Damien
oh, let's take a chance and roll the bones
try to forget all them enemies and debts
try to forget all them enemies and debts
The Ahi Coast was alive in a way that made Halo seem like it had been holding its breath his entire life.
White sand blazed under the midday sun, kicking heat through the soles of his boots, while the ocean breathed in slow, salty gusts that stuck to his skin. Tiki torches stood in neat, stubborn lines against the breeze, their pale flames flickering like they didn’t care whether it was day or night. Somewhere down the beach, music tangled with the surf; laughter, strings, and the steady thump of a drum that seemed to echo in his ribs.
Damien sat on a driftwood log, head bent as he rapped the heel of his boot against it until a slow avalanche of sand pattered out. His coat was long since stowed away in the ship’s hold, leaving him in his work shirt and rolled sleeves, the fabric damp where sweat and sea air had settled. The crew he’d brought from the skyship were still unloading timber in the distance, their shouts carrying over the water; he’d already put in his share of hauling and rope work, but this heat sapped the fight out of a man faster than he liked to admit.
The water glittered to his left, deceptively inviting. He kept one eye on it anyway, the way a man might watch a wild animal—curious, but wary enough to stay out of striking distance. Swimming wasn’t in his skillset, and he had no intention of testing the ocean’s opinion on that.
He dragged a hand across the back of his neck, flicked the last of the sand from his boot, and let his gaze wander down the beach. Any minute now, she’d be here. And if he had any sense, the first words out of his mouth wouldn’t be about sand, sweat, or how much he hated this weather.
Still, he owed her something first.
White sand blazed under the midday sun, kicking heat through the soles of his boots, while the ocean breathed in slow, salty gusts that stuck to his skin. Tiki torches stood in neat, stubborn lines against the breeze, their pale flames flickering like they didn’t care whether it was day or night. Somewhere down the beach, music tangled with the surf; laughter, strings, and the steady thump of a drum that seemed to echo in his ribs.
Damien sat on a driftwood log, head bent as he rapped the heel of his boot against it until a slow avalanche of sand pattered out. His coat was long since stowed away in the ship’s hold, leaving him in his work shirt and rolled sleeves, the fabric damp where sweat and sea air had settled. The crew he’d brought from the skyship were still unloading timber in the distance, their shouts carrying over the water; he’d already put in his share of hauling and rope work, but this heat sapped the fight out of a man faster than he liked to admit.
The water glittered to his left, deceptively inviting. He kept one eye on it anyway, the way a man might watch a wild animal—curious, but wary enough to stay out of striking distance. Swimming wasn’t in his skillset, and he had no intention of testing the ocean’s opinion on that.
He dragged a hand across the back of his neck, flicked the last of the sand from his boot, and let his gaze wander down the beach. Any minute now, she’d be here. And if he had any sense, the first words out of his mouth wouldn’t be about sand, sweat, or how much he hated this weather.
Still, he owed her something first.
