It's late evening now, the stars are out, and so is a waning moon. The surf rushes against the shore now and then, but it looks like the waves are calm tonight. Just the right time for a moonlight walk on the beach.

In the evening air walks a lone wolf towards the beach. Idly he polishes something in his hand with a ragged old cloth, humming some nameless tune he heard years ago at the Bazaar.

In the distance, a small humanoid figure can be made out lounging on a rocky outcropping a few yards from the shore, pant legs rolled up to the knees, head turned away from Arkold, perhaps looking at something lower down and out of sight on the rock. A pair of boots rests, abandoned, well inland on the shore.

Seeing that he is not alone, the Jupani tucks the small metal whistle away in the pocket of his coat. He stops for a moment to fold his arms and stare across the distance at the figure near the beach. (Who could be out here, now? Vhai. Can't get a moment's peace here.) His ears flick and he slowly begins making his way towards whomever is out there while trying to see just who it might be.

Closer examination suggests the short figure is a uniformed mouse, same rank as Arkold. Looks vaguely familiar, although with the face turned away, and in the darkness, it's difficult to say who it would be.

Not feeling particularly social, less so than usual anyway, Arkold doesn't bother with announcing himself. Instead, he slows his steps for the sake of approaching unheard, making his way further down towards the beach. (Skeek, ehh? Lessee … Better not be that Whitehead.) The edges of his muzzle twitch into a snarl for a second, as the idea of Whitehead interrupting his time here crosses his mind.

The mouse on the rock is definitely too small to be Whitehead. As the wolf sneaks closer, he can hear a voice, faintly over the roar of the ocean, words too indistinct to be made out. But after a moment, he places the sound and the appearance, and would guess the individual is Kris.

(Kris out here? Ehh, may as well find what he's up to.) Ever closer walks the wolf, proceeding quietly though not trying very hard to mask more than his footsteps. He attempts to look past Kris now that he is closer and see with whom he may be talking now.

For all the wolf can tell, Kris could be talking to himself. On the other hand, the bulk of the rock is between the beach and the sea, so it would be easy for another person to be resting lower down on the outcropping, out of view from the Jupani's current position.

This time, no sand shekels lie in Arkold's way. He makes his way down the beach, making no more sound than that of the waves that brush against the shore.

"Washin' yer sea legs, eh, Kris?" asks the wolf after stopping not far from the resting Skeek. He has his arms folded and his head lowered slightly causing his long hair to fall forward and partially mask a face already well shadowed by the darkness.

The Skeek on the rock starts at the voice, and he whirls about on the rock, whiskers twitching and sniffing at the breeze … not very helpful in this case, since it's blowing off the water and towards Arkold. "Hey there," Kris responds, squinting towards the Jupani. "Ummm … Arkold?"

As large as he is, Arkold casts a fairly long shadow. He himself does not appear much more than that, a shadow with dirtied blonde hair and a coat that rustles every so often in the breeze. "Yah, it's me," he answers with a gruff. The wind blows his hair across his face a bit more during a silent pause before he continues. "What'er you doin' out here?"

The mouse smiles brightly and waves to the Jupani after he's identified. "Talking to a friend. Hey, c'mon out. I'll introduce you." One uniformed arm beckons to him, motioning him to join them on the outcropping of rock.

There are a few "marks" left by gulls that can be seen in the moonlight, but there are plenty of bare spots that one can sit down on without picking up anything undesirable. In fact, it looks like the same outcropping of rock that Arkold was sitting behind when he lost his "stash" early on in his visit to Ashtoreth.

"Ehh, I suppose," says the wolf in a tone that lacks any sort of excitement at the idea. He reaches up and draws his sword with a quiet sound of sliding metal, and with this drawn he makes his way forward towards a nearby rock. "So, who's yer friend down there? Didn't think anyone came out her 'sides me."

High above, some strange airborne creature glides on the winds, looking like nothing so much as a child's kite animate and free of any restraining string.

