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lucalicatteart · 1 year

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Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 11: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

Yesterday's poll decided that The Adventurer should curiously socialize with a few of the boat travelers ...

"The Adventurer grabs one of the ornate glass bowls near the buffet table, meekly gathering some cheese and vegetables as he scans the crowd. For the first 15 minutes of the lunch, he mostly crouches in a corner seat, nibbling on his food and nervously fielding the occasional drunken question from a passing party guest..

Knowing he should.. probably... actually socialize at some point, he begrudgingly chooses conversational partners, squeezing his eyes shut and pointing around randomly until he lands on someone.....

The first is a scrawny man in a flashy suit, wobbly from wine but still keeping a vaguely charming demeanor about him. He proudly introduces himself as a "legal expert", then goes on to ramble for a while about the laws in the area, how drastically they vary from city to city (plus a few veiled hints on how to safely break them), and that if you travel a lot it can be hard to keep up with it all.

He mentions, quite conveniently, that he's recently published a book on the topic, a legal guide for local explorers, and offers to give The Adventurer a copy for a special discounted price... but... then soon recalls that the crate of books he'd planned to sell on the boat sadly ended up falling into the river earlier during a "silly little mishap"..

In place of a book, he simply slides The Adventurer a glossy mint colored paper swirled with golden floral motifs, supposedly serving as some sort of business card, though the actual contact information seems obscured beneath the cluttered design. The Lawyer also pulls off his scarf as he rises to leave, wrapping it around The Adventurer's shoulders with a little waving flourish (not the first time someone has confused his anxious shaking for cold shivers). The Adventurer stutters out a confused thank you, then watches as the Lawyer stumbles off, mumbling to himself that he's been drinking too much and "truly must find somewhere to piss"......

The second person he approaches is an older woman, hunched over a table fidgeting with a handful of colorful glass dice, spinning and stacking and arranging them into patterns whilst her thoughts drift elsewhere. Initially, she gives evasive answers when asked personal questions, but soon grows more talkative once the topic of local flora and fauna arises. She apparently used to adventure as well, roaming the lands to document various elements of nature relevant to her mysterious "private research" - though, at her age, she's now resigned to casual boat rides rather than riskily hiking alone through uncharted wilderness. Gently laying a worn leather journal of watercolor paintings out onto the tabletop, she points at various berries, leaves, and animals, eagerly describing their significance...

After chatting for a while, she abruptly changes topics, mentioning that sometimes she can "sense things which she should not" (whatever the hell that means), then asks him to pick one of her dice. He hesitates, but she just stares, refusing to elaborate further.. Finding even 30 seconds of awkward silent eye contact physically impossible to bear, he hurriedly plops a finger down in front of an iridescent yellow die. She chuckles..

Scooping up all of the dice from the table, she rattles them in her clasped hands, then brings them up to her ear as if to listen... to something?? A few moments later, she turns back to him, speaking in a raspy whisper: "There are others, melding your footprints with their own, seeking a gift you do not yet know - this is what I see."

Before he can ask her for any elaboration, the Captain returns, grumbling that The Adventurer has already stayed 5 minutes past the time limit and swatting at him with a broom to shoo him off of the boat. Apparently an hour can go by fast....

After climbing back into his dinky raft, he sails mostly successfully down the river, finally making it to a point that, at least based on his map, SHOULD be where the main road picks back up past the detour. He crashes into a small grouping of rocks whilst trying to navigate back to the shore, but he was planning on disassembling the raft to get his rope and supplies back anyway, so.. aside from a scraped knee and possibly broken pinky toe, he decides it's actually fine. The cat is okay, which is all that really matters, anyhow.

By the time he's taken apart his boat, eaten a quick meal, and bandaged his leg, the sun seems to have nearly set. It's later in the night than he'd usually like to travel, but, where he's going is a pretty commonly used road, so maybe it's safe? He's exhausted from socializing, but could probably muster enough energy to walk for at least a while. Or perhaps he should just call it a night and find a place to sleep.. But.. where??? What should he do?

