You know I'm doing too much chemistry when I keep accidentally typing 'sulfur' instead of 'surfer'.
It turns out that everything on a stick tastes good: weird foreign sausages, fish, even that mystery ball that's probably meat (though the jury's still out on that one). Or, maybe it's just this island. Everything tastes better on it. Even the air seems fresher, sweeter somehow.
Good food, sun, a new friend. All things considered, Alfred really doesn't have any right to complain...not that anything will stop him from complaining.
"Look at that." Alfred sneers in disdain as he raises his sunglasses to watch a monster of a wave roll inward toward the coast. They've both been banned from the water for the time being.
"Mhmm," Gilbert hums, too lost in absorbing the sun's heat to pay much attention to anything Alfred says. He didn't even even get a beach towel; he just flopped over into the hot white sand and stayed there.
"Come on, " Alfred says, hopping up and inadvertently spraying sand onto his friend. "If we just walk down by some of the other lifeguard stands, maybe we can finally sneak past Francis and Elizavetta and get back out there."
"No go. They've told all of the other lifeguards," Gilbert groans, sitting up and brushing the sand out of his hair.
"Aww, come on, bro! We've got to at least try to get past them and back into the water."
"We have tried. Three times!"
"Yeah, but-"
Gilbert holds up a hand. "Trust me. We're lucky enough that Francis caught us all those times. If Elizaveta does... " he shudders. "They'll let you back in a bit, after they're sure that your head won't start bleeding again. Apparently I'm a safety hazard that's banned until who knows when."
Alfred had to chuckle at that. "They're not wrong."
A chorus of 'oohs' from a crowd of onlookers gets both of their heads to snap up as a practicing surfer flips of the top of a wave and lands back down on top of it.
"Holy!" Alfred runs a hand through his hair. "We have to get back out there. How can we compete with that unless we get some decent practice in?"
"Ah, just relax and sit back for now." Gilbert sprawls out on the sand once again. "And besides," he jerks his thumb toward the surfer on the wave. "Ivan? Champ. I don't think he's lost anything in the past five or six years. Don't beat yourself up trying to one-up him."
"What, so you're not even going to try?" Alfred's getting a bit too flustered now. "We've come too far not to."
Gilbert squints up at him, incredulous. "Well of course I'm going to try! Look: you worry too much. That's all I'm saying. No more, no less."
Alfred sighs before resigning himself to the sand once again, only lasting a few seconds in the uncomfortable silence. "Sooo...the weather's...nice?"
Gilbert barely holds back his laughter. "Small talk, Alfred? Really?"
Alfred huffs. "Do you have any better ideas for something to do?"
"Lie here." Gilbert folds his hands behind his head.
"No, something interesting!"
"Fine!" Gilbert groans. "We can talk as long as I get to lie here. No weather, though."
"Deal," Alfred chuckles. "Okay, so why did you come to this surfing competition?"
"Umm...to surf?" Gilbert's eyebrows draw together underneath his sunglasses.
"No, I mean why this one?"
"Oh gosh," Gilbert rubs the back of his neck. "I just love to surf, I guess. And a talent scout came, and, I mean, this could be my big break, you know? What about you?"
"Same." Alfred is back to gazing at the ocean. "Plus, it's the Kirkland annual surf off."
"Kirkland?" Gilbert's eyebrows draw even closer together in confusion. "What's so important about the name of it?"
Alfred looks over at Gilbert. "Kirkland? As in Arthur Kirkland?"
Gilbert just stares. "Doesn't ring a bell."
"Dude." Alfred's eyes grow and he leans away from his friend, sitting up. "Please tell me you're joking."
Gilbert blinks.
"Oh my gosh...Okay, so Kirkland was this surfer-"
"I figured."
"No, you don't understand. He wasn't just a surfer; this guy was a legend! He made surfing what it is today, made it known. There was nothing this guy couldn't do!"
"You seem like quite a fan." Gilbert laughs.
"You have no idea." Alfred sighs, tilting his head back against the sand as a cloud comes over and offers some temporary relief from the scorching hot sun. "A few years ago, he came to my town. No idea why; this place is in the middle of nowhere, but he came anyway…gave this speech at my school about never giving up...I think that's when I got serious about surfing."
They both sit in silent contemplation for a moment before Gilbert breaks it. "You're such as sap, Alfred," he jokes.
"Heh. Maybe."
"But anyway, this guy is still alive? I haven't seen him...or heard of him for that matter."
"I wish." Alfred sighs. "No. Four years ago, on this island actually, he got brave and went into the boneyards. Never came back out."
"The boneyards?" Gilbert asks, propping himself up on his elbows. "Those boneyards?" He motions down to the end of the beach, where the sandy strip ends in a sheer rock face. "I was walking near there yesterday."
"Yeah." Alfred squints off into the distance at it, both shocked and amazed. He hadn't thought that the boneyards would be so...exposed. It's out there in open right along with the rest of the beach. "I think so, anyway. Come on, let's go check."
Gilbert groans, but doesn't protest when he has to leave his warm spot in the sand this time.
And, when they finally trudge down the shoreline, boards in tow, they see it can be nothing else but the boneyards. Sharp, narrow, jagged rocks jut violently out of the water every few meters, looking a lot like large knives and weathered arrowheads just waiting for their chance to slice somebody in half. Torrential waves pound between them, smashing against the rock face mercilessly. The whole area is marked off by neon orange buoys and an array of lifeguard stands.
