The Outlook

[Avellan13]

Walking along the shore, I notice a familiar figure ahead. As I draw closer, I notice that it's Luna. Smiling, I walk over to her and bow.

Hello Lady Luna. How are you today.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Head turns and I smile up at Avel.

Hello, dear one. I am fine. Stopped through to swim and think before I go home to my Haven and write. This is a good place to do both things...and they have fresh OJ too!

How are you today?

 

[Avellan13]

I nod to her.

I'm fine. Feeling pretty good today. Better than yesterday at least.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

I wave to a chair nearby and smile. The server returns with my glass filled to the brim with orange goodness. I tip her with another smile and return my attention to Avel.

I have days like that...where nothing is right. Luckily they are getting further apart.

I glance toward the sea and take a drink of my juice. Oh. So good.

 

[Avellan13]

I walk over to the chair and sit down.

So what are you thinking of writing about at the Haven? An ORP, SRP, or a story?

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Am debating some poetry, not for publishing here...just to work through some thoughts. Sometimes, stories use TOO many words to get an idea across...that's when I write poems. Today has been one of the better times for contemplation...and writing solidifies my ideas.

 

[Avellan13]

I don't know much about poetry except that it makes people feel better.

 

[Light Ice]

Beautiful. Dreamlike. Beyond reach.

I have never been one to mourn the cruel tidings of fate. Instead, taking what I can, there is an appreciation of elegance and the few similarities that I can place. She is not, however, the reason that I am here. She is happy coincidence.

I count the waves. My eyes track their lulling pace. I hear them. She is not looking as he passes but I give Luna a faint wave, admiring the shape of her darkness striding through the sand. I have long been shameless in my admiration of beauty. Luna's is strength. Poise.

The Angel on the shore below? Something else. Mystery, maybe.

But the ocean is beautiful and inspiring. I've long found it so. It draws the women that capture my attention to its shores and so, more often than they might suspect, I linger here. Sand is adept at holding a bottle and while it would eagerly drink up any spilled portents...

I am careful. Always.

 

[Avellan13]

I look up at the new arrival and motion for him to come down and talk with us.

 

[Drunken_Angel]

Contemplative, that is how he seems. I watch him watching. I can see the desire in his gaze, but I read those as surface thoughts, wondering what is beneath. Perhaps I wont like it.. perhaps I will find it fascinating- perhaps this set of words and punctuation cleverly disguised as a man is nothing more than that.

I've high standards.

I walk past, LI, and at the very least offer a smile. My path is beyond him, it is to the lounge, to my muse. It is a seat beside the wolf who I have not seen in some time. I am quiet, so as not to disturb their conversation.

 

[Avellan13]

I turn to the new arrival and nod to her.

Hello good lady. My name's Avellan, or Avel for short. Luna's not here right now, sadly, but I think she'll be back soon. Anyways, what's your name?

 

[Light Ice]

The benefits of appreciation, of patience, lay stretched beyond the impulse of an instant. Desires are powerful things. I could not claim with confidence to be the master of them. She drifts by, long-legged, sleek and sure. There exists a moment where it seems to me she is gliding above the sand. I appreciate grace. It is not one of my own qualities.

She smiles. I lift a glass. It seems a suitable greeting between strangers.

And she goes. The beach less fair in consequence. Still, I have the waves. They are constant and the breeze sharp. It brushes at me, restless, as though stirring me to moving. I do not. I remain content upon the sand amidst the grass listening to the water beat upon the shore and counting the waves and their sets. I should bring the dogs next time.

Were I to guess her thoughts by the look she paid, not just not, but before while upon the shore...

I'd guess at appraisal. Curiosity, fleeting perhaps, but there. The cold truth is that I am not a particularly warm man. I have intolerances. Opinions. There are moments where the liquid nature of people crashes hard against my otherwise immobile spirit. I've always been unapologetic for it. The consequences are as they are, not to be skirted. The collective of my faults and qualities stand as clear as my principles. I hold to them.

