She spies the twinkling coast in the far distance, a stretch of cobalt kissing the sky.

I see it! Malkyn, I see water!

Her excitement bubbles through the bond in warm, golden waves, pushing and pulling and undulating with liveliness. Wings white as snow unfurl from her shoulder-blades, muscles rippling from the exhilarated energy thrumming just beneath the skin, spanning wide and churning the air until she’s going higher, higher, higher--the chime of a laugh escapes her lips and she’s shooting off towards the island in the distance.

She’s a white splash against the heavens, elegant in movement as her gold piercings catch the sunlight.

The air smells like salt, oh so familiar as it dances across her tongue. Flashes of a small village bloom in the back of her mind, of wooden cabins and a marketplace lit up by song, of a boulder sitting on the path and waves crashing at the base of a lighthouse, of a bird dropping a silver fish and a young ginger cat sliding down the bannister of her home; she grasps at the memory lovingly for once, holds it close to her chest and lets it carry her closer to Paradis Island.

Something rustles around in the depths of her long chest fur before shooting out in a flurry of brown-and-white feathers.

”Boob, can you see it? It’s glorious, isn’t it?”

The ferruginous pygmy owl lets out a melodic trill in response.

They follow the stretch of land, a five-foot hellhound and her much smaller companion side-by-side, until they reach the wall declaring the presence of civilization. Excitement aside, she leads the drop in altitude until her paws are skittering gently across the fine sand, leaving dimpled heart-shaped pawsteps across the stretch of land between the rails and the saltwater bordering the land bridge.

Talia takes a deep breath, letting the scent of the ocean bleed into every fiber of her being until she feels as if she might be glowing with it. Her eyes fall shut for a second to revel in the moment, wind stirring the golden bells dangling from the braids on her mane, and when she opens them again they’re shining with a sheen of unshed tears.

”Ring the bell, if you’d be so kind, friend?”

Boob whistles an affirmative and flutters towards the ribbon. It digs its talons into the material and gives it one determined pull, letting go only when it emits a mighty toll. Satisfied, the bird returns and perches on one of Talia’s four antlers, digging its beak into its chest to scratch.

Malkyn, my love, I think I may have found our new home.

© LEXASPERATED

He used to think he would always hate the sound of the bell, that every time he heard the resonating clang that male would feel a fit of rage begin to wash over his skin. It was a sensation that usually fuels his anger, the fire in his belly, crackling against the flames until he felt himself lose control. Reason and logic would fail him in those moments, aggression overwhelm him. Although Bakugou still held the same rudeness in his tone, lack of interest in those around him, the sound of the bell gave him comfort more than anything. He liked the idea that there was now something for him to do and focus on, relax in the idea that was occupied. He felt far more tranquil doing something involving the border of The Typhoon than sitting around and waiting for things to happen. It led to less dramas because, as he has come to learn, politics and joiners weren't all too bad. At least scuffles at the border were temporary, often over and done with (unless it came to an enemy), compared to having a kerfuffle erupt within Barracuda Bay. Grudges held more impact when you lived around them.

The sight of a hellhound and her bird wasn't something that surprised or intimidated him. He has seen a number of pirates own pets, having once seen one of them own a saltwater crocodile. Hellhounds, on the other hand, he was familiar with them as if they were simply another breed of wolf considering the fact that he had met a number of time during his time. His sanguine eyes catch the swinging bell that was coming to a stop, little motions now before letting his gaze swim towards Luciferus and Cleo. They had already asked the necessities, flicking his ear as he pondered whether or not to simply stand there mute or speak up. Normally, Bakugou wouldn't say anything, simply adding towards the life The Typhoon seemed to radiate, participating as part of the backdrop. But it was hard to ignore a certain detail about the woman because it was not one he often saw in foreigners who stood around their railroad gait. "You sure look cheery to be here," he states, raising a figurative brow because he couldn't quite understand why. He was trying to think up possibilities. Maybe it was because she knew someone else was residing in The Typhoon, maybe it was because she had a resting smile. Regardless, he felt almost threatened by it.

The sight of a dragon brings a pang of half-exhilaration and half-longing as it swoops down in a streak of black and crimson, face halved in contrasting hues. Her tongue flickers against the back of her teeth, tracing ever so gently as she waits for the behemoth to speak, remembering all the times she'd been what he is now and reveled in the novelty of being a creature spoken only in myths and legends. Perhaps without the wings but certainly up to scale...

Boob shifts on her head and brings her back in the present, catching the tail end of his question but guessing the gist all the same.

"Hail, ser! Talia Pendragon, of the no-lands. I seek refuge in your island, if your laws permit," she begins with a deep bow, one wing coming to the front and pressing against her chest. The gesture is nostalgic, familiar--she'd always been a bit of a stickler for courtesies. "I was born in a coastal clan, and it's a coastal clan I wish to call a new home."

She rights herself and finds several more figures that have appeared in the vicinity, seafoam eyes taking care to observe them all. The first is a small bengal, unassuming and avoiding her gaze--curious, Talia thinks, very curious as she does so. It reminds her of her sister, of Fayz, of Melanie who had been her daughter.

