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"Bitch, what the motherfuck have you done?" your clownfish says in a tone heavy and deep like you should be ashamed of yourshellf and you study your manicured claws thoughtfully. What have you done, huh? What the fuck have you done?
You stretch, feeling blood tacky on your face and chest. Things are kind of a mess, you gotta admit. There's bodies piled up just everyweir. Welp.
"Ocray," you admit, rolling your head on your shoulders and feeling the ache of some hard work whale done, "I manta got a little carried awave."
"A little, huh." He kicks a grasper out of the way as he makes his way across to you, big shoes stepping sticky in pool after pool of blood. Hmm. You really did kinda lose your temper pier. One hand comes down heavy on your upper arm, and then the other. Pulls you around and you pout, sticking out your lower lip. Flutter your eyelashes. "BITCH, this does not look just like a FUCKING little thing to ME."
"Ooh, you mako me shiver when you get that tone of voice, you sweet talker," you coo, half-pitch, half-pale and he hauls you up, and you blink at him sweetly. And lick your lower lip. Teasingly. He snarls, and you get exactly what you expected when that subsonic snarl rumbled through all your vitals. And you do mean all your vitals, beaches.
You get kissed.
Hard and fast, as black as anything. Bitter and hot as boiling tar. Cod, you hate him. You hate him, and you pity him - it's a motherglubbin' mess. Hauled up against his stinkin' clown carcass, he kisses you like he could kiss you stupid, hand cupping your bass and you sink your fangs into his lip to feel him growl. It reverberates all the way down your spine and you pull back with the bitter taste of his colour on your lips. Your eyes feel heavy, and you lick your tongue over your lips, just reel quick as you meet his gazers with yours.
"I was...a littol upset," you admit, and shrug. Like your privy council ain't surrounding you in a pile of corpses, as though everyfin's just the wave it shoald be. Where they'd be alive. Whale, moby they shouldn't have tempted you so and teased your temper. Not if they wanted to live, and be in the same room as you at the same tide. You trail a finger down the broad, muscled chest in front of you, and look up at your clownfish with a small smirk. You can't kelp yoarshellf. He looks down at you, so bleak and determined and it gives you a whale shiver through your whole baydy. Oof. You wouldn't keep him around if he couldn't net to you like this. Fuck. "Why, you mad I killed some mothaglubbin' suckas? Don't shell me you are, reelly?"
You draw your grasperstub up and down his chest, and smile at him. His palm is still on your ass, and you wiggle your eyebrows a little.
"...what the fuck do I care about what you do to a bunch of saltlickers, huh?" he rumbles, and he presses his cheek up against yours. Something conciliatory and pale throbs, something different to that deep down pitch throb in your nook you'd felt before and you sigh with pleasure. Somefin that you can't pretend you don't feel. He alwaves makos you feel things you don't want to feel, things you don't want to admit. Kurloz rubs his cheek against yours in a small circle and you shiver, and then he manages to move one of his graspers from your bass to your cheek. Paps you, gently, and somefin in his ocularnuggets draws you in.The purple getting deeper and broader, something vast and enveloping. "But this is dumb, Meenah."
"They pissed me off," you sniff, and kick one of those outflung hands away from you without looking. Most of them you'd taken their throats out with your fangs. What else could you be expected to do, huh, when they'd failed you so bad? How could they fuck up somefin so shrimple as keeping the caegers rollin' in and trolls filing in one by one into all your ships? Keeping your Empire runnin'? They'd fucked up, and they'd paid the price. That was just the way things were. "So now they're all mothaglubbin dead, Kurlz. It's how things should be."
He looks around, at the heaped bodies and the swathes of violet blood and heaves a deep sigh. Like he can't be doin' with your nonsense no moray. Your grin goes pinched, and you narrow your eyebrows at him.
"What, beach."
"Ouch," he says mildly, as you dig your claws into him and then finally he leans down, and snuffles at your neck like some kinda unbroken barkbeast. With one hand on your bass, and other hand somewharu around your shoalder, the two of you start to move. Stepping between the corpses in a slow circling dancestep, a gentle rhythm. "Witchybitch, you really need to stop murderin' the shit outta your councils. Ain't like I want the job, and somehow a motherfucker always winds up with it until you get a new one."
"You wouldn't leave me wanting, Kurlz," you sniff, and press your face against his throat. You don't know what to call the feeling you have right now, and despite all your centuries, you've never been able to do. The music is just in your thinkpan, but you know he feels it too. The two of you sashay around the room, tracking violet footsteps from one end to the other in stepped out circles. Lifting a foot over a leg there, a body here. Every so often, he gives you a lift and a twirl, and you smile at him like you could eat him alive. "I minnow you, clownfish."
"Yeah," he sighs, and shrugs his broad shoulders like some kinda adolescent. "And I know you, Meenah. So get some waders up top soon, huh? I got mirthful shit to do, a righteous ninja can't be stuck solving all your problems."
"You mean, probubblems," you snicker, and he snorts.
Then he slaps your ass hard, and rubs a thumb around your horn so diamond-pale, you melt against him. Somefin in his oculars is old, and you don't know why. You're much older than he is. So much older, but you don't seem to feel it the way he does.
"Shore, bitch, probubblems. If that's the way you want it," he says with sarcasm dripping from every syllable and you have to laugh, and kiss him again. It ain't the first tide you've done this, and it won't be the last - but finally, oh cod, finally, you've got someone who'll catch you as you let go of your last nerve and let go all the wave.
Who would have thought, huh. Kurloz glubbin' Makara, that tightlipped cod damn clown, and you can't do without him. If you hadn't seen it comin', you don't think anybaydy else did either. And yet here you are. Not quite pale, not quite pitch. Just enough of both to make you happy. Just enough to keep you on an even keel.
"What?" he rumbles, and you smile, showing all your fangs.
"Nofin. Nofin atoll," you hum, and pull him closer, so you can lean your head against his chest. Listen to his cardiopusher beat, and just rest. Just for a moment.
You'll get back to ruling your Empire, in just a moment.
The universe can give you both a moment.