Bartholomieu picked his way along the beach, eyes trained on the sandy shore beneath his dark hooves. The sack slung across his chest was already half-stuffed with his finds of the afternoon: mussel and clam shells, a sandy orb that he thought might be a pearl, a handful of shells and pieces of indeterminate origin, a few dry hunks of driftwood, and a heavy chunk of coral that had little clams and shells wedged into its cracks.
With a groan, Sybella awoke with a stretch, dismayed to see so much of the day gone by. As she shook sand out of her mane, she spotted a handsome chestnut centaur making his way along the shoreline, plucking up random objects and stowing them into his bag. Her curiosity blossomed instantly, and she hurried to his side, smiling placidly at the stranger. "Hey there. What're you gathering up beach waste for, hm?"
The movement of the colourful woman certainly wasn't beyond Bartholomieu's notice, and he regarded her warily as he continued picking his way across the beach, wondering whether or not she intended to confront him. A nervous smile tugged at his lips when she started his way, and his eyes were on her lips as she spoke, mouthing the words himself in the hopes of figuring them out.
One hand raised, fingertips wiggling in greeting, but the rest of her speech was lost to him. Water you... beach weights... hm? He chuckled nervously and pointed to his ears, flicking one back and opening the other before cupping a hand to it and squinting his eyes, as if putting a significant effort into hearing. He ended his pantomime with a smile and a shrug, hoping that he conveyed his mysterious lack of hearing in a way that made any kind of sense.
Ooh, he's shy. Sybella's smile grew wider - shy boys were one of her favorites. Her gaze grew expectant as he waved silently at her, clearly nervous, but she frowned as he gestured helplessly towards his ears. What did that mean? It took her a moment, but she figured it out with a clap and a stomp.
"OH. You're deaf, huh? Well, then, uh-" One finger tapped her chin thoughtfully before she nabbed a driftwood stick from the coastline and began scribbling in the sand. Her eyes stayed firmly on the stranger, lest he try to make an escape. When she was done, she pointed proudly towards the message.
"Why are you gathering up beach waste? Is there a special project planning or something?"
It visibly unsettled Bartholomieu, the way she managed to keep her gaze locked onto him while she scribbled little shapes in the sand. With slow steps, he moved until he was standing over her shoulder, peeking at whatever it was that she was doing in the sand. When she stepped back and finished, he tipped his head, eyes fluttering over the little doodles. Doesn't look like any kind'a artwork I've ever seen.
Looking over at the centauress, he wrinkled his nose and gave a weighted shrug, hand palm-up beside his head.
"Huh?" Sybella blinked at her companion, uncomprehending. "You don't know? Well, what kind of a- Oh, right, sorry." Remembering herself, she used her stick to express her confusion, adding another message below the other one.
"You don't know? What kind of reason is that?"
Then she was speaking at him again, and quickly dove back into her scribbling, making the tan centaur's brow knit in confusion. What exactly was this female trying to do? His amber eyes fluttered over the new line of text and up to the stranger, a confused look on his face before he pulled out his own driftwood pencil, kneeling down in the sand beneath her last message...
...then standing up to reveal a stick doodle of a 'taur being chased by a seagull, a broad grin on his face. Now that's art.
She peeked over the male's shoulder impatiently once he began replying, eager to get into the mind of this silent enigma, only to be severely disappointed. What- What was that? Was he making fun of her? She gave him a frown, though it was mixed with amusement she couldn't contain. Maybe she was going about this the wrong way...
A minute's thinking gave her another idea. Carefully, she drew another centaur in the sand, this one with a crude bag over his shoulder - meant to represent the one by her side. She pointed at him to make sure he got it. Then an arrow pointed to the bag with an accompanying question mark. Sybella looked at him once more. Did they have communication?
Bartholomieu watched just as intently as he had before, creasing his brow as he watched the older female doodle in the sand, this time producing something akin to 'artistic', unlike the short, conjoined lines of earlier. He pointed to himself when she did, looking back at the drawing and its accompanying squiggle. His eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment before clarity came over his face with a broad smile, knocking himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand.
Sticking a tongue thoughtfully past his lips, he dug into the bag that was slung across his chest, producing after a moment a small wooden horse that wore pieces of chipped shell as armour and a small stitch of cloth as a saddle. He supported it between two fingers with a smile, pride obvious in the puff of his chest; the toy was a little older and had been cracked here and there, but he would make bigger and better ones with his new material!
