how much he was willing to give. How much he would reveal in return.
She found herself surprised by the direction their conversation had taken. What had started as a casual exploration of the ocean and its symbolism had shifted into something deeper; redemption, self-worth and the weight of the past. His unexpected interest was evident in the way he looked at her and it caught her off guard. She hadn't anticipated the philosophical turn, nor the way his eyes seemed to pierce into her thoughts with that quiet understanding. Kim averted her gaze back to the waves, always seeking them out. Two strangers on a beach, yet there was a peculiar intimacy in the way he listened, as if he was actually truly interested in hearing what she had to say. Kim didn’t like this feeling of exposure, her inner turmoil laid bare for him to see. She didn’t invite people in, not like this. People had to drag it out of her. Yet, there she was, sharing fragments of herself. Fragments only, yes and it had to remain like that.
“I suppose that’s the centre of it, isn’t it? Atonement or forgiveness. Right or wrong” Kim spoke, her voice lowering, becoming more contemplative. “What makes one think they're capable of atoning for mistakes, for past actions, when none of us can really escape them?” She didn’t answer whether she wanted forgiveness or to atone, cause she didn’t know. In the most basic morals, she had done something unforgiven, but things were rarely as black and white, as right and wrong. She agreed with him on that. She agreed with him on a lot of it in fact. His line of settling for less wrong whenever he could, got a soft chuckle out of her.
“The past…” she trailed off, her voice softening, a tension in her shoulders easing as she glanced at him again, her gaze seeking his.
“It has a way of keeping us trapped, doesn’t it? Always lurking in the background, pulling at you always” The words felt like they slipped from her lips without thought, but they resonated deeply within her. In her case, she had a big red X over her past that made it near impossible for her to find a job, get decent housing or even vote. To him, the past must intrail something else that made him… Well be stuck here, in the early evening with nowhere better to be than talking with a stranger on the beach.
“Tell me why I could call your presence here a form of atonement for past mistakes?” The words slipped out almost like a quote, mirroring his own phrasing, but carrying the weight of her own, new inquiry. It wasn’t accusatory, it was a question, a direct invitation for him to reveal more of himself. Somewhat done to avert attention away from herself, she could admit that, but she also wanted to know. She had felt a quiet intensity in the way he looked at her, the way he spoke and it made her wonder just how much he was willing to give. How much he would reveal in return.
They were alike in that regard; sharing fragments of themselves which made up the whole. Puzzle pieces that wouldn't add up to a whole picture because the rest had been put away in the box. It was still fun to sort them and guess what shapes might fit together. It wasn't a puzzle that'd be solved in one night, and for the moment, Dorian was glad he couldn't simply rip it from her mind. How boring that would make all of this and deny the enjoyment of the back and forth.
He hadn't expected a philosophical turn to the evening either. For fear of stereotyping. chatting with random strangers on a beach seldom resulted in remarkable oratory. Here she was though, proving his assumptions wrong. Something different, and for him, different was novel.
Much of what she asked had the edge of the rhetorical to it. Dorian couldn't answer such things for her, if she couldn't answer them for herself. She was thinking out loud and he was all too happy to listen. If nothing else, he could nudge or suggest paths for the train of thought to take. Something haunted her more than just him and that was a soothing familiarity. He didn't enjoy being miserable or unhappy, but being around others who were wrestling with their demons made him feel just a little more glad.
Dorian nodded his agreement about the past having a way of trapping them. Yes, it did. Her, him, everyone. People could claim to break free of it but that was a lie. It was always there. It'd always come back to haunt like an all-too well-acquainted ghost. And then she asked him in turn, switching the momentum to him.
"I did something bad where I came from. The kind of thing some associates are helping blow over." Not 'undo'. It couldn't be undone and he wouldn't want it to be. "Favors don't come free. As a result, I'm here in the sunshine state, to assist my erstwhile colleagues with some of their endeavors in exchange for their aid in mine."
He didn't sigh but his shoulders moved in one of those little shrugs again.
"Right and wrong are overused concepts. There's action and there's consequence. The former earned me the latter." Dorian said. "I could go down a long and winding road about objective morality but I'd hate to put you to sleep. Suffice it to say... coming to Florida was not my choice and being here, working for others, is my atonement for that. Or penance, perhaps, as I don't feel particularly regretful about my choices in life."
A smile.
"Perhaps it's something similar for you. Or not. I can't read minds, just fellow tortured souls."
He hadn't expected a philosophical turn to the evening either. For fear of stereotyping. chatting with random strangers on a beach seldom resulted in remarkable oratory. Here she was though, proving his assumptions wrong. Something different, and for him, different was novel.
Much of what she asked had the edge of the rhetorical to it. Dorian couldn't answer such things for her, if she couldn't answer them for herself. She was thinking out loud and he was all too happy to listen. If nothing else, he could nudge or suggest paths for the train of thought to take. Something haunted her more than just him and that was a soothing familiarity. He didn't enjoy being miserable or unhappy, but being around others who were wrestling with their demons made him feel just a little more glad.
