[ Bean brightens up at Shea instantly -- a huge, over the top smile that rounds the hearts of her cheeks, nodding almost unconsciously into the palm of his hand for a second. Having Shea around is good, a happy reminder that Bean doesn't necessarily belong here, that neither of them are domesticated animals, that this is all a temporary situation. That maybe she'll get her pelt back one day and things can go back to being normal, instead of being stuck in her ugly, human body that doesn't fit her quite right, a glove three sizes too big for the hand.
Shea is her hope, personified. One day she'll snap her chains and be free once more.
After she smiles, she gives a disgruntled face, pouting her lip with a whine that can only be labeled as a complaint, swirling around her chair, legs bent over the back of it and her back laid on the seat. With a puff of air, she reaches a hand up, scratching at her stomach.
Tummy rubs are just too hard to come by when you're a human. ]
[ Something lights up in Shea at the way that Beanie always greets him, like she's thrilled each and every time she sees him. And it's a good feeling, one that he mirrors with a rare and full-blown grin that curls across his face. They're not so different, despite the fact she belongs in the sea and he's meant for the wood. Spending so much time as wild animals trapped in cages builds a sort of camaraderie that you can't replicate anywhere else, an understanding with foundation in worse off places.
He chuffs, low and amused, before he moves to scratch at her stomach where she had. It turns into a ticklish touch immediately afterwards, playful and teasing, because it's easy to give into that impulse. Bean is what feels like millennia older than him, but this is pack, this is family. They're of a different kind, but he thinks this is what it must have been like, Before.
But teasing aside, he slumps in his seat, swiveling it back and forth, sighing out heavily as he drops his head down to rest a cheek on his shoulder. The look he gives her is understanding, in its purest form, and he pats his own stomach.
It's like there's a shortage of them, or something. ]
[ It's a delighted shriek she lets out at the tickles, swiveling around where she lays without ever really getting away from the touch, not that she'd want to. Once the attack finishes, Beanie lands one of her own -- picking up Shea's hand and chomping down on the side of it, a little munch, not to hurt. Enough to be a nuisance, with the way she keeps his hand dangling out of her mouth thereafter, moving so she can return the sentiment and scratch his stomach.
I'm going to find your kick spot, she barks, with a mouthful of human hand.
She's never known pack, but she's been in pods and bobs of her own. She's closer to Shea, now, than she ever was to the selkies in the sea, though she tries not to linger on it. It's where you belong.
It doesn't make sense!, her looks continues on to say, giving his stomach a good pat or two. If there's four of us, there should be plenty of rubs to go around. We've got selfish companions. ]
[ Hand stolen away, Shea curls his lips in a mock-snarl, wiggling his fingers a little so that he taps them against her face. But then he barks out a laugh - a sound that is, truly, a mix between bark and laughter - as she scratches at his stomach. The sentiment is appreciated, considering the long period where he went with so little positive contact, but also simultaneously amusing and endearing. Especially with the fact that she's talking to him with his hand in her mouth.
Don't talk with your mouth full, he scolds, in a playful growl, instead of telling her she never will.
When he last had pack, it was when he was young. When a child is malleable and learning, when Shea should have been running with cousins or even siblings, discovering what he was. But now is when he gets to do it, well into his twenties, and with a mismatched group of people.
A huff is her only agreement at first, as he shoots a look over to where said selfish companions are practicing magic. They don't know any better, he laments, whine low but meaning dry. We could educate them, but it'd probably be weird to them. ]
[ She wants to blow a raspberry at him, but the restriction of his hand just means she winds up licking his palm, as if she were a canine herself. She's sure sea creatures and land dwellers aren't meant to get along this well, but maybe they aren't so different -- that they're two animals in the presence of a witch and a prince makes them more similar than any pair of humans walking the Earth. ( And if Shea needs a pack, Bean is all for howling at the moon, or burying bones in the back yard. )
Stretching her arms out, Beanie touches the floor with the tips of her fingers, testing the extent of her grace ( which doesn't reach too far, and she's probably going to fall on her face any second ). She lets out a guttural whine, a mock lamenting sound, suggesting a sadness that is maybe a little over dramatic.
