The Sea & The Sun

Ilyas watched Mari as she danced around him with the scissors, but she was careful and precise. A lot more careful and precise than he was. He probably was going to leave here with both his ears, which he considered a good thing.

Some tension he did not realize he was holding at all left his muscles. Not relaxed - Ilyas never was relaxed - but almost close to it. His eyes followed the girl who, in his head, he did refer to as his niece. And reading was a wonderful topic to discuss during any sort of activity. This was not an exception.

His expression turned thoughtful. "A supermarket?" But the thoughtfulness was soon replaced by a small half smirk that indicated that he was clearly teasing her. What? She was his niece. That didn't mean she was excluded from his terrible sense of humor. "That must've been a museum. Fancy."

"Yes, it was a museum. A very fancy museum. They had giant skeletons, old jewelry, weapons, pottery, and a whole room full of things from places that don't even exist anymore." She tilted her head, inspecting her work critically. "I wanted to touch everything. Apparently that's 'not allowed, says Miss Thatch.'" Her fingers straightened a stubborn strand.

"Which is ridiculous. How are you supposed to know if something is interesting if you're not allowed to poke it?"

As the demon walked through the double door of the auditorium, the battle hymn of cicadas came to an abrupt stop. The falling sun had dusted everything in the orange glow as the day gave way to night. It was hours before he was officially supposed to report, but he had very little use of the town since he'd already hunted. So instead, he sought out the girl who applied makeup.

The night marked his third performance with the company, and he'd found waiting to be insufferable, as he was forced to make small talk with the others. Instead, he opted to be the first and slipped backstage, found the folding chair, and slid into the canvas. Staring at the side wall, he was patient, and only when he heard the echo of heels on the linoleum did he begin to adjust his cufflinks, waiting until the talented Marisol turned the corner.

A forced smile pulled at the edges of his mouth as a deep voice cut through the silence of the perfectly acousticed space, "Good evening, I thought I'd beat the crowds and be first tonight. Hope you don't mind my early arrival." The demon found himself entwined in a traveling group after working out that it provided a perfect cover and kept him moving as she collected souls. Fixing his gaze on the young woman as he straightened his black tie, barely visible as it blended into every other stitch of clothing.

The words had barely left her mouth when movement at the far end of the hallway caught her attention. Her smile faltered instantly. Someone else had entered backstage. Marisol's eyes widened. "Oh no."

Without another word, she seized his wrist and pulled him out of the chair. "Come on." Moving quickly, she guided him down the hall and into an empty costume room, slipping inside before easing the door nearly shut behind them. Racks of dresses, coats, and theatrical uniforms surrounded them in every direction. Marisol peeked through the narrow opening, listening as approaching footsteps echoed across the linoleum. Immediately she ducked behind a rack and tugged Val down with her, keeping both of them hidden among the costumes.

"Don't move," she whispered, still holding onto his sleeve. After a moment she risked another glance through the crack before turning back to him with a look of playful desperation. "If that's who I think it is, they're about to corner me for twenty minutes about missing buttons, costume alterations, and some miracle that will make them look younger under stage lights." Her nose wrinkled. "I'm sorry, but hiding seemed like the better option."

“Alright then, come sit Tio, here, on the bench. I’ll wrap this towel around you first. And don’t go flinching when I bring out the scissors, I swear I won’t take off an ear… probably."

"You really eat whale? I haven’t had that in ages. I think the last time was when my dad came back from the Arctic one summer. He brought all sorts of strange things with him. Oh! And did you know back in the Ice Age, people built houses out of mammoth bones? My dad never told me that, I figured it out on my own. I think that’s much more impressive.”

Nope, Ilyas wasn't awesome, but he was serious. There hardly was anything to ruin left on his face, so why not put it to good use? If the girl needed practice, he'd let her practice. "Scissors don't scare me." It was, of course, not the scissors that were scary. It was the one wielding them.

"Told you before: I eat anything." As much as he would've liked to dig into that subject deeper, Mari brought up something better. "Bones? Well, I hope they used the skin too, cause bones won't keep you warm." He carefully cast a glance over his shoulder. Careful, cause she was holding scissors. "Been reading again, huh?"