Dorian nodded his agreement about the past having a way of trapping them. Yes, it did. Her, him, everyone. People could claim to break free of it but that was a lie. It was always there. It'd always come back to haunt like an all-too well-acquainted ghost. And then she asked him in turn, switching the momentum to him.
"I did something bad where I came from. The kind of thing some associates are helping blow over." Not 'undo'. It couldn't be undone and he wouldn't want it to be. "Favors don't come free. As a result, I'm here in the sunshine state, to assist my erstwhile colleagues with some of their endeavors in exchange for their aid in mine."
He didn't sigh but his shoulders moved in one of those little shrugs again.
"Right and wrong are overused concepts. There's action and there's consequence. The former earned me the latter." Dorian said. "I could go down a long and winding road about objective morality but I'd hate to put you to sleep. Suffice it to say... coming to Florida was not my choice and being here, working for others, is my atonement for that. Or penance, perhaps, as I don't feel particularly regretful about my choices in life."
A smile.
"Perhaps it's something similar for you. Or not. I can't read minds, just fellow tortured souls."
Kim’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon as the man spoke, his words painting a picture of a life shrouded in mystery. The way he casually mentioned favors and consequences, of debts owed and repaid, was from a world she didn’t know, yet found familiar. The inside of the prison system had been like that. Debts. Favours. Action and consequences. It piqued her curiosity, though not enough for her to pry further. She remained still, still in that controlled curiosity, cause she had learned long ago how to sit with questions, to let them simmer just beneath the surface without demanding an answer. It was human nature, after all, to seek the truth. But one should also be prepared for the answers to those questions one sought. She noticed his smile. Unexpectedly pleasant to look at, even from her side eyes view.
“Ouch, a criminal,” she said a bit too blatantly while her tone held a wisp of irony. The idea that someone like him, with his deliberate, calm demeanor, had done something bad, something worth being "blown over," felt like a direct admission of a criminal life. Sure it was all said vaguely, but saying it out loud didn’t feel like grasping. Letting out a breath, half-laughing at the thought. She was a criminal too, after all, a convicted felon, a woman with a history that followed her like a shadow. People didn’t care about that transformation. They only cared about the label.
Her mind wandered for a moment, pondering the nature of punishment, the duration of one’s debt. Once released, was it possible to be truly free, or did the world and its rules keep you in a perpetual state of atonement? She found herself drawn back to Dorian’s words, his casual acknowledgment of being here, in Florida, because of debts he owed. In some strange way, it resonated with her.
"I suppose a network of people who understand the unspoken weight of favors and consequences could be... comforting in its own way," she said, mulling it over. "At least you know what you owe, what they owe you. There’s something clean about that kind of arrangement…Transactional. Mutually beneficial" Her voice softened, almost wistful, as she considered the idea of having a backup, a safety net in a world that often felt far too volatile. She envied that sense of purpose, of having someone to rely on in those moments.Still, the thought of relying on others came with its own set of complications.
"I almost envy that," she admitted, almost under her breath, before chuckling to herself to mull it over, the thought of consequences in general hanging in the air.
“The consequence being Florida just seems fitting," she added, offering a slight smile.
"It’s like Australia, but with much less order." The comparison made her shake her head in a form of chuckle. At some point in history, Australia had been the place their kind, criminals, had been sent to. Kim shifted her weight again, as she let her gaze fall to the waves, the endless rhythm of the ocean somehow more soothing than before. She was getting used to them here tonight. There was something about it that made her feel small, insignificant, yet…comforted.
"I didn’t know my torture was so obvious," she said, her voice lightening as she glanced at him, the soft smile returning to her lips. "I blame the night and my generally low spirit tonight for making it stand out to you." Humor was seen in her eyes at least for a moment, but underneath it was that same quiet melancholy that painted her mood this evening. He saw it, felt it too, in some way.
“Ouch, a criminal,” she said a bit too blatantly while her tone held a wisp of irony. The idea that someone like him, with his deliberate, calm demeanor, had done something bad, something worth being "blown over," felt like a direct admission of a criminal life. Sure it was all said vaguely, but saying it out loud didn’t feel like grasping. Letting out a breath, half-laughing at the thought. She was a criminal too, after all, a convicted felon, a woman with a history that followed her like a shadow. People didn’t care about that transformation. They only cared about the label.
Her mind wandered for a moment, pondering the nature of punishment, the duration of one’s debt. Once released, was it possible to be truly free, or did the world and its rules keep you in a perpetual state of atonement? She found herself drawn back to Dorian’s words, his casual acknowledgment of being here, in Florida, because of debts he owed. In some strange way, it resonated with her.
"I suppose a network of people who understand the unspoken weight of favors and consequences could be... comforting in its own way," she said, mulling it over. "At least you know what you owe, what they owe you. There’s something clean about that kind of arrangement…Transactional. Mutually beneficial" Her voice softened, almost wistful, as she considered the idea of having a backup, a safety net in a world that often felt far too volatile. She envied that sense of purpose, of having someone to rely on in those moments.Still, the thought of relying on others came with its own set of complications.
