Notes: Why doesn't this site have "Fluff" as a genre choice? Anyway, enjoy this shortchanged intro to a prompt that'll probably never be completed.
"Sleep With The Fishes"
T (Language, Richie!)
It was as picturesque a day as a Maine summertime fishing spot could get. The creek could be called serene, sliding quietly on by, its undisturbed surface as clear as a pane of freshly-waxed glass. High above, unfiltered sunlight beamed down, radiant as you like, illuminating the stony bed below the softly-flowing water with stunning clarity. Every fish that passed the would-be fishermen by could be accounted for: trout, crayfish, perch.
So far, none of them had bit.
Even the mosquitoes flitting about at midday weren't taking their usual doses of blood.
Not even the two people currently struggling through the undergrowth toward the site were suffering from that many bug bites.
They made up for that shortage of discomfort by belittling one another en route.
"I did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"All right. Who did what?" Mike finally demanded, seconding the annoyed glower Ben was levelling at their two newly-arrived fishing 'buddies'. It was so jarring, the uncalled-for shattering of their peaceful scene was practically on par with murder. "And keep your voices down."
Neither boy moved from their spot on the weather-smoothed, sun-bleached log lying parallel with the creek's edge. Despite the calamity, their homemade fishing rods - baited with fresh earthworms only an hour out of the ground - could not afford to be abandoned.
A third fishlined stick stood, crammed deep into the mud beside the creek, utterly unattended.
To his credit, Eddie stepped out of the trees and put the budding argument on hold long enough to stop Richie from crashing into him. He had spotted what it was Mike was apparently so leery about disturbing. Frowning, Eddie held a finger to his lips in warning, pointing with the other hand to a niche in the undergrowth, adjacent to the log.
Pennywise lay curled up on his side, arms arranged under his jaw, eyes closed. He looked hopelessly out of place against the backdrop of Mother Nature, even if he had mastered the act of appearing to truly be asleep. His deep, steady breathing was convincing enough on its own.
Nestled in the crook made by his friend's pale form, Georgie Denbrough reclined against his midsection, legs stretched out before him. The boy's head was tilted sideways and back, supported by the pillow that was the clown's shoulder. His eyes flickered briefly under closed lids, but otherwise he didn't stir.
Somehow, neither of them had been roused awake by the fast-approaching bickering.
Perhaps, after a season's worth of exposure, they were simply desensitized to it, even in sleep.
"Awww..." Tozier mocked, softly as he knew how (which wasn't very). "Well, isn't that just preci- ouch, Eds!"
"Quiet!" Kaspbrak hissed. "Remember the last time you interrupted their nap?"
"Now, counselor, that was never prov- ow, ow, okay! Shit!" Richie fended off a second punch in the arm, still barely managing to keep his voice reduced to a borderline stage whisper. "Christ, had I known we were supposed to sneak our way up here, guerilla-style, I never would've bothered."
To be continued?
