Juan and Tracey were walking out to fish the next day, Dose had volunteered to build an outpost with Cuantro, (I could not think of a single reason! Why I would ever deny, an afternoon with my sweet friend Dose, and build an outpost high!)(His words) and stopped on top of a small hill. They saw everyone moving like little ants beneath them, moving in synchronistic rhythm. The distant pounding of hammers against nails between winds’ breaths kept the time for a softly hooting owl. The earth itself seemed to hum along with everything tickling upon its crust of a skin, the birds tweeting and chirping when they could get a word in edgewise against the owl.
Juan took in a deep breath as he took in the sight before him. Tracey was busy glowering at the sky, as if she thought “the person reading their story” would peek their eye through a seam in reality like looking through a keyhole. But she spied no peeper. Disappointed, her eyes fell to Co. He’d outlined the foundations for his barracks and had burnt the grass beneath it to a cinder. Tracey’s eye caught Juan panning around their home likewise, and then become crestfallen at the sight of Co.
“I just wish,” He stuck his hand out and waved it around while thinking, “I just don’t like how he burns away all the plants.”
“It is most definitely supercilious”
“I showed him how to transplant the greenery and everything, he just doesn’t seem to care”
“I cannot find any single issue with that statement you’ve put forth in such a tone that—”
“Tracey what the fuck. I’m upset and this isn’t helping. What are you doing.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Tracey looked down, “Right, sorry. It’s just, I’m trying to break up my normal cadence. A book would never let a tone shift really harshly from the main character, so I’m trying to make sure I keep shifting my tone. “
Juan rolled his eyes, “alright whatever you say. Come on, lets take off our sandals so they don’t get sandy.”
They threw their shoes and Juan’s nailed-board (His new word for it, which lead to many jokes about “getting nailed” and the like, I’m sure you of all people understand.) and Tracey’s notes on a rock, wading into some ankle-high with their nets.
Tracey felt a little bad about taking the wind out of Juan’s sails, “So what were you saying about that idiot?”
Juan cast the net out and let it settle for a second before heaving it back in. His hair mirroring the movements of the net, “I don’t know. It feels like ever since Co has gotten here, he’s set us all on edge. Ya’ know he submitted an idea to build a second market to “meet market demand”? We barely ever use his market, and even when we do it’s because he was whining about how little money he’s made. Like is someone charging rent? Am I taking a tax I’m unaware of? We work, we eat, we sleep, we talk” he paused for a second and looked out of the corner of his eyes, “we fuck,” Tracey rolled her eyes, “ but he’s making us play like…like some…some, game? Competition? Whatever. He just plans on winning, or—or,”
Tracey nodded her head, “Just making the rest of us lose.”
“Right? And Cuantro hasn’t said anything to me that isn’t in a song, the fuck is that about? Is it some kind of disorder? Does he need help?” Juan sighed and placed his hands on his hips, looking out over the gentle rolling hills of water.
“And Dose is stressing out about the Scout. I don’t even know if what I said to her was righ—"
Tracey sneezed
Juan sighed, “Right. Sorry. You don’t care about me or my non-gloomy lifestyle, right?”
Juan looked over. Tracey was staring daggers into the water. They fished for the rest of the day in silence.