Two Wet Dogs (Military and Otherwise)

It'd been a few weeks since Trevor showed his face back in Xing. A few weeks of freelance herowork, taking down thieves, muggers, the usual stuff for him nowadays. Lately, he'd taken to the papers and television as a 'vigilante'. He liked the little title, but as for the number of reporters who seemed to immediately find him no matter what, he did not like. So, to a little 'vacation' for him, a small island called Wanning where the surf was pretty, the air smelled of tanning oil, and the girls were everywhere. Trevor could not care less as he reclined in his lounging chair, eyes clad in sunglasses and the rest of him bare, save the board shorts he was wearing. He was watching with intent at the immense amount of surfers swerving and flipping on the crests of the water. He kept his automail legs out in the shade of a blanket, he didn't want to cook eggs on his legs.

He never was much of a swimmer, but he enjoyed the beach to no end. Wide open everything, sky, sand, surf...it was bliss to his body, which was still aching from the chase he was just in yesterday. He stood and shook off his leg towel, his black, sleek automail glistening with the rest of his body. He was looking around for something to do when he spotted a volleyball net. He walked over with a casual hello, whipping some blonde bangs out of his face. He joined the game almost abruptly, returning a serve that was aimed for his head. He hit it up, then spiked. Watching those beach volleyball tournaments must've rubbed off. He ran about, sloshing in the sand on his armored legs. He forgot that without toes he had to compensate. With blades. He already had them out and they combed the sand throughout the game. Once everything was said and done (a 5-1 game in his team's favor), the others went to the snack shack not to far away. He stayed, returning to watch the surfers and their "rad moves, bro". He was in awe of one surfer. One wonderous, beautiful surfer.

After a long winter of ankle-biters, the first good storm of early spring had come and gone, leaving the Wanning with a fresh feeling. There was something to be said for the spring storms and all they brought. Sure, sometimes they brought driftwood and beach glass that needed to be cleaned from the sand, but being that it was still so early in the year the tourists hadn't really hit peak season. The first good waves of spring belonged to the people who knew the area and the small packs of kids going on spring break.

Winter on the island was always wet and kind of chilly from the cross winds, and though Cookie was more than capable of handling the cold, it didn't mean she liked it. The bright side was that Wanning's winters were mild in comparison to Carraig's desolate snows, or worse, Drachma's eternal winters. Drachma was like freaking Narnia; at least Carraig had a growing season and knew what sunshine was. With great anticipation the first real storm had come and turned the waters over in the lakes, and life had erupted on the little island.

Like hell Cookie was staying inside today. Sure the water was still a bit chilly, but it was loads warmer than the shores back in Creta. Skin-tight wetsuit clinging to her, Cookie was in the water, Sure she'd had to yell at a few kids for dropping in on her waves from time to time, but they at least seemed to be getting the idea that they had to wait for their own wave. Dropping in was just freaking rude She waited, letting them go first; these ones weren't the good waves, and she could feel them coming. Cookie duck-dived, paddling out further as she emerged into the rising slope of the wave she'd felt coming. It rose, making a very nice A-frame as she sliced through, not bothering to suppress the howl that erupted from her. As she hit the tail of the wave she pulled her board up to catch a little air before turning it back toward the shore to ride the surf in. This was life at its finest.

Who was THIS? She was clad in a wet suit but had an amazing form, incredibly athletic. It was hard to see what she was doing, so far away from shore and so hard for him to concentrate with that piercing howl that what he assumed was the wind created. He was getting antsy again, anxious to meet this woman. Why, he didn't know, but he felt compelled to meet her. To speak to her. This was nothing new for Trevor, he met strangers all the time, but this FELT different at least. He couldn't remember how long he'd gone for a swim, but he was pretty sure he knew the routine. So, with a running start (if you put it in "supa-slow motion", it'd seem alot like Baywatch), her ran out to the water and jumped in, hands together to cut the water.

