1.1 God Help The Outcasts Apr 11, 2016 18:54:20 GMT -5
Post by Terminally Chill on Apr 11, 2016 18:54:20 GMT -5
Waves broke crystal blue against the sandy shore as a sleepy dawn welcomed the clear morning with an open horizon. Enko no Saisho was a tropical island known as a Grand Line gateway to new beginnings, but the shadow carving across the waves was nearing the end of a particularly bitchin' surf session. The figure gracefully danced through as though they were the same being, brilliant hair trailing like a fiery plume as he unleashed further excited howls. The last swell died down and the he coasted to shore on the incoming tide, balanced elegantly on a rather long, wooden surfboard. Bare feet sunk into the moist sand as he hoisted his chosen vehicle onto his shoulder; the board was primitive, yet had an air of raw grace around its brightly-wooded body.
The wave-slider let out a refreshed sigh and whipped his salt-soaked hair from his eyes.
“Some Ono waves, ya Luana?”
The surfer known as Wakkea was clearly addressing the hand-carved board on his shoulder by name, speaking as though he was expecting an answer from Luana. He may have gotten one from his partner in surf, letting out a contented laugh as he dotted the shore with soggy footprints. He plunged Luana into the cool ground, sand not yet scorched from the sun's recent arrival. The charred remains of a fire dead since the break of dawn marked the spot Wakkea had set up camp on the island's western cove, far enough from the pier-town of Enkai to enjoy the tasty waves in solitude.
“Gotta be closah to the Great Wave now, don'cha think?”
Wakkea addressed Luana once again as he snatched a white-colored shirt from the ground, dusting off the sand with a forceful shake. His accent was distinct – thick but serenely flowing, a mark left by the Shapers of Kaimana Island. He slipped through the shirt sleeves in a twirl, swirling blue wave patters becoming more distinct as the white fabric rested against his bronzed shoulders. Wakkea left the shirt wide open, joining his attire as the second piece of clothing besides a pair of short red trunks. The surfer slipped on a pair of crudely-woven sandals, next – they were clearly crafted on his island home, much like the mementos of seashells and feathers hanging from his wrists and neck. Taking a fibrous strand from his wrist, the wave master attempted to tame his brilliant pink locks by hastily tying them into a wild ponytail. A few soaked strands still crept out to mat against his forehead.
“To town den,” he said after inhaling one more sweet lung-full of the salty sea breeze. A collage of mismatched houses was visible as outlines in the short distance ahead, the fishing town's charm putting Wakkea at ease. Roughly a year had passed since the start of his journey to find the legendary wave Ailani, and thus far the town of Enkai, built in harmony with the ocean, was the closest vibe to how he felt back in Kaimana.
Too present-minded to be completely lost in reminiscing, Wakkea rested Luana against his shoulder and began to make his way toward the bustling docks. However, only a few steps into his flowing gait, Wakkea froze with the step suspended in mid-air. Moving his sandy foot aside, the surfer smiled as he rested eyes on a small crab. The wandering crustacean would have surely met its end if a more careless person was walking the beach.
“After you, little brah.” Wakkea stepped aside with a respectful bow, allowing the tiny beachcomber to safely scuttle past before continuing on his way toward Enkai.