ash and mourning star

who: star and ash
where: the beach
when: early afternoon

The Mourning Star was out. She'd left the Martens' residence, and taken Voltaire with her as she'd intended, bringing the corgi puppy out for a walk. Currently, she happened to be walking him along the damp beach, the day cloudy enough that she didn't need an umbrella to hide herself from the sunshine. Instead she was in a long black sun dress, that the wind caught nicely. Her hair was pulled back from her face, letting the inverted cross earrings she wore (and the sand teardrop Doc had given her) stand out more. She occasionally paused to throw a stick up the beach for the dog, who would chase after it, though he often lost the thing, and she just had to pick it back up again herself and throw it to send him off in a flurry of barking and wave chasing.

Ash was out, though his head wanted him to go the fuck home. He'd had a restless nap since his ... guest had left that morning, but didn't feel any better for it. After a while, he just hadn't been able to stay in the apartment any longer. Not with that smell. So he'd locked the doors, settled some sunglasses in place despite the overcast day, and headed out for a meandering sort of walk. He'd ended up at the beach, sitting in the sand with his knees up and watching the water. And smoking. That was, at least, until a four-legged bundle of noise and energy raced up and launched itself into his lap, all tongue and excited butt-wagging. The angel made a noise of distress that kind of melted into a surprised laugh as his face got attacked by licks, trying to fend the puppy off and not burn him at the same time. "Whoa there, son, calm thyself," he chuckled.