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There was something nice about a beach. The water was… testy, but the sand was warm, the sun glittering off the tips of the waves and a frothing foam lapping at the shore. Marksman didn’t much care for the sight of the water- not only was it terribly bright, but the sight of the deep water made something harsh bubble in his stomach. (It didn’t matter; he was a protector, so he would watch over the sea and make sure everyone was safe inside.)
The crowd wasn’t too big, at least- Artemis and Neptune were stomping through the water, Cosmos and Apollo not far behind chasing her with a bucket of water. There was another small group- he didn’t know them, but they held at least his vague attention. A psion and an Eliksni, close to an Awoken, their laughter reaching him from his place as they tossed water and peered into the waves. (Neither himself nor his team seemed to care much, though he briefly worried that they were too far in the waves from the shore. How well could Eliksni swim? And he had never seen a psion anywhere near the water- maybe that was why they remained safe in the large round floats, bobbing like buoys on each cresting wave.)
“You keep staring at the water, love.” Solus’ voice drags him from his distant thoughts, and Marksman hummed in a lazy response. (The sun was delightfully warm against his plating, seeping under his frame into a pleasant heat that made him feel like dozing. He couldn't, though, in case something happened off the sand.) “Are you alright?” A nod, and Solus settled into his lap with a pleased little churr. He raised his fingers, petting along his fins and purring at the Ghost’s pleased chirp in response. Solus was comfortable, which meant he was comfortable. (Solus would let him know if anything felt wrong.) “Oh- look at that!” He blinked the daze from his eyes, rattling his plating in an effort to stir awake better as he turned his gaze to follow Solus’. Another exo was dragging themself from the water, shaking their frame to shed part of the water as they glowered at the waves. (A life jacket, odd little pockets on their arms and large… shoes? He had never seen anything like them. If he had to guess, they hadn’t wanted to sink.)
They seem to notice his staring, squaring their shoulders and slanting their eyes in a manner he understood well. Searching. They looked between him and their friends in the water, who were laughing again, fixing him with a sharper stare. Intention. He spoke the language well. Marksman raised one hand from Solus’ shell in a wave, before holding up the hot pink bucket and making a vague gesture. (Lower the shoulders, tilt back the finials, drop the chin- he made himself smaller, widening his pupils despite the immediate glare from the sun and hunkering around Solus in his lap. (“Oh, you’re making a friend?” He pointedly ignored Solus’ tease.)
It took a moment before they settled, seemingly copying his less threatening posture as they trekked through the sand. Closer. They’re eyeing him up again, struggling out of their odd shoes and shimmying out of the tube they wore before stepping closer. They were gold, like him, though more copper-tones, with green eyes and a far smaller frame. (Everyone was smaller than him, but they were more noticeable. Maybe a warlock, or a hunter?)
“Hm.” Words aren’t working properly, so he gives a low rumble of a hum and dips his head again. “Marksman,” he adds, almost an afterthought, and they blinked at him.
“Sashura.” She copied his dip, looking back at her friends for a moment. (She had an accent he couldn’t quite place, her voice thick and smooth as wine despite the undeniably mechanical undertone all exos seemed to have. At least she wasn’t trying to kill him- that was a refreshing change.) “You aren’t going to cause any problems, yes?” Problems? Him? He almost laughed, (but he didn’t, because that may have been rude.)
“Sand castle,” he agreed, and held up his fragile little bucket again. He held the tiny shovel out to her- it was about the same size as his hand, and he felt a little silly holding it- and pat the sand in front of him. “Sink in the water, prefer to watch.” She squinted at him a moment, before sitting down with a heavy vent and prying the rest of her floaties off. Water poured from her frame, soaking the sand into a dark brown as she unclipped the life jacket and dropped it under the sun. The shovel looked far more appropriate in her hand, less like a toothpick and more like a tool, and he felt Solus’ approval as a gentle pressure in his chest. (His Ghost had been begging him to be more approachable for weeks before the trip, and he supposed this counted. Besides, he would have hated to break Ari’s sand-tools just by holding them.)
