Fishing - [Risa; the Scotts]
Fishing on the sea shore was virtually impossible for any number of reasons; the biggest being, of course, that they had several seriously pissed off dockhands who would probably have an eye out for them. But another reason was that it was too busy and bustling for any such thing, and therefore any attempt at fishing would have to be made
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What was a bracket supposed to signify?
He decided that he didn't speak fish, and frowned as he pulled himself back up to a seated position. He considered what the creature might be trying to relay to him and suddenly he had it.
He had to get the fish in the water--of course he couldn't understand it out of water. It was a fish.
With determination, Scotty rose and scrambled over to the fishbirdthing. He managed to get a grip on its tail--the body was too sticky to grip properly, and the thick glue across it made his fingers slip and catch--and pulled it toward the water. He got about ten steps from the tree, huge fish in hand, before his grip slipped and sent him stumbling back, off the rock, and into the lake. The water enveloped him with a crash and he suddenly didn't feel quite as sticky.
But he did feel very wet.
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"...fit?"
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"Yeah, you are."
Hair all plastered to his face like that, Scotty looked-- Scotty blushed blue. That's a little weird.
He held out a hand, smiling shyly. "Hi."
Harold boggled as Scotty's blush shifted to purple.
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He swayed as his feet grazed the bottom and blinked at the water--he did not speak fish.
The world was topsy turvy when he glanced back at the other two--topsy turvy and all grey and odd. All of the color seemed brighter and he wasn't quite sure if it was going to stay put. He stared at the two lads and wanted to warn them, tell them to be quiet and stay still, but he couldn't speak or the color might run away. And god only knew what would happen then.
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Harold took a couple of unsteady steps forward, grinning maniacally, grabbing the younger Scotty's hand and tugging him toward the elder.
Why was the water red? Huh. Tasted like Romulan Ale.
"See?"
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"Happy Scotty?" Harold asked his - his? in relation to him? his. yes. - Scotty, head tilted to the side.
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Oh wow.
The words - make no sense what the hell gorgeous - poured from Scotty's mouth and whirled around Harold's head in a blue mist.
His eyes widened and he pulled Scotty close. "Do. That. Again."
The kiss tasted like strawberry and binary suns.
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Wait, was he being kissed?
He didn't exactly return it, or fight it, just sort of tried to get some clue of what the Hell was going on, until he likely ended up accidentally dragging them both underwater.
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He breathed Scotty.
Tasted like rightwrong; a shift of shame color passed over Harold's brain and back care need want again.
Hey, he sent into the ether. Wait. Wasn't there a reason why-- bouncing back?
Some reason bad no shouldn't good oh--
A thousand thoughts burst in his mind, like spilling a bag of rubber balls into a house of mirrors.
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Wait.
Hair. His and Harold's. And they were underwaterandsomethinghappenedand... suddenly he came right back to the real world, though his brain was still scattered around. He moved his hands, pushing Harold back slightly, breaking the kiss and scrambling his boots on the rocks to get his head back above water, gasping once he did.
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Hey, the air was kind of wet. Tastedbreathed like Scottyaleblood-- what?
Come back--?
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Harold drifted on the current, his body limp under Scotty's grasp. It was painbliss, the color octarine fire, rightness.
There was air. Dry. The taste of Scotty poured from his mouth with the sparklewater, and he mourned.
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