As Arkold comes closer, the Skeek turns back to the still-unseen companion, and continues, wearing a cheerful smile, "Kawasaya, this is Arkold – I told you about him earlier – he's the one who saved us from the Siren." While Kris speaks, the wolf finally reaches a position on the rock that allows him to see the mouse's friend … a mercat with white rosettes on sea-green skin, and a flowing white mane. Her eyes are fixed apprehensively in Arkold's direction, and as soon as he appears, sword drawn, she pales visibly. The mouse turns to Arkold and continues, missing her reaction entirely. "Arkold, this is Kawasaya – she's one of the liaisons between us and the Abyssinians. She – " SPLASH! Kris blinks as the mercat dives headlong off the rock and into the water, swimming away.

"Uhhh," utters the wolf as he spots the mercat, and her reaction. He reaches up and scratches his head dumbly for a moment before wedging his sword into the sand. "Uh, umm … " He shrugs. "I guess she doesn't like me, for uh, some reason."

The mouse stares after the fleeing mercat. "Kawasaya?" Looking bemused, Kris turns back to Arkold. "Say, did you two already meet?"

The wolf drops himself to sit on a rock near his sword. He folds his arms behind his himself and leans back to rest his head on the rock. "Somethin' like that," he answers as he turns to head to gaze off out into the ocean. "I just don't get along with the fish, see. You know, we're just grunts anyway, shouldn't be socializing with the natives. We got other things we should do."

Kris's whiskers twitch. "It's my time off. Besides, that's her job, more or less. It's because of people like her that we have the urgans and know about the Sirens' methods and can get breathers and … well. You get the idea. Anyroad, I think it's good for even us grunts to talk to the natives. It'll teach us to respect each other."

"Heh, yer a powder puff, Kris. All this talk of getting along and meetin' the natives." The wolf spits into the sand and shakes his head a bit. "I'd wager you're a volunteer, aren't yah?"

Off in the distance, one of the aforementioned urgans surfaces momentarily, limned in organic lights, as it blows a plume of wet vapor into the air … then slowly descends beneath the waves once more.

The mouse, ears drooping, is still staring off at the water Kawasaya vanished into. "I hope I didn't do something to offend her." One set of whiskers flattens against the Skeek's face when Arkold spits, the same eye closing with a wince at the following question. "Hey, so what if I am?" comes the defensive squeak, and then a little chuckle. "Okay … I guess I am. A volunteer and a powder puff." The little white face screws up in a grimace.

Another shake of his head and the wolf rolls his head back to look at the Skeek again. "Naw, you didn't do a thing to offend her. She probably thinks I'm here to kill her," he says, no real emotion attached to his words either way. His foot is lifted and used to tap the edge of his sword. "Eh, so why'd yah volunteer? Seems like an awful waste of yer life."

The waves rush the shore in a whispered roar, a few hitting some of the outlying rocks with enough force to send a light spray into the air that tickles the whiskers of the Skeek and the nose of the Jupani … and then the waves playfully sink back once more, leaving wet sand in their wake.

Kris inhales deeply from the ocean breeze. "There're lots worse ways to waste your life." One hand gestures vaguely off at the horizon. "I heard you served on Abaddon?"

"Wait, let me guess, you wanted to see the worlds and be tough? Is that it, powder puff?" asks Arkold. Again, his voice seems to miss any real emotion. For all that can be told he just sounds faintly tired. Another nod and the wolf lets his arm loose to gesture up at the sky. "Part of the 'Death Legion' – we cleared out trenches and killed what we were pointed at. S'basically it."

A shake of Kris's head answers the Jupani's question. "Nope. Joining the Legion wouldn't make me tough. But I've already gotten to see a whole lotta things I never expected to. Now … Abaddon. That's a place to waste your life." A shudder passes through the small legionnaire's frame. "But here? It's a pretty world, innit? Even if we did nearly get killed our first mission out, this place's still a heckuvalot quieter than lots of other places, even back on Sinai. There're lots worse fates. Lots worse."

Some scattered, low-hanging clouds drift by, allowing the moon to momentarily play a game of hide-and-seek.

