sand art — ship to shore

[Kian.]

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Kian Ó Faoláin

The Irishman found dividing his time between the archipelago and the desert an interesting experience.  The travel itself kept his paws busy, but the pirate had never enjoyed sitting still anyway.  In fact, the small wildcat had set to moving his paws almost as soon as he returned to the Typhoon's sandy shores.

With meticulous care and focus, the faerie dragged his paws over a large swath of open sand, slowly but surely carving out the distinct shape of curving ocean waves.  Spending any time with his cousin often inspired Kian's artistic side -- though he did not have the same flair for paint as Gael, the pirate thought himself at least somewhat good at sand art, among other more 3D crafts.

Of course, part of him now wondered if he could make a few sandcastles -- he was already on the beach and covered in sand anyway.  I'd need a bucket.

We'll all be returning, if we sail together

[salem]

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♦ | SALEM

Wrapped in steady green vines, dark paws treaded lightly over the sand.  The kodkod found it difficult not to enjoy the ocean; more so with the connections it held to both his best friend and his sister, wherever the latter had wandered off to.  Consequently, Salem spent a good portion of free time silently wandering the shore, breathing in the familiar salt air.

While it took him a moment to comprehend the impressive patterns in the sand, Salem recognized Kian immediately -- for his connection to Keona, in particular.  Despite knowing about Kian's lighthearted and friendly demeanor, the wildcat often felt at loss with how to approach him.  The status of Keona's father simply carried an unintentional weight with it.

Reluctant to be caught staring however, the small feline padded over, dark eyes tracing the sand in wonder.  Summer possessed a similar talent; carving shapes and pictures into the sand -- he could not help but be impressed, certain if he attempted something similar, he would ruin the outline halfway through.  "That looks amazing," he praised, ears folded back sheepishly against his quiet voice.

Ducking his head, Salem continued, shifting his weight to and from each paw.  "How are you...?"  Kian? Sir? Traveling between the Typhoon and Pitt no doubt took time and effort, although the other didn't seem particularly tired to him.

I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat ♦  salem / faemor / crewmate

[roan ;]

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｢ NOW THESE DAYS ARE GONE, I'M NOT SO SELF ASSURED ｣

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BIOGRAPHY —–—

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TOYHOUSE —–-—

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SOOTHSAYER –-—

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TYPHOON —–-—

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Kian. Despite the other's status as his uncle, Roan actually didn't know all that much about the other male. He respected him, and considered him to be family, but there was a bit of a disconnected between the medic and his father's side of the family. Not an intentional one, though. Séamus had just... never really been around, due to his work, so Roan had never learned much about that particular side, outside of Keona. His half-sister filled in a few of the blanks, but... well, there was a big difference between hearing about someone from somebody else, and actually getting to meet them. Regardless, the soothsayer had never exactly held negative feelings about his father's side of the family. In fact, if he had been a little less guarded, he might've wanted to learn a lot more about them. Nowadays though... doing so would just be inviting more pain into his life.

The male had actually been flying overhead when he noticed Kian's art in the sand, halting himself temporarily to look down at it. He considered just appreciating it and moving on, but... he didn't get to see Kian much these days, considering the other's ties to The Pitt. So, he might as well take what time he could get. Thinking of this, Roan slowly flew downwards, landing a bit away from Salem before he shook out his cream pelt. Inspecting the art up close, the draconic feline soon found himself muttering, tail flicking behind him, "...That's pretty good, Kian. Never realized that you were quite so creative." Roan had never been all that much of an artist, unless he was painting alongside Goldie in order to make her happy. Upon hearing Salem's question, the medic paused temporarily before adding on, "I trust that The Pitt is doing alright? Aine and Gael...?" It had been a while since he had seen either of them, considering he hadn't attended the last monthly meeting.[/td][/tr][/table]

[Keona.]

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keona sibéal ní faoláin.
the typhoon.
the blind dealer.
information.

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[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2a4971; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 13px;"]Idir brí is idir muir, Tá mé i dtiúin

Da.  Kian had always been that for her.  Séamus athair.  Kian had been the one who raised her.  The one who brought her to the Typhoon.  The one to fret and mother hen at times.  The one who gave her a love for song.  For the ocean.  Her direct connection to the water too... Came from him and his own.  It never surprised her to find him beside the shore.

