But I've Never Met Anyone Else Like Him (Pash'nar)

[Sariana]

74th Day of Spring, After Sunset

It was easy to be here, in the night, listening to the soft crashing of waves on the darkened sands. The sea-breeze blew hard here, twisting and tugging on thick raven tresses, fluttering soft white cotton against bare legs. It was beautiful here, the moon shone down on the ocean with a decedent hand and caused it to glitter like jewels. Sariana had made her way to the beach, barefoot and sword-less. Did she trust Pash'nar enough to be unarmed? Something in her did...something stronger than her usual self preservation. It made her feel more naked then standing in the bath without an item of clothing on.

The drykas had worn her white tunic dress, scrubbing and soaking in a strong smelling soap all through the day till it had come up whiter than it had ever been. She figured, if there was swimming to do, it would be easier to dry a cotton dress then it would be to rework leather. Or buy new blades. The salt water would rust them right off her back.

Closing her eyes, the warrior breathed deeply and sighed, wondering if she was going to be left waiting forever. Maybe he had said all he said just to get her off his back...maybe she was going to be standing here till morning. Looking down at the sands, Sariana wriggled her toes and kicked it a little. She reached up to push her hair out of her face as another strong breeze tossed it around.

"What are you getting me into?" The brunette whispered to the wind, trusting in her friend and curious to see what she would find on her path. Closing her eyes again, she remembered the night before. His gaul, his cheek, his sad story.

His lips..his breath in her ear...

"Damn it." Sariana muttered, opening her eyes and kicking at the sand again in frustration. Where the petch was he?

[Pash'nar]

The daylight had, for once, not entirely been wasted. Pash apparently still had some sliver of Ionu's luck with him, for while it had been tempting to whittle away Syna's brightness drinking, he'd been surprised to run into old Svefra friends. Friends with a ship large enough for a horse and three women. He'd sold himself out for the ride, too .. well, sold his services by offering to scout ahead in his smaller, faster, more agile casinor while they provided the room and the board. It was a worthwhile trade, but one he was forced to keep to himself once the sunset left him clothed in moonlit skin once again. Without the secure moorings of an actual dock, the strong winds had shifted his ship with its anchor in the sand, which forced him to not simply wade, but to actually swim a small distance to shore. Leth's face was filling out again, slowly turning back to face the land of mortals, to glare at his own existence. It made his old, rickety ship stand out like a black smudge against the twinkling waves of the sea, though he was sure it would just appear to be some other ship to one not used to comparing. Sariana surely wouldn't recognize it … say … tomorrow. He slipped over the deck and into the still-cool (no, no, petching cold) salt water just as the sun hid her own visage and twighlight began to give way to the cover of night. Yes, he let the Drykas wait. On purpose. While he was confident he was far enough away to be unseen as he swam toward shore, Sariana stood out on the dark beach like a lantern lit for guidance. Her white dress caught the earliest moonlight and Pash let the soft white glow become his cardinal direction, navigating to shore. Had he anticipated a little? Perhaps, and it felt strange. Not uncomfortable, but different. The woman from the Sea of Grass seemed to confuse his sea legs if he spent too much time in thought about her. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. He preferred to keep his wits. He needed to keep his secrets. The waves pounded the surf with foam, and once he could touch the sand with his bare feet, he stood, sea water only adding reflection to his nightly opalescence. By then, he was hard to miss, though he had the afterthought to weigh himself down with his pants at least, for courtesy more than functionality when dealing with the ocean and, occasionally, women. Was his discomfort obvious? Did his wariness show on the pale imitation of immortality that remained as his visage? For once, he hoped not too much. Still, this woman didn't even know how many seasons he'd watched come and go. Breakers were crashing at his knees when he finally bothered to shout above the wind, "Ahoy!" The ethaefal smiled, though he was a bit more cold than he expected, running long fingers through wet hair instead of waving, slowing his approach once the tide lapped at his ankles, "Didja remember how to swim yet … or were you just teasin' me last night?"

[Sariana]

As the moon slowly climbed into the sky, its light brighter and brighter still, Sariana glanced up and down the beach again. She sighed softly, and found herself disappointed. It seemed, that indeed the elegant ethaefal had decided not to come. Making to turn away, the drykas raised her gaze one last time to the ocean - only to stop in her tracks. Slowly, she smiled. Pash'nar had kept his words...and the woman couldn't help but watch.

