Back at Gateway Island, the whale-like, submarine-like urgan returned to "dock", where its wounds are tended to. Fortunately, they were only superficial, but even superficial wounds of such size require a bit of time and effort to clean properly so that they won't infect. For what it's worth, Arkold didn't spend any time in the brig. In fact, in an odd twist, he got some shore leave out of it, while "the situation is being evaluated".

A new day finds Arkold sitting up on Gateway Island – that is, the part sticking out above the water, not inside the network of tunnels and crystal domes. Oddly enough,people don't really spend much time up here. Maybe it's because of the ever present threat of freak storms, or a wave coming along that can completely bury the island in water in mere seconds. But so far, no such thing has happened. And it's the best chance for Arkold to get a place alone without anyone watching what he does in his private time.

Besides, it's a beautiful sunset.

With his hands buried in his pockets, the Jupani makes his way alone towards the shore. He keeps his head tilted towards the ground slightly as he watches the sun slowly creep beneath the waves. (Vhai. What a worthless captain.) He sighs tiredly as he moves further along. (Ship's not so bad though, assuming I'm not killed later for that stunt, and go back.)

Silhouetted against the sunset, a form leaps from the water in a graceful arc about twenty yards out, splashing back into the waves after seconds outside of it. A faint sound, like a giggle, carries in on the ocean breeze, as the head of the figure, topped by a mane of hair as white as the foam around it, emerges again from the ocean.

As the wolf proceeds along, the faint giggle prompts him to look around. His eyes settle on the white haired head off in the water, and he snorts. (Dagh's beard, now I'm seein' things … ) His eyes widen as he realizes that, no, it's not a trick ofthe light. Immediately, he reaches over his back for the sword he has sheathed there.

The entity in the waves does not yet seem aware of the man on the beach. Another leap carries the slender form farther above the surface, moving straight up while arms reach skyward, and long hair cuts a graceful arc through the air. A long, dolphin-like tail follows, and as the whole twists around against the backdrop of the sun, the body can be identified as distinctly female.

"Feh, another one of those Dagh cursed fish-things," mutters Arkold as he breaks into a sprint for the nearest cover. He hefts his bastard sword to one side, readying it now that it has been drawn, and keeping it where he won't trip over its steel blade.

A couple of seagulls – mundane, ordinary seagulls, not some sort of exotic alien equivalent – fight over some fish parts washed up on the beach.

Seashells clink about the mercat's wrists and neck when she does a neat mid-air flip, inverting her body to dive head first into a high rolling wave. For some moments, she is lost to sight while the wave rolls towards the shore, and then she becomes visible again as the wave crashes onto the beach. Apparently she let it carry her most of the way inland, and is now sitting in shallow water perhaps a dozen feet from the dry beach. Without the sun starkly behind her, white rosettes can be made out on her seafoam-green skin.

Except when she vanishes beneath the waves, Arkold does his best to keep his eyes firmly locked on the sea creature that is now much closer to him. Stealthily he traverses the ground behind whatever cover he can locate so as to make his way closer to her. (Eh, this must be some form of resolve training. Makin' us kill things like this.) His grip tightens on his sword and his eyes narrow.

The mercat reaches behind her head to pull her hair free from her necklace, and flips her tail this way and that in the shallow water, giggling as waves wash over her and recede, leaving her in liquid that alternates between around six and twelve inches deep.

A sand-shekel crunches under Arkold's boot, cracking loudly.

Playfully, she starts to rolls over in the water, the turn causing her to face the beach even as the crunch gives Arkold away. She starts, her body rippling as she shuffles backwards in shock, eyes widening at the sight of the armed Jupani. Her arms brace her torso away from the ground, back arched as she watches him.

Ears flatten, and the wolf glares at the sand-shekel. "Dagh's own luck!" he snarls before giving what's left of the shell a swift boot. He then brings his sword around in a flash and holds it defensively towards the mercat and he begins towards her again – this time without even bothering to hide himself, though he does stay near rocks in case he must dive for cover. From under the dirty blonde locks that partially cover his face, he glares at her.