Additional information

acquired a long, warm, expensive scarf

acquired slightly increased knowledge of local plants

acquired vague information from the 'dice based fortune teller', or whatever that was meant to be

acquired a business card (+ ability to get away with one minor crime free of legal consequence)

acquired mild nausea for the next 5hrs from weird buffet cheese

acquired badly scraped knee and sprained toe (will walk slightly slower for the next 2 days)

the adventurer's current main goal: follow his map to reach the abandoned castle ruins and see the rare animal specialist about the mysterious egg he has

#paventure posting #polls #choose your own adventure #okay yeahgh this one took like a week instead of a few days lol #I've went back to physical therapy for my chronic chest muscle issue and I think one of the new excercises they gave me in the #appointment ended up really irritating something instead of helping it because I was having way worse and sharper #chest pain for a few days. I went to the doctor and got an ekg just to rule out anything bad like that because I seriously #thought something was wrong but.. apparently it's just the same thing as always. It feels a bit better now #and hopefully wont get bad again if I ease into the excercises more. but for a few days I really didn't want to use my arms at all #so that means like.. not drawing or typing. also when I feel bad I kind of stray away from social media? I know for some peopls #social media is a good distraction when they're sick or whatever but I just find it stressful. I usually just lay on the floor #for a few days with silly cooking shows or Carefully Curated Youtube Videos That Specifically Contain Absolutley Zero Possibility #Of Stressful content Whatsoever on in the background lol.. ANYWAY.#I am at the moment able to use the computer again so I could draw things. hopefully will get on better schedules again one day #anyway!!... HE!!! adventure man... Again I hate trying to shorten things by just describing the conversations without dialogue #like saying “they talked about trees” rather than literally writing out a transcript of the entire conversation they had about trees #etc. I think because most of the time when I write it's in a very dialogue heavy context (like script type things. or visual novels/games #where lots of characters are talking and it's mostly that. etc.) So it feels awkward and bad to just skip over things #But also these would take days and days and days to do if I wrote out pages of conversation so I'm just doing vaguely rushed shortcut writi #writing trying to include only details that are necessary or etc. but ggbhjbhj... it's just so opposite to what I usually like #I always walk away like 'FINE.. i GUESS.. that will have to do >:T' lol #Kind of like how I hate literally every bit of digital art I have ever done because I'm so used to traditional art - specifically pencil #and pen stuff that's very sketchy and messy - and then digital art is all about clean even neat lines with a line tool and very polished #clean coloring - so it's super super opposite to my usual sketchy things and just Feels Wrong. I kind of like ms paint because it feels #like a middle ground like. it's somehow also sketchy even though it's digital. multiple pixelly lines over each other give it a 'sketch'#type feel. BUt anyway. It's supposed to be casual and quick and fun! I will choose to ignore all art and writing errors because #it is all about having a little advenchure! :3 As long as the main idea is clear enough for the voting to make sense . who cares #Remember to keep him safe! the dice lady is trying to help him. Regardless of where he sleeps though he can probably use the scarf #as a new warm blanket addition to his existing meager bedding situation lol. soft. fluffy. the cat will love it probably #Also again. whenever he talks to people the text will be longer. Sorry. Still trying for most of them to be short blurbs lol

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adelaidedrubman · 10 months

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John gets his first fishing lesson. read here on ao3.

notes: here we go folks, chapter 2 is here! this originally was going to be a longer chapter, but i decided to leave off at a different scene than originally intended for the sake of getting a faster update with a more reasonable wordcount (y’all know me). chapter wordcount: 4.9k warnings: it wouldn’t be hl&s without ample sexual banter and fishing puns. animal death (perhaps cruel in motivation but not in execution, all fish killed humanely). somewhat graphic description of a fish being gutted. ft. palpable sexual tension. john typical emotional volatility and outbursts. some emotional manipulation, bullying, and general toxicity (jestiny is arguably never not negging him). minimal proofing.

By 8:38 AM John was beginning to doubt she was going to show up at all.

Perhaps, he was beginning to think, after thirty-eight minutes of waiting (fifty-three if he counted the fifteen minutes he arrived early), coming to the Marina had been a mistake.

He exhaled as he glanced at his watch, promising himself — just as he had twice before — that at the next quarter past he would leave if she still wasn’t there.

