[The water keeps the temperature very cool, they stay huddled close to the low burning embers. Frank sleeps a lot more soundly than he would have expected. The world is painted in beautiful dark tones that are slowly melting to golden light. He rouses not because of the light, nor the waves.
The gentle sound of music coming over him. It's strange, different. At first he thinks he is dreaming. Why would there be music played like that, with sand beneath his cheek. He squints and finally opens his eyes. The sun is rising off of the water, the piano back lit and even more dark and imposing with the radiating warmth spilling over the flat lines of the crate. Natasha, the lady, seated on the bench cuts a softer figure, the light catching on her hair. He stays low to the ground, eyes still getting used to the light.
[ Natasha continues to play even when she looks up and can make out the man being awake. Or attempting to be. She tries to smother a smile, tilting her head back down and seamlessly morphing into a new song.
Anya, still on the other crate, spots him being awake finally and waves to him. ]
[The chirp of a voice cannot be denied. His smile spreads and he finally sits up. The sand clings to his skin. Frank has to brush it from him.]
Aye. Yes.
[The fairies or alleged spirits of the forest and sea didn't sweep them away in the night. And the music carries through. The expanse between the sand, sea and sky is filled up to the brim in a way one would never expect. He eases to his feet and stretches. The gulls flutter and chill of the morning is nothing on the way the light and the sound together just bright to life the morning.]
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The gentle sound of music coming over him. It's strange, different. At first he thinks he is dreaming. Why would there be music played like that, with sand beneath his cheek. He squints and finally opens his eyes. The sun is rising off of the water, the piano back lit and even more dark and imposing with the radiating warmth spilling over the flat lines of the crate. Natasha, the lady, seated on the bench cuts a softer figure, the light catching on her hair. He stays low to the ground, eyes still getting used to the light.
It's beautiful.]
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Anya, still on the other crate, spots him being awake finally and waves to him. ]
Sleepyhead!
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Aye. Yes.
[The fairies or alleged spirits of the forest and sea didn't sweep them away in the night. And the music carries through. The expanse between the sand, sea and sky is filled up to the brim in a way one would never expect. He eases to his feet and stretches. The gulls flutter and chill of the morning is nothing on the way the light and the sound together just bright to life the morning.]
Did you and the lady sleep well, little miss?