A figure, seeming like a silhouette, stood over the water, dressed in black, nearly every inch of his body covered with it. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled over his head, seeming rather formless like a plastic bag. His pants, seeming to be made out of cotton or some sort were an imitation sort of black jean. Green eyes were highlighted by the fact his skin was so pale, and a shadow was cast over most of his face as he watched the tired sun sink out of the sky for the day, saying goodnight to Bayfield until tomorrow. He couldn’t stay mad that it was leaving, as he knew everyone was tired eventually, and the sun would be back to greet him some other day.

His heavy black boots dug into the sand as he watched the water crash up against itself with the waves. Ah, he wished he could be so honest, to let out all of his anger like that.

But lately, he had just been feeling like he didn’t belong. Like the ground was not his to walk upon, so here he stood, watching the bluish black inky palette of color overcome the sky, dotted with stars that appeared to be white.

A gentle sigh escaped his lips, and perhaps he was at peace, for once. He swayed, putting hands into his pockets.

Cass came down here often on her motorbike. She said it was nice, so Mort had come tonight to see what all the fuss was about.
His long-sleeved coat did the double duty of keeping him warm (despite the balmy weather, it tended to get chilly by the water at night) and hiding the fairly impressive array of stitches he'd had after the wolf attack...not that they bothered him too much (the doctors had assured him that he'd actually have only one or two major scars, as he'd come in immediately), but he didn't want questions.

And...there was someone out here already. Well, no harm in socializing, even if Mort didn't really like to. He approached cautiously, half-shrinking back.
"...Hello?"

He turned, grinding the cool sand further into the earth as he did so, green eyes shining like an incredibly cheap neon motel sign. He blinked, pushing brown hair out of his eyes.

"Good evening."

A quirk of one delicate, thin eyebrow.

Mort looked taken aback for a moment--who on earth says 'good evening'?--but recovered quickly.
"...hi. W...what's your name?"

Lucifer shifted his weight into his left hip, his habitual slouch bringing him at about Mort's height.

"I'm Lucifer," his voice was quiet, weak almost, "how about you?"

"Mortimer. You can call me Mort if you want, Lucifer." he smiled and held out his hand.

"Fair enough, Mortimer. Freut mich." He held out his hand as well and shook Mort's hand.

"Wissen Sie hier... er-.. Do you know your way around here? What brings you to the water so late?"

"I'm learning." Mort said, after a moment of being confused by the German. "I came because my sister says it's nice. Maybe you've seen her...? She has blue hair and she rides a motorcycle."

"Ah, in the middle of the night?" He asked, taking back his hand and inserting it back into his pant pocket. "The water's nice at this time, yes... but no, I haven't met your sister. Then again, I haven't met many people."

"The water is cold, I bet. I think she was talking about the view or the fresh air or something."
He shrugged.
"If you'd met her, you'd remember. I'm glad you didn't."

"No colder than it usually is." He shrugged as well, crouched back down in the sand, and let himself land on his buttocks in the sand.

"Oh? And why is that?" He inquired. She was probably bad news or something.

Mort sat down beside him, letting his fingers claw little furrows in the sand. Sand was a funny thing...when lightning hit it, it would turn into glass...
He shook his head.
"She's bad news."
Interesting, that.

He allowed himself a low chuckle at that. "It's what I figured. She can't be that bad, now, can she?" He asked, uncurling from his current position to lay out in the sand.

(short, sorry.)

"She can, too." Mort replied, mimicking him.
((Shorter still.))

"Really? I don't think she could be any worse than any of the things I've seen. How is she such bad news?"

"She likes to hurt things." he crossed his arms over his chest with a shudder. "She likes the noises things make when they're hurt. I try not to go home much."

"Oh." He winced, burying his hands in the sand, sifting it around a bit. "I shouldn't have asked. I can see why you wouldn't mant to... mm, my... apologies."

"Oh, that's okay." he grinned, "I mean, she doesn't hurt me. Mostly just animals, but you know, it still bothers me. But it's nothing to apologize about."

"I see." He sat up, though still fiddled with the sand. "That's still too bad." He shook his head a little.

"So, Mort, how old are you?"

"Seventeen." With a hint of pride, he added, "About to go to college. How old are you?"

"Oh." That wasn't said with the hint of sadness that could've and should've been in his voice. He didn't go to college. See where it'd got him?

"Almost twenty."

He smirked. His eyes changed, but the change was fairly subtle. "Seventeen's a fun age to be at."

Oh look, Kaldun's come out to play.

"It's all right, I guess." He shrugged, not noticing the change...too busy staring at the sky.

"Just all right?" He asked in a rather accented, throaty purr, inching a bit closer to Mortimer. "That's all?"

"Uh." he scooted away just a bit, a little bemused. "Yeah, pretty much. I don't mind it, but I don't have a great time or anything."

Kaldun closed in the space that Mort had created, grinning that feral grin of his. "Why not?"

(Short, crappy, and took forever. Sorry.)