Unfortunately, the last time he ever went for a swim was when he had his real legs. And it was in a pool, not these turbulent waves of the ocean. Thankfully for his intense upper arm strength, he was able to conpensate for his leg anchors with his arms, but he would sink every now and again then scramble back up for air. All this for a conversation. Not the MOST he'd done for a few words, mind, but it was a lot. It was grueling, it was wet, it was salty, it was EXHILARATING! This ocean spray, the smell, the pressure of water against his chest. It was exciting and life-threatening. This is what he lived for. This was his job.

He sunk again, consumed by a rolling, foaming wave. Trevor wouldn't dare open his eyes underneath, fearing the stinging sensation that would follow. He stroked upwards through the water, his python-like arms rowing his body out. What he failed to notice was what lie above him. A board. Cookie's board. THUNK it went, knocking him square in the head and sliding up his face. Trevor took in a gasp filled with sea water. Great, drowning. And sinking. This was NOT what he lived for. His honey blonde hair flowed like seaweed as he slowly went into the crystal blue water.

Few methods were better for getting back from the white crests to the sand than the pollution-free, lightweight, man-to-wave friction-reducing vehicle.... the surfboard. There were still some primo waves going, but she'd give the kids their turns to take a break; let them try and mow each other down trying to drop in on everyone else. Someone was gonna get it eventually, and Cookie sure as hell didn't feel like being in the middle of a tussel. Watching, however, was always amusing, and her spot in the shade promised the reporter a great view of anything that went down, as well as gave her a great chance to watch whatever kids were improving their moves and looked like they'd make good competition eventually.

Cookie leaned forward with her board, skimming the surface of the water as it pulled her inland steadily. Her hips swiveled to arch the board with the rise and fall of the wave beneath her as it mellowed out, not in any particular hurry. This was a great day. Even in her wetsuit, she wasn't too hot since the water and sun weren't too hot yet. Working on her last few assignments had left the reporter a handful of days alone at home that she'd used to conserve her shifting energy, eating and saving it up for just such an expenditure. Cookie was pretty content knowing that unless all hell broke loose, she'd be able to keep her human form for at least two or three days without having to recharge.

Fat gulls screamed overhead in perfect harmony with the steadiness of the waves as the sunlight reflected brightly and danced on the wa-AUGH! There was a solid THUNK!! that sent the nose of the board upward and Cookie to the side as she reeled, trying urgently to regain her balance before wiping out entirely. For a moment she was tangled in the surf before she took one good spin and shot herself upward from the water for air. What the hell was that? Without the ankle strap attached, Cookie's board coasted back to the sand without its rider, leaving the woman to tread the chilly water. Riding the wave past her, Cookie raised her arm to catch another surfer's attention. "My board's going ahead without me," she called. "But, like, watch out! I think I fully dinged my board on a rock or something!" The other surfer nodded, appreciating the warming as she continued to ride out her own wave.

It was weird, though. She'd surfed this beath a thousand times, shore to shore; she didn't remember this patch having rocks poking out. Maybe something washed up? Well-muscled legs kicked through the water back and forth until they suddenly jolted up close to Cookie's body, blue eyes trying to pierce the water; something had brushed her foot. It had felt fibrous, but it was too early for jellyfish to be breeding. Seaweed? Little fishes? Crystal-blue eyes searched around her legs. There weren't any jellyfish, and no displaced schools swimming around her, but... what was.... Her eyes shot up wide. HOLYMOTHEROFFUCKTHEREWASAPERSON!!! A dozen badly-dubbed episodes of Law & Order and CSI came to mind; it was always the jogger or someone like that that found the bodies. But if he was dead, wouldn't he be floating?? Taking a deep breath in, Cookie dove down, eyes open and arms reaching out to grab the man. He'd been below her feet when she fell off the board, but maybe... he'd been what her board hit? Oh fuuuuuuckfuckfuck! LAWSUIT! She totally didn't need that right now. Her hands grappled around the man's arm and tugged upward, kicking the water ferociously to try and help him surface.... Mother of God he was heavy!