Marisol tugged the towel around his shoulders, tucking it neatly at the collar before lifting the scissors. “Mm, that’s what everyone says,” she murmured, already separating a section of his golden, straw-like hair between her fingers. The first snip was slow and careful, just enough to clear his eyes, lifting and trimming in small, deliberate cuts so she would not take too much. As she worked, her fingers caught on uneven lengths, jagged edges as if chunks had been taken out without care. He definitely did this himself. Not with scissors. Something sharp though. Glass maybe. Or a seashell like she used sometimes. Her mouth pressed into a small line as she kept going, evening things out without cutting it too short, leaving enough length to suit him while softening the roughness.

“Oh, and yes, I’ve been reading, but not what you think,” she added after a moment, like she had just remembered his question. Another careful snip near his temple, then a light comb through with her fingers. “Not from a book. It was in one of those big buildings with lots of rooms, where there’s one cool thing after another but you’re not supposed to touch anything.” She shifted to stand in front of him, trimming lightly across the front so it would stop falling into his eyes. “They had golden plaques with writing on them."

Her fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The motion was casual, but her pulse had quickened. The way he looked at her, it felt like he was looking at something rare, and that realization sent a quiet thrill through her. There was a danger in him, even in his smile which promised as much, but it was the kind of danger that made her want to see how close she could stand before it burned.

“I didn’t think demons went looking for things that didn’t already belong to them,” she warmly added, testing the edge of his interest. Then, with a small, delighted laugh, she tilted her face toward the sea, letting the wind catch her hair and the sunlight kiss her skin. “If you really want to hear me sing again… I suppose I could oblige.”

She drew a breath to focus, the sound of the surf filling the quiet between them, and began to sing. The melody slipped from her lips slow and sultry, carrying the warmth of sunlight on water. Like all sirens, she harmonized with her own vocal cords, creating an eerie but beautiful note. Each note rippled outward, mingling with the hiss of the tide.

Marisol swayed subtly, as if her body was remembering what the ocean already knew- that music and movement were one. Let him feel it, she thought. Let him feel me in the sound. Her lashes lowered as she sang the final verse, looking at him with a teasing look that made it apparent she knew what she was doing.

"Valdis... come closer~"

Eyes felt deceived as they heard multiple harmonizations within her voice. An audible sigh left Val as she lowered her lashes, shifting into something beautifully seductive. He dared not look away for a second, and when she beckoned him closer, he complied with the invitation, albeit of his own free will. Why wouldn't he?

Within intimate inches of the songstress, he could feel her welcoming breath against his skin. He smiled as his dark eyes traced along the beautiful features of her face, stopping at her mouth, "Brava," he whispered. Unrestrained, he lifted a hand and was about to trace a knuckle down the curve of her delicate cheek when he felt an intrusion. The sound of pebbles shifting beneath someone's feet pulled his attention away. A man, a fisherman, was making his way towards them. Turning fully to receive the other, he sheilded his new acquaintance, and he muttered over his shoulder, "It seems as if someone has answered the call."

She shifted just slightly behind Val as he moved to shield her, though it felt almost theatrical. It felt like she was playing a role she didn’t fully believe in. Her fingers hovered near his arm for a moment before lightly brushing against it, grounding herself in his presence rather than the pull of the stranger.

“Seems I’m getting better at this,” she murmured, her voice softer now out of slight nervousness for she was slightly smitten. She gave him an amused look, "but I'll admit, I like the company I have now. Tell me, who are you- and where are you from."

She watched him with a quiet fascination. It slowly settled inside her because it felt as though he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, not even her, and that alone made him stand out more than if he had been. He builds because he wants to, not because he needs to be seen doing it. That kind of person is rare. “That makes sense,” she said, her voice softer now, more thoughtful than teasing. “There’s a difference between surviving your work and actually choosing it.” Her lips curved faintly as she glanced at his hair, then back to his face. “And maybe you’re right about not needing all that… but you’d be surprised what a small change can do. Not for others. For yourself.” She paused, then added a personal story, “I once had a man come in who hadn’t looked at himself properly in years. Wouldn’t even face the mirror at first. By the time he left, he stood a little straighter. Like he remembered he existed.”

"I think the kitty is a stray, wait," Marisol moved around so she can pull out the fresh fish from her early morning catch, getting the tiniest piece in the mesh basket in the sink, but compared to the size of the feline, it still looked pretty big. The cat was grateful nevertheless, picking it up with it's mouth and bringing it out to snack on it.

"You like animals, Greta?"