The giant rainstorm over the tiny village of Vista rolled in at the crack of dawn, and hadn't stopped pouring since. Some villagers crept from their homes during the morning, running quick errands before hurrying back to the warm dryness of their homes. Only a handful walked outside by afternoon. The storm only grew wetter and louder as the day aged, with arcs of lightning touching the ground of the sticks beyond the village train station.
Days like these excited Vil, the adolescent human boy of the village. Sunny days he only enjoyed for the twilight and the insects that skittered in the warm months. Otherwise, he found the village under the sunlight ugly, especially come noon, and just cloudy days uglier. Plus, the sun gave him sunburn, like he did now. His once-pale skin had become almost light olive during time outside in the warmer months.
But rain, something about it felt different, felt better. It instilled a cozy feeling. Maybe also the ambiance of the rainfall?
But other reasons had brought him out of the house. He bought a fishing rod and tackle box from Nookington's just for the occasion. Now, he trotted through the thick forests of redwoods and cedars and the odd golden tree. The mud stuck to his rain boots but his green raincoat and hat shrugged off the rain. He carefully stepped down the first cliff slope, then the other, descending down to the third 'level' of the village. Seemingly not a single other soul walked about, thankfully.
The place he sought came up past the acres of thick forest. He caught the sound of flowing water and buoy bells jingling in the ocean distance. Thin tan shores spanned between the cliffs that towered over Vista. Beyond that, the bay spilling out into the ocean, water waving fat past the horizon. A single dolphin burst from the water for a moment. The creature made its call before splashing back into the saltwater.
The Vista beach. Again, nobody around but him. The seashells and sand dollars washed shore proved it too. Usually, villagers picked the sands clean of them, but the sundries still covered the sands. Just what Vil wanted, no competition over the fish he sought.
He stepped onto the dock at one end of the shores. Sometimes, a sailor came here midday with goods from the nearby resort island. Today he hadn't. Vil dropped the tackle box into the wet planks and popped it open. Reaching inside he took out the can of worms. He spent the whole morning in the dirt around his house-and that one other human neighbor who always traveled-pouring mustard into the soil and irritating them above ground. All that for five skinny worms. Better something than nothing, he supposed.
Taking out one of the slimy things, he stuck it to the hook of his floating thing for the fishing rod—he always forgot its name. Before casting the line he checked his surrounding again. Not only for other fishers but so nobody stood behind him. Last time he fished was for one of Beaver's fishing tourneys last summer. He borrowed a fishing rod from his friend Rolf, the oldest of the tiger people who lived in Vista. He doubted the old cat would agree, being he grumpy man he was. At the time, they knew each other decently at best. But turned out, they became acquainted enough for a yes from the cat. So, getting his lure caught in the back of Chip's vest? Even worse than the mistake alone. By miracle, it happened when the old beaver had his buckteeth sunk into a large bass. The fisherman entered a trance state around fish, but the deepest over those green fish—the only fish he allowed for his tourneys. It dumbfounded the catcher long enough for Vil to sneak over and remove the lure before being noticed. The lure hadn't been damaged either. His cruddy luck never shone through like that.
"And it probably won't again," Vil thought aloud quietly. Surveying the trees he still found himself alone. Not even the cicadas or beetles, nor even the cockroaches crawled the tree barks.
But he missed the speck of yellow behind one of the palm trees.
The tiger waited for Vil to look away before looking out again. Half his yellow furry face, striped with brown stuck out. He hid behind the biggest palm tree along the shores, a must for hiding the biggest body in Vista. He and his human friend crossed paths that morning in Nookington's. Although, Vil seemingly hadn't noticed. He always said hello when they bumped into each other around the village. The gray sweatshirt he wore with the hood up must have covered him enough, that or Vil didn't remember he wore one.
Realizing that gave him a mischievous idea. Today had gone by boringly, so he craved a little fun. He followed Vil from a safe distance, darting from to tree to tree. He know nobody else came out in this weather, so no worries of being called out. The older tiger lived by the shores, in view of them both actually, but dreaded rain the most.
His dark eyes fixed on Vil, who cast his line into the waters. He grinned, the rain struck the trees and rooftops around them as the droplets fell harder. Vil concentrated with stuff like fishing too. Seeing him fishing felt odd though, rarer than catching a giant stag beetle, or Resetti smiling.
Regardless, his window of opportunity laid wide open.