"I almost envy that," she admitted, almost under her breath, before chuckling to herself to mull it over, the thought of consequences in general hanging in the air.
“The consequence being Florida just seems fitting," she added, offering a slight smile.
"It’s like Australia, but with much less order." The comparison made her shake her head in a form of chuckle. At some point in history, Australia had been the place their kind, criminals, had been sent to. Kim shifted her weight again, as she let her gaze fall to the waves, the endless rhythm of the ocean somehow more soothing than before. She was getting used to them here tonight. There was something about it that made her feel small, insignificant, yet…comforted.
"I didn’t know my torture was so obvious," she said, her voice lightening as she glanced at him, the soft smile returning to her lips. "I blame the night and my generally low spirit tonight for making it stand out to you." Humor was seen in her eyes at least for a moment, but underneath it was that same quiet melancholy that painted her mood this evening. He saw it, felt it too, in some way.
"Mere labels." Dorian answered with a note of amusement himself. "Robin Hood was a criminal and a hero. Depends who's telling the story."
He was Robin Hood of a sort, though it would make him seem far more noble than he was to claim it aloud. The things he did on a nightly basis to get by would almost certainly be illegal in a human sense. He didn't worry over much about it. Needs must, since he was something different. When was the last time a human cared about where their chicken nuggets came from? That was a dangerous line of thought to dwell too long on but it made the point for him mentally.
"The words 'legal' and 'moral' aren't always the same." He mused. "I'm sure, at some point in your life, you were punished for doing what you thought was the 'right' thing."
Nearly everyone had an experience like that. Like an abuse victim who finally beat their abuser to a pulp. It might not be legal... but it was certainly not wrong. Action and consequence. It kept things simpler.
Yes, being in Florida was definitely fitting. Ironic in a delightful way for a creature who couldn't stand the touch of the sun. It wouldn't destroy him instantly, he wasn't old enough nor his blood thick enough. It certainly would hurt like hell and be fatal if he couldn't find cover in short order. He had no wish to test the big ball of nuclear fire in the sky.
"The network is comforting in its familiarity. Mutually beneficial is the best one can hope for, though sometimes one also ends up with the short straw. The scales balance out eventually. I don't know how clean it is, but it's effective."
It was the basis of his entire society. Debts and favors. It paid to know who owed who before making a move. Even seeming enemies might owe one another a favor from some long-ago dealing and it was a foolish creature indeed that welched on its boons. It would be hilarious to say that one's word was their reputation, in a society of lying and manipulative monsters, but who said there wasn't room for irony? Plenty from where he was standing.
"Perhaps your torture would be eased if you entered the water. You questioned your worthiness regarding the ocean. Good a way as any to test it. If it spits you out, or if this is the exact moment a passing shark tries to devour you, you'll know it's sentiments. And if not... perhaps you'll even enjoy it and find the ocean never rejected you."
He was Robin Hood of a sort, though it would make him seem far more noble than he was to claim it aloud. The things he did on a nightly basis to get by would almost certainly be illegal in a human sense. He didn't worry over much about it. Needs must, since he was something different. When was the last time a human cared about where their chicken nuggets came from? That was a dangerous line of thought to dwell too long on but it made the point for him mentally.
"The words 'legal' and 'moral' aren't always the same." He mused. "I'm sure, at some point in your life, you were punished for doing what you thought was the 'right' thing."
Nearly everyone had an experience like that. Like an abuse victim who finally beat their abuser to a pulp. It might not be legal... but it was certainly not wrong. Action and consequence. It kept things simpler.
Yes, being in Florida was definitely fitting. Ironic in a delightful way for a creature who couldn't stand the touch of the sun. It wouldn't destroy him instantly, he wasn't old enough nor his blood thick enough. It certainly would hurt like hell and be fatal if he couldn't find cover in short order. He had no wish to test the big ball of nuclear fire in the sky.
"The network is comforting in its familiarity. Mutually beneficial is the best one can hope for, though sometimes one also ends up with the short straw. The scales balance out eventually. I don't know how clean it is, but it's effective."
It was the basis of his entire society. Debts and favors. It paid to know who owed who before making a move. Even seeming enemies might owe one another a favor from some long-ago dealing and it was a foolish creature indeed that welched on its boons. It would be hilarious to say that one's word was their reputation, in a society of lying and manipulative monsters, but who said there wasn't room for irony? Plenty from where he was standing.
"Perhaps your torture would be eased if you entered the water. You questioned your worthiness regarding the ocean. Good a way as any to test it. If it spits you out, or if this is the exact moment a passing shark tries to devour you, you'll know it's sentiments. And if not... perhaps you'll even enjoy it and find the ocean never rejected you."