“You dig the moat, I’ll build up.” Sashura had a Russian accent, he had realized. It explained the familiarity. He dutifully set to work on using his hands to pile sand out around their growing kingdom, half listening to Solus and Paul chirping to one another. Paul was Sashura’s Ghost- a rather shy little thing, that had seemed just a touch anxious when first making an appearance. Solus’ eager charm had quickly won over the smaller Ghost, and they had been chattering with each other for the last two hours as their Guardians made a sandcastle kingdom.
It’s only a bit more digging before he finds it- an odd little disk, with a flower-shaped design on its rounded side. The bottom was flat, with grooves and a small hole in the center-
“Sand dollar!” Paul’s voice was a pleasant chirp, and Sashura leaned closer to look down at the thing.
“What is a dollar?”
“Oh, oh!” Marksman flicked his finials when Solus eagerly shouted, and the Ghost gave an embarrassed laugh as he lowered his tone. “A dollar was a form of pre-Golden Age to beginning Golden Age currency- before glimmer! It was made of paper, and worth- well, one. There was other types of dollar as well- five, ten, twenty, fifty, and one hundred, I believe? Instead of glimmer, the people in those times would pay with dollars! Oh, and that reminds me of coins-” the Ghost continued on, and Marksman returned his attention to the sand dollar. He held it out to Sashura, and she took it between two fingers and raised it closer to her face, tilting her head ever slightly. After a moment, she looked back up at him, a look about her that he understood near immediately. They held eye contact a moment before she grinned, scrambling back to her feet and jogging down the beach with her eyes to the sand. Solus was still rambling on about different types of old currency, (and Paul, at least, seemed somewhat invested,) so Marksman heaved himself out of the sand and shook the offending remains off his plating.
“Goin’ hunting.” He informed the Ghost, and they both nodded before running back and forth about Golden-Age things he didn’t understand. No matter; he jogged to catch up with Sashura, helping in her hunt for the dollars along the shore. He could hear Ari’s indignant shouts- it seemed Cosmos and Apollo had finally caught up- and the familiar chattering of an Eliksni, though he didn’t focus on what they were saying aside from something about fish. He had a mission, and Sashura seemed to agree, because they wandered closer to the fleeing waves and poked through the sand.
He saw one, a little round shape in the dark sand, and he rushed to sweep it up- froth ran over his fingers, up to his ankles and around his feet. The shell felt like a weight in his fingers, heavy and unmoving, and he struggled against something he recognized- (something dark, something like fear that prevented him from straightening, kept him from looking up through the wave around his wrist-)
“Marksman!” Sashura’s voice echoes, bouncing through his head in a way that was nearly too loud, and he jerked back up with the sand dollar in his hands. (That was all it was, not a weight, just a shell so small it fit in the palm of his hand. This was okay.) “Quick! We are running out of time.” He lengthened his stride until he was beside her again, looking over a patch of the white-grey shells as she clasped her hands together and grinned. “Plenty,” she practically purred, and they set to work on scooping as many up as possible before the tide covered them for the evening. (This time, when the waves crash into his fingers, he can heave a shaking vent through it and scoop up more shells. It would be okay.)
“Toss me that wood, please.” The castle kingdom was thriving. They had expanded the territory, taking up a good chunk of the beach, and now came building. Every kingdom, Sashura had said, needed currency. (They had also stolen the cooler and the bags of food from both groups, but that had yet to be discovered by those in the water.) Sashura was focused on finishing up the touches on the kingdom, occasionally tossing driftwood at him as he set to work on his project. Solus occasionally transmat in supplies- a few longer nails to keep things stuck together, a small tub of white paint and a brush, and Marksman was happy to set to work while Sashura finished setting up the kingdom. They had a comfortable quiet between them; Solus and Paul seemed content to fill the real silence, and Sashura seemed to be in a better mood than before, which Marksman counted as a positive. He stuck the final piece upon two large sticks, shoving the nails through the wood before nodding his approval at the dripping paint. Shura and Marks’ Bonfire Cuisine. Despite the childishness of it all, he was unable to deny a small thrill. When was the last time he had been allowed to have fun? This was nice, getting to do something silly for once.