"Worse fates, ehh … ," repeats the wolf. He shakes his head and adds in a much more quiet voice, "Can't think of much worse." He sits up and leans over towards his sword, reaching out make sure it is firmly embedded in the sand. "Sinai … Ashtoreth, Abaddon, Arcadia … What's it matter? Who cares how it looks? S'just another place, and … I could care less. I just do what they want me to do, and that's it. S'really all there is." His head turns from his sword to look out into the ocean again. "S'just another sea, another place … one more day."

There's a staccato sound at first that sounds like the firing of gatling guns … and then the moonlight glints off of some shapes rushing across the water. They're strange, misshapen machines, it seems, a cluster of pipes jutting out of their backsides, with a seat, a pontoon and some sort of steering controls in the front, upon which are seated one or two legionnaires, skimming across the waves, occasionally going airborne and landing down on the water again with a loud splash, sending sprays of vapor in their wake.

The expression Kris turns towards the larger soldier contains sorrow, among other emotions less distinct. "Sounds like you already found one of them," the Skeek murmurs, the words almost lost with the sudden roar of the approaching engines.

Arkold lifts his hand and waves the Skeek away with a hand. "Yeah, maybe. But don't you feel sorry fer me, you just be wasting yer breath." He follows the movements of the three strange machines off in the distance for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small metal whistle. He turns this over in his hands for a while before speaking again. "What do yah make of those?" he asks.

Squinting at the unusual devices, the mouse answers, "Seaskippers? Kawasaya said something like that existed – little crafts that are used for reconnoitering, maybe. I'm not sure."

The sea-borne vehicles draw closer, making it easier to pick out the passengers – One has a big serpent twisted around the frame, ice blue in color, with fan-like "ears" on each side of its head, and carp whiskers flapping in the breeze on each side of its muzzle. Another craft has a big tiger-Khatta wearing goggles and a leather helmet, with a panthress seated behind him, arms clasped about his waist. A third one sputters along, with a white rat clinging to the controls, looking like he's about to be flung from the machine if he hits another wave.

The tiger looks like he might be a legionnaire. Ditto for the rat, who sports a patch over one eye. The panthress obviously isn't. And the sea-Naga … no telling.

Kris grins at the sight of the rider on the last vehicle, and then makes a face. "Somehow, they don't look like scouts to me."

All three vehicles hit waves … and the rat goes flying. His vehicle wipes out, turning sideways and rolling into the waters, and knocking up quite a spray of water … but when it clears, the vehicle is bobbing along, right side up once more but with its engine stopped … while the rat sputters and paddles toward shore.

As he begins to get up, Arkold peers at the vehicles for a moment. "Ehh, they're ours. That's Scrimshaw and that rat Whitehead," he says. Having identified them, the wolf lets himself fall back to rest on the rocks once again. "Hey," he begins as he glances at the Skeek, "does that fishstick come here often?"

"Fishstick?" A quizzical look is soon replaced by a frown. "If you mean Kawasaya … she used to, at any rate. She said she has good memories about this beach." The mouse kicks a loose shell off the top of the boulder into the water.

The rat seems to be doing a terrible job of swimming … but he seems to demonstrate the claim that "fat floats", by stubbornly keeping from sinking regardless. At last, he scrapes his way onto the shore, a stone's throw away from Arkold's and Kris' current position, muttering foul and unimaginative curses that recycle the same cuss words in a steady stream. The rat does look a lot thinner, though, when he's soaking wet. He sloshes his way up the beach, paying no heed to Arkold or his companion.

The mouse does an admirable job of ignoring Whitehead's existence in return.

The two other water-craft circle about, drawing close to the abandoned craft. The sea-Naga snares the third craft with a rope, and all three come toward the beach. As they approach, the tiger and panthress can be heard laughing loudly, clearly enjoying themselves. The sea-Naga, if anything, looks smug and pleased with himself.

"Vhai, let's hope he doesn't notice us. I don't feel like tossin' him into the ocean right now," comments Arkold in a low voice. He glares at the Skreek as he walks for a moment and then shifts his gaze to follow the other machines. "So, uhh, I guess I kinda ruined those memories for her. Serves her right." Despite his words, Arkold doesn't sound particularly convinced of what he says. "Think yer gunna see her again?"

