Post by Brotherhood NPCs on Sept 19, 2006 14:47:17 GMT -5
The fish headed mutant sat on a boulder at the edge of the beach, his wide, flat feet dangling into the warm water. It was a beautiful, sunny day on the island of Winnepetake, a fine day for chilling out and, most of all a fine day for fishing.
There were people who would have seen irony in a fish man fishing.
Not that there were many people on Winnepetake any more to make ironic observations but you know, they would have done if they had been there.
"How you doin'?" The fish man asked his fishing buddy.
Roland said nothing, as was his way. He blinked and stared out at the rolling ocean without a care in the world.
"Cool, cool," the fish man who sometimes called himself Gill, but had once been called Brian said. He nodded sagely at the words of wisdom and resumed his fishing.
Just over a mile away the town that had once been his home lay in ruins, its streets and buildings cracked and ruined by the earthquake that had driven away the other inhabitants. Gill hadn't left though. Winnepetake was his home, it was overrun, populated with biting insects and carnivorous mammals, but it was still his home.
"Turned out nice again man," Gill said sometime later.
Roland glanced sideways at his fishing buddy but didn't comment. It was his way and Gill understood.
As the morning wore on Gill produced a wooden pipe and packed it with some obscure weed that grew on the lower sloped of the islands single mountain. He struck a match from the rough boulder and lit the pipe, a plume of blueish smoke drifted lazily into the warm air and curled away on the ocean breeze.
He took several drags on the pipe before blowing a couple of perfect smoke rings, one through the other.
Life was good.
"You wanna puff man?" Gill said and offered Roland the pipe.
When he didn't accept, Gill shrugged and resumed puffing.
"Suit yaself," he said.
Some time later the little wooden float started to bob up and down in the waves. Gill had been dozing, the responsibility for keeping an eye on the rod having been temporarily handed over to Roland.
The line bounced a little more vigorously and snagged on one of his toes.
"What?" Gill said, startled out of his doze, "ya supposed to wake me when we geta bite mon!" He said to Roland, rolling his big eyes.
Roland shuffled a bit on his rock and blinked apologetically.
"It almost be gettin' away!"
He lifted the rod and began expertly reeling the catch in.
Ten minutes later and one seriously ill-tempered looking sea bass dangled from the straining line.
"Sorry man," Gill apologised to the pissed off fish, "but me an Roland gots to eat ya know."
Then he bashed it in the head with a rock.
"S'all good."
Roland hopped down off of his rock and back toward to the ruined town.
"Aright man," Gill said to his retreating back, "I'll get de fire goin', you fetch de sauce."
The frog said nothing and hopped away into the jungle.
There were people who would have seen irony in a fish man fishing.
Not that there were many people on Winnepetake any more to make ironic observations but you know, they would have done if they had been there.
"How you doin'?" The fish man asked his fishing buddy.
Roland said nothing, as was his way. He blinked and stared out at the rolling ocean without a care in the world.
"Cool, cool," the fish man who sometimes called himself Gill, but had once been called Brian said. He nodded sagely at the words of wisdom and resumed his fishing.
Just over a mile away the town that had once been his home lay in ruins, its streets and buildings cracked and ruined by the earthquake that had driven away the other inhabitants. Gill hadn't left though. Winnepetake was his home, it was overrun, populated with biting insects and carnivorous mammals, but it was still his home.
"Turned out nice again man," Gill said sometime later.
Roland glanced sideways at his fishing buddy but didn't comment. It was his way and Gill understood.
As the morning wore on Gill produced a wooden pipe and packed it with some obscure weed that grew on the lower sloped of the islands single mountain. He struck a match from the rough boulder and lit the pipe, a plume of blueish smoke drifted lazily into the warm air and curled away on the ocean breeze.
He took several drags on the pipe before blowing a couple of perfect smoke rings, one through the other.
Life was good.
"You wanna puff man?" Gill said and offered Roland the pipe.
When he didn't accept, Gill shrugged and resumed puffing.
"Suit yaself," he said.
Some time later the little wooden float started to bob up and down in the waves. Gill had been dozing, the responsibility for keeping an eye on the rod having been temporarily handed over to Roland.
The line bounced a little more vigorously and snagged on one of his toes.
"What?" Gill said, startled out of his doze, "ya supposed to wake me when we geta bite mon!" He said to Roland, rolling his big eyes.
Roland shuffled a bit on his rock and blinked apologetically.
"It almost be gettin' away!"
He lifted the rod and began expertly reeling the catch in.
Ten minutes later and one seriously ill-tempered looking sea bass dangled from the straining line.
"Sorry man," Gill apologised to the pissed off fish, "but me an Roland gots to eat ya know."
Then he bashed it in the head with a rock.
"S'all good."
Roland hopped down off of his rock and back toward to the ruined town.
"Aright man," Gill said to his retreating back, "I'll get de fire goin', you fetch de sauce."
The frog said nothing and hopped away into the jungle.