>> No, he's not a Sarong Party Guy.

Commissioned from  yuki-chi. He does beautiful, painterly art. Go check him out, he's still open.

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(Fictionlet based on my Persona novel.)

A persistent breeze blew over the coast, and Ezra could almost taste the brine in the air. His sarong fluttered in the wind, and for a moment he wondered if he should've put something on under it.

The afternoon sunlight was beating down on him, but he seemed to have no trouble shrugging off the heat, in some odd display of machismo. His arms swung over his sides as he walked. His path placed him between the ocean and the sandy coast. Foam and seawater splashed against his feet, as he put one ahead of the other in long strides.

It was a beautiful beach in a beautiful country, and he didn't mind visiting it alone. There was enough money for two people, and he could have brought someone along, but he had nobody else to ask.

When he was a pup, he hated going to the beach. Sand would get in his fur and between his toes. He would spend minutes patting them out in complete annoyance before climbing into the family car.

This hatred petered out around the time he learned how to swim. The lessons were from a tall, sinewy Indian instructor who let Ezra's six-year-old self hold on to his back while wading to the center of the public pool at Larkin.

Ezra was a chubby kid. He lost a lot of weight after completing his Masters degree, just by swimming and walking. When others asked, he said it was for his health and to feel and look good. In actuality, it was so he could look better for his boyfriend, who had told him he'd love the dusky dog no matter what he looked like.

Before he left him for a lithe, underweight boy-mink from Singapore, that is.

Along the way, he also learned to appreciate the ocean. The vastness, the mystery, and the power of it. If ever there was nowhere left to run, you can always just jump into the sea.

Ezra took a moment away from this smattering of thoughts to glance behind him. The tourists and fishermen were already out of sight, behind limestone cliffs.

He stood in place and opened a hand. In it was a silver chain necklace, weaved with thin cords of red and brown felt. The year before, Ezra spent an afternoon making two of it. He brought them with him on a date with someone very special. The morning after their third night spent together, Ezra helped him put one of them on.

Ezra clutched the necklace in his hand one more time. With all the strength in his arm, he threw it towards the sea, where it disappeared behind a single wave, and was carried off by the currents.

He wanted to say something really snappy, meaningful, like a person in a movie would. No words came out of his muzzle. There weren't any left.

"Hey, no littering." said a voice somewhere behind him. It came from a slim, male tiger with dark-brown eyes. He wore a T-shirt with a cherry printed on it, a pair of bermuda shorts and flip-flop sandals. A cap shielded his eyes from the sunlight.

"You... were at the Barongan culture show yesterday." said Ezra, as he adjusted his shirt and sarong. "Uh, yeah, along with the dozen other people in our tour group." The tiger held out a hand, with gentle long fingers. "Hi, I'm Tumai. American."

Ezra had a skeptical look on him. "Are you stalking me?"

"Stalking... is a bit strong." After some consideration, Ezra took Tumai's hand and shook it. "Ezra. I'm from Malaysia."

"Malaysia? Just next door from here, huh?" Ezra's mouth moved to one side. "No. Not really."

"I'm sorry if I've offended you." said the feline, with a nod. "Tumai... that makes you sound like a local." said the wolf. "Yeah, uhm, I'm actually here for a cousin's wedding or something." Tumai placed his hands on his hips and looked over the coastline. "Nice to know the place I come from looks this good, though."

Tumai wasn't exactly his type, though Ezra had never been in such a position so as to be able to take it into account. "I'd love to, y'know, talk to you some more. Somewhere more comfortable. If you don't mind me saying." said the feline, as he placed a hand on his cap when gust of wind passed between them.

Ezra folded his arms in front of his chest. His eyes went to one side, looking at nothing in particular. "I... I don't know if..."

"Please, don't answer now. My chalet's two-five-one. You can tell me there. Or not."

Tumai smiled at him, and Ezra replied with another one. The wolf stood by, watching the tiger making his way back to the resort. Nobody could possibly know who he is on this island, he thought. Ezra felt his heart rise, and a warm flush spread over his face.