Un Cuba libre, por favor

@Esmerelda if you feel like it, but really anyone

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THIS.

THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS.
FUCK.

Yeah, Poseidon had left Winterheart. He had mentioned off hand one day to.. someone? He wanted to explore. Now that he had found the sea, it was time to discover what was really out here.

It had taken him an entire month to wander his way all the way around the north side and to this place. He had skipped the spooky castle hanging on a cliff nearby because... well, to be frank it looked pretty awful. He didn't know why anyone would choose that direction.

For the most part, it had been rocky shores and cliffs and, weirdly, normal-looking and very non-coastal forests sitting next to the shoreline. The world had stopped making sense, not that it had made any sense before because somehow he was a God reduced to a wolf. Why the gods of this earth hadn't just plopped him into his horse body, he didn't know. That was a mystery to be solved another time by definitely not the King of the Sea.

The white sands beneath his feet were 100% some place he would have designed himself. If only wolves had thumbs, he would have fashioned himself a beach umbrella and sat his toasty ass in the sun, soaking up some warm rays. The sand was a bit difficult on his paws after a short distance, though, and he was surprised at himself when he opted to walk instead closer to the surf. The water there was pure and blue and exactly what you'd find on a postcard in the old world, but with no tourists. Instead, sandpipers and sea birds scavenged. Tiny, googely-eyed crabs sidled their way from hole to hole. There were no broken glasses, no red dixie cups, no plastic, no forced music.

He did wish he had a volleyball net and a boombox, though. Oh, and a bar. And ladies.
Poseidon also had yet to shed a lot of his winter coat, so had to take refuge in the shade of a large palm tree. To entertain himself, he began noisily humming, and then absolutely blaring the melody to Vengaboys' We Like To Party. You know. As Poseidon do.
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Poseidon was yowling his tune while rolling around in sand quite happily, but he was greeted with a silky-voiced woman that sounded quite the opposite. This prompted him to swiftly roll his way to his side and feet in one weird swooping gesture, like a dance move from a jazz class he had never attended but said he'd gone to anyway.

Shaking himself off, he flung sand in every direction, then waltzed forward with the strut of an island-owning billionaire. Sure, this wasn't his yet, but he could see a world where the beach was littered with lounge chairs and the party never stopped. The measurement of that success would be in the number of complaints received by the residents of the scary castle several miles to the northwest. He'd have to find... monkeys or something to produce those lounge chairs, or just beg the gods of this world to change him back to something with fingers.

“¿Qué?” He said, which was the only Spanish word he knew, which is what he assumed because he'd never been exposed to what she was actually speaking.

It also happened to be the same word in Portuguese, because language.

It of course was not lost on him the general vibe she was giving off. He expected she'd be in a tiny g-string bikini if she'd been human, but he'd learned his lesson mostly about being a little too upfront with lady wolves here. Instead, he just stood there, tipping his head to one side as he quietly lapped up every fine feature, avoiding the direct gaze of her strange eyes.
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A man. Men always found a way to do something ridiculous, something stupid. This one had managed to make the sea-witch think he was dying. And of course, since he answered with a word that was within her native vocabulary, Esme thought he spoke the same language.

Moving towards the man cut from swaths of the sea, she would lower her voice some so that she was not yelling across so pretty a beach. “Você estava cantando? Eu pensei que você estava ferido! — Were you singing? I thought you were hurt!” The words came and went quickly, the cadence of her speech fast and vibrant. She had no idea that he didn't speak her language, instead assuming far more about him than she had any right to. “Espero que você possa navegar melhor do que canta. Onde estamos? — I hope you can navigate better than you sing. Where are we?”

Peering at the man, her tail hung neutrally behind her, waiting for his answer.

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Blank stare.

Poseidon pursed his lips, but in that weirdly, vulgar and confused way.

Though he opened his mouth between sentences, he didn't manage to get any words out and immediately regretted his lack of... Spanish? Come to think of it, it sounded more like Spanish had been kicked around by France, chewed up, spit out, and made into stinky cheese.

“Uh I don't... speak... that.” He answered, looking away apologetically. His tail, which had previously been waving slowly with excitement slowed to a droop.

Just in case she also didn't speak English, he bent into a smooth play bow, putting his head to one side, hoping she would understand the apology. “Sorry, miss,” he said, and also wasn't sure what the problem was. Did she need help? He looked briefly but saw no injury, so he stood back up and took a gentle step closer. “Are you okay?” He kept his words slow, trying to get the intent across with his tone.
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“Uh I don't... speak... that.”