“I’d say we’re looking good, hm?” Sashura stood beside him, hands on her hips as she eyed up the little shop. It was clunky and poorly held together, driftwood stacked and stuck together, buried half in the sand- it was perfect, a little shop on the shore, hiding the snacks on the other side. “Now, we will find residents.” Residents. They had decided on the tiny sandcrabs to make up the civilians of their kingdom, which left only finding a few to finish their town. (Besides that, the people in the water were getting ready to leave the waves. Time was short, and they were determined to complete the kingdom before business started.)
“My light,” Marksman’s hum made his Ghost chirp, giving him a curious look as his shell expanded to flare out gentle blue. “Could you tell the group about the terms?” Solus laughed then, a sound like windchimes to the titan, and he watched his optic brighten as he sent the message. Paul flit off like a little bird to Sashura’s own team, and the two Guardians- (Sashura was a warlock, he had been at least partially correct)- darted back to the water.
Crabs danced between the water and the sand, pushing through the mud and piling sand around them as they scuttled over rocks. Sashura scooped them into the bucket, and Marksman scooped handfuls of sand and crabs up into the plastic. It took less than ten minutes to find all the crabs they wanted, and they quickly scrambled to safely deposit them into the kingdom. They danced through the tiny buildings, down the streets and into the tiny carved holes in the sandcastles. Sashura and Marksman watched them for a long moment, pointing out certain crabs doing odd things- (“Look at that one, it is carrying a stick!” “That one is the blacksmith. In the forge, see?”) - before the voices of the other groups echoed over the sand. (Marksman could hear their confusion, and Sashura dashed to take her seat upon the cooler behind the shop.)
He heaved the a pile of driftwood into the pit they had dug, scrubbing his hands together to rid remaining sand before gathering his Light. It danced under his plating, sparks of heat along his fingers and down his palms before he gathered the Solar energy into proper existence and lit the dried wood into a brilliant blaze. It cast shadows on the sand, throwing brilliant sparks up to the darkened sky in an imitation of stars before the flames settled down into a more manageable blaze. Cosmos and Apollo were the first to find their ways to the fire, settling in close together and huddled under a large towel as they warmed up and shook water from their frames. Artemis followed, seated on Apollo’s other side with one towel holding her hair and another around her frame. (She was shivering, even as she grinned and tossed little handfuls of sand at her brother. He returned the sand, covering her damp legs in brown, contrasting the light blue of her skin. A small bubble of pride bloomed like a flower in Marksman’s chest; he had done good, and his people were safe, back on the sand around a fire.)
Sashura’s group crept closer with more caution. He couldn’t blame them, not with the tension around most Guardians, but he still dipped his frame and churred in a manner that tended to soothe Solus. The Eliksni seemed surprised enough, blinking owlishly in a manner almost comical before loosely echoing the sound. He could feel the psion's excitement, a gentle lapping at the back of his mind that sent electricity dancing down his spine. It wasn’t far from Solus’ own prodding, though his Ghost’s was warmer, more of a nudge than the sparks from the psion. They contained themselves though, their apparent curiosity unnoticable in any physical way. The Awoken eyed him up in a suspicious sort of manner, much the same as his business partner had done earlier. Sashura clapped a hand on his shoulder, having to hop off the ground to do so, and grinned over to the larger Awoken with a gleam about her that Marksman recognized. “Marksman.” She introduced, and he shuffled to hold out a hand. (Again; finials back, hunkering his frame lower and rumbling deep in his throat. The other Guardian squinted at his hand a moment before the Eliksni chattered back, seemingly soothing her concerns enough that she met him in a handshake.) “Thammua,” Sashura supplied helpfully, and then lowered her voice to a whisper, “but we call her Mua.” (Marksman doubted he could call her Mua, but he didn’t vocalize this thought. Instead, he dipped his head in a pleasant nod, and she cautiously mimicked the motion.)