It would make sense that the mysterious redheaded stranger from the bar wouldn’t show up as promised.

She’d hardly struck him as reliable , or trustworthy.

Perhaps it had been foolish of him to ever think she would follow through.

She had probably realized in the cold, sober light of day just how ridiculous the idea had been, and resolved to bail on him and put the entire embarrassing affair behind her.

And he should have done the same.

Yes, he had been stupid for showing up at all.

And he would correct that, and leave.

In just another three minutes.

He tapped his watch, stomach dropping as the second dial began to near another full rotation around its face.

“If you’ve been just waiting around here for the past hour because you’re trying to work up the courage to ask me to join you, you can go on ahead and stop worryin’ your pretty little head.”

John rounded his current lap of pacing up and down the length of the dock to find the owner of the Marina perched on the side of his boat, legs crossed and coral painted lips curved into a smile.

“If you’re willing to wait the teensy-weensiest bit longer, I can be in a bikini, lathered up in tanning oil, and ready to hop aboard by around 9:30 — that’s the time Xander usually rolls outta bed, and I need to leave the shop in something at least resembling capable hands before I can set sail.”

John cleared his throat. “Mrs. Drubman,” he greeted, matching her smile as he sauntered to her side. “As flattered as I am by the offer, I’m afraid the position of first mate is already taken, for today. I have a date. I’m just waiting for her to arrive.”

“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaimed, hopping down from atop the boat to study him closer. “You got a girlfriend coming over?” she asked with a raise of her eyebrows. “Who is it?” she questioned, pouting her bottom lip. “C’mon, at least give your ol’ girl Addie a name.”

Ah, well.

He wished that he could, but that had been another oversight of the prior evening. He’d failed to even ask the redhead’s name before agreeing to her plan.

Which under normal circumstances wouldn’t have been much of an issue, but the quick turnaround from last night to their early morning (or at least it was supposed to be early morning) date left him with little time to pry around about her.

“Oh, come now, Addie.” He gave a charming laugh as he tilted his head to look up at her with soft, friendly eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Don’t worry,” she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I can be very discreet.”

Perhaps if he believed that, he would have abandoned any hopes of his co-conspirator showing and taken the blonde up on her offer.

Still, it occurred to him she could be of use to him in another way.

“My lips are sealed,” he teased, bringing an index to rest against them in a ‘shh’ gesture. “But…” He curled the index downward to pinch against his thumb. “I suppose a tiny hint wouldn’t hurt,” he hummed. “It’s someone I believe you’re quite familiar with.”

She should be, shouldn’t she? After all, beyond the fact the woman from last night had suggested meeting here in the first place, the one thing he knew about her was that she liked fishing. Surely she and the Marina owner were well acquainted.

“Honey, I’m familiar with a lot of folks, if you catch my drift,” she replied with a wink. “Gimme another hint.”

“Perhaps more than just familiar,” he offered. If he could just get a name. “Someone who is also a very loyal customer.”

“Again, honey.” She smacked her lips, unimpressed. “I do very good business.”

He made a mental note of Greed, competing valiantly with Lust.

But for the present moment he merely gasped, bringing a hand to his chest as if wounded. “I’ve showed you two of mine now,” he whined playfully. “Can’t I get just one guess of yours?”

“Hmmmm,” she tapped a finger just beneath her bottom lip. “If you’re meeting her here and not during Sunday Service, I’m guessing that means she isn’t a member of your little…” She flourished her hand, flicking her wrist forward to trail fingers down the V of his shirt. “‘Alternative religious movement,’ is what Xander says I should call it…”

“I do fear for her soul. But I’m certain that can be rectified.” He was not so certain. He found it very likely that the stubborn, wrathful little redhead would burn with the rest of the sinful world. But if she could help him convert a pair of far more worthy souls, she will have at least served some purpose before dying a slow, painful death in the Collapse.

“I’ll ask more about your rectals later,” she said with a wriggle of her brows. “For now, another hint?”

How long could he keep this up?

“About yea high,” he said simply, bringing straightened fingers to rest just beneath the bridge of his nose. “ With her —” hideous, bulky, tacky, “— favorite combat boots on.”