Happy to have him back.  Unwilling to admit how uneasy it made her... Just the reminiscence of Séamus' spying days.  Even if he wasn't spying.  Just visiting.  Could return home whenever he felt.  But his back and forth wasn't quite... Organized yet...  From what she could tell anyway.  Simply based on when he felt like their cousins could use him around.

"Aloha, da," she chirped softly.  Ears perked to listen.  Salem and Roan already on top of the questions.  Her tail flicking idly.

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© MADI

[Grimm]

[align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 11.5px; width: 340px; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]Had he been informed on the matter of how each present bore a connection to one another his intrusion may not have occurred, beyond his understanding the ties, each fine strand an enigma. The fault his own, an inability to seek the information that was rather simple to obtain proven a hindrance, proven faulty his reasoning for not doing so numerous times over. Different the time during which his childhood had occurred, understood and expected change. Yet, to comprehend something as a fact and come to view it with acceptance acted as two differing points, a beginning and end he was caught in the middle of.

Was he not a fragment of it now, caught upon the fringes, one who had acted as a final piece of a diminished family caught in the undertow, distant but present his own connection to those present. Possibly, though the thought fit poorly, distant by choice.

As it was he bore no such knowledge, tedious and beyond him the distsngling of that which he found himself among, his curiosity unhindered in a budding desire to satiate it. Well accustomed had Harland grown to the various stretches of sand that ringed the archipelago, often drawn to them, though, in particular, his preference to the less populated easily learnt of. Different this day, it seemed, the constant sound of the waves overlaid with conversation, simple in nature, unhurried as assessed the creation carved into golden grains. This unobserved from the distance between, further fuelled his wish to decipher the cause for such assembly, slow the shift of attention.

Affinity for particular avenues of creation was held by the bombay, the feeling of his work coming together with each step offering a satisfaction little else gave him, though lacking a talent with such mediums. Painting beyond him, any sketching a messy scrawl rejected before completion, that which he looked upon with slightly widened eyes never even thought upon. That could not diminish the wonder the clean lines elicited, about edges moving, looked across at different angles the careful depiction.

"How did you keep it so neat…" Lips moved only slightly, words a dull murmur, all too easily determined thoughtless his remark. Attention diverting, art replaced by the artists, voice rising as best he was capable. "Your work is wonderful, to think sand is good for something." As he spoke once more his volume decreased, the secondary part of his remark nearly inaudible, largely a thought spoken aloud than something for any other.

[Kian.]

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Kian Ó Faoláin

With his usual jovial grin, Kian turned his head -- sea colored eyes gleaming.  He wondered if Salem enjoyed sandcastles, before remembering the topic at hand; Roan's own comments and inquiry bringing him back to the waves he had just finished. 

"Thank you, lads.  I dabble a little in a few arts. I like to think I can give Gael a run for his money, at least with sand, but I'm not so sure."  He had always thought very highly of his cousin's talents.

"Speaking of; everything's warming back up over there.  Slowly but surely.  Gael's been real patient and cool about it, so I think everything will be alright." The wildcat figured the desert would be back to blistering heat soon enough, with the jungle following more mildly after -- it had always been a little cooler beneath the canopy than the barren sands.

Fondness quickly sparked in his gaze as a smaller figure approached -- still a tiny copy of himself, though he wasn't that much taller.  "Dia dhuit, a stóirín," he purred in greeting.

As Harland spoke, Kian continued to grin, chuckling softly.  "It certainly sticks with you even after a nice project."  The faerie had half a mind to drop a real wave on himself, but if he planned on sandcastles, perhaps he should wait.

"As for how... Well, I just watch my step very carefully, and do my best to smooth everything out as I go."

"Now," the Irishman pushed his paws into the sand, restlessness growing further apparent. "I know Keo has always appreciated a good sandcastle, but how about the rest of you?"

We'll all be returning, if we sail together

[roan ;]

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｢ NOW THESE DAYS ARE GONE, I'M NOT SO SELF ASSURED ｣

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BIOGRAPHY —–—

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TOYHOUSE —–-—

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SOOTHSAYER –-—

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TYPHOON —–-—

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[td]

Things were finally warming up on The Pitt's territory, huh? That was certainly a good sign, at least to Roan. The last time he had visited them had been with Keona, and it had certainly been quite the shock to walk into their desert only to feel a chill in the air. He was glad that the family he had there was doing alright... and everyone else, he supposed, even though he didn't really care about any of them. The Pitt was only a neutral group, and the soothsayer barely knew anybody there, so he didn't see much reason to be worried about those were there, outside of Gael and Aine... oh, and Trygve. He had nearly forgotten about his brother being there.

