02-23-2023, 01:53 AM
The Air Bnb was fine. One bedroom. El camped out on the couch. It was fine. Whatever. It made Asha happy, and Elias spent most of the night on the deck overlooking the lake. His time zones were all screwed around anyway. Come morning, a stabbing pain knotted his shoulders. The flimsy porch swing swayed as he stalked away from the impromptu bed.
Elias wrung out his hair after a shower, letting it drip down the back of his shirt. A hair dryer was likely to wake Asha, and he couldn’t find one anyway. A coffee pot bubbled. He dumped in a packet of sugar and returned to the deck nestling a cup.
The sun was up enough by then that the lake was clear. The water lapped a rocky shore. It was pretty. Not as picturesque as the Pacific, but not bad. What caught his gaze was nearer though. A figure wandered nearby. Elias watched the man a few moments before opting to go down himself.
He carried the coffee with him, steam curling up from the surface. It already burned his lip when he sampled it, but it didn’t stop him from doing it again. It was a short walk to the water. The air was chill, but not uncomfortable. He wore the long duster coat, buttoned to the throat. Fingerless gloves kept his hands warm around the mug.
The guy was older. Scraggly gray hair was stuffed under a hat, and a beard lined his jaw. The reason Elias came down to talk to him was in his grasp. He carried a fishing pole, bucket and a thermos.
He looked at the kid approaching, gave a nod and glanced up at the house like he was putting together the clues of a tourist in their midst.
“Fishing must be good here,” he half-turned toward the water. Giving them plenty of gentlemanly space.
The guy sighed, but he wasn’t rude either. “It’s been better.”
“Going through a rough patch?” Elias asked.
“Been going on about a month. Can’t catch a damn thing,” he started baiting the line even as he grumbled. Clearly the failure hadn't dissuaded the efforts.
The guardian’s signal disappeared about a month beforehand.
The guy looked up at Elias’ profile. “You don’t look like the outdoorsy type. Visiting?”
The fisherman’s accent was heavy Russian but the familiar tone of judgement wasn’t buried in the words. Elias was used to comments and looks. Especially in the sticks. And they were about as far from civilization as possible.
“I’m fishing too,” he smirked over the coffee. After he killed the water guardian, the fishing would return. It only made sense.
Elias wrung out his hair after a shower, letting it drip down the back of his shirt. A hair dryer was likely to wake Asha, and he couldn’t find one anyway. A coffee pot bubbled. He dumped in a packet of sugar and returned to the deck nestling a cup.
The sun was up enough by then that the lake was clear. The water lapped a rocky shore. It was pretty. Not as picturesque as the Pacific, but not bad. What caught his gaze was nearer though. A figure wandered nearby. Elias watched the man a few moments before opting to go down himself.
He carried the coffee with him, steam curling up from the surface. It already burned his lip when he sampled it, but it didn’t stop him from doing it again. It was a short walk to the water. The air was chill, but not uncomfortable. He wore the long duster coat, buttoned to the throat. Fingerless gloves kept his hands warm around the mug.
The guy was older. Scraggly gray hair was stuffed under a hat, and a beard lined his jaw. The reason Elias came down to talk to him was in his grasp. He carried a fishing pole, bucket and a thermos.
He looked at the kid approaching, gave a nod and glanced up at the house like he was putting together the clues of a tourist in their midst.
“Fishing must be good here,” he half-turned toward the water. Giving them plenty of gentlemanly space.
The guy sighed, but he wasn’t rude either. “It’s been better.”
“Going through a rough patch?” Elias asked.
“Been going on about a month. Can’t catch a damn thing,” he started baiting the line even as he grumbled. Clearly the failure hadn't dissuaded the efforts.
The guardian’s signal disappeared about a month beforehand.
The guy looked up at Elias’ profile. “You don’t look like the outdoorsy type. Visiting?”
The fisherman’s accent was heavy Russian but the familiar tone of judgement wasn’t buried in the words. Elias was used to comments and looks. Especially in the sticks. And they were about as far from civilization as possible.
“I’m fishing too,” he smirked over the coffee. After he killed the water guardian, the fishing would return. It only made sense.