The moon kissed creature rose from the waves like some sort of mythical being, shimmering both from the light above and the light reflected from the waves. His skin all but glowed as water cascaded from his shoulders, dripping out of his hair and running in rivulets down the chiseled planes of his perfect form. In the moonlight, his curved horns shone like polished marble, framing a beautiful (yes, he was beautiful...handsome just seemed injust) face. Sariana wondered for a moment whether he was going to emerge naked from the waves - something she found herself quite happy to believe - but as his waist began to push through the water, she caught the dark leather of his pants.

"Karthius...if this was what you wanted my path to lead to..then when we meet again I owe you a drink." She breathed as the ethaefal broke through water, closing the distance between herself and the waves with a hearty greeting call. Pash'nar ran his hands through his hair, and the blue eyed woman had to stop her eyes roaming. It was petching difficult. Gathering herself, the brunette grinned and walked towards the water to meet the unlikely sailor where the cold liquid lapped at his ankles.

"Swimming...mmm...I think I got it down pat. I guess we'll be finding out shortly." Stepping closer, Sariana allowed the water to sweep over her own feet. It was a lot colder than it looked, which caused the warrior to almost laugh out loud. If she thought this was petching cold, what in all the Gods names was she going to do in Avanthal? The woman looked out over the waves, nodding her head in the direction of a silhouette on the water, away from the rest of the boats and destroyed docks.

"Is that yours there?" She asked, keeping her eyes away from his glowing form lest she found herself staring. This close, he looked even more-so like the stone carving he seemed to be...and if she desired she could reach out and touch him. The desire to ran deeply, her curiosity wanting to see if his skin was as soft as it had felt last night. Instead, she curled her hand into the hem of her dress to still the urge...thankful in the moonlight he wouldn't be able to see the flush across her cheeks.

[Pash'nar]

Could he just take her here on the beach? Would she object? With the docks destroyed, it wasn't like there were enough other bodies around to care, especially after sunset. Not that it would have mattered to the ethaefal—he'd lived too long to be particularly concerned about the sensitivities of others. What was the Drykas here for anyway? She wouldn't have made the same request of a swarthy Svefra (the angry one covered in drool on the same beach just a sunrise ago) even though he knew there was no difference save the seeming that veiled him. She would know soon enough, and Pash'nar was certain she would be angry with his purposeful deception—deception he currently took unabashed pleasure in. He didn't particularly feel guilty. No, not yet. Maybe he should have, but he was to calloused and untamed to always consider his consequences before taking action. "Aye, that's th'one." Horned head tilted in the indicated direction, though his tide pool gaze remained on Sariana as she fidgeted and looked away. He didn't hesitate to snatch her hand from its hiding place, possessing a careless boldness where she faltered, intimidated as she appeared to be by his moonlit visage and its hints of otherworldliness. His was cold, but nothing like the opalescent stone he otherwise seemed carved out of by Leth's own craftsmanship. He was most certainly made of flesh and bone, now hardly remembering a time when things were ever different. "No grass here, though." He taunted with a slow-blooming grin, "Just cold brine and sand. It'll get deep before it gets shallow again at th'sand bar. We ain't gotta swim if you'd rather stay on the beach." Not that he was sure of what she wanted. He tugged gently, testing her willingness to feel the chill of the sea.

[Sariana]

Looking down quickly at the hand that grasped her own, the brunette opened her mouth to speak, but instead simply smiled and glanced up at him. The ethaefal's hand was cold, but it wasn't stone. It was living flesh, and with time it would warm with their combined body heat. Something sparked inside the drykas as she stood hand in hand, ankle-deep in the ocean with Pash'nar. He looked like something that artists sculpted in their ecstatic moments of divinity, yet for all his moonlit glory...the sailor was a man. A deeply mysterious, complicated, living breathing man.

Laughing at his comment, Sariana tucked her hair behind her ear and waved her hand dismissively.

"Yeah, grass..water...its all the same concept." Smiling still as he tugged on her hand, the blue eyed woman followed him into the water, breathing out slowly through her teeth as the cold water washed over her shins. The hem of her dress absorbed the water quickly, clinging to her thighs as they moved deeper still. Catching her breath, Sariana laughed again.