It doesn’t take long for everyone to settle into an odd sort of ease. Cosmos and Apollo were busy cooing over one another- (or, the smaller blue hunter was clinging to Apollo and purring, and Apollo’s fans were humming in a blush)- and Ari and Neptune were laying on a towel pointing at constellations. (Sashura had finished up introductions from the safety of their shop- the Eliksni was called Obian, an associate of the Spider on a small vacation, and the psion was Tomeric, a previous pilot for the Cabal empire. He wondered if Dionysus had ever heard of her, but assumed not; Dionysus didn’t get to know many people, preferring his company from the Emperor or one psion that Marksman couldn’t remember the name of.)
Their little shop was… nice. Paul and Solus flit around making an inventory, and Sashura was keeping an eye on the kingdom while Marksman gazed over the fire. His gaze caught on Solus, as it tended to do; the Ghost and Paul seemed to have made fast friends, but Marksman was aware that he kept sneaking glances to make sure he was doing alright. (He appreciated his care, making sure he was comfortable; Marksman wasn’t often around so many people, and he knew Solus didn’t want him to be overwhelmed. That was alright though- he was feeling fine.)
A hand tapped on his own, and the exo startled back to attention. The psion- Tomeric- was tapping her hand over his, seeming to want his attention, and he churred in curious response. They stared at one another for a long moment, gold eye to gold eyes, and after a moment he understood. Marshmallow. She wanted a marshmallow.
“Did you remember-” Sashura’s teasing voice was cut off when Tomeric politely set three sand dollars on the table. They looked clean, free of sand or seaweed, dry and a shade of greyed cream. Marksman nodded his approval when Sashura swept them off the table and into their bucket. He leaned to the side, rummaging through a bag before finding the package of sugary sweets. Straightening, he reached out with one in hand- her confusion brightened to sparkles of amusement when he dropped the first atop her head, tilting his own side to side until he had adjusted it to balance properly. Another joined the first, stacking, and her muffled giggling made the stack threaten to topple. The third joined the tower, and he sat back and raised his hands in a pleased ta-da gesture. (Sashura’s sound of laughter set off the psion, and her shaking shoulders dropped the marshmallows. She caught two of them, the third safe in Marksman’s own hand, before he properly handed it back to her. Sashura handed her one of the metal roasting forks and a plate topped with the final pieces needed on a s’more, leaning close and speaking in a playful whisper. “Do not share with the group, right? They need to bring shells.” Tomeric nodded sagely, as though given a serious mission, before scampering back to her place beside Thammua and Obian. The Eliksni reached for a marshmallow, and Tomeric swatted his hand- hands , he reached with the lower set as well- and pointed him to the shop. Obian gave him an uncertain sort of look, and he hunkered his frame again, shrinking behind his post. (He had a way about him that seemed to intimidate most- Eliksni especially. Basal had offered that he just seemed like a Captain, massive and intimidating, and he had taken to trying his best to seem as approachable as possible to those that weren’t a threat. Of course, these people were far and few between, but this little group seemed nice enough to earn a friendlier approach.)
Obian crept closer, eyeing him up with a look he recognized from the Spider, and Sashura pointed in a playfully accusatory manner. “No swindling for snacks,” she stated, and he offered a nearly offended look in return.
“I would never,” he whined, raising an upper hand against his chest in a hurt manner. He looked at Marksman then, seemingly taking him in before giving a weak little gesture. “Shell?” A nod, and he pat down his pockets as though searching for something. “I-”
“No loans.” Sashura seemed amused, shaking her head as the Eliksni sputtered and waved his hands with an indignant chatter. “We are on a beach, go walk a few minutes.” Marksman chuffed on a laugh, holding his hands up in a motion of surrender when the Eliksni gave him a pleading look.