Adelaide rolled her shoulders back, pushing out her chest and towering over him by the several inches she had been graciously evening them out by bending down as they spoke. “So, short?”

John hummed, straightening his spine and raising his chin. “I’d say average.”

“You’d say,” she mused. “What’s she do for work?”

Fuck if he knew. “Nothing she finds as meaningful a calling as she does fishing.”

“Age?”

Older than she acts, he would assume. “I would never reveal that information about a lady.”

“Bra size?”

Something in the range of substantial, but not massive. More perky. Something like a 36C — No, closer to a 34D. “Questions befitting a gentleman, please.”

“Alright, how ’bout —”

“And I believe we’re on your guess, at the moment.”

“Fine, fine.” She held her chin in her hand, studying him. “Is it that blonde spitfire that works the deli at Lorna’s?” she asked, leaning forward with hands on hips. “The chatty one who always wears the low-cut tops? Cute little thing. Reminds me of a younger me, with a less impressive caboose.”

“You think I’ve been picking up women at truck stops?” he teased. “No, not her. And not a blonde, as lovely as I may find them.”

“Brunette?” she pressed. “Lighter or darker than what you’re rocking?”

He shook his head with a coy smile that concealed the worry fluttering in his chest. Was he really going to be cornered into playing the one card he really had?

“You’ve worn me down,” he sighed. Really, it was a shame she wasn’t a believer. She had gifts to contribute. “She has the most gorgeous, breathtaking, luscious —”

“Jessie?”

Jessie? Could that be it?

But when he flicked his gaze up to gauge the blonde’s reaction he saw she looked past him, rather than at him.

He swung his head around to see the woman from the night before leisurely strolling down the docks with on hand in the pocket of her cutoff denim shorts, the other carrying a tacklebox and a set of fishing poles.

She paused as she reached his slip, stopping in her tracks and looking over her shoulder in a way that suggested she might be considering turning back.

No such luck, Jessie. A deal is a deal.

“Jessie!” John called in greeting, jogging down the length of the dock towards her. “My, is it a delight to see you.”

He brought his hands to either side of her face in hopes of covering the look she gave him as if she had no clue what he was on about, pushing her back to dip her into a reunion kiss.

“The fuck you think you’re —” She dropped the fishing poles and tacklebox to grip the crook of his elbows to shove him back, giving him a brief look of incredulity before seeming to reorient herself and lean into the embrace to dip him back instead, deepening the kiss as she did.

Such a difficult one, Jessie was.

Still, it apparently sold well enough — the moment he was let up for air he was greeted by a curious, flushed leer from the Drubman woman.

“Well, batter and deep-fry my tits and sell ’em at the testy festy, this is your mystery gal?”

“Not such a mystery to you, is she?” John laughed as he laced his fingers in Jessie’s and brought her knuckles to his mouth to kiss, banking on the instant recognition meaning he’d been correct about their familiarity. “Jessie dear mentioned you were close.”

“As two pimples on my ex-husband’s ass cheek,” Adelaide agreed, hooking arms beneath Jessie’s to bring her in for a hug, John’s intertwined hand awkwardly tugged along for the ride as the blonde pulled her further.

“Speaking of exes, I’m glad to see you moving on so quick,” Adelaide whispered in Jessie’s ear, just barely audible to John. “Was wondering ’bout you, after I heard about the girl band breaking up.”

“You fuckin’ heard about that already?” Jessie hissed in reply, patting the hand not holding John’s against Adelaide’s back and turning so that she was angled away from him. “How?”

“Well, the classic breakup hack job you came in here rocking told me from about a mile away.” John felt a perverse since of satisfaction at seeing an embarrassed pink flush across the redhead’s cheeks at the jab — perhaps she did have some sense of shame, deep down. “But, I’d also heard it before I laid eyes on the tragedy. Skylar and Sherri mentioned it this morning,” Adelaide murmured, pulling John’s arm along for another rotation of the strange waltz he was trapped in. “When they stopped by to enter their names in the Annual Fishing Derby.”

John thought Jessie might actually crush the bones in his hand, for as tightly as she clenched it.