Sinking sucked. It really did. There's immense pressure from both sides, your lungs burn from lack of oxygen, and you feel like....a million times heavier. There's an almost certainty in sinking. A certainty of death, but Trevor was certain of seldom and death was not one of them. He'd dodged impossible bullets, survived enormous explosions, and had his legs crushed into paste. But that never stopped him. And water?! He was to be done in by pussy-ass water?! Nope. Nopenopenopenopenope. If Trevor Zolt was going to die, he was going to choose how. And since there was no Michael Bay explosion fiasco or a Roles-Royce with wings and machine guns, he wasn't dyin' today. He felt arms go around his shoulders in a sort of full nelson and he became puzzled. How was helping him? Whoever it was, it seemed like they needed help.

He started moving his waist and starting to swim similarly to a mermaid, but he realized that wasn't working well. He had enough air for a last ditch effort to surface. He took Cookie's hands and tried to get them off his shoulders. Thanks to her, he was close enough to the surface to surface. He started moving his arms as hard as they could towards the surface and opened his eyes, despite the salt. He burst through the surf and immediately stuck a finger in his throat. He'd learned this to get rid of poison. He immediately vomited the salt water he'd sucked in and replaced it with sweet lung filling oxygen. He slung his hair out of his eyes and reached down to Cookie. The surf obscured his vision, but she was even more charming up close. Beautiful eyes.

Once Cookie would surface, Trevor spoke, "Sweet moves and sweet rescue too! Thanks!" He smiled brightly and gestured for Cookie to come with him, pointing to her board. "I think you'll want that back. Sorry if I dinged you." Trevor started slicing his hands through the water, swimming with the waves for extra propulsion. Once he reached sand, he put his hands on his metallic knees, his automail pouring out water and minnows and bits of seaweed. He was breathing heavily. He looked out on the beach. Land was a better element for him. He shook his hair out as rivlets began to slide down his MAGNIFICENT MUSCLES (insert Armstrong sparkle here). As if almost speaking to himself, he said aloud, "I wonder what my hero's name is..." Then he turned to wherever Cookie was and said, "Yo! What's your name?"

The man she'd grabbed seemed to have caught onto the diea that someone was trying to help him and thankfully was conscious enough to start trying to swim upward on his own and give her a hand. Cookie was an avid swimmer and had done some lifeguard lessons before, but what the hell, man? Was this guy like made of lead or something? Cookie's hands were pushed off his shoulders and then grabbed as he surfaced. She wrested her wrist free, propelling herself upward quickly, breaching the water and immediately drawing in a deep breath of air. Well, that was fun. Treading, she looked at the man as he expunged the briney water from his lungs.

Bright blue eyes skimmed the water's surface, looking to see which direction her board had started drifting to without her. The kids here knew her and wouldn't take her board, but still. The good news was that it hadn't coasted too far from her, sweet. Looking a bit relieved, Cookie turned her focus back to the man who'd surfaced. He didn't seem too badly damaged, and he wasn't screaming lawsuit, so that was good. Actually, he was smiling at her. Even better. "Sweet moves and sweet rescue too! Thanks!" Cookie nodded, returning the smile, white-blonde hair matted to her face. It would darken up as the summer months came, but the white was still proof enough that the seasons hadn't fully changed. "I think you'll want that back. Sorry if I dinged you."

"Totes no problem," she replied, treading lightly as she started to let the water carry her in. The tide was taking her to where her board was going too, and one of the kids would grab it for her and haul it in. "Think you overshot the swim zone a bit." She was just teasing, but it made it easier to make light of the fact that they'd collided and it could have been much more disastrous than it had been. Trevor had started his swim inland, and taking a deep breath Cookie moved up over a wave and then plunged back down into the water, riding under them quickly. She really should have been born a mermaid; she had enough salt water in her blood to count.