Scrimshaw calls out, "Whitehead! C'mon! We gotta take these back… " Whitehead just meets him with a disgusted waving-off gesture, and sloshes off and out of sight.

"'Serves her right?' What the heck did she ever do to you, Arkold?" The mouse snaps the words out irritably.

At having been snapped at, the wolf focuses his dark glare at the Skeek. "Ehh! What's it matter to you anyway? Curse it all, just answer me!" He sits up and clenches his fist tightly. "Dagh's black hide, yah make 'er sound like a princess," he grumbles.

Kris flinches back, then turns quickly to scowl at the ocean. "How should I know? Maybe she'll decide she agrees with you, and that 'natives shouldn't mingle with the grunts.'" I met her a few times up here, but obviously she didn't make any plans to see me again when she left this time."

The tiger hops off his craft, towing it ashore, while his panthress companion remains on the seat. The sea-Naga, meanwhile, slithers off and into the shallows, and guides two craft in at once, being considerably larger than the tiger. As the tiger scans the beach, for Whitehead, it looks as if he may have spotted Arkold and Kris.

As Scrimshaw spots them, Kris's whiskers twitch back, then the mouse raises one hand to wave hesitantly to the tiger.

Arkold lifts his clenched fist and swings it forward, flinging something that makes a faint whistle noise as it passes through the air. The object hits the sand near Kris, sparkling in the moonlight. "Give 'er this, and tell her it's from me, yah got it? Tell her it's for what she did." The wolf pushes himself up to his feet and reaches to pick his sword out of the ground. "She didn't have to, yah know! Vhai! Coulda just left me alone … " he says as he begins walking off towards the others on the beach. "Dagh's own tongue, coulda been anyone but me. Ehh … fishsticks."

"Ho there, Arkold!" calls out the tiger-Khatta. "Who's the little guy with you? Hey, care to take a spin on a seaskipper?"

Meanwhile, the mouse blinks rapidly at Arkold's gesture, wincing away reflexively from the impact of the object nearby. After a moment, one hand reaches down to pluck the whistle up, while Kris, looking confused, continues to watch the Jupani walk away.

The Jupani sheathes his sword over his back and grins towards the tiger-Khatta, his expression suddenly masking the annoyed one he had moments ago. "Scrimshaw! Stealin' the equipment, ehh? Would yah know what I say to that!" The grin widens and he thumbs back behind him. "S'Kris – he was on the deck back when I blasted that Siren. But ehh, I say to that, yah better let me steer one!"

"If you insist!" the tiger roars back. "Seems we got a vacancy! And maybe room for 'Skris', too, if'n he's not afraid of getting splashed!"

Without waiting for any sort of reply from the Skeek, Arkold continues forwards towards Scrimshaw and the awaiting crafts. "Eh, when you get back you're gunna hear how I nearly drowned some slippery little sea rat down in the Barrel. So yah better just hear it from me now," barks the wolf as he moves forward. "Solved that little problem of mine, eh, with thanks to you! Like I said, Scrimshaw, yer some kinda pal. Probably the worst kind!" A cough, then the Jupani chuckles heavily at his last comment.

"Skris" looks from the tiger to the wolf, and then at the unusual craft which, moments ago, Arkold had been asking for an identification on. "I'll just sit this one out, thanks all the same," the mouse replies, in a normal tone of voice which it's quite likely no one will hear.

"Yeah, yeah … well, don't let all your marks go up your nose, all right, pal?" the tiger says, clapping the wolf on the back, leading him toward the craft that bucked Whitehead earlier. "Here, the controls are pretty simple, so long as you go easy on 'em… " The tiger goes through the motions of pointing out the controls on the device, giving him dire warnings about the dangers of turning too sharply at high speeds or hitting a wave the wrong way. There appears to be some sort of safety restraint with a quick-release mechanism, but the tiger doesn't even bother pointing that out, as it doesn't appear that he or his passenger make use of it. (The sea-Naga, of course, doesn't, either.)