He saw something dangerous flare in those big doe eyes of hers, any friendliness in their brown warmth vaporized in the angry inferno smoldering to life in them now.

“They. Did. What?”

John tried, unsuccessfully, to extricate his hand from her grip.

“Oh, don’t be mad at them for blabbing, sugar,” Adelaide shushed, stroking a hand along the back of Jessie’s head. “They weren’t being catty, they just mentioned they were worried about how ya were taking —”

“They entered the Fishing Derby?” she ground out, pain splintering through John’s hand. “Together? Today? They couldn’t even wait a —”

“Lotta folks have, first day we’ve been live!” Adelaide exclaimed, finally pulling back from their hug to make the announcement to John too. “They’ve been lining up all morning. Everyone goes crazy for The Admiral, and the cash prize is up this year.”

“The Admiral?” John repeated with a curious smile. “Might I ask who that is?”

Jessie’s eyes grew more dangerously alight yet. “You’re so funny, John!” She forced out laughter, eyes bulging wider than he thought possible with each sharp bark. “See how he managed to charm me so quick? He’s so fuckin’ funny.” She gave him a look that bore no hint of amusement. “Of course he fuckin’ knows who The Admiral is.”

“Of course.” Was he really catching flack from the woman who didn’t even know who the Ryes were — seemingly didn’t even know who his own family was, for that matter — for not being familiar with someone in the County?

What the hell kind of person could that level of recluse even get offended at him for not —

Oh.

Of course.

He did know.

“The Admiral is a fish,” he said, trying not to sound exasperated by the revelation.

“A fish,” Jessie scoffed, slapping him on the back a little too hard. “I told you, he’s funny.”

“Well, not like anyone’s actually gonna catch him, anyways,” Adelaide sighed with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They never do. But everyone who pays the entry fee gets admission to the big ol’ Fish Fry we do after to cook up whatever they did manage to catch and get blackout drunk on party liquor.”

“I can do that at home without an entry fee,” Jessie scoffed.

“And this year, we’re co-hosting! Cook out’s gonna be over at the Ryes’ place, since they got everything set up nice from all the barbecues they hold anyways —”

“How much is the entry fee?” John asked.

Adelaide tilted her head to the side, pausing before she answered. She raked her eyes over him from head to toe and back up again, then allowed them to drift over his shoulder towards the boat parked in the slip behind him.

She crossed her arms over her chest, raising her chin before rattling off with ease, “Ninety bucks a person, one seventy-five for couples, three-fifty for a group of four.”

Oh, good. He was worried she would attempt to charge him something unreasonable.

He flashed her a smile, reached into his back pocket to slide two hundred dollar bills out pressed between his fingers. “Keep the change,” he hummed, holding the bills out in offering. “But do enter us as a couple.”

Jessie briefly eyed the exchange of cash, shrugging towards Adelaide with the slightest hint of a smile.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Drubman.” He pressed his right arm flat against his abdomen and bent at the waist in a half-bow that put his head near even with Adelaide’s cleavage, bringing his left hand to rest against the small of Jessie’s back. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’m afraid I won’t have any chance of charming my date myself if I’m competing with you.”

He pressed his hand against Jessie’s back to guide her the remaining distance towards the boat — only to have the hand elbowed away, as if she’d once again forgotten they were supposed to be acting like a happy couple.

But before he could shoot her a proper glare in reminder she wrapped her arm around his to tug him along instead, nearly causing him to stumble off the dock from her clumsily effort to cover her slip up.

“I’ll leave you crazy kids to it, then,” Adelaide chimed with a parting wave. “Happy catchin’!”

As John climbed into the boat he caught in his periphery a manicured hand reaching out to grab to the grubby, calloused one dropping a tackle box and set of fishing poles over the side.

“And sugar,” he heard Adelaide whisper to the redhead she held back. “You gotta let me know if it winds up he puts out, alright?”

He could see Jessie’s look of earnest confusion reflected in the windshield.

“Uh, I guess,” she rasped in reply, even more conspicuous yet. “I mean, why wouldn’t he?”