"There it is," Alfred breathes, pointing to the nearest jagged rock. Most of a partially eroded wooden surfboard is bolted to the rock as a memorial. "That was Arthur Kirkland's board...or at least all they could find of it."
"Whoa," Gilbert whispers in awe.
Suddenly, a sizeable stone comes out of the blue and crashes into the jagged rock just underneath the tip of the surfboard.
"Hey!" Alfred spins on his heel, making a spiral dip in the moist sand under his foot.
There is a group of three off to their left, the middle one a tall, sturdy blonde holding a large striped board- the one on the wave that Gilbert had been talking about not ten minutes before. His hair is still dripping with saltwater.
"Higher this time," he says with conviction, a oddly off putting and innocent smile across his face. He hands a kid only a few years younger than Alfred another stone.
"What are you doing? Stop that!"
The next stone hits home: right in the belly of the board his idol rode. And Alfred lunges.
He knows in the back of his mind that he could never really hurt Ivan: he's too big. But, that won't stop him from trying. So much rage boils in his blood that he somehow manages to pin him down and tries to claw the stones from his hands.
"Whoa! Buddy!" Gilbert and one of the (not so) little jerk's minions pulls him off, and a crowd starts to trickle forward.
"You little-!" Alfred can't even think of a word to follow, and is honestly pretty glad that Gilbert is still holding his arms behind his back. "You'd better be glad he's not here," Alfred spits. "He would mop the floor with you!"
The crowd "oohs" in the way crowds do with any half hearted insult, even one as bad as Alfred's.
Ivan looks up at him, standing back up and refusing the many hands held out to help him. He's unharmed, and the only evidence that anything ever happened is some wet sand in his hair. His placid face betrays nothing. "It is I who mopped the floor with him." He gestures to the half-broken memorial board, a smirk finally grazing his face. "So unless you can do better…" He leaves the challenge hanging as he turns to leave.
It's a rhetorical statement, Alfred knows. But even so, he can't control the snarky "Oh you'd better believe I can!" that bursts forth from his mouth.
Gilbert's eyebrows raise in pure shock, but a wide grin slowly spreads a moment after. He pumps a fist in the air and lets out a loud whoop. The crowd is quick to mimic.
And, before he can even realize what exactly is going on, the crowd thickens and begins to push Alfred and Ivan towards the water, muttering of a surf-off, much to Alfred's pleasure and overeager sense of revenge.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred sees Francis and Elizaveta stand up, leaning over their stands worriedly, but they're both useless against the force of the crowd.
Alfred takes advantage and doesn't waste a second before diving in, paddling out as soon as the water is deep enough.
Ivan follows, disregarding Alfred and lazily scanning the water for a good wave.
Soon, they both see it: a massive swell several waves back- the size of a good building. Alfred locks eyes with Ivan for a moment before viciously paddling forward to catch the wave first.
There are about three waves in queue before his wave. The first is pretty sizeable, but with considerable effort, Alfred manages to paddle over the top and plummet down the other side, though his arms burn from the strain. Ivan is far ahead by now, looking rather smug. How?
The next wave, however, poses a challenge. It's not as big as the one he wants to ride, but still pretty freaking big, perhaps the size of a small one-story house. Alfred begins to paddle, reaching deep into the wave to propel himself over it. But he's not going over it. No, this thing is huge! He's going up the wave. His arms start burning fiercely and he feels the drag of gravity pulling him back down.
Now, technically speaking, gravity isn't a law, it's a theory. But, Alfred thinks that's rather stupid since everyone has seen its work. It's snatched planes from the sky, been harnessed into entertainment for roller coasters, and been the culprit of many awkward tripping incidents... and it doesn't stop doing its job now. As the wave simply becomes too steep to paddle over, gravity sweeps in and and pushes Alfred down. He falls into the water at the base of the wave, which quickly crashes on top of him.
The leash attaching Alfred's leg to the board is snapped clean off with the force of the wave. He tumbles beneath the surface, not sure which way is up and which way is down until the buoyancy from the air in his lungs points him the right way.
He barely manages to gulp down a breath of air before another wave crashes and forces him back down, drowning out the muffled gasps of the audience from afar.
Once again, any sense of up and down is lost on Alfred, and by the time he's quit tumbling enough to make out the water surface, another wave crashes and starts the process over again. He's not even able to get a breath before it crashes, feeling nothing but that death-like shriveling and burning in the lungs. This time, it forces him down to the rocky, coral-coated ocean floor. His head smashes against the rock with a sickeningly loud crack, audible even underwater.
And then there's nothing.
Ivan = Russia as Tank Evans.
Alright. I heard a resounding call for this not to be entirely ship-focused. Thanks for the input!
To all of chapter one's reviewers (if you leave a review and don't want to be mentioned, just lemme know :))
A-Broken-Imagi-NATION: First of all, love your username. Secondly, Thank you! I love this movie, too, but unfortunately, not a whole lot of people I know have heard of it. I took your advice in making Ivan Tank. ;)
thedayislippedaway16: Thank you so much! I think you're right, there isn't really any room to make this ship centered.
AnimeKnightmare: Aww, thanks! Definitely taking your advice on the ships.
Thank you to all of you lovely readers! Any reviews, constructive criticism included of course, mean the world and make writing this so much more meaningful.