Enjoy the view outside

The fresh air called to Liz, and guided her path out of The Governess's large nest. The marauding mariner was accustomed to a fair amount of open air, and a lolling stride without threat of The Mistress or a tongue-sized demon would be very welcome. A spring conducted jubilance upon her heel as she opened the last door to the outside.

That first worry-free lungful carried with it the scents of tropical pollen and salt water, and was appropriately humid for a coastal rainforest. Before her a beach spread wide to consort a crystalline expanse of water. A dock layed upon the sea like a long rope, stretched one hand below the horizon. Figures walked upon this wooden line; some carried spyglasses while others held a conjoined twin version of the apparatus.

Though the pirate loved that blue expanse as deeply as an oak loves the earth, could it not be said that one of the ocean's numerous gifts was the flanks of land she swaddled and furnished with rain and shells and assisted in transit thereto? Quite so, the ocean aroused pirate chose to follow the familiar promises of exotic delights. Stepping off the designated stone path, she bent a corus of grass beneath her, the sounds only softening when the green was soiled by patches of sand.

Thusly, Liz found her way to a hut squatting beside the looming abode she'd recently exited. The smaller structure of pant and earth had been built with the same ingenuity and resourcefulness that was present in all works of the so-labeled savages Liz had met in her sailing, yet it was not strictly of a culture or skill she'd seen. Though, 'twas similar enough such that the unlearned eye that saw all such shelters as indistinguishable would categorize it just as clumsily. It was larger than the modest dwellings required for most islander families. Indeed the hut's squat length could easily put it as a palace, meeting hall or other governance place of an aboriginal culture.

The woven and thatched sophistication was set upon a slope of which it occupied fully. 'Twas near enough to the beach that if one had a hearty stride, one could step from the porch to the sand without the worry of a tickle of green, all while being smothered by the breathtaking view. This seaward side that boasted this balcony-approaching porch was raised by slender yet sturdy poles that leveled it. Its rear nestled into the flora-ed earth halting only a barrel's width from the jagged yet moss covered rock of a fresh cliff.

As Liz closed the distance to the fiber domicile, she heard the siren-esque call of a gallop of curses that sped her along like a breeze at her back. This delightful irritation was spoken in an accent that seemed impossibly neutral, of the Queen's English without any alterations of locale, yet as well without the aristocratic enunciation pretentiously blemishing the gum-smacking of one such educated. A baiting incongruity to be sure; Liz reached the beach side door (an emerald curtain of unknown material) all the more curious.

It swung open before she could knock, which was fortunate as the pirate didn't know the best spot to knuckle rap a fabric door. The perpetrator of the sally forth and the spout of the ornate vulgarity was a woman with skin colored like golden chestnut that was speckled and streaked with stark lines of white and blue war paint. She had her teeth bared, and quite some more. In point of fact animal teeth hanging upon her body seemed the only thing preventing her from baring all. That is to say, she wore only thongs of animal hide knotted into webs one draped over her coconut milks and another tied minimally about her crotch. From these cages of twine, fangs and canines of predatory beasts hung in abundance providing the nipples and cunny with thorough obscurity, which Liz expected would hold up in all but the most vibrant of acrobatics. The pragmatic pirate briefly wondered why the plentitude of teeth yet not even hide enough of the fur to tell if multi-colored strips came from a spotted or stripped animal.

As the well-thorned rose stopped out of the shelter, the seasoned pirate widened her stance with a step back. A titillating scrap with this curse casting lass did not seem undue. And a worthy mach she'd be. Though feminine with full breasts and hips to pair, the firmness of her curves betrayed the muscles beneath. Liz had, on occasion, dealt with such forces of passion and found a wrestle quite easily left her spent. Yet the stringly-garmeted woman did not raise fists at Liz, merely looking the pirate down then up. This appraising glance made Liz twitched a might as she was a fair few yards from feeling her own stitches were adequate.

"New to Valhalla?" inquired the even less dressed party.

A crooked smirk of admittance at her evident inexperience was Liz's reply.

"I'd say it gets better, but I still want to cram sand into the mouth that suggested this." The war-spotted woman gestured in a curtsey-like manner to adornments indecently covering the absolute minimum of her tips and valley. "The Governess said they wanted a costume I could have conceivably made. I don't know why I'd have expected me to use teeth though." Distaste sharpened her fetching features until they looked more beautiful and terrifying than the jagged teeth laid upon her. "Wouldn't pelts, leaves, or even the wings from a dragonfly be more appropriate?"

In comradery, Liz nodded, yet felt a shameful surge of admiration for the lacking outfit. The tiny teeth reminded her of distant mountains inadequate to block the splendor of the sunrise rich, full and broad behind them. Furthermore their presence prodded one to think of nibbling upon the sparsely guarded delights, which Liz couldn't deny was an enticing prospect.

If the silky-skinned woman saw Liz's appreciation she chose not to take offense, perhaps she thought an instinctual response at her display could only be shortened and not avoided entirely. "The worst part, and maybe you're getting this too from that pieced bra, but everytime I move, it somehow manages to caress something sensitive. I can go for a run and end up with a fair amount of glisten, if you know what I mean."

Liz sagely nodded wondering if any signs of arousal were hiding behind the desire tickling teeth.

"Do you have something getting you to flow under that tiny skirt?"

"No," answered Liz, but thought better, "not so much as ye, at least." She took a hearty two steps closer to her fast chum then cast eye left and right to make sure none were gandering at her next action. Following her visual inspection she raised skirt, widened her stance, and showed the other woman the jewellery that had hinted about her loins since her waking in Valhalla, yet she hadn't been able to identify until she'd changed attire. Showing the ring of gold nestled in such a manner to cuddle her most sensitive nub, Liz explained "I have this knocking upon me."

"Larger than the others I've seen," appraised the dark dame. And without so much as a howdydo she reached forward and stroked across Liz's salt'n'tart, leaving a wiggle upon the golden ring as she drew her hand back.

The pirate was stunned so thoroughly, she could do not but gasp and blush at the brazen advance. A tingle hummed upon her gentle treasure, lacking precedent among the numerous times a similar pet had been experienced throughout her fore life. The willfully wanton essence of the sudden surge forward perhaps contributed, but Liz cogitated now of how powerful an effect the promiscuously placed jewelry would have upon all touches below. The implications provoked lip-nibbling.

But such tasks could not be currently entertained as Liz was not the sort to behave such in view of a near stranger (at least with no sheets to the wind as she currently was). In an effort to retain her restraint, perhaps with a bit of over correction, the pirate extended a hand. "Liz Finley is my name."

The comely warrior took the presented hand in her own (which was still damp from the lower kiss it had graced) and shook it in proper greeting. "People call me Citrine, and sometimes the New World Amazon. Just don't you dare call me tooth prancer, or warrior rider." She stomped a pretty foot and shook a warning finger at Liz.

"Slanderous names," agreed the pirate, making all effort to not stare at the teeth that'd just been pranced. "Is that what had ye all rowed up just now, Citrine? And not this confounded attire we are limited to?" prodded the pirate. This Citrine spoiled for a tirade, and Liz was quite intrigued to see how much loving company their shared misery could provide.

"The first," nodded the opposite converser. With a raising of shoulders she admitted, "well, sort of both. I'll explain."