"I didn't come all the way out here to get sand in strange places. I want to see what this fuss about the ocean is all about. Why do you ask..?" Pulling her hand from his, the brunette grinned as she moved away into the deeper water, ducking down till the waves lapped at her chin.

"Afraid I might beat you there?" It was an utterly hollow threat, but with a playful splash the warrior turned and began to swim for the silhouette in a smooth breast-stroke. Her swimming expertise consisted of childhood trips to streams and rivers that flowed around the Sea Of Grass, and one dip in the ocean as she passed by Riverfall. To say she could swim, did not mean she was a swimmer. Still, she found herself delighting in the game, trying her best to pull away from Pash'nar. It gave her a chance to collect her senses after his elegant and somewhat charming arrival.

Ducking under water for a stroke, the woman broke the surface and pushed the water out of her eyes. Just how petching far was that boat? Her body had become used to the chill against her skin, but the wind that blew steadily across the water reminded the drykas that it would be unbelievably cold when they got out. Still, even with the game and the ethaefal swimming along in the ocean as well, the young woman felt refreshed and happy...as though an invisible weight had been lifted. Syrilas was a devastating place to dwell.

[Pash'nar]

"Don't push your petchin' luck." Laughed the ethaefal at her taunt before Sariana began to swim away. Horned head tilted slightly, waiting for the next rolling wave, before the lithe shard of moonlight disappeared completely under its watery darkness. Swimming in this seeming always felt strange, if only because in the daylight the water was so much more a natural home. Still, he'd been around the ocean in this lifetime and the last, so it wasn't to say he didn't know what he was doing. He brushed purposefully past the Drykas—his cool skin against hers—swimming beneath her without surfacing, long strokes pulling him ahead. He surfaced with the next wave in a toss of sea foam hair and another coarse sound of amusement, "You're a brave lass t'meet a stranger in th'sea after dark unarmed'n'all." Pash'nar taunted from a safe distance, treading the cold water and gleaming under the moon. He licked saltwater from thin lips, grinning broadly as he all-but purred, "I ain't safe, y'know." He inhaled and dove under the next wave, not waiting for a response. Barely visible despite his opalescence, the unlikely sailor stayed just out of the woman's reach, though he let the distance between them creep together. Just as his old casinor loomed above them in the dark, he came up again for a breath. His home wasn't close enough to touch, but worn wood creaked against the waves and wrapped sails flapped in the stiff breeze. The ethaefal waited, swimming slowly backwards, watching Sariana swim in white-clad silhouette. Even though he already knew what she looked like without a hint of clothing, it was still that much more interesting to consider. Still, he found his ego remained a little sore—that it was always easier for him to win trust under the moon than under the sun—and he tried not to resent that even a woman who would just as quickly attack him in broad daylight would meet him alone on the same beach at night. Surely, he was taking advantage of such trust by enjoying the moment before he was forced to place his cards face-up on their table. "Or maybe y'don't mind that." He added at last as he lazily rest a hand on the hull of his casinor, rocking with the waves and wind. Despite the reflection of the moonlight, it was still hard to read the name, worn and poorly written. He turned his back to the Drykas and found familiar ropes and holds, lifting his statuesque form out of the water and onto his deck with practiced ease. He hissed in the wind—it was petching cold when wet—and leaned over the rail to offer his glistening hand again with a sly but distant smile, "Still wanna come up?"

[Sariana]

Sariana laughed as she felt Pash'nar pass underneath her, his pale skin brushing against her own tanned as they connected briefly under the black waves. It was a little terrifying to feel something pass under you in the deep water, especially at night, even if you knew what it was. As he broke the surface, the drykas swam towards him, listening to his taunt with another chuckle. It was true, she had risked a lot by coming out into the deep water with the near stranger, someone who was obviously more at home in the depths than she was - her rapiers safely tucked away back at camp. But the woman wasn't completely defenseless. She had fists, and feet, and the feeling of familiarity. Her trust was not placed in the ethaefal teasingly swimming just out of her reach, it was placed in Karthius' guidance - whether it was misguided or not.

