I'll keep breaking my own heart, finding ways to make it out
I'm still not what I wanna be, what more do you want from me?
I'm still not what I wanna be, what more do you want from me?
It's a rare enough beautiful day - or what amounts to it in monsoon season - that company is hardly amiss. Most skim by on well-used boats, nothing more than a nod or wave of the hand. Fishermen and the like, out here for business instead of pleasure. Harper responds in kind, reluctant to keep them from their craft, idly thinking of Mateo as they go past. The waves and the heat are enough to keep him company, so he doesn't mind the relative silence as he drifts along. Happy to slowly start to feel the burn of muscles in his arms and shoulders after a few hours. It's not nearly so intense as his training regiment, but given enough time it still gets the job done.
The shout of hello - or rather the amusing alternative - is enough to have him swinging his head around to locate the person it came from. They're on the beach, and seem to be staying there by the rooted look they have. Harper lifts an arm with a sunny grin. "Ahoy!" he shouts back, letting the waves push him back towards shore. It's good timing, and after a moment of deliberation he slides off the board, paddling with an arm tossed over it until he can touch silt once more and clambers out of the water with board in hand. The sand is hot beneath his feet as he approaches despite the thick clouds overhead, and he sinks the tail end of his board into the sand as he moseys closer. "You seem a little lost at sea, friend," he laughs good-naturedly, not spying any sort of vessel and hoping the man hadn't been unaware of how the islands like to move and ended up too far from the mainland.
The shout of hello - or rather the amusing alternative - is enough to have him swinging his head around to locate the person it came from. They're on the beach, and seem to be staying there by the rooted look they have. Harper lifts an arm with a sunny grin. "Ahoy!" he shouts back, letting the waves push him back towards shore. It's good timing, and after a moment of deliberation he slides off the board, paddling with an arm tossed over it until he can touch silt once more and clambers out of the water with board in hand. The sand is hot beneath his feet as he approaches despite the thick clouds overhead, and he sinks the tail end of his board into the sand as he moseys closer. "You seem a little lost at sea, friend," he laughs good-naturedly, not spying any sort of vessel and hoping the man hadn't been unaware of how the islands like to move and ended up too far from the mainland.