“My dear,” John turned to cut in before the pair could whisper more gossip, holding out the palm of his hand in offering to receive Jessie’s and assist her in climbing into the boat.

She recoiled, looking at the hand as if it might as well have held a dead rat as she stepped to the side of it and hopped onto the boat.

Yes, this was certainly a mistake.

He laughed and threw an arm around her, pulling her to his side. “We’re supposed to be acting like we’re together,” he hissed through teeth exposed in a stiff smile as he waved goodbye to the blonde skipping back towards the shop. “So what was that, exactly?”

“Was gonna ask you the same fuckin’ thing,” she ground out in reply. “Why the fuck were you pulling all that weird shit?”

“The physical affection?” he questioned. “Couples tend to do that,” he said, smile souring with sarcasm. “And what took you so long?” he demanded. “I was beginning to think —”

That she wouldn’t show up. But he was struck anew with how foolish it had been to really expect her to, so he neglected to finish the thought.

“You were almost an hour late to the time you set,” he complained instead.

She rolled her eyes, as if he were being unreasonable. “I was pickin’ out my outfit!” she defended, holding her arms out and doing a half-twirl to show off the cut-off overalls with single suspender unbuttoned to reveal sleeveless t-shirt bearing an image of a suggestively placed set of twin boat engines with the phrase ‘I <3 Motor Boating’ plastered across the chest. “You coulda spent a little more fuckin’ time trying to pick out something nice for yourself.”

He looked down at the freshly ironed salmon shorts cuffed to mid-thigh paired with crisp white V-neck she cast her disdainful look towards.

“What could possibly be objectionable about my outfit?”

“Nothing, so long as you’re wearing it as like…” she waved a hand in the air in quick, choppy circles as she paused to search for words, dropping down to her knees to throw open the lid of her tackle box in the same swift motion. “A funny joke or something.” She grinned up at him. “Y’know. Irony.”

“The only irony I’m finding is in you insulting someone’s outfit while wearing that.”

“This is what people wear to go fishing,” she said, pulling at the suspenders of her overalls.

“This isn’t?”

“Wrong kinda salmon, John,” she said with a point towards his shorts, sitting back to begin threading a line through a hook. “But it’s fine, we can sell it like you are funny,” she sighed, breaking off the line between her teeth. “And at least your legs look nice in shown off in ’em,” she tacked on, glancing back at him. “You actually have really nice thighs. Go fucking figure.”

He felt a strange heat crawl up the back of his neck, bloom across his chest.

He thought it was the first nice thing she’d said about him.

Something about receiving a compliment from someone so very unpleasant was, well…

“Shame about the stern, though,” she said with a click of her tongue against her teeth, glancing behind him.

Never mind.

“I’ll spare you the view,” he replied, stepping over the woman to seat himself at the helm. He tugged the legs of the shorts up slightly as he sat.

“Can’t do anything about what god gave you, but we can work on getting you to pass as a real angler, even with the shorts.” She came up behind him to pat his shoulder as he cranked the motor to life. “Head out West, ’bout midway to the little fucking islet out there.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“And don’t even worry about the learning curve — ’cause with me teaching you, you’ll be fishing like a pro before sunset.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, this is pathetic!” The overbearing heat of the sun seemed to beat down on John a degree hotter for every damnable word Jessie spoke to him. “Your fucking bobber is practically twenty-thousand leagues under at this point! That means start reeling that shit in!”

“Well, it’s difficult to focus when my fishing partner is screaming at me!” he snapped back, doing his best to crank the handle of the reel, only for it to jam.

“Other way!” she ordered. “And lean back! Keep the end of your rod up! You’re supposed to fight the fish while you reel!”

“Then perhaps you should worry about fighting your own catch, instead of me!” he huffed, tensing his arms and jerking the rod back.

“I got the expert form to multitask,” she said smugly, doing a swift turn of her reel as the fish on the end of her line leapt through the air. “You haven’t caught anything all day.”

“Brag while you can,” he scoffed, giving another harsh tug to his rod — the line pulled taut, refusing to budge no matter how much of his strength he exerted, muscles of his arms aching in complaint from the effort. This was it. Finally. “It feels like I’ve got a big one on the line.”