The mention of doing something right and being punished for it struck Kim like a truck barreling down a highway far too fast. She couldn’t help herself; a muffled snicker escaped her lips before she managed to suppress it completely. Oh, how right he was. She had been punished alright, ten years’ worth, to be exact. Still, even with that, she couldn’t fully agree with him. A punishment of some form was warranted, after all no matter the moral misstep or brak of the law. Where would the victims and their families find their sense of justice otherwise? But nothing about it had been fair. Her sentence wasn’t fair, at least not in the way society would like to frame it. Had she not made the choice that night, others would’ve gotten hurt. They did get hurt before she managed to stop it. She’d justified her actions, regretted them, repeated the cycle countless times over and now, here she was, just trying to live with it. Still, the question of atonement lingered, present in her mind, growing with each passing day she spent as a free woman.
She caught herself, the train of thought veering off as she processed his words about the "network." It was organized, familiar and another clue to his criminal ties. She should stay far away from anyone involved in that sort of thing, especially with her parole still hanging over her head. Despite knowing that, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. A network, someone to rely on in times of need. It sounded so simple and yet she had no one like that. Sure, there was someone new in her life now, but it was fragile, still too delicate to lean on. The weight of her own baggage felt like too much to share, too heavy to pass onto someone else. The idea of being able to ask for help, of having a safety net was tempting. The scales balance out, so what’s one little favor? The thought stuck with her, as if she could feel the pull of that kind of dependency, the same kind that could easily pull someone into a dangerous, darker world. It hit her: She was vulnerable to that. She could so easily become a victim of the cult like promises of connection.
His words pulled her back from that though and made her head turned toward him. She looked at him with widening eyes as he proposed the unimaginable. The immediate physical response in her was visceral. Her body tensed as though she were bracing for something harmful, something she couldn’t control. Of course, the suggestion was ridiculous. No way in hell. That was the automatic response, but something about his humor softened it, made the thought flicker in her mind just enough to challenge her instincts. Sharks? Recoiling water? Of course not. So why was her stomach tied in knots? What was she so afraid of?
It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked something like this. Dean, that flirtatious suggestion of a dip into the water. Her refusal back then had been just as instinctual. It had felt wrong to be that vulnerable with him. She wouldn’t let him see parts of her she wasn’t ready to expose fully. The water, the idea of immersing herself completely… it would’ve shattered her, exposed her and she wasn’t sure she could handle that with him. This was different. This was a stranger, someone she would likely never see again. There was no need to play it cool or to impress him. If she wanted to, she could let herself fall apart.
“That goes against everything I know about ocean safety,” she muttered, her voice quiet but tinged with a trace of humor, as if the statement was as much for her own reassurance as it was for him.
“Going into unfamiliar waters, at night when it’s dark, alone… Murphy’s law.” She gave a small shake of her head, even as her thoughts battled within her. She was still actively considering it. Part of her wanted nothing more than to give in, to be consumed by the ocean, to see if it would reject her. To see if she was worthy of something as simple as that; swimming in the ocean again. Yet another part screamed at her for even entertaining the idea.
The water before her was calm, gently lapping against the shore, its rhythmic pull so much less threatening than her inner turmoil. There were no strong currents, no immediate danger. The beach had a green flag for safety. Of course, she’d looked it up. That didn’t stop the voice in her head from reminding her of all the reasons she should stay away. Despite it, despite the reservations clawing at her, she couldn’t stop herself from looking at the water, wondering what it would feel like to just let go.
“Unless you want to come with?” she asked. She tried to mask it with a casual tone, but she knew the offer meant something more. It was a compromise, a way to say “no” without actually saying it. If he stayed where he was, she would have a clear reason to step back. But if he agreed... maybe she’d have the company she needed to make the leap. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him directly; do you want to do it with me? Instead, she threw out the offer, letting it hang between them.
She caught herself, the train of thought veering off as she processed his words about the "network." It was organized, familiar and another clue to his criminal ties. She should stay far away from anyone involved in that sort of thing, especially with her parole still hanging over her head. Despite knowing that, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. A network, someone to rely on in times of need. It sounded so simple and yet she had no one like that. Sure, there was someone new in her life now, but it was fragile, still too delicate to lean on. The weight of her own baggage felt like too much to share, too heavy to pass onto someone else. The idea of being able to ask for help, of having a safety net was tempting. The scales balance out, so what’s one little favor? The thought stuck with her, as if she could feel the pull of that kind of dependency, the same kind that could easily pull someone into a dangerous, darker world. It hit her: She was vulnerable to that. She could so easily become a victim of the cult like promises of connection.
His words pulled her back from that though and made her head turned toward him. She looked at him with widening eyes as he proposed the unimaginable. The immediate physical response in her was visceral. Her body tensed as though she were bracing for something harmful, something she couldn’t control. Of course, the suggestion was ridiculous. No way in hell. That was the automatic response, but something about his humor softened it, made the thought flicker in her mind just enough to challenge her instincts. Sharks? Recoiling water? Of course not. So why was her stomach tied in knots? What was she so afraid of?
