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The Elder Scrolls: Chapter's Dues [character-driven, mission-based mercenary RP]

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The Vanguard

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Current Mood in One Gif

>tfw that writer's block kicks in

of mer and men [Sheith Merman!AU]

Heart thumping in his chest, he watched the creature drift closer warily, contemplating whether or not he should trust a human, before he reeled back and Keith felt his nerves go haywire, fearing that he did something wrong and that the creature would once again leave. Though, for one reason or another, the creature still remained floating before him, primal intrigue making its way into inhuman eyes. He almost thought he'd take his leave, maybe just eat him and get this over with, but it was obvious he understood the difference between them. The distaste was the one expression Keith would never forget, though, and if he looked back on it--experienced in the way merfolk dealt with each other--he'd probably laugh, but for now, he learned his lesson. No direct exchanges between them, just leaving trinkets for each other.

Still, the other creature was relatively close, and he looked like a vision in the water, like a mirage in the desert. For a moment Keith flashed back to books his eyes skimmed over in libraries, the mermaid drawn and colored to entice, leading the sailor down into the sea-to his death. That’s what he understood about merfolk and that's probably what the man would have done, if he were some long-haired, winsome, delicate thing and less obviously the most lethal presence in a hundred mile radius. He could see his tail flicking underneath him, though still poised for a quick runaway. Keith realized he got distracted taking his huge figure in when he felt something wet and rough gently coax his arm down, and his breath hitched, eyes immediately interlocking again with this merman, then they fell down to his hand.

The motion was sudden, but the way this man moved was so fluid, Keith didn't flinch back, and he couldn't stop a little shudder and intake of breath. It felt like the skin of a shark, and the boy only gently caressed the skin with his thumb, trying to settle the other's nerves and ignoring his own haywire ones. It was years since his father took him to an animal museum, but feeling shark skin wasn't an easy thing to forget. That, and the whale sounds. It was strange, really, how one so close to being one with the sea still felt so fearful of it. It called to him, and he always heard the calls, but he never took things further than a short dip. He never tried to swim in the deep, and he never had someone to goad him into doing that. So, all was forgotten.

And since anything and everything was possible, the creature spoke. He guessed that was what it was; the clicks and the whispers, the elongated notes. The voice was guttural. His breath made a soft whoosh as he spoke too, like the wind around the edges of the shack’s warped screen door on a windy night, and Keith realized the barely visible raised marks below his ears were gills and he was able to breathe through them. So this creature did belong to merfolk, and surprisingly, Keith did understand him. It wasn't so clear of a voice, and it sounded like it was from another world. This was a dream. His imagination ran free, and conjured up all of this. He was still in bed, deep in sleep, drunk as hell, but he still indulged like he was still a teenager that didn't know what was best for himself.

"Alright.. sorry," he murmured, an apologetic tone underlying his words, realizing he might have overstepped a boundary as he let the creature's hand coax him to place the shell back on the wood, the scraping of the tough surface of the shell clear in his ears once he put it back on the slats. His hand brushed against the rough skin once more on its way up, and Keith felt his senses on high alert as he rested his hands against his own thighs, not wanting to touch so much, even if he ached for it. The voice had already been low and gentle, too gentle for Keith's own good, and he'd only hoped his own voice sounded the same for the other man.

of mer and men [Sheith Merman!AU]

Once he laid down the conch shell next to him, his eyes now traveled to the sea, the way they were always meant to. Waiting, watching, though not as clearly as he would in the morning and without the influence, and he had a hunch that the man knew and would use that to guarantee his own safety. But part of him thought the creature would be there, without a doubt. Part of him was sure, like the creature was some thing summoned from the space between night and day, a creature he didn't know himself well enough to dream of seeing again.

But he was actually there. It took Keith some time to center his focus, narrowing purple eyes before he saw the familiar oil-sheen eyes and pale skin testing him, gauging his reactions. It was not a dream. Nothing inside the dark forest of his mind could conjure anything this beautiful or this terrible. His arm and hip ached from his sitting position and the feeling of his head's thumping was too visceral. The sting of salt in the air, the sickly sweet smell of the ocean, the back-and-forth flicker of light on the water and the creature’s eyes on him. No. Not a dream. Never a dream.

What are you, he wanted to ask, but the question died in his throat as soon as it sprung to life. It didn't matter. What if it wasn't real, though? It could very easily be a hallucination considering the circumstances at hand, something brought on by lack of air or by the beer he gulped down. He could be in the shack right now, dreaming this. Maybe the moment he caught in the silence of the house was just another slice of his imagination, and Keith was just about done with the somersaults his mind was performing and he rubbed his eyes awake. He wasn't scared, even if he was close to being frozen in place like prey. He wasn't scared. Not at all. His inhibitions were gone, and the words that stopped in his throat had found a way to set themselves free.

