born with salt on my skin
Yeh’d have to be blind to miss Nate ridin’ the giant-ass chicken through Haulani, an’ most of the more sober patrons of the Hanged Man had climbed up to the roof to watch it all, cacklin’ with glee to see their compatriots flailing around with the chicken. Some drunk starting goin’ on about Nate bein’ the Lone Free Ranger and by the end’a the night, they’d spread the nickname far ‘n wide.
And the eggs? They didn’t go unnoticed either.
On Raza’s day off, she coils Hoa around her neck an’ shoulders and sets out for the beach, sandals pattering steadily against the city’s cobblestones as she strolls easily through the streets. Sweat begins to bead between her shoulder blades as she reaches the baking sands and Hoa seems to absolutely delight in the heat - or maybe it’s the sight of such big eggs? Which are entirely too large for him to get his mouth around, but that doesn’t mean he can’t daydream of being in a food coma for days, the glutton.
Chuckling at her companion, Raza strolls up to one of the eggs and puts a hand - and her ear - up to the shell.
and the sea in my blood
RAZA