When she resurfaced, Cookie was in shallow enough water to move up to her knees and walk out easily, her fet sinking into each step that was washed away. The dude she'd yanked up was heaving for air, and water was pouring from... his legs. Which were automail. Huh. That'd totally explain the weight then. But then what the hell was he doing in the deep water?! Doofus. Light bounced off her dark wetsuit as Cookie pulled her hands up to ring the water out of her short and choppy hair, the three visible piercings glinting in the light. He seemed to be catching his breath okay, and she'd check him in a sec to see if she'd concussed him or not as she grabbed her board. There wasn't anything major dented, so should be fine. Satisfied, she looked back at Trevor as he seemed to be calming down and... um... sparkling. ....If he was a fucking pixie-ass-vampire or something, spirits help her, she'd stake his ass and do the world a favor. Finally, he looked up at her, not seeming to be in much pain. "Yo! What's your name?"

She smiled lightly, tucking the board under her arm as she stepped closer to Trevor. "Cookie! You okay?" Cookie looked up to catch his eyes, hoping to make sure he wasn't dizzy or that his pupils weren't dilated. Seemed okay. Then again, if he'd gone through automail surgery then a whack on the top of his head was probably nothing; guys were great like that, it was like they were made for rough handling. "I'm totally sorry about that. I like seriously didn't see you coming up."

Cookie? Hmm, what an interesting name. And what a fantastic person it was attached to. She seemed pleasant, unrestrained, free. Kinda like him, but she DEFINITELY wasn't in the military. Trevor doesn't forget such a lovely face or such an incredibly skilled person. He rubbed the back of his head, running his fingers through his gold hair. He caught her eyes observing his, for what reason he didn't care much for. Trevor almost lost himself examining her eyes when she let her voice flow, "I'm totally sorry about that. I like seriously didn't see you coming up." Trevor chuckled, his teeth glinting in his wide side grin, "Nahnahnah, I could've moved. I had my eyes closed. Besides, what IDIOT goes swimming in surfer territory?...This guy." At which point he laughed, bad joke or not.

He then contemplated an idea. A wonderful idea. An absolutely amazing, wonderful idea. Trevor had just been lounging, but meeting new folks was always a forte of his. So, what kind of casual excuse could he make now?...Hmm...He snapped his fingers by his thigh as the idea came to him, looking from the sky to Cookie's sparkling eyes. "Hey, y'know what?," He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to a wooden shack. A colorfully painted sign read "Jackie's Beach Bar" in Xingese, then he smiled. "For ruining your ride and having you worry about killing me, how about I buy you some drink? My treat?" He waited for a response then headed for the shack. He gestured for her to follow him as he sauntered up to the bar, putting his crossed arms on the bar, bending at the waist with a foot crossed over the other.

Trevor held up a hand and flashed a smile to who he assumed was Jackie, a middle aged Cretan-looking man clad in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He was a kind looking dude, with powder white hair and a smiling, sagging face. He seemed to be enjoying himself serving the beach goers and keeping the liquor flowing. Tropical surroundings called for tropical drinks. " 'Ey, Jackay! Two Mandarin Breezes, my good man!" Soon, piña colada glasses were placed on the bar, filled with icy blue slush that smelled of vodka, pineapple, mango, and a hint of cherry. Very fruity drink, but Trevor didn't care a bit, they were delicious. He looked down at the drinks then noticed a newspaper lying on the bar.

"Well wadaya know...looks like I made in the news again." He picked it up as his lips wrapped around the straw, gulping down cold, sweet slush. Another look of it showed the newest robbery he'd stopped. They finally got a good shot of him, catching his face in just the right angle. But this COULD potentially be dangerous, especially if people were looking for him. But he laughed at the prospect, he'd whip their ass six ways from Tuesday. Why Tuesday? Because it's better than a Monday.

Wet sand caked around Cookie's feet and dusted her wetsuit, pale golden white against the black and streamed lines of blue that matched her eyes. The sparkles seemed to fade, so maybe it had just been a trick of the light. Granted she had spent a few years up in the mountains living with a ghost, so very little after that would surprise the reporter.... The possibility of staking Trevor was put on the back burner. For now.

