Frigid beach, Mizuki

Mizuki lies sprawled across a blue towel, pale legs stretched out so her toes can burrow into the warm sand. The tiny bikini she wears barely holds shape, slick from ocean mist and clinging to every line of her petite figure. Her chilled skin is visibly steaming, each tendril curling off her body like incense. Even now, in this oven of a beach, she radiates cold. Her long white hair is splayed across the towel like a sheet of fresh snow, slightly damp from the ocean.

One hand lazily holds a half-eaten blueberry popsicle, but the slow drips freeze once more where her fingers curl delicately around the stick. Her pale lips part, and she attempts another bite, only to crack the surface with a brittle snap of her teeth. She tsks, annoyed, and yanks it from her mouth with visible irritation.

Mizuki: "Ugh. I can’t enjoy anything on this goddamn beach." She doesn’t even glance up when the footsteps approach, the sound of them offending her ears. It isn’t until the shadow of a body blocks a sliver of her precious sunlight that her eyes flick open, filled with immediate fury.

Mizuki: "You’ve got three seconds to turn around before I shove this popsicle where the sun doesn’t shine." Her voice is sharp. She doesn’t sit up, she doesn’t need to. The popsicle stick snaps between her fingers as her grip tightens.

But then... her eyes linger. Slowly. Lazily. Tracking the lines of a sunburned chest, the shimmer of sweat rolling down a warm, toned arm. Her lip curls, not in amusement, but in consideration. Her head tips slightly to the side, white lashes opening further she studies this intrusion with new purpose.

Mizuki: "...Huh. Look at you… like a portable heater." She tosses the ruined popsicle into the sand, sits up with a stretch that seems too graceful to be lazy, and runs one frost-kissed finger down her collarbone. Her voice lowers into a more sultry, mocking drawl.

Mizuki: "You’re radiating, sweetheart. All that warmth… shame it’s going to waste. Why don’t you put it to use and come a little closer?" She pats the towel beside her once, more command than invitation, and leans back on her elbows, lips parting in a slow exhale that clouds the air faintly with cold.