Not wanting to get too caught up in his own thoughts – or his own bitterness – the siamese was quick to turn his attention back to Kian. He nodded in the other's direction, his voice even as he once again glanced in the direction of The Pitt, "...It's good to know that they're doing alright. I have to admit that it was really surprising to head over there and feel cold, for once." His blue gaze temporarily darkened as he continued, tail flicking behind him, "I hope that the snow won't melt too quickly, though. It wouldn't be much better if they ended up with flooding." Although, Roan doubted the flooding within the desert would be as bad as somewhere like The Typhoon. Most of the territory was flat and covered in sand, so the main jungle territory and actual town part would probably be in the most danger.

A good sandcastle. The words from his uncle caused Roan to pause, his head cocking to one side in thought. He couldn't recall the last time that he had actually made a sandcastle. Perhaps it had been back when he was just a kit, or maybe a little bit later than that. It certainly seemed like the type of activity that would be good for stress-relief, and he had turned to pretty much anything in the past to relieve the stress of his job. Still... he supposed it couldn't hurt too much to relax a little and spend some time with others. He could always get some rest afterwards to recooperate. With that in mind, the siamese muttered softly, "I suppose a sandcastle would be nice... it could make a pleasant little temporary decoration for the beach, along with the sand art." With that, he lifted up a bit of the sand that hadn't already been used, letting it slip easily through his toes. He had grown so used to the feeling of the beach that he hardly noticed the texture of the sand nowadays.[/td][/tr][/table]

[Grimm]

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stella amator
member of the typhoon
bombay
tags

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[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: georgia; color: #74657c; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-size: 12px;"]ALL THE STARS ARE FIXED UP IN THE SKY

Spirited seemed a somewhat unfitting descriptor, lacking the grandeur that bellied the manner the wildcat held himself, alight visage and voice in exuberation. Maybe requesting one that acted as a proper fit, that encompassed all in a neat and tidy fashion, simply a task much too grand to be accomplished. Better, possibly, the poor fit that allowed room for more, beyond the menial monikers that may be bestowed by one such as he. So, for the moment, it seemed rather apt to deem Kian as quite spirited.

Befitting, then, the spread of a smile that bore a mirth he felt reflected across his own lips as his gaze wandered upward, a poor mirror though one he allowed readily to stay. So too was his speech alight with a similar quality, light but tangible the presence of something more, accented in a way he had not noticed in others. Except for Keona. This thought drew his eye to the one in question, rapid the blinks he took as the realisation settled, the manner Kian spoke, though unknown the words through the barrier of language, and similarities evidence enough.

No time was presented where he may further dissect that, brief his turn to Salem and Roan, thoughts now occupied with the question of if they too bore similar connection, the chance taken as he was addressed in turn. Laughter followed the light remark, one that shrank the smile Harland bore yet genuine it now, hushed his own offered laughter. Indeed, no more correct a statement had he heard about the clinging grains. A shock had it been the first time, the texture and the manner it clung to each fine strand offering only confusion and questions, though time had seen him grown familiar with it.

Such meagre experience led to the query posed acted as another hole within his knowledge, slight the manner his head tilted as he pondered the implication. He knew of castles, seen them within the various picture books often used to put him to sleep as a child, though one of sand. "I've never made one before." The admittance was made in a sheepish tone, his gaze averted though, rather quickly, it was drawn back.

The comment of the coldsnap that had struck the Pitt was one he had not missed, though it had been dismissed out of hand, an oddity he deemed impossible. And yet it was corroborated by Roan, quelled any doubt though still did the idea fit poorly. Harland knew of the Pitt though he might not speak any further, his experience was only via talk as much too grand was the issues with other groups for them to be a priority before. It seemed he had been rather focused on issues at home over that at large, for now his questions were stowed, the agreement that building a sandcastle would be a pleasant pastime reason enough. He had no hand in that which occurred within the Pitt and asking may ruin a perfectly fine day, thus alone was it left for now as he awaited instruction.

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© MADI