“I don’t argue with the boss,” he rumbled, and Sashura nodded firmly at his side. “Plenty of shells near the waves, though.” Obian clicked and chattered, (curses that Marksman didn’t bother translating beyond the tone behind them,) before heading back towards the lazily lapping waves. Artemis and Cosmos waited a moment, gazing between Marksman and Obian, and he tilted his chin towards the sand by the water. They weren’t exempt from the rule, and if he had to guess, he’d assume they hadn’t collected any shells either. It didn’t seem to bother Cosmos and Apollo any though, because the smaller hunter dragged Apollo to his feet before they ran, giggling like children, the opposite way Obian had headed. Artemis sighed, heavy and dramatic, before heading off towards the Eliksni, and Marksman made note to keep an eye on them as he took in the remaining group by the fire.
Thammua and Tomeric were still seated in the sand, and Solus was pouting with Paul. He recognized his Ghost’s sullen feeling, a slight tug in his own chest that caught his attention, and he noticed Paul cheerfully trying to steer him away from another Ghost he didn’t recognize. A gentle press, and Solus flicked a look to him, shell expanding slightly in a little show of blue light. Alright, he was assuring, wordless and soundless, an intention, a word in his mind instead of anything real. He slanted his eyes, and Solus’ shell moved in that way he knew was laughter. Paul seemed just a touch confused, but he and Solus moved down the beach in tail of Artemis, leaving only the three Guardians and Tomeric behind. (Thammua and Sashura were looking at each other in a way he recognized better than most other things, with Tomeric giving him a look that left the lingering feeling of fond exasperation against his plating. Were they nestmates? It felt… rude, to ask, so he settled for giving Tomeric an amused shrug before looking back to the kingdom.)
The crabs had either burrowed into the sand or scuttled away through the moats, leaving empty sand-streets and crumbling towers behind. He settled for setting up plates of snacks for when payment was received- chips and s’mores supplies, and he hummed as he snooped through the cooler. Hot dogs, juice pouches and water bottles, ice and lemons- he snagged one of those, tossing a sand dollar into the bucket before pulling out some waters and juices before prying the peel off the lemon. (Thammua looked vaguely unsettled as he shoved half the lemon into his mouth, and he offered his best attempt at a grin. She laughed at that, and Sashura practically had hearts in her eyes as she gave him an approving thumbs up. It seemed he had managed to find some kind of unspoken even ground, then.)
Artemis and Obian returned first, seeming at peace enough; Ari was speaking enough for both of them, something about the moon and waves, and Obian was listening along- or at least pretending to, though Marksman couldn’t tell which. They had pretty shells alongside the sand dollars, and Marksman found one he knew Solus would like. (It was a ridged snail shell, if he had to guess, so small it fit in the palm of his hand. Solus would put it in… he would put it in the windowsill by the bed, the one he liked to watch the City from, the same place he had put the dried flowers from their wedding and the crystals that Marksman had worn.) They were rewarded for their efforts with plates of food, (and both a packet of juice and proper dinner for Tomeric, though he wasn’t certain if she just wanted the s’mores,) Apollo and Cosmos took longer- most had already settled back in and started their food before they came slinking back into camp, Cosmos was tucked up under Apollo’s arm, practically beaming as he purred and swayed with their steps. Apollo had to direct him back to their towel before returning to Marksman, grinning near sheepishly as he approached.
“We aren’t late, right?”
“We’re on a beach.”
“Ah, right.” Apollo dropped a little baggie of shells on the table- sand dollars and smooth shells, a few cone-shaped snail shells or ridged near-circles, and Marksman nodded his approval as he placed them in the bucket. Apollo snagged two plates before dancing back towards Cosmos, who had flattened their towel out to give them some sandless space. It seemed business would be slowed the rest of the night, so Marksman rumbled deep in his throat before rising and stretching his arms up over his head. Solus was by his side in an instant, clicking softly, and he raised a hand to cradle his shell in his palm. Sashura seemed surprised by his movement, quickly moving back to the shop and resting her hands on her hips with a small grin.
