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The Coastline Outside the Village, Friday Afternoon

The Park came so close to the water. So close. Anyone who crossed the wrong side of the street was close enough to the shore and the deeper waters that she could come out and snatch the fool, but the Park itself was too far for her, even without its wards.

But she could taste the fear and chaos and fresh meat, and it was enough to draw her over from where she'd been haunting the dock yesterday, a shadow circling under the waves that would occasionally spyhop or crest, especially if anything interesting was going on.

There was something in the water, and it was hoping some of the meat would come down for a swim.

[OOC: Open! Because Murderfish are fun.]

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"Hey, Ades."

Dante knew that ripple in the water, that shadow under the surface. He could stand by the shoreline and watch it move, hungry as it was.

But after a while, he had to greet it.

"Hi, Ades," he repeated, and pulled a small piece of gamey rabbit meat out of his pocket.

He tossed it at the water.

It never even got the chance to hit the surface. She propelled herself out of the water in a sudden burst, catching in her teeth before she was even under again, a testament to the fate of many, many stupid seagulls who had met their end at her hands.

A moment or two later she surfaced again, just enough for bright red eyes to regard him balefully. She knew this one; it was Not Good for Eating. It bit back too hard.

"Good, I have your attention," Dante said.

He brought out the rest of the rabbit. "Got your lunch."

Was it ever 'lunch' when you were always hungry and never full? Well, she'd been full that time she'd eaten the giant squid. But that was a long, long time ago, and she was almost always hungry now.

Still, she waited, watching him with complete stillness. She wasn't coming up there when the Not Food knew she was here. It was as much a predator as she was. It might be hungry too. It could be a trap.

And trying to convince Ada Dante wasn't here to eat her was a lost cause. He knew that much.

Still. Distracting her with food, for even a second - making sure she wasn't hungry for even a second - was worth it.

He tossed the rabbit at her, in one perfect, graceful arc.

The water was constantly eroding the shores of her memory. Even if he convinced her today, she might forget again tomorrow. Once upon a time, she had tried very, very hard to hold on to things. She knew that. Now it was just easier to take the tides take things.

(It hurt less)

Some things, she managed to hold on to. It was Not Food even if it looked like food. It was nice to sunbathe by the docks, with the Other One. If she did not pick a fight with the Other One, it would not pick one with her. People tasted better than fish, which were tastier than hollows.

You know, the little things.

Instead of jumping completely out of the water this time, she just bobbed up enough to catch it with her hands, her torso out of the water as she brought it to her mouth and took a bite, still watching him, but now markedly less hostile.

Congrats, Dante. You caught her on a Good Day. For, well, a murderfish.

"There you go," Dante said.

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"You're having a good day, huh?"

It wasn't coiled tight with tension anymore. It wasn't hunting. That was Good.

She tilted her head and gave an inquisitive chirping sound, her tail lashing under the water to keep her bobbing in place. She didn't really understand what it was saying. It sounded familiar, like she should know it, just...not quite.

It wasn't the screaming sounds the others made. Those she understood just fine.

"So... How are you feeling?"

No, Dante didn't expect a real answer. But he liked to make sure he asked.

She took another big bite of the rabbit in response, teeth tearing into it with obvious relish. This could also go on her list as tastier than a hollow!

Was it better or worse that she couldn't actually answer him?

"You like your lunch, huh? Hey, I'm going to take that as a good thing," Dante said idly. "It took me a while to find that one, you know."

Ada would have yelled at him for giving her food that everyone else needed. But she wasn't Ada.

It was still making sounds. She swallowed her bite of rabbit and gave a curious little trill that sounded more like a bird than a murderfish-girl.

Someone else could've used that food, yeah.

But it would give stupid newbies a few minutes to get away from the seafront if they were there, and it might settle her stomach for a little while longer. Sometimes you made trade-offs. That was the way of it.

(And that was his justification, damn it.)

"Oh, was that a good one?"

She whistled back, still trying to mimic the sounds it was making, before twisting with a little splash and settling to float on her back, happily snacking on her rabbit.

She kinda resembled an otter when she did that, if the otter was the length of a school bus and had three-inch claws and ridiculously sharp teeth. And wasn't cute or fuzzy.

