Journey to… the Mysterious Island: Relaxing on the Beach

August 29, 2007 at 12:38 pm (Caledon, Mysterious Island, original poetry/prose)

At last the beaches of Phillip helped me to remember why I am no longer quite fond of beach parties; the sand gets EVERYwhere.

Miss Kiralette didn’t care; she had at last been reunited with her darling Gnarli, or at least had been until her adventurous beau took off into the jungle. Forest, thing. I’d’ve raised an objection but when he left I thought surely he was just availing himself of the privacy of the sheltering branches. When neither Kiralette followed him whistling innocently, nor he returned to the beach, I realized he’d be long gone. As I watched from under my black lace parasol, she was fishing whilst singing silly tempting songs to colourful (and likely inedible) fish, barefoot again.

The Baron didn’t mind the sand; he’d gone to sleep (again), waiting for us to set up camp. Well. He’d looked asleep, but when I walked past him, he cracked open one eye and quietly asked me to refill his coffee mug. The one with the little stick figures doing violent but incomprehensible things to each other. I replaced the sand and ash with a hazelnut cappuccino, extra dry and didn’t ask him to help with erecting the tents.

Their Graces, Duchesses of Carntaigh and Loch Avie, were loving the sand. After sweet-talking a few of the remaining sailors into setting up their tent, Lady Gabi and Lady Eva stripped to their tartan-emblazoned underthings and spread out to sunbathe. Why anyone would want to encourage the sun to slowly burn one’s skin, I’ll never understand, but I’m admittedly not from around here. The Duchesses looked quite stunningly non-threatening lounging there, but there was a very hefty-looking claymore under Lady Eva’s towel, and callouses on her otherwise-delicate hands, so I was sure the blade did not belong to the cabana boy. Er… upon closer inspection, that would be a penguin, not cabana boy.

Baroness Bauerhoff, Lady Amber was consulting her tarot cards repeatedly, seeming having made a drinking game of it. She didn’t seem to notice the sand anymore at all.

Oolon and Miss Terry seemed to dislike the sand as much as I; he for its’ persistence in getting into his scientific equipment and she for the combined sand and ash’s insistence on weighing down her delicate wings. After watching her attempts to fly (and subsequent crash into the sand), I concluded my own folded wings would likely be useless, unless I wished to use them as sunscreens.

Soon after our (crash) landing, Oolon had startled a scream out of me whilst I perched on a recently-demised sailor. Really, he’d been dead when I found him. Mostly dead. Close enough to death that my ministrations only soothed his transition from this world to the next. (And actually by the time of this writing, he’s feeling much better.) After finding his body made a better chair than driftwood, I’d nearly forgotten about him in my attempts to shake some of the ever-present ash from my hair. So when Oolon started waving his finger around, in my direction, spouting out words in latin that I didn’t know (as they were neither religious, infernal, herbal or sexy), I thought either Lady Amber’s servant’s madness was catching, or else Oolon was objecting to my treatment of the dead. Or nearly dead. Or… well, maybe he was just resting.

I tried to look innocent. “Whut?” Then I looked around, and spotted the big, I mean huge, animal footprint that I seemed to be sitting in the middle of. When I realized how big the creature owning it must be, I screamed. Just a little. It was– oh that dream, I thought– surely the beast couldn’t be so immense! I fainted, sliding into the sand and vision…

…someone was screaming, “My god, no, you should never have worn orange!!”

And someone else was screaming back, “It wasn’t orange in the full light of day, more of a warm cream with apricot highlights!!”

… I felt my dream-body flung about and all I could see was a confused shifting blur or fur, and smoke, and then crimson, and whatever colour it had been before it was now red, all red–

–and I woke up with a start to the sight of Miss Terry leaning over me, her skin dark as the cosmic sky, deepest night black, spangled all over with stars and stardust, her eyes like twin deep pools into infinity, and I thought surely, surely this pureblood Sidhe will know what to do, surely she too senses the wrongness on this island, surely–

“Uhm, Darkling?” She sounded faintly bored and embarrassed. “Would you mind sunbathing over there with your, with their, with Eva and Gabrielle? Oolon wants to take measurements of the, uhm–” she gestured at the giant footprint in which I had fainted, “– thing.”

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3 Comments

  1. HeadBurro Antfarm said,

    Hello? Have the other posts stopped for a break – it seems an awfuly long time since the boat crashed into Phillip. Last I heard, a vague and mysterious beast had been spotted. Have I missed and updates?

    HBA
    *****

  2. DarklingRose said,

    I don’t know if you’ve missed any, Mister Antfarm… links to all the posts can still be found at http://wordpress.com/tag/mysterious-island/

  3. HeadBurro Antfarm said,

    Blimey! I have you know! I will catch up poste haste!

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