They rolled onto their back and you saw a long, lean, grey-blue tail rising up to balance them and hold them at the surface as they spread their arms and floated there like a snoozing sea otter except this ‘sea otter’ had the lower half of a creature as lean and streamlined as a shark, or perhaps a marlin. This mer was clearly enjoying the evening sun as much as the landfolk who strolled along the promenade. How tolerant of paparazzi humans they would be was a different matter, and you lowered your camera. You assumed that here in Starfall Bay, the merfolk would be at least tolerant of humans. Some were chilled and helpful towards humans, while others were shy and reclusive, and there were those that were even predatory. And every shoal and pod was different, especially in their attitudes towards humans. You’d worked with a rough and tumble tiger shark mer out on a shoot in the tropics the previous year, but aside from her, you’d had little contact with them. This was not a wildlife shoot after all, and despite the lithe, muscular tail, they were no mere fish. The figure was one of the merfolk who lived in the area, and you almost regretted taking the photo without their knowledge. You lost yourself for a moment, just staring out at it with boats bobbing and the waves nudging against the slimy stone of the harbour wall.īreaking that magical surface, a figure appeared in the water for a moment, and you adjusted the focus instinctively, framing them as they breached the surface. Raising your camera to your eye, you tweaked the shutter speed as the light changed, and adjusted the focus with a subtle twist of your wrist.īehind the network of the crisscrossing lines of the lobster and crab pots, the surface of the sea formed a calm, beaten bronze backdrop, gilded by the sinking sun, the tiny waves like hammer marks in a sheet of polished metal.
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You documented the light and the angles, but it was the stack of lobster pots, with their woven, birdcage appearance, that snagged your eye and drew you away from the more obvious spots towards the quieter shadows of the harbour. She was barely three feet tall, and was standing on a bench to talk to the centaur, but she had him laughing and tossing his head with a very equine delight all the same.Ī couple of gnoll cubs scrapped and snarled on the playground just set back from the harbour road, and a shy looking werewolf cub looked on in awe and longing. Groups of locals gathered at the edge of the town to watch the sunset and stretch their legs after work or before dinner.Ī minotaur’s hearty laugh made you look round, and you saw a blue roan centaur talking with the tiniest goblin you’d ever seen. Seagulls whirled and wheeled overheard in crazy, lazy circles, and the constant lap and slap of the sea against the harbour wall and the hulls of the little pleasure and fishing crafts moored in the weedy harbour formed a constant backdrop to your evening walk. And now as you set out into the spring evening, the pavements gleaming in the wake of a sudden shower, it hung around your neck, the familiar weight a comfort in the constant flux and chaos of moving house. It had sat beside you in the van as you’d driven it down the winding, cobbled streets of the old town of Starfall Springs, heading for your new home. It was your faithful workhorse, a chunky, veritable beast, and it earned you your living, so there was no way you’d risk packing it away in anything other than its soft, protective case for the move. In a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable, you simply shut the front door behind you, with its cheery red paint peeling slightly under the influence of many a winter storm, and set off down the quayside with the only thing you’d not even packed away for the move: your camera. * shrugs*ĭozens of badly packed, disorganised, straining-at-the-seams cardboard boxes filled your new small seaside cottage, some marked, others not, all hastily packed, and the thought of dealing with them at the tail end of a long day was just… overwhelming. Light warnings for alcohol and the after-effects of a painful breakup. My lovely patrons have just been told who’s up next, so if you want to know, and more importantly be involved in the next poll and get your sticker and reward when I hit 100 patrons, head on over to Patreon and sign up!Īnyway, here’s Connor. Oh well! Here’s 7692 words for you! It’s been up on Patreon on early release. Well, plot happened amid my planned porn.
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