"Thank you," he began faintly, and his eyes were flickering back and forth over the man before him, pupils like pinpoints, lips parted. "I know this kind of shell; it's beautiful." He stared down at it in his arms, fondly looking down at it and cocking his head a bit before his eyes were up to meet the other's once more. "I have something for you too," he said after a few seconds of silence, slowly taking the conch shell in his palm while he protectively held the trinket he was gifted, and holding it out for the other. He was playing with fire at this point, or maybe just indulging in this dream--if it was one. At least he had control over his decisions now, more in tune with what he wanted.

of mer and men [Sheith Merman!AU]

YES I THOUGHT OF IT WHILE I WAS WRITING AND IT MADE SO MUCH SENSE!! In your reply you said merfolk left trinkets for each other so their loved one can endure long periods of separation, and Krolia could have left Keith the necklace as a parting gift

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of mer and men [Sheith Merman!AU]

Hours stole days, and soon came the day where he was driven over to where Kolivan currently worked. The drive to the station was quiet and so very long, only because the road twisted and winded uphill in the slowest fashion. Everything took time in this place, Kolivan's old truck groaned through most of the journey, eucalyptus trees flashing by the window. Kolivan's station was for training more than firefighting, but near as Keith can tell it just meant they would get to sit around and drink beer and tell bad stories, and fortunately he was old enough and willing enough for one of those things.

The station was not quite run-down, but it wasn't new, either. It looked like someone was trying to go for stylish wood-siding and rustic appeal but hit more in ballpark of a barn. It was nestled between the trees and Keith fortunately remembered to hide his mother's necklace under his shirt before he went in, to spare himself the worst of it. Kolivan caught him doing it out of the corner of his eye and frowned.
Everyone knew him—or at least acted like they did. It must have been some sort of borrowed affection, passed down from his Dad, but all was well. Keith didn't mind it. The inside of the station was friendlier than the shack he called home and newer too. They were several drinks into the night by the time they arrive, but they saved Keith a spot at the long table, right in the middle of the row.

Antok goes to hand him a beer as he sits down and then pulls it back as he reaches for it. "Wait, are you old enough to drink?"
With a roll of his eyes, Keith grabs it out of his hand. Antok laughed and Keith let the conversion sink into the back of his mind, drinking absently, only taking in half the conversation. It was actually good to be around people after his show of desperation that one night. He got used to it when he was younger and took it for granted.
But as always, there was a nagging uneasiness there. He didn’t know how to say the right thing or order his thoughts so they’ll make sense to other people. A hundred little mistakes piled up in his mind at night before bed and in every absent moment, a checklist of all the ways he’d messed up before and all the ways he might again. He'd even messed up the one chance to study something new, act like his mother did and latch onto it, stop at nothing to gain knowledge. But then again, that was what made her disappear.

Hours passed, and Keith got to listen to the same argument he'd heard three times before—the only thing worse than a fishing story is who lifted more in training and all that bullshit—while he put away another beer and three more pieces of cold pizza. By the end of the night, he ended up asleep on the old couch by the wall. It was almost midnight before Kolivan rousted him awake.
“You can sleep here, if you want,” he offered. Keith almost agreed due to exhaustion, but he realized there was a hint of a string tying him to the shack, looped around his second rib; he couldn't stay away. He almost nodded and went back to sleep, but it was only because he was feeling so warm and the alcohol was still in his blood. The sentiment was too personal and Kolivan won’t understand, but he wanted to talk to someone about it, tell them what he saw for a second that one night. They crest the ridge and Keith could see the moon over the bay through one window and the lights of the distant city hazing the sky through the other. “Do-” Keith swallowed, tried to think of a way to say what he wanted without having to say too much. “Have you ever seen something you couldn't explain? In the—” he gestures to the view through the windshield before the truck bend around another turn and the moon and water disappeared and then had to put his hand over his eyes, dizzy from the change.

Kolivan was quiet for so long, Keith thought he wasn't going to answer, and then he said less an answer and more a mutter, “Your Dad asked me that once.” Keith fell asleep waiting for him to continue. And soon enough, it didn't seem like Kolivan wanted to.

The shack felt unaccountably cold compared to the warmth of the station. There was a moment, caught in the silence of the room where he wanted to go to the dock and knew he shouldn't. It was late and he was being stupid, but something in him was thrumming and his inhibitions were shot through the roof. He walked down to the beach like he was walking through a dream. The sand was still warm under his feet--then again he never remembered the last time they felt cold--and the moon was bright, half-full, the sea almost still below it, caught between the tides. He almost collapsed because of that damn alcohol, before his eyes turned wide upon seeing something waiting for him on the wood.

