Calhoun follows the river towards home, a sense of discomfort twisting in his gut. It had been...so long since anyone had looked at him that way -- had demanded of him. There was a time where he wouldn't have even hesitated as he had today, where he wouldn't have fled afterwards to pretend it hadn't happened. There is the disconcerting thought that he will have to find her again at some point; he's not an idiot, and he knows the potential repercussions. He grumbles lowly to himself, drawing in a calming breath before he heads down along the water's edge once more, his paws damp and the shadows long as the last rays of daylight disappear amongst the treetops. He knows the path back to the Rainforest well by now, and follows it almost subconsciously, his skull slung slow and level with his withers and his ears leaning back against the bulk of his mane, a million thoughts plaguing his mind. Of course, that's nothing new. @Calypso

table by koi

Calypso had not been still. Her days were kept busy, between gathering herbs and visiting the passage, doing what she can to contribute to the pride that had taken them in. It felt wrong, strange, and she yearned for the carefree days at the seashore. To an outsider it would not be obvious, but to those that knew her best...

It is the ocean that calls to her each evening, and there have been more than a few times that it is where she was found when Calhoun did his rounds. It was where she was found now, when he wandered home. Her gaze finds him the moment he comes in to sight, but the greeting she had readied dies on her lips when he is close enough to smell.

Her heart twisted painfully, reminded of the times he had jerked from her touch in the aftermath of that night, starkly aware of the distance that had grown between them since they had come to amaryllis. Instead of the casual welcome she might have offered she instead breaks the silence with this: ye stink.

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He supposes he shouldn't have expected to make it into their little camp unnoticed. There's always someone there, lingering -- and very often, that someone is @Calypso. With less of a fog in his head, he would have dunked himself in the sea before departing from the south, but he'd wanted nothing more than distance from those claustrophobic caves, and he wasn't about to be caught dead rolling in the swamp waters. He pauses when he sees her on the shoreline, and there's little mistaking the slight alteration of her muscles, and the tension of her features. His ears twist back, a low huff blowing from his nostrils at her uncouth commentary. "Tha fios agam," ( I know ) he mutters, and frankly, Calhoun can't recall if he's taught her those words or not yet. Instead of offering her an explanation -- he doesn't owe her one, after all, right? -- he strides closer, though Calypso is not his intended target. She just happens to be at the water's edge, forcing him to close distance before he brushes past her and into the salty brine, his nose wrinkling. "Lapse o' judgement," Calhoun grumbles, half to her and half to himself, though he's somewhat expecting some sort of chiding from Calypso. Ah, well, maybe he deserves it.

table by koi

there was a time that she had wanted him. hell, who was she kidding, those feelings hadn't changed. what had was her belief that they would be together. that one day he would get over his damned stubborn need to keep her safe and give in to the tension that had lingered between them. it had faded, now, dampened by the distance between them. she had found other... distractions... and believed herself to be satisfied.

but then he showed up and reeked of another and she could not ignore the way it stung. she shifted her weight to mask the uncomfortable feelings she faced and wrinkled her nose as he walked past. she would have told him to bathe - hell, she would have drug him in herself - had he not made it clear his intention to do so.

a slow breath was drawn in and released in a quiet exhale as she watched, a flicker of amusement crossing her face at his statement. ye mean ye did not want to smell like a bitch in heat? she could not help but tease him, her crass language the only sign that she was bothered. ye better be quick, ye'll have half de forest men on yer doorstep soon.

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Calhoun scowls -- it's involuntary, how quickly it flashes across his features. He can't say that he expected her to be any sort of discreet, but her taunt is grating against his ears, and there's a little bit of a bite to it that doesn't go unnoticed. He might be damned good at callously ignoring her feelings, but that doesn't mean Calhoun isn't aware of them on some level -- though he doesn't necessarily understand her level of hurt. "Chan eil," ( No ) he answers with considerably more sobriety than @Calypso. Sure, at the end of the day, they all have needs, but Calhoun has been damn good at ignoring his until now. He can't exactly be angry at the peach medic for her mockery, but there is an upset with himself for his inability to refuse when the carrot had been dangling right in front of his face. "Yeah, yeah, have yer laugh," Calhoun mutters in pathetic retort to her teasing, a low huff rumbling free of his jaws before the pirate disappears beneath the rolling waves for a long few moments. The slow thud of his heartbeat rumbles in his ears, muffled and distorted in the surrounding rush of water that envelops him. Sometimes, he wishes he could just stay down here forever. The eventual need for breath, however, forces him to resurface with a shake of his skull, evacuating water from his ear canals. He turns a quiet and simmering glower towards Calypso, a brow quirked -- better?

table by koi

Sure, there had been times that they had laughed and joked with the crew, when taunts and teases had been passed around. For the most part it was out of character for the medicine woman, who tended to be more quiet and sullen than some of the boisterous men and women among them. With Calhoun she had teased, sure, but never with such an unspoken vein of hurt to it. Before it had been in fun, a way to pull a smile to his lips if she could, but this was notably different.