It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked something like this. Dean, that flirtatious suggestion of a dip into the water. Her refusal back then had been just as instinctual. It had felt wrong to be that vulnerable with him. She wouldn’t let him see parts of her she wasn’t ready to expose fully. The water, the idea of immersing herself completely… it would’ve shattered her, exposed her and she wasn’t sure she could handle that with him. This was different. This was a stranger, someone she would likely never see again. There was no need to play it cool or to impress him. If she wanted to, she could let herself fall apart.
“That goes against everything I know about ocean safety,” she muttered, her voice quiet but tinged with a trace of humor, as if the statement was as much for her own reassurance as it was for him.
“Going into unfamiliar waters, at night when it’s dark, alone… Murphy’s law.” She gave a small shake of her head, even as her thoughts battled within her. She was still actively considering it. Part of her wanted nothing more than to give in, to be consumed by the ocean, to see if it would reject her. To see if she was worthy of something as simple as that; swimming in the ocean again. Yet another part screamed at her for even entertaining the idea.
The water before her was calm, gently lapping against the shore, its rhythmic pull so much less threatening than her inner turmoil. There were no strong currents, no immediate danger. The beach had a green flag for safety. Of course, she’d looked it up. That didn’t stop the voice in her head from reminding her of all the reasons she should stay away. Despite it, despite the reservations clawing at her, she couldn’t stop herself from looking at the water, wondering what it would feel like to just let go.
“Unless you want to come with?” she asked. She tried to mask it with a casual tone, but she knew the offer meant something more. It was a compromise, a way to say “no” without actually saying it. If he stayed where he was, she would have a clear reason to step back. But if he agreed... maybe she’d have the company she needed to make the leap. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him directly; do you want to do it with me? Instead, she threw out the offer, letting it hang between them.
((Apologies; I completely missed that you'd posted))
Ah, Murphy and his infamous law. Dorian liked that one. Quite true to boot. Yes, if it could go wrong, it would go wrong. He saw the hesitation; the ocean really was a stress point for her. Why did it make him think of someone who was window shopping and wouldn't just open the door to go inside? It was a barrier she was erecting for herself.
Part of him expected her to just walk away at that moment. She'd never met him before tonight and it was unlikely they'd see each other again after. Dorian didn't thrive in the limelight for obvious (to him) reasons. Even living in the condos, no one would notice his coming and going unless they possessed a preternatural sense of their own for detecting him. Feeding here would be foolish when he also planned to live in a unit.
She didn't leave though. She stayed. With those wide eyes looking at him like he'd proposed unicorns were real.
"You're the expert on ocean safety more than I." Dorian conceded. "All the same, when playing the overall odds, everything is a gamble. I suspect the water here is safer, for the moment, than a bath tub inside."
How many people died tripping in their showers every year? Now how many of them died tripping into the ocean? He doubted she wanted to have a discussion on morbid statistics, of which he knew more than he should. In another life, Dorian reckoned, he'd have made one hell of an insurance adjuster. He was already in a nebulous state of soul, whether he had one or not, so it might have been a natural fit.
Unless you want to come with?
He took it as a request more than a challenge. An excuse for her, perhaps. Dorian glanced down at himself. He was hardly dressed for the water. He very much doubted anything in there would or even could harm him. This wasn't the Justicia. There was no need to fear drowning. New experiences...
"Well..." He answered. "... I'm sure there's a life rule about not refusing a chance to enjoy a stroll on the ocean with amiable company."
He slid his shoes off, leaned down to put his socks inside them, then rolled his pants legs up. Rising up to his normal height once more, he took a step closer to the surf. The sand on his feet felt smooth, a little gritty. It had been a long time since he'd walked on such without shoes. He absorbed the sensation a moment before looking to Kim.
"Would you like an escort?" He raised a hand in offer, but made no move to approach her any closer, allowing her to merge the distance if she so chose. "Or would you like to show the Midwesterner how it's done?"
Two choices. Both ended up with her in the water. He'd found people often responded better to having a choice, even if both choices ended up being shit.
Ah, Murphy and his infamous law. Dorian liked that one. Quite true to boot. Yes, if it could go wrong, it would go wrong. He saw the hesitation; the ocean really was a stress point for her. Why did it make him think of someone who was window shopping and wouldn't just open the door to go inside? It was a barrier she was erecting for herself.
Part of him expected her to just walk away at that moment. She'd never met him before tonight and it was unlikely they'd see each other again after. Dorian didn't thrive in the limelight for obvious (to him) reasons. Even living in the condos, no one would notice his coming and going unless they possessed a preternatural sense of their own for detecting him. Feeding here would be foolish when he also planned to live in a unit.
She didn't leave though. She stayed. With those wide eyes looking at him like he'd proposed unicorns were real.
"You're the expert on ocean safety more than I." Dorian conceded. "All the same, when playing the overall odds, everything is a gamble. I suspect the water here is safer, for the moment, than a bath tub inside."