"This one?" Her gaze flickers upward, only barely seeing the bird perched on her antlers. Boob appears to sense the attention and whistles a tune, feathers puffed up and ruffled. "This one goes by Boob, short for... well, I've forgotten what it's short for, but she doesn't seem to mind." As if in response, the pygmy owl blinks its eyes and clicks its beak, but shows no outward sign of indignation.

The second is a cream-colorer feline, long of fur and red of eyes like the younger that had come before him. He seems a silent type, rough in demeanor, but she doubts that that's all there is to the young man. People have many facets; she would know, she's seen many in her time. Never is one person exactly what they seem.

"People have said I smile even at the most inopportune moments," comes the hellhound's admission, cocking her head to the side but never letting her expression waver. It's what she was once known for. Even in the throes of chaos, she'd kept a smile on her face, manic as it might have been. She'd smiled through tragedy and smiled through loss, smiled through tears, smiled through her own death--she'd smiled because it was the only other thing she could control in a world of uncontrollable factors. "If I frowned because my life is shit, to me it would be like conceding defeat, and I don't like losing. I smile when I can, because I can."

The third is even younger, younger yet carrying a weapon that speaks of stories untold. Who had given it to them, and why? Had it been a parent or a friend, one of the people around her or one she'd yet to meet, and for what purpose? Talia parks the question in the back of her mind and lowers herself ever so gently, until she's almost eye-level to the armed combatant-to-be.

It takes only a second for her smile to grow softer.

"What's your name, stranger?" There's a serene quality to her voice, wispy as it takes hold of nostalgia bubbling soothingly underneath the surface. Adelaide, can you see? They're just like you when you were young. "I'm Talia. People call me Ta, sometimes."

Talia stills when CC approaches, even more when a tiny little paw touches the tip of her heart-shaped nose. When she breathes, it's with tiny gentle gasps, shallow and insuffecient but she'll be damned to let this moment flutter away from her grasp before she can fully understand the powerful thrum of familiarity in the air.

Her smile spreads, widens, awed in tone as she lowers her head to help the young kit reach one of her antlers.

She feels... tranquil. She certainly hasn't felt that in a long time.

"I'm pleased to meet you, CC," she whispers back, voice buzzing with glee. "I think your name is very pretty, too, did you know that?"

Caught in the moment, she barely feels the thump, thump, thump of heavy footfalls until Owen is in close proximity, but she doesn't move from her spot close to the ground. Let them think what they will of her posture and position, she wouldn't dare move in fear that it might startle her new acquaintance. Instead, she twists her head slightly to the side to flash one seafoam eye at him, the edge crinkling softly with her smile.

"I dare to disagree, I think it's quite important to identify your position in the Clan. You should be proud of your achievements." She blinks at him once in acknowledgement. A dinosaur, certainly not one she's seen before but she isn't too surprised. How long ago has it been, again, since she happened upon a particularly rambunctious pack of them in the land-of-sky? "It's good to meet you, Owen."

With that, her attention shifts back towards CC. Because they had whispered, she whispers back and keeps her voice low, gentle. "You know, I bet you could scramble up there with my little friend. There's certainly enough space. Think of it as tree-climbing practice."

He wasn't expecting her words to be like that. Then again, there wasn't really a stereotype to place hellhounds into. They were all different in their own ways. Some aggressive, others charismatic and playful. They were just like any other species but still their unique appearances caused him to think along the lines of the demons who ran about The Typhoon. Her words were as if she were mentally preparing herself to be a pirate. While Bakugou, at this point in time, tried not to judge others too harshly on first impression, he felt that he would find her far too strange. He wasn't exactly used to talking to outgoing personalities, those who continued to smile as if there were nothing wrong with the world. Boob. His ear twitches irritably, wondering if the acronym were supposed to be some hideous joke. Then again, he wondered if animals even viewed the word the same way humans did back in his old world. He decides not to ponder on the woman's naming ability for long, fur bristling when she replies to his pointless statement. To fail to smile was to accept defeat. He almost felt a pang right then and there.

He too never wanted to accept defeat. He always wanted to come out victorious because it made him feel worthy. While others had a natural respect towards them, Bakugou had to win respect his own way. It was how the world had deemed him to be and sometimes he remembers feeling the wildest of grins upon his face when in pain, drawn into a situation where the odds looked to be against his very being. Sanguine eyes are drawn towards CCLIV and the knife she is still carrying with her, a tiny walking hazard. While he doesn't think she will injure anyone here in his presence, he does think she'll have the possibility of dropping the weapon and hurting herself. Bakugou doesn't think of anything in particular to Owen's introduction of himself but he does think of it being awfully annoying that the Striker didn't think to tell her she was accepted. He didn't like it when others ran off assumptions. "If you want in then you're in. I don't have anything against you joining The Typhoon," the Quartermaster says. Well, he doesn't have anything against her yet. He knows he'll likely find a way to make an enemy of her. It always happens.

The ragdoll looks around, knowing there is not much else for him to address. He is sure the hellhound would figure out where Barracuda Bay was eventually. Although he would usually point it out, he didn't seem to feel like it today. Besides, he thinks, she's fixated with CC. "Name's Bakugou," he adds before leaving, whiskers twitching, "And if you have any questions or problems, feel free to ask anyone else who isn't me."