Reaching the side of the boat, Sariana tried to make out details. It was worn, old...there may or may not have been a name painted on the side once. It was far to dark to make it out anyway. Watching carefully, she paid attention to the way Pash'nar pulled himself out of the water and onto the boat. The ethereal creature made it look so easy. Smiling at the hand offered to her, the young woman grabbed the rope and found the holds, reaching up to take his cold hand when she was close enough. Her warm smile suddenly turned into a wry grin and she tugged hard on the man whilst he leaned over, off balance and just a tad to far over the boat. As he tumbled over the side, she quickly scaled the rest of the rope and swung her legs over onto the deck with a laugh. Reaching up the warrioress pulled on the near-transparent white fabric of her dress that clung to her like a second skin, droplets catching the moonlight as she stretched up to push her drenched locks back.

"Or maybe, you under estimate the stranger you chose to meet in the dark and allow her passage onto your vessel.." Leaning casually on the side rail, the drykas grinned widely as she looked down at him.

"I don't deal with safe very often." Sariana said with a raised eyebrow, long hair falling in a cascade off her shoulder to drip salt-water back into the body of water it had come from.

[Pash'nar]

He chuckled as he watched her climb, his way, refusing his hand until the last minute. Leaning over the rough edge of his bilge rail, the ethaefal had to admit he enjoyed the view of watching a glistening woman approach from below. Cerulean eyes widened once he realized the subtle difference in her grip, but by the time he opened his mouth to object, it was too late. Over the side of his own ship he went, a string of sailor curses (not all of them in Common) escaping his lips before he smacked the white-capped wave below at an unexpected angle, skin burning. He disappeared under the water, swallowing brine. He surfaced again, sputtering and laughing, hands reaching to toss pale hair from his pale face, only to pause for a moment and stare back up at the Drykas all smug and distractingly lovely by moonlight. "Well, petch me—" He coughed sea water before reaching to climb back up to his own deck, grinning wickedly as he leapt over his rail, "—I didn't take you for th'pirate type. I'll give that point t'you … for now." Pash'nar exhaled chidingly through his teeth with another wink, reluctantly dragging his cerulean eyes from the woman on his casinor. Petch me, indeed. He hummed, turning away from Sariana to sweep a hand across the dark swath of his ship, "I s'pose I should welcome you aboard. She ain't much, but she's mine." He laughed, ocean water still burning his lungs. The wind was stronger out at sea than it was on the beach. He shivered, smooth pale hands moving to rub moisture from his hand-carved arms and chest, "Judgin' by your blades, I guess you're used t'unsafe, eh?" He could accept that. Not all fun things were safe. Statuesque shoulders rolled like the waves and he leaned against the ropes to his mainsail, "Didja want a tour, then?" The casinor creaked and rolled, worn wood obviously old but well cared for. A single mast, currently with sails neatly folded and put away, reached to pierce the brilliant stars above. The boat itself was almost 30 feet in length, narrow and light. While it most likely could hold a fair amount of cargo, what Sariana couldn't see is how most of below deck had been turned into the ethaefal's personal living space.

[Sariana]

Chuckling, Sariana stepped back from the side to allow the sailor to board his own ship, smirking in delight as he gave her a win. It was somewhat satisfying to watch the moon-kissed Pash'nar as he swam with strong pulls back to the boat and heaved himself aboard. Allowing her eyes to follow the sweep of his arm, the woman picked out shapes and silhouettes on the deck.

"It's bigger than it looks from over there." Sariana said, gesturing to the beach back in the distance. Turning her smile on the ethaefal, the drykas raised an eyebrow as she purposefully looked him up and down.

"My life hasn't been anything if not exciting. The blades just make it less...life threatening." Lifting her gaze, she glanced up at the mast. It was impressive, more so than the tiny woven rafts some of the hunters used to get down rivers quickly. It was also to dark to make out much of anything.

And it was really petching cold.

Shivering, the woman pulled the cold wet fabric away from her torso before wrapping her arms over her chest...aware quite suddenly of how her body had reacted to the cold - and perhaps the statuesque being beside her. Goosebumps rose on her arms and legs, and when the wind blew gustily, she shivered slightly. As the boat rolled on the waves, Sariana released her hold on her modesty (if she could say that) and grabbed the closest rope to keep her balance. The grassland born warrioress wasn't used to things moving underfoot.

