[ "you're getting a playmate today," he'd been told. "do as you please with it."
seeing it's some poor winged creature, one that can't even join him in the false sea they've created, makes him a little sad—but he's intrigued, still, by these wings that aren't quite right, the circles behind his head. beneath the water wataru moves, tracking the creature's progress down the small shore; when this winged thing stops at the rocks, delighted at something so ordinary as climbing onto it, wataru does too. draws only slightly a bit closer to see what he's looking for, and realizes they're shells.
perhaps some assistance is necessary, for something that can't swim. he digs through the sand further beneath the water, inspecting shells as he picks them up; when one satisfies him enough, he curls a tentacle around it and drifts closer, raising it above the water and into the thing's face.
...he follows slightly after, just his head and and shoulders, unnatural blue hair plastered wetly to his pale, pretty skin. he wiggles the shell at his company, uncurling his tentacle from around it to drop it onto the rock in front of him. ]
Playmate?
[ a musical, amused voice, coming suddenly from— his mouth is closed, but his lips are curled up in glee, obvious that it was him. he's a creature of many talents, more extraordinary than the last, (desperate to stay named, to kept well, to not end up like those others he'd seen, heard about, who had failed). ]
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seeing it's some poor winged creature, one that can't even join him in the false sea they've created, makes him a little sad—but he's intrigued, still, by these wings that aren't quite right, the circles behind his head. beneath the water wataru moves, tracking the creature's progress down the small shore; when this winged thing stops at the rocks, delighted at something so ordinary as climbing onto it, wataru does too. draws only slightly a bit closer to see what he's looking for, and realizes they're shells.
perhaps some assistance is necessary, for something that can't swim. he digs through the sand further beneath the water, inspecting shells as he picks them up; when one satisfies him enough, he curls a tentacle around it and drifts closer, raising it above the water and into the thing's face.
...he follows slightly after, just his head and and shoulders, unnatural blue hair plastered wetly to his pale, pretty skin. he wiggles the shell at his company, uncurling his tentacle from around it to drop it onto the rock in front of him. ]
Playmate?
[ a musical, amused voice, coming suddenly from— his mouth is closed, but his lips are curled up in glee, obvious that it was him. he's a creature of many talents, more extraordinary than the last, (desperate to stay named, to kept well, to not end up like those others he'd seen, heard about, who had failed). ]