Monster 4+1 (All Orientations) · Chat

Covenant City is a city favored by the sunset. Every dusk, all west-facing walls are plated with a layer of warm light. Even the dusty warehouses, rusted cranes, and old clothes hanging outside windows become soft at this moment. The sea breeze carries a salty tang into every alley, mixing with the lingering scent of spices from the closing market, the smell of grilled fish wafting from a window, and the ever-present damp wooden scent of the dock area. This is an ordinary evening in the 17th year of the Symbiosis Era. You are walking back along the dock promenade. The sea is on your right, cut into a straight line by the breakwater. In the distance, there is the whistle of fishing boats returning to port; nearby, seagulls are fighting over the last batch of fish offal of the day. A few shark-tribe cubs dart under the water, the white waves stirred by their tail fins breaking into small pieces of golden-red light in the sunset. To be precise, it is a hand with very pale skin, reaching out from under the water, gripping the edge of a reef. There are translucent webs between the fingers, and a small patch of scales that haven't fully regressed remains on the inside of the wrist, shimmering with a faint pearlescent light in the sunset. Sorin the merman pokes his head out of the water. His hair is soaking wet, water droplets sliding down his ear fins. His gray eyes look at you through the water and the twilight, refracted into something unreal, like two unnamed stars submerged in the shallow sea. He watches you in silence for a while, then lifts a fish strung with seaweed from the water—silver-white scales, tail fin still flapping. He places the fish on the reef. The fish jumps; he presses it down, then continues to look at you. "...For you." His voice is tiny, like a bursting bubble. Before you can respond, a familiar loud voice explodes behind you. "—Fuck!" A tall, strong shark beastman strides over from the direction of the dock warehouse, his tail slapping loudly behind him. Holding something in his hand, he starts shouting from afar: "Let go of that person! That fish is still alive and stinking of raw meat; you're giving that to 你?" Shark rushes over windily. He stuffs a bag of grilled fish wrapped in oil paper into your arms, his tail instinctively wrapping around your wrist with a gentle force. "Here, my fish. It's fresher than that crybaby's, and it's already cooked." "How can you have the nerve to bring out something as crude as grilled fish?" This voice comes from the other end of the dock promenade. Cyriven the peacock beastman stands a dozen paces away, silhouetted against the light. His tail feathers are folded into an exquisite fan behind him, the edges of the gold-green feathers dyed copper-red by the sunset. He wears a well-tailored dark green coat with a peacock-feather-shaped silver brooch pinned to the collar. His hair is meticulously tied back, revealing a graceful jawline and a section of his neck. He holds a white porcelain plate containing several overly delicate pastries. The puff pastry is layered countless times, and each one is garnished with edible petals, arranged at an angle that seems calculated. "The evening wind is so strong, how can one eat such greasy things?" He walks up to you, eyes fixed ahead as if the shark beastman nearby and the merman on the reef are just scenery not worth a glance. "I spent all afternoon making these. Taste them." Shark grins, revealing all his sharp teeth: "My grilled fish is better than your flowery bird food that can't even fill a stomach." "You—!" "Anyway, my fish is already in 你's hands." "That's only because you shoved it there first. Crude." "Who the hell are you calling crude?" "You." Sorin lies on the edge of the reef, chin resting on his arms. His gray eyes move from between the two of them to you, then back. He can't get a word in. His tail stirs the water, splashing a small spray that happens to wet both of their pant legs. "Enough." Olyphis the angel walks up from the gentle slope of the dock promenade. The hem of his white robe is lightly lifted by the sea breeze. His long, pale gold hair hangs behind him, warmed by the sunset. He carries a small wicker basket containing a few fruits with water droplets still clinging to their surfaces. He walks to you with composed steps. His gray-blue eyes look down at the oil paper bag in your arms, the pastries in Cyriven's hand, and the fish still flapping on the reef. He takes the oil paper bag from your arms, takes the white porcelain plate, walks to the reef, leans over, picks up the fish, puts it in the basket, and turns to look at you. "All are good," he says in a peaceful tone. "Take them back and eat slowly." Shark: "..." Cyriven: "..." Sorin blows a bubble from under the water. Olyphis hands the wicker basket to you, his fingertips brushing against your wrist, feeling cool. "I will walk you back." "—Fuck, why you??" "Because 你 hasn't had dinner yet, and your grilled fish is already cold," Cyriven immediately cuts in, folding his tail feathers and stepping forward. "My pastries are fresh. They aren't affected by temperature." Sorin doesn't speak, but his tail reaches out from the water, very, very lightly resting against your ankle. Four people, four gazes. The sunset at the dock has just sunk to the edge of the breakwater, stretching everyone's shadows very long. The shark beastman's tail is still wrapped around your wrist, the peacock beastman's tail feathers are shimmering in your peripheral vision, the angel stands quietly by your side with the basket handle still carrying the warmth of his palm, and the merman's tail is pressed against your ankle—cool and light, like a piece of drifting seaweed. The sea breeze passes between you. From afar comes the whistle of a returning fishing boat. It is an ordinary evening in the 17th year of the Symbiosis Era. You stand in the center of their collective gaze, holding a wicker basket containing grilled fish, petal pastries, and a still-jumping silver-scaled fish. Dinner is enough. But how should you choose next?