"The grand tour? There's more to this thing?" The sound of her voice indicated she didn't realize that the boat had anything more than a hull and a deck. When he'd said he lived on his boat, the woman had pictured a man with a tent on a ship. Letting go of the rope, the young woman moved closer to the man, reaching out with a tight grip on his upper arm as the boat rocked again.

"Is it...warmer on the grand tour?" Sariana asked as she looked at him with slightly widened eyes. The rocking unsettled her.

[Pash'nar]

Pash'nar was used to the motion of a ship, his ship specifically. He seemed to sway with everything else, some moonlit extension of the hull itself. Sea legs, he would have called it, had he thought the comment would have mattered. Instead, it was all he could do not to follow the sweep of her arm back over her chilled, wet form as she steadied herself against his own. He willed himself to only glance at her hand, dug as it was into the pale, clammy muscle of a bicep. He bit his lip, though the discomfort of wet linen pants was no less warming to his own body. He chuckled, nodding a dripping, horned head as he slipped away from the jib line, reaching both hands to take Sariana's firmly, walking backwards as he guided her with a warm, sly smile, "D'you think I sleep on deck in the rain?" He teased, not having the slightest clue that, yes, indeed, the Drykas assumed it to be so, "It's my house belowdecks, an' yes, it's warmer but it ain't any less rocky." The unlikely sailor ducked the boom without looking, knowing each shape of his old casinor like it really was his own flesh. Still stepping with the motions of the waves, he carefully led the woman away from the stern toward a little hatch of a door barely visible even under the rising moon. Releasing one of her hands, he smirked wanly, offering a quiet warning as he opened the creaky door with his free hand and began to descend into the darkness of his home, "If'n the motions make you feel like you're gonna hurl, give me a warnin' an' look out for my maps." Offering his support to the Drykas until he led her hand to the handrail of his very short stairs, his own grip may have lingered, cold pale fingers sliding away to fumble in the dark to find light, "Wait'ere a chime'r'two." There was a thump and a crack, some more sea worthy swearing, and finally the oil was relit in a tiny glass bell, warm glow reflecting off moist, opalescent skin, milky curved horns, and old, worn wood, "Like I said, it ain't much, but it's home." The stairs ended in an archway that opened into a surprisingly tall-ceilinged room. Pash set about lighting an additional lantern that revealed the room was like a living room of sorts, strewn about with papers and charts, some cushions and nautical-inspired humble decorations, and a small table with a bench, all attached to the body of the ship. Porthole windows reflected inky water and nightfall, with the cabin windows acting as skylights to the stars. The whole ceiling of the cabin, once the ethaefal swung his small lamp upwards was an enormous hand-drawn work of cartographer's art—the night sky spanned in black ink across his entire roof. The opposite wall of the room was a tiny mess of sorts, with an oil stove and some cabinets, a small counter and some shelves. It was all rudimentary and miniature in scale, especially when compared to the towering shard of moonlight who swayed next to it. A narrow hall disappeared beside the stairs to what could have been storage. A curtain swayed at the farthest end of the cabin's common room, which most likely hid where the man slept. "Don't mind th'mess," he muttered, setting the lantern on a hook from the intricate ceiling. The inside creaked and moaned with the waves, and the sound of them washing on the hull seemed to reverberate through flesh as well as wood. It was warmer below without the wind. Cozy. Not as small as expected, but not large either. Everything felt old, well-used, cared for. The mess of papers appeared to all be maps, currents, star-charts, numbers, and other nonsense. Pash'nar was a navigator, after all. "Petch, let me get you somethin' dry, eh?" He had been watching the Drykas shiver, perhaps with a bit too much enjoyment, tide pool gaze pulling away from her exposed skin to disappear behind his curtain, "Make y'self at home. Jus' remember no petchin' mess on my charts." He understood the toss of the sea affected those who weren't so part of it as he was, but he did so hope to keep any of Sarinah's insides from decorating his cabin. He returned having escaped the cold wet cling of his own pants, donning a threadbare towel to keep the peace between them (though it was tempting not to) and bearing a blanket from the pile of them he'd declared a bed, "So, that's it… Now you've seen m'boat." The ethaefal's features creased into a taunting grin, as if he meant to imply there was more she was missing.