Who? Mort & OPEN Where? The beach When? Dusk Summary: Cigarettes and the wild of the sea
Small and thin and pale, the wind that skimmed across the waves cutting over to tug at blond hair bullying more than playful, Mort cut a fey figure with sharp knees bent, tucked away against the outcrop of rock as he watched the sea. His stillness as he sat in the knife-cold gusts of wind enhanced the image, his silence as he watched the foam of the waves roll up against the beach like a puppy that kept trying to curl up on the sofa, always pushed away.
Mortimer lifted a hand to take a pull from a dying cigarette, and it was the way he moved again to fruitlessly tuck some hair back behind his ear that exposed him for the frail mortal he really was. The hand that he tucked back in around his body in a lost attempt to keep warm shook as his frame shivered with the cold. He sniffled with it a little bit as he took another drag, but it was the lurid black-red-purple bruise smudged against his cheekbone, causing the eye on that side to squint just a little, which really betrayed his mortality, that in fact only enhanced it.
He finished his cigarette and flicked it out over the rocks where it landed to later be carried out when the tide came in. Mort sat there until the water rose, his knees drawn to his chest as his shivering crescendoed and died away as he froze slightly; he didn't really seem to notice, and if he did he didn't care.
The sun dipped into the sea, bruising it purple like Mort's face, leaving the sky red and bleeding behind itlike Mort's nose had done, like his lip.
There was no way he was going home tonight. He couldn't stay on the beach, but he didn't seem to want to move either. He watched, grew colder and tried to stay awake.