And still, it would be something to be charismatic. I think of it as the wind brings me a scent of her. Anise, mostly, for the air here is weighted with salt and freshness and the consequence is that the more feminine hints of what she wears are lost far before they reach me. Anise. I smile and drink my Bombay. Humored again.

I cannot see a worst case scenario. An attractive drinking partner, maybe. Or something to watch along the shore. I could appreciate either.

The more sordid, intimate possibilities are for the briefest of moments banished. Never far. I am, after all, no noble spirit.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Reality has released me from it's hungry maw and I am in need of solitude. Once more, my footsteps lead me to the Outlook. Once more, I walk along the shoreline, my bare feet leaving small tracks that disappear with each incoming wave.

No one is here. Not the man I saw in passing, not Avel, not the Drunken one. It is just myself, alone on the stretch of sand and sea. There is silence. Soothing. Seducing. Simple. I reach my spot, the one I claimed, long ago, back when I had more supposed friends than I do now. Back when I needed to cover up the pain with laughter, back when I was still just trying to fit in. I no longer want to. I no longer try.

I sit down, my back against the rocky outcropping, legs extended, feet drenched with each incoming splash of sea water. Eyes close as I debate my interior mysteries. I still have them. Things that I don't share, won't give, can't discuss. they are trapped inside, behind my ribs, like birds in a cage. Those secrets, those places.

Eyes open and I watch the surge of rushing waves. They are soothing, rhythmic. They relax me.

 

[Light Ice]

But he was there.

Content to watch. It was the theme of his day. Watching. Waiting. The bottle a fresh replacement for the former. Clear. Clean. He drank lazily as the water sloshed on shore, shining pale green in the light of a very high moon. Drunk on it. Drunk on this, he lingered, watching the dark-skinned beauty lounge.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Music...from somewhere.

Moonlight Sonata

Head turns as I look for the source and I see a flash of paleness~higher up. The glint of a bottle. I hadn't noticed anyone earlier and I wonder what sort of magic this is. That a person can be both here and away, when I wander by. Raising my head slightly, I sniff the air. But the sea erases all other scents, leaving only it's dark salty tang, behind.

No matter. If the person wanted to talk, they would have come closer. They must be needing the solitude as well. My head softly bobs to the music...I love this piece. Standing up, stretching. Muscles ripple beneath brown skin. I step out of my shorts, my top, my bra....and stride toward the water. Nothing soothes like a late night swim,

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Breaking the surface, I swim for shore, eyes dazzled by the moonlight reflected on the water. A few moments later, I am standing and shaking short, wet curls away from my face. Gotta gather my clothes and head for home. Long day and I work tomorrow. Not bothering to dress, I place my things in a water proof ruck sack and turn toward home.
My wolf pup is calling my name...and so are my woods and my bed. There is safety and sanity there. Peace, too.

Soon enough, the sea erases my passing...and I am gone.

 

[Drunken_Angel]

Toes wiggled in sand, the sun leaves fire in its wake.

 

[Light Ice]

A hundred shades upon the horizon. Reds, fading hints of orange, twisting into a blooming vermillion blushed gently with purples and pinks. He sits and drinks. Watches. Counts waves.

The sea's color changes in the sunset light; still enough to heliograph against the half-full glass of Bombay in his hand.

 

[zydrate]

Bounds in and over to a lone cart at the edge of the bar...it's colorfully decorated with leis hanging all over it...a sign reads "Get Lei'd for only $1.00!"

 

[fr33ks33k]

*Yet again, he's managed to fall asleep in the damned lounger. They must not mind him being out in the lounge snoring to high heaven...or they just ignore it. He sees the moon on the rise, and decides he wants to take a dip. He stops off in his room for a fresh pair of swim-trunks, donning them alone before taking the back stairs down to the beachfront. He wanders out over the crags and higher rocks, looking for a proper jumping-off point, smiling when he finds one. A quick stretch, and then he's in the water, a simple dive that sets him out quite a length from the sands of the shore when he surfaces. His eyes are drawn up to the moon as he treads water, the fractured reflection playing off the waves. He smiles and starts to swim parallel to the shore, strong arms and shoulders slicing the water while his legs kick, churning up a white wake to show his passing, fading just as quickly*

 

[Drunken_Angel]

It is those colors that get her, every time. Sometimes people ask why she left home, which for all its magic, cannot touch the vividness and clarity of this world. Its rather like comparing an impressionist landscape to a photograph of the same.

