[color=bc8dbf][b]Stormy[/b]
[/color]

Drowning was a painful sensation. The overriding panic. Water everywhere. Your lungs hurt, but it was your chest that exploded in pain, as if huge, invisible hands crushed it. Every neuron would fire. You would try to find escape. Random memories would flare into you brain. You would have to fight the very instinct to breathe. But, eventually, the sheer will to draw breath would overpower you, and then it would be over.

That was nothing like what Stormy experienced. She was floating in a warm ocean current, and thousands of tiny bubbles were massaging every inch of her skin, but there were none to be seen. Near-weightless, she drifted, slowly rolling on all her axes, breathing the water as easily as air. Sunbeams did their dappled dance upon the seafloor, and the sands sparkled and gleamed, uncountable tiny diamonds. Distant whale song called out, heard and felt in equal measure, and then, closer, it was answered. Apart from the slight, trundling flow of water in eardrums, that mournful bass was the only sound in the serene blue world. Stormy drifted at peace.

It was odd, but the octopus was heard before it was seen. After untold aeons, the sweet resonance, like a wet finger running around the rim of a champagne flute, pervaded Stormy’s mind. Then, wishing to be seen, it bobbed into her vision. Inquisitive eyes met her gaze, the horizontal-oval pupils dancing jovially over every feature, drinking them in deeply. Stormy smiled back. It was quite beautiful; a deep blue thing, flecked with black patches, which were encircled by thin rings of glowing gold. It bobbed up to her face, glowing brighter and brighter. Tentacles toyed with the edges of her face, at her chin and cheeks. 

[color=26619c][b]HELLO.[/b][/color]

A bright cloud of marmalade ink spilled over her.

The world came back into focus, like an unwelcome dream.

[color=ff4500]"What's your name?  I'm Anni."[/color]

Memories took their time to recollect, dusting themselves off and straightening their collars. Anni had an arm around Stormy, and her hair was bright orange, like a…

[color=bc8dbf]“Pumpkin,”[/color] Stormy smiled dreamily, [color=bc8dbf]“I’m Stormy Jeans. In the flesh.”[/color] 

It was then she realised the whispers had vanished now, silenced or replaced, that remained uncertain, by the swishing of bubbling surf, the faint whistle of a buffeting breeze, and was that the occasional gull crying overhead? 

[color=bc8dbf]“If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit a little longer,”[/color] she sighed in the barest of whispers, and Anni might feel her lean in slightly, tired. Eyelids drooped down until they were almost shut. Something warm and tingling was now in her grasp, so she glanced at her hands, resting in her lap, and saw a cephalopod visage staring blankly up at her. She frowned, those wrinkles unfamiliar to her face. 

Then everything escalated quite dramatically, rending her attention from the mask and suddenly there were guns out, and a tension so thick and heavy that Stormy daren’t move, save for the deep sigh that escaped her lips. Quite why this all happened, Stormy was unsure, but the catalyst was not in question. This had been foolish, but now it was also dangerous. 

[center][color=bc8dbf][i]“‘Bullseyes and Targets,’ say the Bells of St. Margaret's”[/i][/color][/center]
Yet this was a night of halves, and so she hoped the hidden half would reveal itself soon.