There was something ironic having a familiar associated with water when you can't stand open bodies of water yourself. [break][break]

Deimos wasn't a familiar who enjoyed floating about his partner's conscience for protracted periods of time; he said there was something about stretching his wings, feeling the briskness of the breeze carding his feathers which he'd never tire of. Artemi supposed it was the side to his familiar that was more in touch with the animal he'd taken form of. It was in a bird's nature to fly, so he assumed, and it was no different for his heron familiar.[break][break]

But still... the beach?[break][break]

The witch likely stuck out like a sore thumb here. Dressed in his usual black slacks and white button-up, fully clothed, right to his shoes and socks; he was an odd sight to behold on the fair sands, slouched on a sun recliner in the refuge of a parasol. The book he'd brought so to keep himself entertained was lay across his chest, open but forgotten, and his eyes were elsewhere. Elsewhere being... the other beach-goers. [break][break]

Artemi had to hand it to them, to so brazenly strut about in pieces of clothing that, in another context, would be considered underwear. Despite never visiting a beach before moving south, it was still a little foreign to him. He didn't believe he could share the enjoyment this people so apparently got from prancing about in slivers of gaudy-coloured fabric that left little to the imagination, getting sand and salt in uncomfortable places, offering themselves to the sun's harsh rays as willing victims. Just the thought of it all made his own scalp itch and prickle. It would have to be quite a feat to entirely get out the irritating grains of sand from hair as thick and unruly as his own.[break][break]

It took a moment to realize that, in his pondering, his gaze had unfocused while watching a bikini-clad female comb her own damp hair. He winced as the plastic teeth snagged and pulled on knots teased into existence by the sea; no doubt the salt made it coarser and more of a challenge. Idly, he played with the ends of his own hair with a free hand and glanced a little to the side... and saw a face he... vaguely recognized staring right in his direction...? A Silverongue, a comrade.[break][break]

Ah... he'd been doing it again. The staring. The staring that Drakos discouraged, that apparently was unappreciated.[break][break]

Feeling as though he'd been caught, Artemi hastily averted his gaze elsewhere, to his familiar who stood, unmoving, by the very edge of the sea, appearing to merely enjoy feeling the cool water around his splindly yellow legs.

notes, x, its almost 5am, this isnt good /weeps[break]
tag, @nana