And as he got closer, and closer, he recognized the shell. That tough, colorful exterior, even if it looked broken. Keith sat, maybe almost slipped too in his rush, on the wood, surprisingly so near to the water his legs were dangling, feet soaked in it. He turned it forward and backward, raising it up against the moonlight. Elegantly silver, though he could only imagine how it'd look by his window, a spectrum of color spreading itself on the shack walls. For a moment, though, he hesitated even holding it; he had no way of telling which was a gift and which was a valuable possession when it came to this creature he saw, but something screamed at him that this was the creature trying to form a friendship, not trying to lure him into yet another trap.
He smiled, unknowingly holding the shell--something that still managed to be beautiful despite its far than perfect state--close to his heart. He'd read up on abalones, and they possessed healing energies of protection and emotional balance. It simply resembled water, and as various cultures believed, it is the water that will tame the flames of one’s emotional strife. It almost made Keith wonder. Why this certain shell was picked, and if this man could sense the sickness latching onto him. Either way, he knew a gift deserved another, and his own curiosity ate at him. He'd felt the disappointment rising in him, though, when he realized he had nothing to offer. Or did he?

Slowly, his fingers trailed over the many shells decorating his neck, and he tried forcing himself into sacrificing one. Just one. And he eventually picked the juvenile, soft brown with a hint of pink conch shell. Hands moving to unwrap the necklace from around his neck, he slowly pulled the shell out through the sturdy thread and then set it softly down on the wood, the abalone held close to his heart still. It was flawlessly polished and smooth, in an excellent state despite the years, and would shine a rosy light in the sun. He knew there was no shortage of this kind of shell where the creature must have hailed, but at least there was meaning behind it, things he wished for the man. Good luck and good fortune. Infinity. A moment of peace, a painless life. It was so very sentimental, and he knew it was the alcohol. It must have been.

of mer and men [Sheith Merman!AU]

@FalkiThomas I was just gonna propose that idea! Shiro being able to sense that Keith was suffering from depression, and maybe when he heals Shiro Shiro's going to want to help him back ^^

of mer and men [Sheith Merman!AU]

It was as if he was in a horror movie. He saw it underneath him; the top of a head, floating in the water. It stayed still for a few seconds, perhaps stunned to make eye contact too, and Keith initially thought it was a dead body for a moment, with terror singing through him, but it soon became obvious that it wasn't. There was fear, maybe some curiosity in those unforgettable eyes, and before he could further analyze this creature it moved slowly, and actually gasped? In the few seconds it was still underneath the wood, he could tell it looked like a man with oil-sheen eyes and pale skin. He had short slick-dark hair that looked like it was shorn off. The silver strands at the front stick across his face and then Keith realized with horror that what he just saw wasn't even human—not close.

The creature darted across the water, and turbulent waves formed at its motion. Keith had nothing else to do than to lean back against the hands resting on the wood in shock, watching as his tail moved like a spring behind him, a momentary shimmer in the moonlight of light black scales and silver lacing. The sight looked beautiful, but also terrible. Keith couldn't form thoughts past the fear freezing him to the dock. The man—the creature—had disappeared like he'd been a figment of his imagination. And he was /massive/. Bigger than any kind of fish he ever studied. He should be running by now—he should be gone. The primal part of him not mesmerized was screaming at him to get away from the water. Leave and never come back. But he still didn't make any movement to leave.

Instead, he approaches the water, knees scraping against the wood so hard they could burn. "I didn't mean to scare you!" he yells at the water, shocked at how desperately he's apologizing for something he didn't even mean to do, to a damn sea creature he wasn't even sure understood basic English language or not. Maybe it was his body's way of telling him he yearned for company, even if it was the most unusual kind. His shoulders slumped, though, when seconds became minutes, and the water stilled once more. He can see birds out in the surf in the distance, a tiny sailboat miles and miles out, but nothing else. But then he got an idea. Looking down at the shells he'd gathered in his shirt, he slowly placed them back one by one, overcoming his inexplainable fear of being too close to the water.

Maybe.. as a silent apology.
He'll find other shells for himself later. He'd obviously summoned this creature because he'd stolen something dear to him, and even if that would keep the creature at bay, perhaps that was best for him at the moment.
Slowly, he got back up on his feet, a sigh escaping his lips as he watched the sea and turned, about to walk up the stairs and back to his shack.