It feels wrong, but she does not drop it -- this facade is much easier to shoulder than facing the truth of how she feels about it. And what a hypocrite she was! How dare she hurt when she had done so much the same; if he was close enough he might even smell the palomino man on her coat.

He had rejected her first, she reminds herself, and uses that thought to cling to her mask.

He emerges with a gasp, and she gives a mock sniff. I cen still smell ye, better go again. It was an obvious lie, of course, but she was beginning to enjoy this little game. Calypso knew how cold the ocean was, now, with winter drawing in a breath; maybe this was her form of punishment.

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He snorts, a low rumble of annoyance when @Calypso continues her teasing as his ears cant back against his skull. Much as he loves the ocean, Calhoun has no intentions of diving beneath the waves again; there's a bitter chill this time of year, and he knows how quickly it can turn against a man. Frigid droplets roll down his cheeks and drip off his chin, and he fixates her with a familiar dark glimmer in his eyes. The anger doesn't rise so quickly these days -- it's becoming tempered by time and relative safety, but still it lingers now and then. Without much thought, Calhoun bridges the gap between them, swallowing the distance and dipping his skull low and close to her cheek. "Are ye sure?" he asks quietly, with a bit of a bite to his words. Part of him, in a way, is evidently still in that headspace -- the one that is demanding and greedy and never satisfied. On a subconscious level (and one that is quickly becoming more conscious than not), he wishes it had been Calypso in that cave, and not some girl whose name he doesn't even know. But Calhoun is too much a stubborn fool to let these thoughts fully surface -- too certain he knows what's best for everyone else whilst sorely missing the mark in the process. What a damned fool he is. Instead he is pulled in by baser instincts, sucked into a gravity that Calypso likely doesn't even know she possesses, and encroaching into space he probably wouldn't have if he wasn't so busy being a foolhardy boy at the moment.

table by koi

Just like that the light teasing evaporates and she cannot pretend any longer. In the time it takes him to close the distance between them her breath catches in her throat, eyes wide and focused on his face. Her composure is rattled and her mask slips, displaying her hurt (and her desire) for all the world to see. Her heart clenches at the feel of him so close; his heat radiates even with the ocean chill grasping at his coat.

And then he speaks and she remembers herself, draws in a shaky breath and smells her through the sea salt. Faintly but still there; it is not so easy to be rid of bad decisions.

Anger rose, hot and quick, opposite of his slowly growing temper. Calypsos is a volcano, erupting fast and sudden as her lips curl in a snarl - fuck. off. a sharp hiss through her teeth as her paw instinctively rose from the ground and aimed to slap across his face. Ye damned fool, how bloody well dare you? invading her space, toying with her mind and body, coming on to her… now? Now, after some nameless bitch has left her mark all over him?

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There is a twisted little smirk that catches on the edges of his lips -- something crude and cruel in response to making her squirm and falter. It curls into a sneer when @Calypso is so quickly pushed over her threshold, all senses of her amusement vanishing in an instant to lay a blinding strike against his cheek. Doubtless, he deserves it. And, admittedly, a masochistic part of him likes it, how it grounds him back into reality. Blood stains his cheek from the deep grooves she's laid there, dripping down into the sea and wafting a metallic scent between them. But there's something else, underlaid -- Calypso, too, wears someone else's scent. It's faint but unmistakable, and it isn't entirely that of a stranger. If he'd been smart enough to recoil from her rebuke, he might not have noticed it, but Calhoun lingers -- every bit the fool she claims him to be. "Really?" he scoffs, his chin jerking upwards somewhat, though he otherwise maintains his position. "And here ye sit, judgin' me?" Calhoun asks with an arched brow, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in an unsavory manner. Unlike Calypso, there aren't pangs of jealousy that linger under the surface, there isn't hurt that she's been with someone; there is a level of surprise, but mostly, annoyance that she partakes in such hypocritical behavior. Time to take off the rose colored glasses, love.

table by koi

She had not meant to make him bleed and the smell of the blood breaks through the haze of anger if only for a moment. Still her heart pounded hard in her chest; his mannerisms stirring memories of the unsavoury men of her past. The way he had advanced, the way he pressed close even now.

Calypso was sitting when he approached and he towered over her — for a moment she feels powerless in his shadow. This fuels the anger like gasoline and her claws clench the ground beneath her.

Before she can smack him again he jerks his chin high and she knows. Hakon had only just been here; his gift lay fresh in her den, and she had not bathed. While the scent was not nearly so pungent she knew it lingered - and @Calhoun was close enough to pick it up. A certain coldness seeped in to her bones, but she holds on to her mask and narrows her gaze.

I’m not de one walkin’ around smellin’ like an orgy, aye? She did not have to defend herself, she owed him nothing. Or trying to fuck two in one night. Her words were harsh, grating, but she does not back down or shy from him. She is not ashamed.

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