“You haven’t had shit on the line for a good fuckin’ minute, John,” she said flatly. “You fucking snagged the bottom,” she explained with an irritated grunt. She held her rod propped against her thigh with one hand, while the other reached into her back pocket to pull out a skinny, curved knife. “Cut the line and try again.”

His nostril flared with the sharp, heavy exhale he pushed out as he snatched the knife from her, sliding its plastic safety sheath off and tossing it aside to press the blade to the fishing line.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ fish me outta hook and home at this fucking rate,” she grumbled, quickly undercut by a laugh as she lifted her own line out of the water with ease to hoist a speckled and pink-lined fish well over a foot long over the side of his boat, propping it to rest wriggling atop the gunwale.

John grimaced at the mess of slime and lake water it smeared there, dribbling down to leak between the cracks of his natural teak flooring. His scowl deepened as the fish’s tail flailed upward to sling filthy water onto the clean white fabric of his shirt.

“Hm, I think that puts me at about nine full-sized catches now to your whopping zero,” she bragged in teasing sing-song with a sharp golden flash of sunset warm eyes. “I reckon some of us are just better with our rod than others, huh?”

Whatever fishing line thin thread of patience he had left finally snapped.

His grip was white knuckle tight around the handle of the knife as he suddenly swung it through the air to impale through the brain of the accursed creature, impact of the blade stabbing straight through and into the hard plastic shell of the gunwale ratcheting itself up the length of his arm.

“Fuck!” he shouted, contained rage swiftly bubbling up to rush through the length of his arm and settle for good in that tight clenched fist, driving it to twist the knife and send it tearing down the length of the fish’s belly with a squelch of innards spilling.

He gasped out, looking around with wide, searching eyes, suddenly as furiously hungry for air as if he’d been held underwater.

“Huh,” Jessie barked out, high but gruff. “Well.” He couldn’t quite say if it was with relief or irritation he noted that the press of her palm against the fish’s back fin hadn’t moved an inch — she hadn’t so much as flinched as he swung the knife. “Guess you know how to gut ’em, at least,” she shrugged. His chest continued to heave as he tried to even his breaths, regain some composure. “Maybe you are good for something.”

John let out a long exhale, wiping the sweat from his brow and willing himself to keep his current level of calm, trying as it was.

And oh, it was trying.

Because Jessie wasn’t wrong.

They had been at this for hours, his cheeks pinkened from the long stretch of baking beneath the sun. And the only thing he’d caught was criticism from the woman who was supposed to be teaching him.

“You know what,” she hummed, pointing towards the fish guts dribbling down into the water. “That could work, actually. You can finish the job here? You can gut the fucker?”

He pinched his brow, looking down at the fish.

“I imagine,” he answered, using the handle of the knife jammed inside the fish to turn it, study the long incision running along its underside.

He slid his index and middle along the length of the incision, pausing at the fins just beneath the head and using the fingers to pry open the flaps of its sides and study the mess of organs.

“It doesn’t seem so difficult.” He held his fingers in place as he brought a thumb to rest at the root of the bright red cord running down the length of the fish’s insides. He flexed his knuckles to firmly wedge the knife beneath it, pushing the blade up towards his thumb and pressing down tight until the mess of gristle severed with a short, wet snap.

He heard a sharp hitch in Jessie’s breath in matching staccato, realizing as he pulled the mess of innards tied up neatly by the red ribbon he gripped that she’d been watching intently, her gaze as pervasive and oppressive as a heavy amber tinted smog settling over his world as he slung the entrails into the river with a sigh and a meaty plop that announced their landing.

Jessie inhaled slowly this time as she stepped towards him, looking him up and down.

“That’ll do, John.” She reached fingertips towards his middle, trailing them along the splatter of blood and pink flecks of tissue he hadn’t noticing slinging across the bright white of his shirt, and the ghosting sensation sent zaps of quick firing nerves through him as effectively as if someone pressed a blade against his spinal cord. “That’ll do.”

She smiled down at the stain, before wiping her hand along his chest to further dirty the shirt with slime and stray scales. “You at least look a little bit more like a real fisherman now.”

