Kenza
She's dressed for the "cool" (read: slightly less warm) weather—loose blouse, simple long skirt, colorful scarf draped around her shoulders. The difference to summer is something along the lines of "all my skin except for my face and hands and feet is covered" because she's still barefoot, of course she is. There's just something about the sand under her feet..
Yeah, she's stepped on bad shit more than once. Sharp rocks, pieces of glass, literal shit. You name it, she's stepped in it. Worth it? Apparently, because she's still barefoot, ambling down this particular part of the coast with a fish basket on her hip, enjoying the sun on her face and the sea breeze in her messy braid.
If it wasn't for his fish (or boot) she probably would've missed him, but the movement catches her eye. The rod raised skywards, the line invisible against the waters and sky, sunlight gleaming on dark, wet skin—broad shoulders, strong hands, yet so neatly teasing that boot (or fish) to the surface. She's seen merfolk before but not done more than chat with them—they're pretty, but frightening because of it, and she always feels like a fool around them.
She's in no rush to get home. What's one more humiliation, anyway? There'll be plenty more of that anyway because she's not planning on dying tonight. So she (nervously) moves closer, steps onto the jetty and brightly announces "it's a good day for fishin', innit?" a bit too loudly as she drops her fish basket (it squelches) to her feet with less finesse than intended.
Yeah. Maybe this is why you always feel like a fool around them, Kenzie.
Yeah, she's stepped on bad shit more than once. Sharp rocks, pieces of glass, literal shit. You name it, she's stepped in it. Worth it? Apparently, because she's still barefoot, ambling down this particular part of the coast with a fish basket on her hip, enjoying the sun on her face and the sea breeze in her messy braid.
If it wasn't for his fish (or boot) she probably would've missed him, but the movement catches her eye. The rod raised skywards, the line invisible against the waters and sky, sunlight gleaming on dark, wet skin—broad shoulders, strong hands, yet so neatly teasing that boot (or fish) to the surface. She's seen merfolk before but not done more than chat with them—they're pretty, but frightening because of it, and she always feels like a fool around them.
She's in no rush to get home. What's one more humiliation, anyway? There'll be plenty more of that anyway because she's not planning on dying tonight. So she (nervously) moves closer, steps onto the jetty and brightly announces "it's a good day for fishin', innit?" a bit too loudly as she drops her fish basket (it squelches) to her feet with less finesse than intended.
Yeah. Maybe this is why you always feel like a fool around them, Kenzie.