“Taking a break?” She asked, and he gave a small nod as he shoved the rest of his sour snack into his mouth. (She barely faltered, instead pointedly ignoring his snack-preferences.) “Might as well join you then, business will be slow.”
“Will you be joining your nestmate?” He keeps his voice low, soft and curious, even though she sputtered like he had shouted it aloud. “I had assumed you two were-” she slapped a hand at his mouth, instead making contact with the flat of her palm on his chest with a metallic crash. (Artemis jumped, giving him a cross sort of look, and he gave an uncertain shrug in response.)
“Shh!” It wasn’t a hush so much as a violent vent, but he could see the lights in her cheeks, the hum of her fans- ah.
“Oh.” He offered, nodding as she dropped her hand back to her side. (He understood, as he tended to. He also understood Tomeric’s silent laughter, the feeling of windchimes and a breeze inside his head, and he could assume she had understood the entire moment even without knowing the conversation.) He left Sashura to collect herself, grinning as he dropped into the sand with a loud huff beside Ari, across from Obian. He tossed another marshmallow across the fire to each person- Sashura had brought Thammua a plate earlier, it seemed- before sighing and rattling his plating. Light was a gentle pressure, a dance of heat and fire that licked along his frame and rolled under his plating. He sighed, a deep breath that hummed through his vents, made his plating expand a moment, and on the exhale, he allowed the heat to expand outwards.
Marksman, by default, had two arms. It was what he was built with, what he had even before becoming an exo. (Basal had told him, however, that he could have gotten the typical four, had he been able to continue growing with ether.) Maybe that was why his Light reacted to the desire, why he was capable of the added limbs beneath his proper arms- the golden hands glowed, heated and warm, moving independent of his physical set as he went through the motions of sticking four marshmallows on separate poles and settling near the fire. Solus seemed unbothered, bumping into his cheek for a makeshift kiss before Paul got his attention at the water again.
Obian was not unbothered. He sputtered, dropping a golden marshmallow in the sand as his own hands moved about as though weaving something in the air. Marksman rumbled on a curious note, slowly rolling his own through the flames as Obian chattered and clicked feverishly.
“(You are-)” he waved wildy at him, and Marksman clicked, slanting his eyes and flicking his finials. “(Eliksni?)” He sounded confused, gesturing uncertainty, and the exo hummed thoughtfully. (Two marshmallows caught fire, and he moved the other two closer to the flames.)
“(Eliksni enough.)” He agreed, crooning approvingly when he drew the flaming balls of sugar from the heat. “(House Kings.)” After a moment of fumbling, he raised the marshmallows and managed to fit two in his mouth. He had to take the remaining into his hands, and with a bit of effort, he managed to fit all four without letting them fit through his cheeks. He could feel the remaining fire on his cheekplates, and Solus’ laughter let him know he must have had flames licking from the gaps where proper cheeks would be. (Tomeric and Obian seemed terribly interested in the newer look, with Tomeric’s eager curiosity waving in the back of his mind and Obian’s uncertain stare making the titan just a touch self conscious.) He made a vague gesture with his lower arms, offering a hesitant sort of grin as he struggled a moment to swallow the sticky sugar-treat. “(Friend?)” He finally managed, and Obian seemed to think a moment.
“(Marshmallow,)” he decided, and Marksman moved around the fire to place one, two, three- four! - atop the Eliksni’s head. Obian only removed one, starting to roast it again, and Marksman clicked when Tomeric grabbed at a golden forearm. She seemed pleased to find the Light-limb touchable, folding his fingers and following the artificial lines on his palms. (Despite being made of Light, the added arms carried his typical plating patterns- five fingers and seams along the illusion of metal, the same heat his own body provided, though just a touch warmer.) Tomeric made an odd sound, one he took as approval, and released his wrist to let him go back to his seat. (He hesitated, rumbled softly- then he settled in, a small distance away from Thammau. The Awoken gave him a side glance before twisting, offering a small smile.)