"If you're in for whistling," Dante said, taking a couple of steps closer to the edge of the water, "I can probably think of something. How do you feel about Cindy Lauper, these days?"

She stopped eating for a second as it came closer, giving it a dubious, wary look. But as soon as she realized it wasn't going to try and come take her lunch, she went right back to eating.

That was as close to a 'yes' as he was going to get.

Dante took it as encouragement.

And so he whistled a remarkably on-tune version of 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' as she ate.

It felt appropriate.

Oh.

She stopped eating, swimming slightly closer and listening with rapt attention.

Every once in awhile she'd remember to take another bite of the rabbit, but for the most part she was totally enthralled.

Eventually, he gave up on whistling.

Instead it was Dante's voice that rang out, low, but more in tune than one might expect.

"Some boys take a beautiful girl, and hide her away from the rest of the world..."

That was even ~~worse~~ better.

She swallowed down the last of the rabbit and swam right up to the shoreline, creating a wave-surge to bring her up in to the shallows. Not out of the water, but closer than she could swim in on her own without switching to flying.

She promptly curled up in a little ball, hugging her own tail for comfort and watching him with big, red eyes.

"... You liked that?" Dante asked, briefly interrupting himself. "Should've brought a guitar."

He took another few steps closer. He didn't particularly fear Ada, even in this form. He cleared his throat.

"You want to be the one to walk in the sun. Oh girls, they want to have fun."

Her eyes got a little wider as he got closer, but she didn't strike out at him or try to swim away. She stayed where she was, fin at the end of her tail occasionally twitching in time with his singing.

Finally, Dante squatted down in front of her, reaching out to touch her cheek.

He was still singing, yes.

She flinched, but didn't try to bite him or run. She couldn't. The sounds he was making were keeping her here, and she didn't know why.

It was drowning out the screaming and the hunger and rage. "Hmmmmm..." she tried, closing her eyes. "Mmmmm..."

It was a passable humming of the melody. Broken, still, and stuttering in places, but some part of her still knew it.

"That's it," Dante said softly. He'd reached the bottom of the song, so he had to start over again, a low "I come home in the morning light, my mother says when you gonna live your life right..." that tried to catch onto the melody she was humming.

Her humming was a bit steadier the second time around, as her vocal chords remembered how to make those sounds.

This was nice, the same way sunbathing or napping near the Other One was nice. But her eyes hurt. Why did her eyes hurt? Without moving away from his hand or opening her eyes, she brought up one clawed hand to rub at the corner of one of them.

Once, she'd had tear-ducts. But sea-creatures don't need them, and she had no way to release the strange pressure behind her eyes besides rubbing at them.

"Getting you all teary, huh? Yeah, I know the feeling," Dante said.

He smoothed his thumb as gently across her cheekbone as he could.

It hurt to see her like this. It did.

But he'd still rather have these moments with her than nothing at all.

Because he was a glutton for emotional punishment. Ada would hate having him see her like this.

Without his music to keep it at bay, the rage and hunger started to creep back into the edges of her mind. Her humming started to falter as her eyes twitched open, a myriad of emotions swirling and clashing in them as the different parts of her started shoving and fighting for dominance again.

No. She liked this. She didn't want to be hungry again. Being hungry hurt. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut again and tried humming louder.

Dante nodded quietly to himself. Okay.

His voice picked up the song again, somewhere in the middle of a sentence, following her hum once more. He sang louder and louder, trying to give her an anchoring point.

She quieted down again almost immediately, tension bleeding out of her as she burrowed against the sand next to him, creating a shallow little nest. The beach was her bed and the tide made a good blanket, and if she was very lucky, she could fall asleep without the hunger gnawing at her.

She was vulnerable, out of the deep waters like this. She didn't care. She liked the sounds it was making too much to leave, and hummed along sleepily.

Though if anyone pointed out she was nuzzling against the Not Food's hand, she'd bite them.

Hey, the Not Food was the only one here, and he had no intention of pointing it out.

He knew his voice was going to go ragged eventually. But he didn't mind. If he could deliver a restful sleep to Ada for once by singing 80s pop classics until he went hoarse, he'd do it.

He'd watch over her here, too.

So he kept singing, his hand a steady presence at her cheek, ignoring the pang in his heart.

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The Coastline Outside the Village, Friday Afternoon

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