Quinn used to give pets all the time when I was a seal. You're right, I think she finds it weird now. ]
[ Face scrunching up as she licks his hand, Shea pries it free and shakes it out as if she's slobbered all over him. But then he reaches it back down again, setting it on her stomach to make sure that if she does wind up leaving the chair, it'll be in a slow slide instead of a sudden drop onto her head. Hardy as they both are, as compared to their more genuinely human-shaped compatriots, it's still unpleasant to knock your head into things.
The easy companionship is something that he hasn't felt in a long time. It does feel like pack, and maybe seals and wolves are different in so many ways, but Shea and Bean aren't. Their cages and their separate skin are evidence enough.
He can't help the fond smile on his face as she complains, a little more dramatically than is necessary. Slouching further in his seat, so that the armrests of his seat settle under his arms, he tilts it back and forth with a heavy sigh that turns into him noisily blowing air.
She probably doesn't think of it the same way she used to. Alex likes to joke about how he'll pat my head when I've been a good boy. ]
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Shea is her hope, personified. One day she'll snap her chains and be free once more.
After she smiles, she gives a disgruntled face, pouting her lip with a whine that can only be labeled as a complaint, swirling around her chair, legs bent over the back of it and her back laid on the seat. With a puff of air, she reaches a hand up, scratching at her stomach.
Tummy rubs are just too hard to come by when you're a human. ]
no subject
He chuffs, low and amused, before he moves to scratch at her stomach where she had. It turns into a ticklish touch immediately afterwards, playful and teasing, because it's easy to give into that impulse. Bean is what feels like millennia older than him, but this is pack, this is family. They're of a different kind, but he thinks this is what it must have been like, Before.
But teasing aside, he slumps in his seat, swiveling it back and forth, sighing out heavily as he drops his head down to rest a cheek on his shoulder. The look he gives her is understanding, in its purest form, and he pats his own stomach.
It's like there's a shortage of them, or something. ]
no subject
I'm going to find your kick spot, she barks, with a mouthful of human hand.
She's never known pack, but she's been in pods and bobs of her own. She's closer to Shea, now, than she ever was to the selkies in the sea, though she tries not to linger on it. It's where you belong.
It doesn't make sense!, her looks continues on to say, giving his stomach a good pat or two. If there's four of us, there should be plenty of rubs to go around. We've got selfish companions. ]
no subject
Don't talk with your mouth full, he scolds, in a playful growl, instead of telling her she never will.
When he last had pack, it was when he was young. When a child is malleable and learning, when Shea should have been running with cousins or even siblings, discovering what he was. But now is when he gets to do it, well into his twenties, and with a mismatched group of people.
A huff is her only agreement at first, as he shoots a look over to where said selfish companions are practicing magic. They don't know any better, he laments, whine low but meaning dry. We could educate them, but it'd probably be weird to them. ]
no subject
Stretching her arms out, Beanie touches the floor with the tips of her fingers, testing the extent of her grace ( which doesn't reach too far, and she's probably going to fall on her face any second ). She lets out a guttural whine, a mock lamenting sound, suggesting a sadness that is maybe a little over dramatic.
Quinn used to give pets all the time when I was a seal. You're right, I think she finds it weird now. ]
no subject
The easy companionship is something that he hasn't felt in a long time. It does feel like pack, and maybe seals and wolves are different in so many ways, but Shea and Bean aren't. Their cages and their separate skin are evidence enough.
He can't help the fond smile on his face as she complains, a little more dramatically than is necessary. Slouching further in his seat, so that the armrests of his seat settle under his arms, he tilts it back and forth with a heavy sigh that turns into him noisily blowing air.
She probably doesn't think of it the same way she used to. Alex likes to joke about how he'll pat my head when I've been a good boy. ]