“So, Marksman, right?” He nodded, and she pressed on. “Heard about you a few times around the Farm.” (Curiosity; for some reason, the idea of people talking about him was odd. He certainly made his way through the Sol System, but he wasn’t too certain how memorable he was.) “Just about some missions and whatnot,” she clarified, “bits and pieces from fireteams that stop by.”
“I make my way around,” he murmured, setting to work on another set of marshmallows. (He could already hear Solus’ scolding on not eating proper foods for dinner. “You’ve had a busy day,” he would say, “you can’t just have sugar- you’ll be hungry later!” He stuck a fifth marshmallow on a pole.) Thammau focused on her own treat in the fire, and he looked back at the sand. Solus and Paul were close to the sand, just above the waves, scanning things along the beach in little showers of blue. (He moved a finger to pet along the thick band around his finger, familiar with the light green sea glass embedded in the gold. Solus liked sea glass- it had been the first gift he had ever given Marksman.) As though aware of his lingering gaze, Solus flicked a look back in response- his optic expanded into a bright blue disk in the growing darkness, blinking in a slow gesture that Marksman returned, before returning to his hunt for sand-things.
The sun had faded from the sky, leaving a sky full of stars behind. The waves made an imitation of the sky, rolling black velvet with spattered lights dancing on the surface. (If he looked deeper, maybe he would see an ocean of stars, deeper than he was willing to go. Maybe he would see himself again, looking up at the sky again, but he wasn’t going to check.) Another hour dragged by in companionable murmurs, before Artemis heaved herself to her feet and stretched. “Gotta start heading back,” she announced with a heavy hum. “Cabin is half an hour away and I don’t want to be around them anymore.” She gave Cosmos and Apollo a playfully disgusted look, sticking out her tongue at her brother’s indignant sound. Neptune, Juno, and Nebula set to work on transmatting out their belongings, towels and bags disappearing before their cooler, and Marksman dragged himself back up. Solus and Paul came darting back, flitting around one another like hummingbirds, and his Ghost butt happily into his cheek again.
“Are we leaving?” He chirped, and Paul gave a sad little chirp.
“For now,” he hummed, raising a hand to cradle his shell against his face, turning his head to nose against his optic. “If Sashura will have us again, we can come back some time.” (That seemed to please both the Ghosts, and Sashura gave a sound of amusement.
“Will you be in the area for a while?” She asked, and he offered a small nod.
“Three more days!” Solus was beaming, snuggling his shell into the crook of Marksman’s neck and chirping happily when he tilted his head to cover him. “We got a break for a few days. Marksman just glared until Zavala agreed.” (He shouldn’t have sounded so pleased about that, but it made Obian share a snicker with Sashura.)
“We will be here,” Sashura finally announced. “In the area, anyways. Solus can get ahold of Paul, yes?” Solus made a sound of agreement, and Marksman copied the sound as a purr. For a moment, Sashura hesitated, then she held out a hand. Handshake. He blinked once, twice then clasped her offered hand between two of his own. (She seemed slightly taken back, but accepted his warm shake without argument.)
“Friend.” He offered, then took in the others around the fire. “Friends,” he corrected, (and Solus’ eager pride was like a heat in his stomach, an approval that made his chest feel fuzzy and his cheeks light gold. He liked when he made Solus happy.) Sashura nodded, seeming far more enthusiastic now, and reached over to shove a baggie full of shells into his palm.
“Friends.” She agreed, and then looked back at their shop. “Business partners,” she added with a grin, and Marksman took one last look at the driftwood posts and sloppily painted words. (He wanted to do this again- he would need to ask Solus to talk to Paul about another beach trip.)