OPEN lost in my mind

[kamo ichiro.]

Ichiro had long since decided that seawater felt strange on his scales and even worse on his fur. He could just about stand to dip his toes into the water, but any more than that was a sensory overload waiting to happen. Even still, the water was a welcome change from the sweltering heat that had overwhelmed him for the past several days.

The volcano erupted. Ichiro’s not entirely sure how, or why. These things don’t yet make sense to him. He’s heard the mutterings of his seniors, though; whispers that the Deities were angry. That seemed odd, to Ichiro. Both of them? Vayu and Requiem? How had they managed to get both the Gods’ tails in a knot?

He heavily contemplates that question, choosing instead to focus on trying to understand the everything that’s happened over the last few days rather than focusing on how absolutely abhorrent the salty water feels all over him as he washes that nasty, hot, smoky smell off his scales and out of his fur. He’s lucky, he thinks distantly; he could’ve been like old Valerius, dead and cannibalised by one of his friends. Though it doesn’t seem like the worst way to go, per tradition, the thought of dying isn’t all that appealing to Ichiro’s young mind. He hasn’t lived yet. He still has a lot to experience, or so the seniors say.

The silence of the beach is disturbed by his grunting and grumbling as he scrubs his fur down. He’d tried grooming the natural way, but it turns out smoke tastes foul, and he’d quickly abandoned that idea.

Poor old Valerius, he thinks. It must’ve been painful to die like that. Hopefully he’s having a better un-life with Requiem, though. His death sure did seem to appease the Deities. 

Dimly, Ichiro wonders how Ryosuke is doing. Is he okay? Did he make it to safety? Why hasn’t he come back yet? Will Ichiro ever see him again?

He tries not to think about Ryosuke too much. Whenever he does, all he can picture is his kōhai’s skull in Meteor’s satchel, instead of Valerius’s. And that makes him sad.

[Chernabog]

It had been ages since Chernabog was a child. A hatchling. The memories were long-since faded in her ages-long life. But she remembered her mother and father, the monsters who trained and taught and loved her. A love she'd long since stopped yearning for.

She opted to walk along the black sands, talons sinking into the grains and irritating her palms and feet-pads. She didn't show her discomfort in the way she walked in an almost regal fashion - had she been a figment of myth, she could have made a wonderful goddess.

Her ominous, glowing yellow eyes were focused on the small snake-cat.. what a strange creature. A mix of her least favorite and most favorite animals. His black scales rivaled her night blue ones. Her chapped, scaly lips parted as she spoke, "Sand getting to you, little one?"

"It is not a pleasant feeling," she spoke with a fiery tone, but softly in volume, "Even for me." 

[w]isker

[kole.]

Visiting the various beaches scattered across the islands wasn't a rare occurrence for Kole, though admittedly even he detested the feeling of sand in his fur. Why, then, had the sanguine hungered coyote chosen to make a tropical island his home? A question he asked himself a lot; particularly after the eruption. Nevertheless, he had, and to even his own surprise he liked it here enough to stick around for longer than he'd ever really intended to do. Whether that was because of the benefits he received from being a 'Descendant' or because of perceived attachments to other members was yet to be seen, of course...

"It can be pretty gross," Kole sympathised as well, as he came to a stop beside Chernabog. The dragoness made him feel small in a way that he was decidedly not used to, and he wondered briefly if this is how he'd made people feel in his old wyvern body, back in the good old days.

Looking between Ichiro and Chernabog, it's not hard to spot why the dragoness would be a little soft with the strange hybrid creature. Even if he were to disregard that they were, in fact, somewhat similar; the runt had a way of softening even the hardest of hearts, it seemed. His own included, though he'd never admit it openly. "Seems you two have it worse than I do, though," he muttered, eyeing their scales with distaste. Even when he'd been inhabiting the body of a wyvern, he'd been made of foliage, not scales. He couldn't imagine how awful such a grainy texture as sand would feel on scales.

[kamo ichiro.]

Ichiro had heard Chernabog coming of course, because it was hard to be spooked by a big dragon lady. He'd been snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of her footsteps, though muffled as they were by the black sand under-paw. He turned around, blinked rapidly up at the big woman, and decided she probably knew what she was talking about in the scales department.

Hey, maybe she could even give him some scale-care tips?

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word in edge-wise, Kole had also approached. Now, he was so distracted by Scale Mom that he didn't hear the coyote approach and was momentarily spooked by the vampire's voice, his hood flaring defensively. Once he realised who it was, of course, he calmed right back down again. He licked his chest fur a few times, embarrassed.

"I've got nothing to do because Ryosuke is still missing," Ichiro complained quietly, dragging himself out of the water and shaking off his fur to dry off a little. Water splatters everywhere, but somehow Ichiro is still wet. This sucks. "I'm bored, and the sand keeps getting stuck under my claws and in my scales, and it hurts."