Hotaru
She's the kinda girl that you can never please
They’ve spent no more than a few hours in Torchline, and Hotaru’s nerves are understandably frayed. She’s confident enough in her own skills to say that it’s not noticeable to the average person, but Deimos is far from average. He is privy to too many of her thoughts, her habits and micro expressions that even she cannot fully squash. Perhaps that’s why he’s so easily talked into visiting the beach first thing. Neither of them is emotionally vulnerable enough to deal with Hotaru expressing her gratitude verbally, so she lets her expression do it for her in halves and shades of the full sincerity. Already she has changed into her lightest clothes, shorts and a tank top replacing thick furs and layers. The sand is soft and hot beneath her feet, and the steady beating heart of the shoreline soothes another few edges off her anxious heart. At first they merely walk, though Hotaru knows herself well enough to anticipate the eventuality of her dragging him into the surf so she can beg him to toss her into the air like a young girl. The thought alone is distracting enough that she trips over a protrusion in the sand, and though she’s graceful enough to catch herself a startled yelp still leaves her lips.
Turning, she frowns at the dark shape sticking out of the sand. Hauling it out takes a quick tug, and she’s left with a thin cut of wood; clearly someone had cut a tree for a beach fire, but this one had come out too thin. It’s almost perfectly circular though, and an idea slowly dawns in her head. Grinning evilly, she wiggles it towards Deimos to show it off. “Care for a game of catch?” They can get sweaty and tired and then go lay in the shallows of the ocean waves. Perfection.