How many people died tripping in their showers every year? Now how many of them died tripping into the ocean? He doubted she wanted to have a discussion on morbid statistics, of which he knew more than he should. In another life, Dorian reckoned, he'd have made one hell of an insurance adjuster. He was already in a nebulous state of soul, whether he had one or not, so it might have been a natural fit.
Unless you want to come with?
He took it as a request more than a challenge. An excuse for her, perhaps. Dorian glanced down at himself. He was hardly dressed for the water. He very much doubted anything in there would or even could harm him. This wasn't the Justicia. There was no need to fear drowning. New experiences...
"Well..." He answered. "... I'm sure there's a life rule about not refusing a chance to enjoy a stroll on the ocean with amiable company."
He slid his shoes off, leaned down to put his socks inside them, then rolled his pants legs up. Rising up to his normal height once more, he took a step closer to the surf. The sand on his feet felt smooth, a little gritty. It had been a long time since he'd walked on such without shoes. He absorbed the sensation a moment before looking to Kim.
"Would you like an escort?" He raised a hand in offer, but made no move to approach her any closer, allowing her to merge the distance if she so chose. "Or would you like to show the Midwesterner how it's done?"
Two choices. Both ended up with her in the water. He'd found people often responded better to having a choice, even if both choices ended up being shit.
It was indeed a request, an ask for help to take that step out into what she wanted. The ocean had been hyped up, made to seem like something to fear, something too grand for her, something with a symbolic purity she’d never get back. But it was just water. Just the ocean. Vast, yes, but in the end, it was still just water. Why did it help to have someone there? A stranger, someone she wasn’t accountable to. Someone she could walk away from if she broke down, so she wouldn’t have to face her own embarrassment. It was just water.
His acceptance thrilled and terrified her at the same time. Now, she actually had to do it, but she also knew this was the push she needed, the final nudge she was waiting for. No hesitation, no second guessing, just acceptance of her request.
Dorian kicked off his shoes and Kim looked down at the sand beneath her feet. A small smile crept up on her face, not necessarily at the thought of the water but at the difference in expectations between them. He was holding back, seeing it as just a dip with his toes, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. As he offered his hand, her own hands found the zipper of her hoodie, pulling it down slowly. The garment met the sand soon after, discarded. Beneath it was a simple t-shirt, the logo of her job on display. She pulled that over her head too in a swift motion, leaving it piled on top of her discarded hoodie. The simple black bra clung to her, hitting the faint outline of ribs that were a little too visible. Her fingers grasped the hem of her leggings and pulled them down her thighs before stepping out of them, leaving her in that pair of obvious, cheap, three-pack underwear in black. It was all too much skin to show on a night like this, especially in front of a stranger, but it didn’t matter to her, cause this wasn’t about that. Once she finished undressing, she glanced over to her side
"Your clothes are gonna get wet," she said in a light tone that carried a small tease. She had far different plans than a simple dip. She took a step forward, removed her cap, and threw it into the pile of clothes, as if she had just remembered to take it off.
She looked back at him with a final smile before she started running into the water., no turning back. She took off, the water splashing around her as her feet sunk into the muddy bottom of wet sand. Her body moved forward, slower as the water hit her shins, then her knees. She pushed on, but much slower now as the water was at her mid-thigh. The water was surprisingly warmer than she’d imagined. It wasn’t as cold as she had thought it would be, but definitely cooling in the relentless Florida heat.
This initial dip was just the beginning. She didn’t stop to look back until she reached the point where she felt the water fully encompass her to her waist. Turning her eyes seeking the figure at the shoreline. This was how it was supposed to look. The Midwesterner would see what it was like to truly enter the ocean, the right way. Relief washed over her in motion to the rhythmic splashes of water that now hit her back. There was something freeing about making that choice and pushing through her doubts and her fear. It made her feel alive in the water, even with the hesitation and uncertainty still lingering in her. It wasn’t just about the ocean, it was about proving to herself that she could still claim some part of herself back. It was small, but it was hers.
His acceptance thrilled and terrified her at the same time. Now, she actually had to do it, but she also knew this was the push she needed, the final nudge she was waiting for. No hesitation, no second guessing, just acceptance of her request.
Dorian kicked off his shoes and Kim looked down at the sand beneath her feet. A small smile crept up on her face, not necessarily at the thought of the water but at the difference in expectations between them. He was holding back, seeing it as just a dip with his toes, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. As he offered his hand, her own hands found the zipper of her hoodie, pulling it down slowly. The garment met the sand soon after, discarded. Beneath it was a simple t-shirt, the logo of her job on display. She pulled that over her head too in a swift motion, leaving it piled on top of her discarded hoodie. The simple black bra clung to her, hitting the faint outline of ribs that were a little too visible. Her fingers grasped the hem of her leggings and pulled them down her thighs before stepping out of them, leaving her in that pair of obvious, cheap, three-pack underwear in black. It was all too much skin to show on a night like this, especially in front of a stranger, but it didn’t matter to her, cause this wasn’t about that. Once she finished undressing, she glanced over to her side
"Your clothes are gonna get wet," she said in a light tone that carried a small tease. She had far different plans than a simple dip. She took a step forward, removed her cap, and threw it into the pile of clothes, as if she had just remembered to take it off.