"Uh huh." "Yah … " The wolf nods along to all the directions he's given, occasionally asking about this or that, or making some sarcastic comment. "So that's what that does … " "Got it." He chuckles more and moves to get inside the craft. "Yah, well, I took care of that little problem with marks to spare. I guess I owe yah a drink … assuming 'course, yer not busy later." He makes a wide smirk as the wolf slides into the seat. He reaches over and hits the tiger-Khatta on the shoulder. "And, yah sly devil, you look like yah might be."

The tiger just slips on his goggles, and flashes the wolf a grin, then hops back onto his craft, shoving it off from the sands with a hard kick. "Hang on tight!" he roars, and then he stomps down on the starter, and plumes of flame shoot out of the pipes on back, as the engine roars to life, and the primary prop on the rear starts spinning until it becomes a blur, and water burbles out, causing the craft to shoot back off into the ocean.

The sea-Naga's craft is started up with a downward crank from the serpent's tail on a similar starter pedal, and the snake sends a spray of droplets in its wake as it shoots out after the tiger.

Before the Jupani copies the Khatta and sea-Naga's maneuver Arkold stands from his seat and gives the Skeek a wave. "You remember what I asked! See yah later, powder puff!" he yells off to Kris. His good-bye said, a leg is lifted and used to kick the craft into the water before the wolf drops into his seat. Remembering the controls shown him, he starts up the motor and soon his craft too shoots out into the ocean.

It seems that there's a certain art to choosing just the right speed to go at to skim across the waves, ramping off one wave, then landing at the right angle on the rise of the next, and repeating the cycle. It's all too easy to go just a little too fast in hopes of catching up with the others … hitting the crest of the next wave a little too hard … going up a little too high … hitting the trough of the next wave … nearly getting thrown out of one's seat …

Scrimshaw and his unnamed sea-Naga companion make it look so easy. But Arkold's teeth feel like they're going to get knocked out of his head!

"Dagh's own tee-!" Wham, cough, sputter. "… how did I talk yah … " Another wave missed, and the following one ran into. "Scrimshaw I oughta – … " The Jupani's passage along the sea continues like this for awhile, the occasional curse or threat being drowned out by the next heavy impact.

Up ahead, it looks like the two other seaskippers have slowed down, and are weaving back and forth, making it easier to gain on them, though Arkold is still considerably behind them by now.

From the waves ahead of the two lead vehicles, a slim sea-green form can be seen leaping out, then dashing back under the surface, only to repeat a similar leap again a moment or two later. After a bit, a certain pattern between the motions of the Mariner in the water and the weavings of the two seaskippers becomes evident, as they engage in a kind of game of movements, above and below the waves.

Deciding he isn't about to be left out here to wander back alone, Arkold does his best to try and catch up with the others. With the others slowing, he is now more able to do so, even though his ability to pilot leaves much to be desired. (Pretty eh? I … guess it is.) His craft begins to near the others and his eyes catch the Mariner's activity. Rather than speed to catch up now, he slows in his approach and tries to keep his distance.

The mercat doesn't seem to have any trouble at present keeping pace with the two machines. A long white mane carves a graceful arc through the air as the ocean-dweller executes a flawless somersaulting backflip between the seaskippers, then sinks deep beneath the waves again.

The seaskippers continue their weaving back and forth at a much slower pace, allowing the Mariner to keep up with them (even though she's still moving at a pretty impressive pace through the water). While the tiger maintains control of his craft, his panthress companion occasionally leans over to the right or left (as appropriate), trying to get a glimpse of the darting Mariner despite the dim light. She frees her hands for a moment to applaud the Mariner's flip … then quickly grabs onto the tiger again as he hits another crest.

"Why me?" asks the Jupani as his craft bobs up and down in the water. Another wave is crested and he shakes his head a little. (Ah, vhai, it's her. I just bet it is.) His craft jerks as he increases speed and he pilots the vehicle to pass the others some ways out.

Hands emerge from the water first with the mercat's next appearance, the sea-green figure slicing straight out of the water into the air several yards before the darting crafts, propelled by powerful motions of a sleek, finned tail. This jump sends the Abyssinian over two yards into the air, tail waving for a second as if swimming in space, then the figure somersaults to dive back into the sea.