He smiled broadly at her, joking that he was a dope for swimming outside of the roped area where the surfers were. Good thing a lifeguard didn't see him or he might have gotten fined for it. "Hey, y'know what? For ruining your ride and having you worry about killing me, how about I buy you some drink? My treat?" Hm, run a guy over and win a drink with him? Cookie laughed lightly.

"Totally sounds fair to me, and they make good drinks." Board secured under her arm, Cookie followed Trevor to the snack shack. She wasn't usually one for sugary things, but she was here at the beach, so it wasn't like she wouldn't burn it all off swimming, and the fox in her was starting to get hot again. Cool stuff was needed. And she usually didn't do anything alcoholic, but as long as she nursed it reeeeally slowly, she figured she would be fine. Funny thing about animals and alcohol.

She stood her board up against the wall as she took a seat, waiting for the blue slushy to get passed to her when she caught something else funny about the blonde: he spoke Cretan. That wasn't that strange; he was tall and blonde, in a country where people were usually a lot less tall and typically had very distinct racial traits, like being Xingese. "Well wadaya know...looks like I made in the news again." Cookie took a small, nursing sip of her drink. OHGODITWASSWEETANDVODKA....

An eyebrow arched lightly. "So not from around here AND you make a habit of making the news?" The reporter was more than a little curious now, a playful smile forming, her distinct Devon accent weighing on her voice as she peeked over at the paper's front page. "So what brings you all the way out here, might I ask?"

Good drinks indeed, he thought as he looked over the page of the newspaper. Cookie was nursing her drink as if it had a scorpion skimming over the rim of the glass, which he watched with some manner of charmed hilarity. He only smiled at her, not too big, just enough to convey his level of charmed. Then SHE saw the newspaper and her eyebrow raised at at least half an inch. Trevor's smile grew wider. He always caught himself smiling most of the time, a happy man with a happy job and a happy life. Then her lips started to move and he brought himself back out of his happy stupor. "So not from around here AND you make a habit of making the news?" Oh, so she spoke Cretan too?~ The accent was even more charming. She had an almost animalistic appeal to her, one that certainly grabbed his attention firmly by the neck, to say the least.

"That I do...that I do..." He grinned and nodded slowly several time, observing her face over the drink. She smiled. Oooohoho, she smiled. Trevor's second greatest achievement in life, besides being the kickass commando soldier that he was, was bringing smiles to all the people of the world. Charming women like her looked better with a smile, this he knew by now as absolute fact, and he was glad to see it. His own almost permanent one flashed shimmering white teeth in response. "So what brings you all the way out here, might I ask?" He moved his drink aside and turned around, firmly cementing his elbows on the counter. A brisk breeze blew in from the sea, kicking up sand and tussling his hair playfully like some sort of child.

He and Dragon's Blade vacationed on beaches like this all the time back when he was a sellsword. His eyes, blue and bright with cheerful memory were dazzled with light, the sunbeams almost dancing in them. His head tipped back as he looked up at the sky. It had yet to change since those days, still blue, still expansive, still there. As much as he felt it sometime, it never fell. He smiled wide as he remembered the swimming matches, watermelon smashing, and the attempts at surfing he made, none of them successful. He felt...younger.

"To put it simply, memories. Funny things memories, you can relive them. Just never exactly. Like the newspaper. I do that stuff all the time. If you'd like to know more though...I'd say it's about lunchtime." His head tilted onto his shoulder, looking right at Cookie, at her eyes. They connect to the soul, they say, and Cookie's soul looked...kind. "Would you mind too terribly if I bought you lunch? I know a good restaurant only a few miles into the island. Small...but lovely." The "lovely" bit didn't necessarily relate to the restaurant, but to Cookie's eyes. Framed so nicely by her hair, they were...beyond words. So Trevor, thankfully, had stopped talking.