Interfriendtion, anyone? [Py & Dem]

[Lincoln Avery]

[bg=edf0e7][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] He wasn't breaking the rules, per se. He was sort of allowed to be in Carna territory, under certain guidelines, without being killed, stabbed, or generally turned into a walking, talking target. They were allies after all, right? Still, Linc kept a wary eye out for anyone with a sharp'n'pointy thing that the under appreciative, humorless sort, might be inclined to introduce to his spleen. Because he quite liked his spleen. Not that he had any idea what it did, but it still sounded important. And like it would hurt immensely to have it skewered. Plus, leather was notoriously hard to remove stains from. Not that the jacket hugging his shoulders was anywhere near pristine or new, and he may have already accidentally spilled tea on one sleeve as well as drooled on it's collar in his sleep...That was a different matter entirely compared to the buckets of blood he imagined emergency spleen removal surgery would incur. As it were though, in cutting a path through The Carna's camp toward the rusted ruins of the wrecked ship standing starkly, a sore thumb, against the sky, he'd snuggled the buttery, well-worn coat tighter about his slim torso and repeatedly tipped his imaginary hat at the few curious sidelong glances of those whom he passed. And for those whom gave him more than a double take of confusion--apparently The Fallen didn't go for strolls through allied lands at their leisure often, judging from the glowers he was getting--Lincoln waved, smiling prettily. Princess on a float style. Already he could smell the ocean brine, taste the first faint trace of salt when he wet his lips with a flick, and hear it roll up over the shore, but it took him several more minutes to make the transition from the packed dirt and pavement of Carna's streets to reach the rocky border where they met. The first crumble of damp sand between his toes pulling a peaceful sigh from the depths of his lungs, Lincoln's eyes sweeping first to where the sun melted across the horizon and the colors it threw along the fat underbellies of clouds, a light breeze carrying wisps of woodsmoke past his nose. It looked like it'd be a lovely evening in Carnaville. Much too nice for any more grumpy growling. The likes of which he left behind as he climbed to the lip of a hill that angled down into the shore, feet leaving a trail of divots to mark his path. Then, tipping his head away from the sun's glare, he surveyed the long strip of soil parked between watery doom and port-side city. Noting an orange crackle of flames parked a safe distance from the tide-line with an arched brow, and the shadowy shape perched beside it, he appropriately altered his course to head toward it, skidding gracelessly down the slope. Crossing the beach though, proved much more dangerous than he'd initially thought with the numerous small, sharp stones and other refuse littering the ground for his bare feet to make sweet, sweet love to every second step. Which resulted in a sideways sort of flail-dance-gait that must have been quite hilarious to watch for people whom weren't in so much pain. Namely him. And so, upon finding himself swamped by ankle deep water when it rushed in to slap against the only smooth avenue available, Linc paused, looking up from the strand of seaweed floating past the soaked leg of his jeans to the promising warmth of fire only a few more yards off, and...immediately started to jog, with immensely exaggerated slowness, down the sandy turf. "Pyyyyyy! Cooommeee toooo meeee, baaaay-beeee!" Yes, even his shout, reverberating off the cliff-face, was stretched at the vowels to match his slo-mo approach. But the stumble in his stride; arms flailing to keep him balanced, when he spotted the second body seated beside the pink haired hunter, half hidden by the riot of flames licking up tinder dry driftwood, only lasted the briefest of seconds before he resumed lurching through the surf at the pair once again. Arms wide open and a silly, crooked grin slanted over his mouth. "Orr Pyyyy's hoooot friiieeend, I'mmm gooood wiiith eeeeiiither!" Ooc: ...*facepalm* I'msorryit'ssoshort?

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[Py Ackerman]

[bg=190902][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=border,0,true] The bonfire had been his idea, of course. It was in the earlier evening, when the sun still smoldered bright against the backdrop of the sky, that he had enticed his friend to accompany him in his wait for the Fallen; the latter owed him his jacket back, and, much to Py’s dismay, his lighter as well, which had been nestled in the pocket of said jacket when he’d loaned it to the other. He’d lent it on a whim, of course, towards the end of their previous encounter - it had been colder then, and the hunter had been feeling unusually generous. A tidal wave of heat had followed the spring weather the week after, however, and so he figured neither one of them would require the jacket any longer; he still preferred to have it in his own possession, though, thus why he‘d made the Fallen promise to return it today. As the day wore on and the man had yet to make an appearance, Py had poked Dem enough until the blond decided to help him gather up the driftwood that scattered along the beach. The pieces, bleached stark-white and rough from the sand, reminded him in a morbid way of the bones that were discarded from a picked-apart carcass after a hunt. Together, they piled up enough wood until it formed a satisfactory base, and, after a bit of creative work involving flint and tinder, the two soon had a fire that continuously grew with each second that ticked by. Py had perched himself lightly on a log, with Dem nearby, and leaned eagerly towards the flames that licked hungrily at the wood and charred it black; it wasn’t long before his conversational responses grew fewer as he became deeply immersed in watching the fire before him, entering a trance-like state that was familiar to him and yet barely acknowledged. Had he known he wasn’t being terribly entertaining company, he would have felt an appropriate amount of guilt until he worked to solve the problem. Alas, he wasn’t aware. It was only when he heard something, a rather strange cry that seemed to echo from all around, that he tore his gaze away to properly take in his surroundings. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before it broke into a wide grin, and nudging Dem lightly in the ribs he nodded towards the object of his sudden attention. It was the Fallen; Lincoln, as he’d been told. Lurching up from his place by the fire, the hunter spread his arms as well in a grand and ridiculous gesture, mimicking the other, and proceeded to run slowly towards him to meet him there half way, amusement bright in his eyes. When they finally did ‘collide’, he threw his arms around him in a tight but playful hug before patting him once on the back and succumbing to the laughing fit he’d been trying to hold back. “Took you long enough, mate. Did you run like that the whole way here?” He teased, before prodding at his jacket that clung to the other’s shoulders. “Thanks for bringing that along. And for coming here, of course. No trouble, I hope?” A pause, and then, with little warning, he grabbed him lightly by the arm and began to tow him back towards Dmitri, grinning like a madman. “Oi, Shikov! I think introductions are in order.” Py pointed to first Lincoln, then Dmitri, saying their names in such an order before doing it in reverse as well and clapping his hands together gleefully. “And now that that’s settled…well, seeing as he’s already here, he might as well stay and play a while, wouldn’t you agree Dem?” ooc; I trieddddd xD Hope it's alright, and sorry for the wait <3

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