Welcome to Gaia! ::

There was nothing terrible in the sky, like most days, really; Alexis was not given to reaching too high. Their domain tended more to the dark depths of the ocean - and luckily enough, the court was always available, and if they reached out and twisted the magic in the air they could do almost-anything. So it didn't matter if they went swimming in their clothes in someone-else's pool (was it someone else's? well, it was the reflection of someone else's; and they weren't swimming, anyways, they were sitting at the bottom, anchored there by their own creation until they gave up on it) or if they dragged their fingers across the gravel across the street until their fingertips streaked red.

There was no rhyme or reason to the blood on the mailbox; it was small streaks, five in a row, but it was fresh.

There was no further blood, not really; some streaks on the gravel, maybe, some on a nearby open door. There was no sign of a fight, no sign of struggle, no sign of death.

There were wet footprints leading through the door. Sneakers.

Alexis didn't know America had found their marks. How could they? They were sitting and doing as close to meditating as they ever got, and when their peace was found in someone-else's-shirt (belted, too big, almost like a tunic) and leggings ten feet under the surface, they took what they could get. Their fingers stung, but it'd heal quickly; they weren't blisters, just scrapes from where the skin was thin.

Alexis said something, or it seemed like they said something; because all that came out was a harsh stream of bubbles right in America's face. Even in the shadows of the pool, their eyes were strange and dark, red lines of skin on their neck on both sides where the skin raised -- and the water pulled America away from Alexis, forcefully, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her out of the pool to sit her on the side.

After a second, Alexis poked their head out of the water, resting their arms on the side. "What the <********>," they enunciated very clearly, and gave her a stare that mostly said are you batshit insane.

"Who the ******** jumps into a pool with all their clothes on," Alexis grumbled, tossing their hair in a motion way too dramatic to have as little extra water spray as it did. "Yeah, I'm fine -" they held up one hand - "just scraped my fingers, alright? It happens, I don't need a nursemaid." They weren't actually leaning on the side of the pool, not really; it looked more like they were sitting on something invisible in the water, legs splayed.

"Whaddya mean, was that me? 'Course the water was me. If the pools are comin' alive, we got bigger problems."

"Yes, ma'am," Alexis said, a little bitter in the way that implied they didn't actually mean any harm by it, "when I decide to go hang out on my own 'cause I don' want t'be bothered, I'll write ******** OFF all over someone else's front door with a highlighter."

They huffed. Their gills flared.

"Yeah, but I don't want to, so you're out of luck. I'm havin' a nice sit, here."

"I don't carry a highlighter around, don't tell me what I can n' can't do." They scowled.
"'s not that I'm sittin' on it -- I'm, uh, kinda making a wave under myself? ...so yeah, I can walk on water, but I have'ta concentrate or else everythin' gets soaked."

Alexis paused. Took a second to look down at the fact that, collarbones-down,
they were underwater. Shrugged.

"These don't count. If I wanted to go shittalk the ocean, though, that'd be a walk-on-water moment."

"No, it's -" Alexis looked frustrated, trying to find words that weren't quite there. "Metaphorical. ******** the ocean, it's big and I've never gotten to punch a shark and I want to. Sharks are one of the most punchable things in the world." There was utter belief in their words: Alexis would absolutely punch a shark. They would punch any shark.

"s**t, uh -- can't you magic up a towel or somethin'? I'm not good at makin' things out of thin air..."