Hmm, if I ignore wildfire fighters your prompts seem to be hinting at fishing, which I don't think you've ever said you're interested in. Which makes me wonder how these prompts are coming up :-D
The catch Justin, the Timeless one who rescued me from Easter Island, had offered to take me fishing and, thinking that this would get me out of Westrill for a while, I agreed. I was a little taken aback when he knocked on the door of my bedroom at 4am, and entered without waiting for me do more than struggle to wakefulness. He sat down on the edge of the bed, causing someone in the bed to strangle an "ouch" and pull their leg away. I yawned, sat up letting the sheets fall down to my waist, and tried to remember if there was supposed to be anyone else in my bed. My memory came up short. "We're leaving shortly," said Justin. He poked the sheets and there was another muffled "ouch" sounding quite different. "How many people do you have in there?" "Should be none," I said knuckling my eyes and then scratching my armpit. "I don't remember there being anyone here except for you, me, and the Misses Hyde and Sikh." "Well you've definitely got neither of those two in your bed," said Justin. He poked the sheets and they were silent this time. Curious, he tossed them back and the bed was indeed empty and he discovered how little I wear to bed. "Get dressed," he said, smirking. "We're leaving in five minutes." "Time doesn't matter to you," I said, getting out of bed and hunting for pants. "Why the hurry?" "It matters to the fish."
I had forgotten that the rill in Westrill refers to a small river so we barely got outside the grounds; the walls around the ancient and confusing house were still visible, but the river had grown substantially thanks to two large tributaries feeding into it. There was something odd about them; the trees on the banks looked older than mountains and the undergrowth seemed unfamiliar. Justin noticed me eyeing them as we walked past to our fishing spot and nodded at them. "Part of the reason for the location of Westrill," he said quietly. I had to move a little closer to him to hear him better. "Water stirs up time and mixes it well; the turbulence creates bubbles and Westrill sits in its own little bubble of time, supported by the confluence of rivers. It's a neat little trick, I'd love to know who came up with it." I'd assumed that Justin, or his friends at least, had taken a house and turned it into Westrill and hearing that it might be something that even they didn't understand made me uneasy. Which I promptly forgot about as we arrived at the river bank and found a small tent, some camping stools and fishing gear. "What are we fishing for?" I asked. "Whatever we catch," said Justin, grinning. He picked up a net and swept it through the water. The water spilled out again, silvery tinged with gold; the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and colours were returning to the world. A fish flopped around in the net, perhaps the length of my forearm and Justin regarded it thoughtfully and then dipped the net back into the water and let it go free. "Not that one." I picked up a rod and made a few practice casts. I had done a little bit of sea fishing a decade or so back and I had memories but little muscle memory. After about ten minutes I decided to give it a real try, and let the line fly. It arced over the water and dipped in, and a moment later I felt a tug on the line. I looked over at Justin. "We're not really after fish," he said. "But I think you guessed that already."
Greg - I think this was inspired by someone saying 'so what's the catch?' but... who knows.
I deeply enjoy this world you're creating and all the details and nuances you fill it with. The river, Justin, the... whatever is going on with those bed sheets. And of course the narrator is fascinating as well.
2 comments:
Hmm, if I ignore wildfire fighters your prompts seem to be hinting at fishing, which I don't think you've ever said you're interested in. Which makes me wonder how these prompts are coming up :-D
The catch
Justin, the Timeless one who rescued me from Easter Island, had offered to take me fishing and, thinking that this would get me out of Westrill for a while, I agreed. I was a little taken aback when he knocked on the door of my bedroom at 4am, and entered without waiting for me do more than struggle to wakefulness. He sat down on the edge of the bed, causing someone in the bed to strangle an "ouch" and pull their leg away. I yawned, sat up letting the sheets fall down to my waist, and tried to remember if there was supposed to be anyone else in my bed. My memory came up short.
"We're leaving shortly," said Justin. He poked the sheets and there was another muffled "ouch" sounding quite different. "How many people do you have in there?"
"Should be none," I said knuckling my eyes and then scratching my armpit. "I don't remember there being anyone here except for you, me, and the Misses Hyde and Sikh."
"Well you've definitely got neither of those two in your bed," said Justin. He poked the sheets and they were silent this time. Curious, he tossed them back and the bed was indeed empty and he discovered how little I wear to bed.
"Get dressed," he said, smirking. "We're leaving in five minutes."
"Time doesn't matter to you," I said, getting out of bed and hunting for pants. "Why the hurry?"
"It matters to the fish."
I had forgotten that the rill in Westrill refers to a small river so we barely got outside the grounds; the walls around the ancient and confusing house were still visible, but the river had grown substantially thanks to two large tributaries feeding into it. There was something odd about them; the trees on the banks looked older than mountains and the undergrowth seemed unfamiliar. Justin noticed me eyeing them as we walked past to our fishing spot and nodded at them. "Part of the reason for the location of Westrill," he said quietly. I had to move a little closer to him to hear him better. "Water stirs up time and mixes it well; the turbulence creates bubbles and Westrill sits in its own little bubble of time, supported by the confluence of rivers. It's a neat little trick, I'd love to know who came up with it."
I'd assumed that Justin, or his friends at least, had taken a house and turned it into Westrill and hearing that it might be something that even they didn't understand made me uneasy. Which I promptly forgot about as we arrived at the river bank and found a small tent, some camping stools and fishing gear.
"What are we fishing for?" I asked.
"Whatever we catch," said Justin, grinning. He picked up a net and swept it through the water. The water spilled out again, silvery tinged with gold; the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and colours were returning to the world. A fish flopped around in the net, perhaps the length of my forearm and Justin regarded it thoughtfully and then dipped the net back into the water and let it go free. "Not that one."
I picked up a rod and made a few practice casts. I had done a little bit of sea fishing a decade or so back and I had memories but little muscle memory. After about ten minutes I decided to give it a real try, and let the line fly. It arced over the water and dipped in, and a moment later I felt a tug on the line. I looked over at Justin.
"We're not really after fish," he said. "But I think you guessed that already."
Greg - I think this was inspired by someone saying 'so what's the catch?' but... who knows.
I deeply enjoy this world you're creating and all the details and nuances you fill it with. The river, Justin, the... whatever is going on with those bed sheets. And of course the narrator is fascinating as well.
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