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Guest
Guest
Noah couldn't decide which he liked more about beaches on cold days like this - the stark contrast of snow-crusted sands against the crashing waves, or the fact that everyone else was inside sipping on some hot tea or some other winter beverage meant for warming the spirit or whatever. He had been wandering around for a half hour or so, and he had yet to see anyone else on the beach - indeed, the winds had blown so fiercely the past few days that only a few fresh sets of footprints dotted the beach here and there.
He was following a pair of such, the maker of which seemingly skipping along, toes squishing into the sand so cold he didn't know how they could stand it. They had to be either brave or stupid, and he was betting on the latter as he couldn't see how anyone would be furthering any cause by dancing barefoot on a freezing cold beach.
He looked back at his own footprints, laughing quietly at how odd they looked - one deep impression, one light, painful one, and a small hole poked into the ground next to it, left by his cane. If anyone happened to come across them before the wind, what would they think? He laughed again, turning and continuing along the beach, still following the other track of footprints. They'd think that a cripple of some sort was walking along the beach, of course. Nothing mysterious or thought provoking about simple footprints, at least not to anyone sane. He pulled up the collar of his coat with his right hand, wishing he had brought a scarf so he didn't have to look so stalkerish, long black trench coat and a dark red beanie his sister had knitted for him as a goodbye gift.
After another few minutes of silent limping, he paused, taking off his hat and letting the wind whip his hair around in front of his eyes. His foot was starting to ache, and the wind was doing its work on the footprints anyway. At the pace he was going, they would be erased before he could go much further. Besides, he was afraid there would be someone making the footprints, someone he would have to talk to and ruin the tiny mystery they provided. He stabbed his cane into the ground deep enough that it stayed upright, dropping down against an imposing black and white speckled stone that provided solace from the wind. He blew on his fingers to keep them warm; digging his boots into the sand although he knew it would mean endless hours of smacking the bottoms to get it all out. "S'a good day." He announced matter-of-factly to a lone seagull for some reason still hanging around, smiling at the truth to his words and turning back to the sea.
ooc: Sorry for the long post >_< Open to anyone cares to join
He was following a pair of such, the maker of which seemingly skipping along, toes squishing into the sand so cold he didn't know how they could stand it. They had to be either brave or stupid, and he was betting on the latter as he couldn't see how anyone would be furthering any cause by dancing barefoot on a freezing cold beach.
He looked back at his own footprints, laughing quietly at how odd they looked - one deep impression, one light, painful one, and a small hole poked into the ground next to it, left by his cane. If anyone happened to come across them before the wind, what would they think? He laughed again, turning and continuing along the beach, still following the other track of footprints. They'd think that a cripple of some sort was walking along the beach, of course. Nothing mysterious or thought provoking about simple footprints, at least not to anyone sane. He pulled up the collar of his coat with his right hand, wishing he had brought a scarf so he didn't have to look so stalkerish, long black trench coat and a dark red beanie his sister had knitted for him as a goodbye gift.
After another few minutes of silent limping, he paused, taking off his hat and letting the wind whip his hair around in front of his eyes. His foot was starting to ache, and the wind was doing its work on the footprints anyway. At the pace he was going, they would be erased before he could go much further. Besides, he was afraid there would be someone making the footprints, someone he would have to talk to and ruin the tiny mystery they provided. He stabbed his cane into the ground deep enough that it stayed upright, dropping down against an imposing black and white speckled stone that provided solace from the wind. He blew on his fingers to keep them warm; digging his boots into the sand although he knew it would mean endless hours of smacking the bottoms to get it all out. "S'a good day." He announced matter-of-factly to a lone seagull for some reason still hanging around, smiling at the truth to his words and turning back to the sea.
ooc: Sorry for the long post >_< Open to anyone cares to join