As his craft pulls ahead of the others the wolf slows his vehicle some. He turns his head to watch the others and their fun when he can manage it and after a while he lets out a wary sigh. (Can't just watch.) He allows his vehicle to slow more until it is just about even with the others before turning it to near them. He frees a hand and waves to Scrimshaw and his companion.

The tiger sees Arkold, and shouts out a greeting, but it's inaudible over the sound of the engines and the waves.

The mercat, beneath the waves, senses the motions of the new seaskipper, and swims a quick circle around the still-moving craft, then goes under the water deep enough to gather enough speed for another somersaulting backflip for the benefit of the riders, a little giggling laugh emerging from her while she performs.

Arkold yells his own greeting off to the tiger-Khatta and it too is drowned out by the noise, the call simply being symbolic in that he feels a response is necessary. Even if no one can hear it. Closer draws Arkold's craft now until at last it nears enough where its pilot can glance over on to try and find the Mariner that dances with the others.

For long moments, nothing is seen of the Mariner, then her body rockets out of the sea in a corkscrewing spin upwards. She spreads her arms wide as her body spirals through the air, mane whipping around her face with each turn. When she reaches the apex, the spin slows, and she flips to dive back under the waves. As her motions turn less frenetic, white rosettes can be distinguished against her green skin, and for a moment, her eyes lock with the rider of the newest vehicle to arrive. They widen for an instant in startled recognition, then she vanishes beneath the waves.

When his own eyes lock with the Mariner's, Arkold jerks his foot off the acceleration pedal. With a sputter of its engines, Arkold's craft is brought to a slow halt to rest on the turning waves while its rider sits up from his seat. He moves to his knees and peers over the edge of the craft as if trying to find where the Mariner just went.

The other pair of seaskippers whip past Arkold after his sudden halt. The wake caused by their engines causes his own skipper to rock precipitously. Alas, this is a bad time for him to be peering over the edge of his craft, sitting on his knees.

The craft bobs forward. So does the wolf. He gets a good look at the ocean.

*SPLOOSH*

"Son of a – " With a flailing of his arms, the Jupani falls head first over the edge of his craft into the ocean. Caught off guard by it all, he can only muster a weak inhale before he finds himself underwater. As he tries to straighten himself in the water he sinks, the surface close but slowly lifting away from him. Dazed eyes blink and peer into the ocean as he struggles to right himself.

The only thing to be seen in the ocean at night is darkness. At least he hasn't banged his head on the bobbing craft yet, or gotten sucked into the intake.

With a bit of struggling, Arkold is able to break the surface, and … well … dog-paddle. Although his eyes are momentarily blinded by the ocean water, his ears alert him to the location of the idling seaskipper bobbing nearby.

Rather than swim for the seaskipper while blinded the wolf takes a moment to let his eyes clear. "Dagh's endless bloody river! Rrrr!" He kicks his legs and struggles to keep his head well above the waves until he is able to see again.

While this might in theory help the wolf to clear his eyes, he happens to be in the ocean, at night, without a life preserver, not quite dressed or trained for swimming. Just about the time he's got his eyes clear, he's gone under again.

Under water once again, Arkold's actions are much a repeat of what he did last time. This time, however, he closes his eyes against the sea once he spots which way is up. Eyes protected, he begins paddling for the surface.

Then, gentle, trembling hands touch his sides, and he's abruptly buoyed back to the surface, thrashings notwithstanding. The hands push at his body, propelling him firmly back to the seaskipper. As soon as his own hands secure a grip on the skimmer, the touch on his body vanishes.

Arkold coughs out some water that managed to get past his lips and holds firmly to the edge of his craft. Once he has cleared his lungs and his head, he hauls himself back into the pilot's seat. There he shakes himself off for a moment before reaching a hand over the edge of the craft and into the water. He feels nothing but water, and after a sigh, remembers that sign she flashed him some time ago. All though he has no idea what it means, it's the only means of communication he has at the moment, so he makes that same sign into the water. "Sorry, fishstick … ," he murmurs.