Sometimes you simply need reality. Sometimes you need someone with whom to share it. Rising from the receding tide, half silhouetted in the sun's remaining glow, she approaches Ice and takes a seat beside him. As before, no words are spoken, simply a moment shared.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*He managed to make it to shore, a long way off from the Outlook proper. He was breathing heavily, arms sore and legs tired, as he sat down on the sand, just out of reach of the tide. If he squinted his eyes, he could just make out the few people dotting the beach. A soft smile at the thought of their companionship curled his lips upward. He stood slowly, preparing for the trek back to the bar. He could use a drink.*

 

[Light Ice]

It is those colors that get her, every time. Sometimes people ask why she left home, which for all its magic, cannot touch the vividness and clarity of this world. Its rather like comparing an impressionist landscape to a photograph of the same.

Sometimes you simply need reality. Sometimes you need someone with whom to share it. Rising from the receding tide, half silhouetted in the sun's remaining glow, she approaches Ice and takes a seat beside him. As before, no words are spoken, simply a moment shared.

She is, even at his side, ethereal. There. And not. The glass that was his is now set before her, full, amidst the loose grains of sand that hug the stalks of beach grass. There are no strings to that glass or anything else he might offer her. His own existence, here, is a more grounded shade of tentative. Still, he takes one long look at her. The cut of his eyes sharp across soft, elegant features, and the appreciation that harbors itself in the hazel of it all is purely masculine. Muted; not ashamed.

The sound of waves changes as the sun slips beneath the horizon's blanket. It is a small marvel of the ocean. A low rumble pours from churning waters, breaking closer to shore now, louder for that and the emptiness of the sands that meet them. He watches with her at his side. Content for that.

Truth be told he favored darkness over sunsets. Night over twilight. There was a great deal for him to look forward to.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

* A peaceful night, a pleasant stroll in evening ocean breezes; such is my recipe for letting go the cares of the day. My strolling feet sink into the wet sand, waves rolling up around my ankles. The sea invites me to come and play, and it is tempting.

It seems like so simple a thing, to swim, to frolic. It would change nothing, yet change my outlook on everything. Perhaps that is how this place got its name. A moment is all it takes to slip out of my clothing, scant as it is, and stash it further up the beach in a convenient niche. Quick naked strides to the water's edge and beyond, thigh deep before the resistance encourages me to simply fall forward, letting the bosom of the mother ocean take me, cradle me, wash away my sins and my troubles.*

 

[Annisthyrienne]

*An hour spent in bliss, relaxation at it's most serene. But I'm no fish. I cannot stay in this cradle of life too long. After a time, every movement against the resistance of the very substance that buoys me becomes an effort. Soon, I am more tired than I realize and swimming back to the shoreline is a challenge.

The idle thought of not returning, of letting the waters claim me, of becoming one more meaningless mote in this vast sea, without concerns, cares, troubles, or woes; it tempts me. But that is no answer. Life has its struggles, but that is what life is, a constant struggle. Maybe that is the purpose of life, the reason for it. It's the struggle, the drama of the struggle.

Mayhaps our souls are the authors of our dramatic story, and invent these struggles as mere plot devices, catalysts for our character to unfold in the vast drama that is our life. Surely we do the same when we write a story. In the interest of making it a better story, we put our poor protagonists through all sorts of trials and tribulation. Were they to become suddenly self aware, they would no doubt lament their woeful lot in life, beset by problems and strife at every turn. Do we not do exactly the same?

These musings occupy me long enough to reach the shore, dragging my weary body at last out of the waves. For long moments, I abandon modesty, preferring to collapse upon the sands and rest, nearly exhausted.