“I apologize for not having the foresight to show up pre-covered in viscera.”

“No use crying over unspilled blood now.” She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Or uncaught fish. Because I got a plan I think is gonna work.” She glanced over her shoulder towards the sun. “It’s gonna have to. We’ve run outta time.”

“A plan to do what, exactly? And what makes it so time sensitive as to require immediate execution?”

“We’re going to see Sherri and Skylar,” she answered, plopping herself down into the driver’s seat. “They always fish over across from Can of Worms ’round this time. And we’re gonna zip up there join them.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry. You’re not gonna actually gonna be fishing, obviously.” She waved a hand, propping an arm on the side of the boat as she turned towards him. “We’re gonna pretend we caught all them fuckers in the cooler together. Lucky for you, I can reel in enough for the both of us. And I’ll keep catching, while you’re busy gutting them.” Her knuckles grew stark white as she gripped the steering wheel. “I was always fuckin’ nice and gutted those bitches’ fish for them.” Her nostrils flared as she let out a sharp exhale — then her scowl abruptly broke into a grin. “But now I have someone to gut ’em for me.”

“I’m sure in your world, that’s a very important victory. But couldn’t we take a bit more time to practice? Why must the victory march take place today?”

“Because they had to fuckin’ rush to sign up for the Fishing Derby today!” she screech, her cheeks growing bright red yet again. “They couldn’t wait one goddamn day! So time to show them I can move on just as fucking fast!” Her shoulders tensed, rising and falling as she flexed her wrists to turn her clenched fists around the steering wheel. “We’re going to Can of Worms!”

He gave an exasperated sigh. Really, some people were so sensitive and dramatic about a little break up.

But best not to harp too much on just how childish her antics were, while he still needed her for his own designs.

So, he gave her an appeasing smile. “Very well.” He lifted the key to the boat from its place around his neck, quickly jerking it out of the redhead’s reach as she tried to grab for it. “You’re not driving my boat, though. I drive.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

She made no effort to rise from his seat, instead leaning back and patting her thighs. “Hop on, then.”

“You want me to drive the boat sitting in your lap?”

“You’re the one who said we needed to be more touchy-feely and shit to look like a couple,” she barked, pointing a finger at him. “And c’mon, don’t forget this is a quid pro fuckin’ quo arrangement. You help me keep up appearances by riding up drivin’ —”

“You’re not driving —”

“— lookin’ like I’m driving a fancy boat with my new pretty young thing in my lap, more likely I am to do whatever dumb bullshit it is you end up wanting me to do to impress your exes.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, considering.

“Pretty young thing,” he scoffed, lowering himself to take a seat in her lap. “You think I’ll fall so easily for insincere flattery from a woman who’s been relentlessly insulting me all morning?”

“Forgot we fuckin’ prized honesty in this fake relationship,” she snorted. “Pretty quickly-creeping-towards-middle-age thing, then.”

She still said pretty, he resisted pettily pointing out. “You’re a charmer.”

“Charm the scales off a fish,” she replied with a click of her tongue against teeth. “But enough talk,” she said gruffly, guiding his hand to shove the key into the ignition with no amount of gentleness. “Take us to Can of Worms!”

She squeezed his bare thigh in punctuation of the order. He cleared his throat and gave her an expectant look in reply, a quickly cooling breeze sweeping over him to cause skin to prickle along the leg her hand rested atop as he raised his brows to signal he was waiting.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you don’t even know where —” she groaned, removing her hand to point a finger over the windshield. “Head southwest!”

He turned the key and turned the wheel in obedience of the order as she rested her chin atop his shoulder to look over it.

She was much better at physical affection when she was taunting him, it seemed.

He cranked the gas.

Quid pro fuckin’ quo, he reminded himself.

#also trying to spare dean from me spamming his mentions every time i use them BUT credit to @derelictheretic for the text divider!#fic: hook‚ line‚ and sinker #writies and wordies #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #oc: deputy jestiny ellen #ch: john seed #ch: adelaide drubman #but yeah this was going to be longer and include the sherriskylar bothering.#but wanted to get something out + good to not have johnjess amp up to an immediate 10 since they will do so soon enough #my writing

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