She looked back at him with a final smile before she started running into the water., no turning back. She took off, the water splashing around her as her feet sunk into the muddy bottom of wet sand. Her body moved forward, slower as the water hit her shins, then her knees. She pushed on, but much slower now as the water was at her mid-thigh. The water was surprisingly warmer than she’d imagined. It wasn’t as cold as she had thought it would be, but definitely cooling in the relentless Florida heat.
This initial dip was just the beginning. She didn’t stop to look back until she reached the point where she felt the water fully encompass her to her waist. Turning her eyes seeking the figure at the shoreline. This was how it was supposed to look. The Midwesterner would see what it was like to truly enter the ocean, the right way. Relief washed over her in motion to the rhythmic splashes of water that now hit her back. There was something freeing about making that choice and pushing through her doubts and her fear. It made her feel alive in the water, even with the hesitation and uncertainty still lingering in her. It wasn’t just about the ocean, it was about proving to herself that she could still claim some part of herself back. It was small, but it was hers.
He didn't bat an eyelash as she removed her hoodie and leggings. Dorian watched the sudden enthusiasm seize her and let her run with it without interference, as if she'd needed permission of some kind to indulge. He envied her that excitement and how abruptly happy, filled with anticipation, she seemed. She was quite thin, as evidenced by those ribs, but he had no deeper knowledge if it was because she'd been eating poorly or simply because she was a naturally thin woman.
Clearly she intended more than a light wade. He looked down at his own outfit as she said he'd get wet. Yes... she was quite right about that. Dorian wasn't shy about being seen in turn and began to undo his belt, sliding his slacks off and folding them atop his shoes. Then unbuttoning his shirt and doing the same. His undershirt was added to the pile, leaving him in a pair of under shorts devoid of decoration or other motifs. Just plain, black boxers which would have to serve as a makeshift swimsuit. He forced his body to flush, lest she see exactly how pallid he was even in the moonlight. It was a minor effort with a small cost but nothing he couldn't afford or refill later. The moment was worth it. He had a thin, athletic build that was lean rather than muscular. His arms had definition about the bicep and tricep, as did his chest, though his abdomen was flat rather than 'shredded'.
After all, he'd never been in the ocean either.
Where Kim had run into the water, splashing forward, Dorian walked out into it. It was warm, which made the experience more pleasant. He'd always expected the ocean to be cold. Lake Michigan to the north always was, even during the summer, which was hitherto the largest body of water he'd entered for recreation. He strode out towards the water, letting it wash of his feet then up to his knees. A steady pace which let him draw it out, rather than dash. He had no concept of this being a 'wrong' way to enter the ocean or not.
He wouldn't call the moment profound but it was enjoyable. The ocean was large and now he could say he'd been in it. Just as well, because of the Movement found out he'd been in Florida and hadn't gone to the beach at least once? Even a nest of vipers had standards. He walked in Kim's general direction, hands now slipping below the surface of the water as he strode deep enough to cover most of his frame.
"I'm relieved to see no inadvertent shark attacks." He jested in return. "It would seem the ocean approves of you, after all."
It made him think of the old river, back in the day. He'd grown up near the South Side and no one swam in the Chicago River around the previous turn of the century. The slaughterhouses and factories had so thoroughly filled it with pollution and layers of rotting meat, fat, and other less palatable substances, that anyone entering that water would either drown or become deathly ill from a variety of infections. It had changed now but the memory remained.
This wasn't here or there.
"Do you feel better?"
Clearly she intended more than a light wade. He looked down at his own outfit as she said he'd get wet. Yes... she was quite right about that. Dorian wasn't shy about being seen in turn and began to undo his belt, sliding his slacks off and folding them atop his shoes. Then unbuttoning his shirt and doing the same. His undershirt was added to the pile, leaving him in a pair of under shorts devoid of decoration or other motifs. Just plain, black boxers which would have to serve as a makeshift swimsuit. He forced his body to flush, lest she see exactly how pallid he was even in the moonlight. It was a minor effort with a small cost but nothing he couldn't afford or refill later. The moment was worth it. He had a thin, athletic build that was lean rather than muscular. His arms had definition about the bicep and tricep, as did his chest, though his abdomen was flat rather than 'shredded'.
After all, he'd never been in the ocean either.
Where Kim had run into the water, splashing forward, Dorian walked out into it. It was warm, which made the experience more pleasant. He'd always expected the ocean to be cold. Lake Michigan to the north always was, even during the summer, which was hitherto the largest body of water he'd entered for recreation. He strode out towards the water, letting it wash of his feet then up to his knees. A steady pace which let him draw it out, rather than dash. He had no concept of this being a 'wrong' way to enter the ocean or not.
He wouldn't call the moment profound but it was enjoyable. The ocean was large and now he could say he'd been in it. Just as well, because of the Movement found out he'd been in Florida and hadn't gone to the beach at least once? Even a nest of vipers had standards. He walked in Kim's general direction, hands now slipping below the surface of the water as he strode deep enough to cover most of his frame.