The mercat lifts one hand from the sands and holds it, webbed fingers spread, partially between her and Arkold, doing another shimmy away from the wolf. "Mariner," she says, voice low but the word distinct.

As the sun continues to dip over the horizon, the stars slowly come out, glimmering. There is no band of the Procession to bathe the night with a full moon's glow, though the thin crescent of Ashtoreth's moon forms a Cheshire grin above.

"Eh? Is that so?" says Arkold in Bosch in response to her identification. He lets his left hand slide from the sword hilt and fumbles for something in his pocket. He pulls out a well-crumpled pamphlet and shakes it until it unfolds, at which points he glances between her and the pictures shown. "You jus' sit right there, and don't make any moves," he adds.

Yes, the profile of the Mariner matches the creature before him, and it says "Friendly". She lacks the extra membranes and sleeker lines that would distinguish a Siren.

Delicate teeth tug at the lower corner of her mouth as she gazes raptly at the figure looming above her. She ripples backwards another foot, then pauses while he looks at his reference material.

Even after he has seen that she is not in fact an enemy the Jupani gives the sheet, and her, a few more glances – in a way wishing she was indeed. Finding this not to be so, no matter how hard he glares at the paper, he stuffs the pamphlet back in his pocket and returns his sword to its sheath. "Ehh, bah," he grumbles, turning off from her and walking over towards the nearest large grouping of stones.

The two gulls frighten at Arkold's approach, and lift up from the stones, leaving only a few shreds of their meal (and their "calling cards") on the rocks as they wing away.

When the Jupani turns away, she lets out an audible sigh of relief, letting her body sink once more to settle against the sands. She watches him with large, unblinking eyes as he retreats, lying on her stomach, resting her chin against one hand. The mercat doesn't seem sufficiently sure of him to turn away just yet.

"Ged outta my way, birds," snarls Arkold as the avians flap away. Once near the stones, he again removes his sword so that he may thrust it with a hand into the sand, this allowing him to sit down without it uncomfortably wedging into his back. With that clear he drops to sit with his back against a rock facing away from the Mariner. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a combat knife, which he also thrusts into the sand before leaning over to unscrew the pommel.

Her tail flicks absently at the languid waves that wash about the mercat's body. She relaxes as he stows his sword in the sand, a little shiver passing through her slender frame, before she shimmies backwards again, still watching the Jupani closely.

The compass pommel of the knife is placed carefully on the ground beside Arkold before he hunches over to dig something out from the hollow space uncovered. After a moment of fiddling, he removes what looks like a cylindrical object wrapped in cloth, and to this he grins widely. "Perhaps I should pray to the First Ones for you," he tells the bottle, snickering faintly in disgust before placing it on the sand and very carefully beginning to unwrap it.

The bottle's contents seem to be perfectly intact, despite Arkold's adventures, and skipping across planets.

Arkold only grins wider now that he sees the bottle is quite fine. The cork is removed with a faint pop, and some of the powder is deposited in his free hand before he sets the vial down against a rock, careful not to spill it.

There is a rumble as a wave rushes further up the beach than before … and almost reaches Arkold and his position before it retreats, defeated, back down across the sands.

While the wolf fiddles with his hidey-hole, the mercat squirms a foot closer, looking curious, and then thinks better of it. She slaps her tail against the waves, then flips herself about, half-pulling herself into waters deep enough for her to swim through normally again. Her necklace-shells jingle briefly before she's once more submerged.

If a look could harm, then the seas would have just erupted into flames from the considerable scowl the Jupani shoots the waves as they near him. Deciding that he had better hurry now before they come back, he lowers his muzzle into his hand and gives a ragged snort. He pauses a moment, then lifts his head back and lays it on the stone behind him. "Rrrh, yeah." He exhales deeply as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders. "Dagh's own cup of Mateh … soaked world … eh, yeh can have it all."

Abruptly, a slap of skin against water is heard, and a wave of water is sent splashing across Arkold, soaking his clothes. A giggle floats back across the ocean, as the mercat – who had taken advantage of the depths the water concealed near the Jupani's rock – disappears after her cannon-ball like flip-and-dive, swimming under the waves and away.