Esme laughed, the sound just as vibrant as her Portuguese, and harder still when he acted as if she would not understand him. It was not hard to understand why he would think such a thing, and so she did not take offense to the way he spoke as if she was a deficient child.

“It is lucky for you then, that I do speak that.” A joke of sorts, teasing him for it all. He was an amusement for the time being, no obvious threat to her. That did not mean her guard was completely down, but she was at least a touch more approachable. “I suppose it is I who should apologize for assuming you spoke Portuguese. Allow me to translate:

"Were you singing? I thought you were hurt!" and after that, "I hope you can navigate better than you sing. Where are we?"” Periwinkle eyes glittered with laughter here, teeth bared in a smile that few men ever saw.

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Coloured like a kaleidoscope, the silver woman's voice hit him like glitter, soft but impossible to get rid of. He realized quickly that she was not in need of help, or certainly not his help. Like so many nymphs he had met, she was difficult to figure out but quick to be entranced by. “Oh good,” Poseidon sighed in relief. Although he would have happily played charades through even the most nuanced conversation if she'd bothered to keep his company.

But, formally, she translated. She sounded... well, like a princess or someone else of high breeding. He didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. “Ah, I see,” he answered, humming softly for a moment in thought. Her attempt at damaging his ego didn't work; he didn't really have an ego.

“This,” he paused for effect. He didn't know what this place was called, so he named it what he thought it should be named. “Is Mojito Beach!!!” He put his front paws forward in the sand, splayed a bit, like he was making the biggest announcement known to... wolf. A great smile was across his face, as he waited for her reaction.

He imagined party poppers, kazoos, and confetti behind him.
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The way he did not rise to her pokes and prods at him brought a curious look to her, thoughtful if you had to put a name to it. Unexpected, but past that, Esme would make no assumptions. Her eyebrows did raise in some unnameable expression. “Mo... hito?” It sounded as if it were a Portuguese word, but one she did not know. “What does that mean?” Perhaps pretty? Sandy? Was it some word that he had made up? 

Her reaction was probably not what he would want, supremely lackluster as she stared at him in confusion. Perhaps she had thought too much of him at first, thinking he might be more intelligible than other men. Just as foolish, it seemed.

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What did it mean?
“I think it means... Mint? No..” Poseidon had to think and pause for a long moment. This word meant so much to him, but likely nothing to her. “I'm sorry, I don't know what it means. I think in Spanish 'mint' is "Mento" or something but.. Mojitos are a drink.” He paused and sat in the sand. She was some distance from him, as Poseidon had never closed the distance, mostly to make sure she was comfotable.

He thought about his wife, who in this world had rejected him.
He thought about his son, who he had never met in this world and missed terribly.

“I used to drink them on beaches just like this.” Poseidon wished badly for such an escape now. This beach should be such. It should make everything else go away. He turned to the stranger. So beautiful. He realized quickly she had little interest in him, but he wanted her company anyway. “Where are you from?”
 He stretched the question like an olive branch, desperately desiring her to be nearer to him.
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“Menta, yes. In Portuguese, it is hortelã.” He hadn't asked what it was in her own language; whether she said it for his benefit or her own, Esmerelda was not sure, but it was also not something she would spend any quantity of time pondering, either. “You do not drink water?” She would ask, still a bit confused on the context but the conversation was at least aiding in her view of the man. He did not seem to be a threat, one way or another, and this led to the mottled silver creature stepping forward once or twice, further closing the distance between them.

“The Saltwoods, an island to the north of here. I and my lover are putting together a crew there, she as the leader.” For they hadn't yet had their conversation of Wake being the Captain and she, the Mystic. Just as well though, as even if they hadn't eventually had it, Esmerelda would have been fine to give Wake her support from beneath, in more ways than just one. “And you? Somewhere curious, it seems, no?” For he had drinks that were not water, and perhaps many more things that Esmerelda would not be familiar with.

“Perhaps you also know why some wolves just wash ashore with no memory of how they got there?” Because why not ask a question they had not yet found an answer to?

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“Ort..Ortela..” he said, saying it several more times in different speeds and various pronunciations to be sure. “Hortela.. Hortelã.. Hortelã.”
Poseidon's excitement around this word did not go unnoticed. He was quickly distracted, however, by her query over water.

“I drink water, of course. It is hard to find on the beach. I have to go far. Further,” he said, trying to speak words she'd understand even though she had apparently far better command of the common language than he did.

She went on. She explained that she and her, it dawned on him, lesbian lover and she were starting something big. This excited him, but it also felt... odd. He couldn't explain why. A She as the leader perhaps felt uncomfortable to him, largely because he would not be said leader. He seemed to get over this quickly, apparently curious. Somewhere curious, no? she said, and he said “Curious indeed.”

