Fishing
"Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." – Henry David Thoreau
Lia almost felt bad sneaking away. Actually, that was a lie – she didn't feel bad at all. Padding down the trail, pack slung over one shoulder and poles clutched in one hand, she relished in the quiet sounds of the night.
Cicadas hummed a droning song as she stepped onto the rickety dock, boards creaking mournfully. She slipped the pack off her shoulder, setting it gently onto the deck boards. Lia dropped the poles and unzipped her pack. She pulled out her small tackle box, and gently removed the little box of crawfish she'd picked up half an hour ago. Next, she pulled out a small collection of glass bottles – a home-brewed alcohol a friend had cooked up.
Lia glanced out towards the lake; she'd watched a strange fish – something like a cross between a sturgeon and a carp - leap out of the water right in this very spot several days ago, and she had been itching to get a line out there. Quickly rigging up her rods, she felt a smile cross her lips as she flicked open the bale. She brought the rod back to her shoulder, and smoothly cast the weighted line. The feeling of the line running away, the blistering whir of the reel; it all called to her, in its own way.
It flew towards where she suspected there was a deep channel, splashing into the . She secured the pole to the dock before casting the other one out. She was sometimes mocked for having such an archaic hobby – most Guardians preferred more "modern" hobbies, like gambling, and Crucible. Or gambling ON the Crucible. She didn't really mind the words, though. She was used to it.
And besides, Lia preferred the solitude, the peace of a quiet night on the water.
Taking a seat on the dock, she stripped off her socks and boots. Rolling up the bottoms of her fatigues, she dipped her bare feet into the cool water. Lia let out a squeak, feeling goosebumps run up her legs, but she still embraced the cold. Reaching over, she grabbed a bottle and popped off the cap before taking a small sip, settling in to wait.
Some people, she knew, disliked fishing. And she…supposed she could grudgingly understand it. It wasn't entirely the most exciting thing you could be doing, waiting for something to bite. Sometimes it took hours for a fish to bite. But the people that wanted something exciting out of fishing were really missing the point, she felt.
Lia turned her gaze out to the water, taking another drink. A gentle warmth radiated out from her gut as she watched the gentle waves.
The dark waters sparkled in the full moonlight. The cicadas continued to sing their gentle song, a comforting, lulling hum. Waves gently lapped at the shower. A light summer breeze rustled the oaks and pines that towered around the shore. Dragonflies buzzed around the dock, and a pair of what she thought were lacewings landed on one of her poles before disappearing into the night. Glowbugs fluttered around, little points of light in the dark.
The air was clear, and cool. Just a little warm for an October night, but she wasn't going to complain about that. The scent of pine and oak mingled with that of algae and the clear but strangely hidden scent of the lake itself. She took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs as her mind began to wander even farther.
The people that wanted something exciting in their hobbies, that rushed around with their days, the same ones that called her life 'archaic'…they missed the entire point of fishing.
Being out on the water, by the water, left you with nothing but your emotions, and your thoughts. It brought you closer, she thought, to something bigger. Not the Traveler, but…something else. Something…beyond that. Beyond the Traveler, beyond Oryx, beyond the Vex. It sometimes occurred to her that maybe…just maybe…there really was a 'God', somewhere out there. Just that feeling she had made a small flame spark in her chest, a hope that maybe…just maybe…it would all work out.
She watched a bird – a hawk, she thought – swoop low against the water, talons brushing gently against the surface before latching on to something. The bird arced upwards into the sky, a struggling little thing clutched in its clawed feet.
If it was a hawk, she could think of only one person that would be on their way down here. Sure enough, minutes later, the now-familiar cadence of Suraya 'All-Guardians-Suck-And-The-City-Is-A-Prison' Hawthorne echoed down the path. The steps continued down the dock until they suddenly halted, just a few feet behind her.
Lia wondered what Hawthorne, of all people, wanted with her. Hawthorne had done nothing but antagonize and insult Lia from the moment they met, and she returned it in kind. Generously. The woman was so butthurt over stuff that Lia hadn't even done. It pissed Lia off, so much. Truth be told, she really didn't hate the woman. She just wished that Hawthorne didn't hate her.
"Oh, uh…hey, Guardian," Hawthorne's voice finally reached her ears. Lia turned to look at her. Hawthorne had her own pole clutched in one hand, a backpack over one shoulder and a small box in her other hand. They stood there for a moment, staring at each other before Lia reached over and plucked and another bottle from her stack. She extended it out towards the sniper; a small peace offering, of sorts.
"Want a beer?"
Hawthorne stood there for a moment, eyes trained on the outstretched bottle." You…have beer?"
Lia nodded slowly." Yeah…"
"…I'll take four."
Author's Note:
Look at me go. Two oneshots and a chapter for my HZD story in less than a month's time? I'm on a roll.
(Don't expect it to last.)
Please drop a review, it's always very much appreciated!
With that, enjoy.
-Krast