"I'm relieved to see no inadvertent shark attacks." He jested in return. "It would seem the ocean approves of you, after all."
It made him think of the old river, back in the day. He'd grown up near the South Side and no one swam in the Chicago River around the previous turn of the century. The slaughterhouses and factories had so thoroughly filled it with pollution and layers of rotting meat, fat, and other less palatable substances, that anyone entering that water would either drown or become deathly ill from a variety of infections. It had changed now but the memory remained.
This wasn't here or there.
"Do you feel better?"
Kim felt the water encase her as she moved further out. It wasn't just about stepping into the ocean. It was about stepping into something once familiar, something that had loomed larger in her mind than in reality. She turned back to see Dorian following and felt a smile form automatically. She hadn't expected him to go in fully, but now, looking at him wading through the water, she actually felt a sense of gratitude. He could have just dipped his feet in and of course she would have accepted it, but he hadn't just done that. He stepped into the water, joining her in something simple yet profound to her. It gave her the push she needed, that little nudge that made the difference.
She smiled at him, the humor in his voice as he talked of shark attacks easing the moment. His words brought a short laugh out of her, an unexpected snort slipping out and that she didn’t bother stopping. The humor felt like a weight lifting off her, allowing her to relax just a little more. Before there had been clear fear. Fear of the water, fear of rejection, fear of not being worthy of this moment, but the ocean wasn't spitting her out now and it wasn't pushing her back. That initial fear began to melt away with every moment she spent engulfed in the water.
As she bent her knees, feeling the water rise up to her shoulders, she took a moment to fan out her arms, letting the water sweep over them. The wet sand shifted beneath her feet, sinking slightly, but in a way that felt grounding, not threatening. Every small rock, every bit of shell, was like a soft reminder that this place wasn’t so foreign after all. It was just water, despite meaning more to her than that.
“It's getting there,” she answered after a thoughtful pause, her voice quieter now as she let the words settle. She wasn't fully at ease yet, not completely, but the healing had begun. She could feel it. The tension in her body remained, slight but present, as if the water itself was forcing her to release something, to confront something she hadn’t been ready to face. She couldn’t pinpoint it, maybe it was the feeling of the ocean surrounding her, the metaphor of surrender, but her system was still processing it. Time being spent here felt healing.
She waded around near Dorian, keeping a polite distance of a few arm's lengths. The tip of her ponytail got wet from the ocean, but she had no intention of going further than where she was, no intention of dipping her head in all the way.
"Is it any different than the big lakes?" she asked, her voice light.
"Might not do now, but if you dip your head in, you’re going to taste the salt." She smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. She took her wet hands and rubbed her face, cleaning off the sweat she knew would be there. Just as she expected, the saltwater found its way into her mouth. The taste of seaweed mixed with the fresh ocean, filling her palate.
"Do you feel every small cut you might have? The burn from the salt? I can feel a paper cut on my pinky quite vividly." She said as encouragement for him to relate.
She smiled at him, the humor in his voice as he talked of shark attacks easing the moment. His words brought a short laugh out of her, an unexpected snort slipping out and that she didn’t bother stopping. The humor felt like a weight lifting off her, allowing her to relax just a little more. Before there had been clear fear. Fear of the water, fear of rejection, fear of not being worthy of this moment, but the ocean wasn't spitting her out now and it wasn't pushing her back. That initial fear began to melt away with every moment she spent engulfed in the water.
As she bent her knees, feeling the water rise up to her shoulders, she took a moment to fan out her arms, letting the water sweep over them. The wet sand shifted beneath her feet, sinking slightly, but in a way that felt grounding, not threatening. Every small rock, every bit of shell, was like a soft reminder that this place wasn’t so foreign after all. It was just water, despite meaning more to her than that.
“It's getting there,” she answered after a thoughtful pause, her voice quieter now as she let the words settle. She wasn't fully at ease yet, not completely, but the healing had begun. She could feel it. The tension in her body remained, slight but present, as if the water itself was forcing her to release something, to confront something she hadn’t been ready to face. She couldn’t pinpoint it, maybe it was the feeling of the ocean surrounding her, the metaphor of surrender, but her system was still processing it. Time being spent here felt healing.
She waded around near Dorian, keeping a polite distance of a few arm's lengths. The tip of her ponytail got wet from the ocean, but she had no intention of going further than where she was, no intention of dipping her head in all the way.
"Is it any different than the big lakes?" she asked, her voice light.
"Might not do now, but if you dip your head in, you’re going to taste the salt." She smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. She took her wet hands and rubbed her face, cleaning off the sweat she knew would be there. Just as she expected, the saltwater found its way into her mouth. The taste of seaweed mixed with the fresh ocean, filling her palate.
"Do you feel every small cut you might have? The burn from the salt? I can feel a paper cut on my pinky quite vividly." She said as encouragement for him to relate.
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