But did he know why?
He could lie.
That was not in his nature. “I don't know. No, I don't know why that happens.” Poseidon let that sit for a hot minute. He wished he knew. He did not recognize these constellations. He did not know these beasts that dances on the skies on strange nights. He knew only that he did not want to be alone anymore, and that his wife would not be joining him. Was this his boon? “I am sorry,” he said slowly. “Tell me more of.. Saltwoods.”
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He tried to pronounce it, and mostly failed, which was fine; most could not speak a language that was not theirs, and if they could, they usually either learned as a child, or were adept at taking on such knowledge. He attempted, which was more than most, and this was something Esmerelda could appreciate about him. Perhaps he was teachable. Moldable. Esmerelda found a new light to appraise him in, then, watching him as she took in the things he said and the quick shift in his demeanor when she asked her questions.

The grey coated female would not prod him over his sudden moment of quiet, when he hadn't, well... Shut up since she'd met him, but instead allow his moment of silence before he asked after the island not far from where they stood now. “Do not apologize, please.” She offered a small smile, one of understanding. Perhaps he had been separated from his kind. “It is a bountiful place. Beautiful beaches, a fresh water source somehow,” because how could there be a fresh water source on an island, or at least one so plentiful? “Plenty of prey, and there is a sandbar that appears at low tide, to allow safe passage.” She smiled again, this one proud and happy. “It is a paradise all to ourselves.”

Esme paused here, considered things, and looked at him anew, her head tilting just slightly. “Would... you like to join us? It's a motley bunch, but all we ask is that you do for the pack what you would do for yourself, like a family, if you would.”

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To be honest, it had been a while since Poseidon had been excited about much of anything. A while ago, he'd been pleased at the prospect of Winterheart Forest sitting on its own lovely island, surrounded entirely by seascapes. Still, though, something beyond that world had reached out to him. Maybe it had been her, and her nymph-like spirit. As doubtful as that seemed, he had known stranger things in both this place and his home world.

As she spoke, he pressed his foot against the damp sand, closer to the surf. He tried to imagine it. He had trouble thinking any beach could be as beautiful as this one. He wondered what lay in the forests that sat just outside the palms. What fruits and birds and beasts made their home there? Was it even liveable? Poseidon raised his paw, comparing it to the perfect print he had just created. “All to ourselves,” he parroted, his voice drifting to some far off coast in a place she had never seen and he would never see again.

Her glee was infectious, and when he raised his eyes back to her, he grinned wide and stupid. His tail waved back and forth slowly. After popped the question, so to speak, the once-God answered, “Well...”

Then he came closer to her, poking his nose up to hers to give her a proper sniff. While he hadn't always been a wolf, he had quickly adopted the habit of bursting personal space bubbles in the same way he always did as a sea god. He sniffed at her neck and near her shoulder. She smelled like salt, wind, fish, and something sweet he couldn't place.

Abruptly, he pulled back. “Are there more ladies there?”
Obviously much more important than food, shelter, or literally anything else.
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She would let him sniff at her, not quite minding the invasion of space. It was rather natural for a wolf, after all, not to mention that he had not shown a lick of aggression towards her thusfar. She, too, extended her next to scent him -- or would have, had he not abruptly withdrawn.

Still a man, it seemed. A lech, likely perverted and troublesome in his own ways. And yet, Esme found herself somewhat endeared to him. Odd, how that seemed to be the case, as she usually did not even care to give men the time of day. A laugh found its way to the air, soft and amused. “We'll get all the more there if we have you to lure them in, no?” She could not deny that he was attractive, but where Esmerelda had once been in favor of any gender, now she only had eyes for a singular creature.

“Come then. We will come back and explore your Motito Beach more soon; I can show you to the island.”

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Like any nymph, she carried the laughter of youth, a perfect bubbly purr on the air. The answer seemed to be "no," but she masked it with a half-baked compliment. Although he liked to think of himself as a guy capable of drawing in damsels and nymph and whatnot, he had struck out every time in this world and many times in his last. Still, not being alone was still better than nothing, even if his dry spell was doomed to continue to his grave.

“I guess you've got confidence in me then,” he chirped, hopping along to her side with a slight grin. “Ah, also, introductions. I am Poseidon—” dramatic pause... a strong step forward and a stupid pose —“GOD OF THE SEA!”

He tipped his head, grinning. “Just kidding.”
Too late to change her mind now; he'd be glued to her side until he saw this fantastical island she'd described.
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