Vee focused on the red and white ball with attached to the hook that bobbed in the low waves of the sea. He forgot its name, but it reminded him of those two Pokemon. Voltorb and Electorb, he recalled.
Vil focused on the red and white ball that bobbed in the water. His eye keened for silhouettes signaling fish just below the surface. The piece of plastic's name still eluded him. Thinking more, it reminded him of a couple Pokemon. Voltorb and electorb, he recalled.
"I'll call you voltorb," he thought aloud, then pausing. "Wait, which one had the red on top?"
He stopped thinking as something appeared in the corner of his vision, something dark. A big silhouette swam below the water, inching closer toward the voltorb—the name did for the moment.
"There," he whispered loudly. His twinkling round eyes locked on the swimming shadow, still ignorant to the animal villager tiptoeing onto the dock.
It kept swimming the voltorb's way, turning its way. Then it faced the voltorb. It stopped, noticing the worm? The fish crept closer, as if examining it. Yes it had! Just a few more inches until it...
"Boo!" the voice of Tybalt shouted behind him. Vil gasped as his body jolted. The voltorb jerked toward the fish as he did. It frightened the sea creature and it darted away. Vil watched the silhouette swim off, fading quickly before disappearing altogether into the bay.
He heard the tiger jock boffing. Turning around he saw Tybalt on the dock, bent over and cracking up. An unamused Vil looked away, eyes dulling. He had done this before, so much he lost count. He let his friend's antics slide more than he should have.
It wasn't new either. Since he moved here over a year ago the tiger pulled these stunts. Mostly it happened after Vil befriended Ty. The jock helped him familiarize with this village and its sparse layout, lent him a good few bells when he fell into house debt with Tom Nook. Rolf helped too but Tybalt had his back during those early, shaky times, his first living alone. At first the idea of even interacting with people somewhat overwhelmed him. Tybalt's easygoing self made that much easier. They hadn't much in common—the tiger liked sports and outdoors while Vil enjoyed the comfort of the indoors. NES and Internet never became boring. Even so, they got along well, much better than he imagined.
Perhaps friendship had blinded him to Ty's less-than-desirable behavior? Like the scaring, for example.
He waited out Tybalt's titter. He lasted over half a minute until the tiger stopped and he caught his breath. A tear escaped his eye that he dried with a finger.
"Oh, she's gonna catch up to you," Vil muttered, his arms folding.
"Sorry bro," Tybalt apologized smilingly. Indeed, Vil's luck ran out. "I forgot you scare easily."
"Right," said an annoyed Vil. They both shared forgetfulness.
Looking back to the water, he began reeling in the line. The bait still should have been attached. Tybalt walked up beside him at the end of the dock, watching it return while straightening the yellow baseball cap under his risen hood. "I didn't know you like fishing, or any sport for that matter."
"Well, no," Vee answered, bringing the voltorb out of the water. The worm still wriggled on the fishhook. "I don't. I just bought one to catch coelacanth."
The tiger cocked his head confusedly. He knew some fish but not them all. Assuming this was a fish. "Coela-what? You catching fish or fruit?"
The noise of rain beating everything masked that of the door that opened nearby. Rolf scuffed from the small brick house facing the shore, his house. Bits of his snowy-white fur with gray stripes stuck out here and here, not combed yet. He stepped onto his tiny porch. The awning overheard kept it and everything on it, like his good patio, dry.
His tired dark eyes skimmed about as he threw a blue down jacket over his bubble shirt, barely awake. He saw the big droplets as they fell to the ground or on leaves and mumbled. Yesterday's weather forecast predicted no rainstorms. They never got it right.
"I picked the wrong week to lose my earplugs," Rolf murmured, zipping the jacket up to his shoulders. At least the flowers under the kitchen window needn't watering. But that brought the slimy snails and slugs out. Messy little things. Why did they have to be? And why did they move so slow?
"A coelacanth," Vil repeated to Tybalt. He scanned the water for more silhouettes. He heard of them during a chat with another neighbor. Last place he expected fish talk was in the snooty villager's house, but it happened. "Cashmere said they only come to the shore on rainy mornings. Or nights, but I'm not fishing at night. I thought you'd know about them. You're the master of fishing here."
"Heck yeah, I'm the master!" Tybalt proclaimed proudly, pointing at himself. "I've won Chip's fishing tourney seven years running!" His confidence waned briefly. "Well, until Lobo Currumpaw beat me last tourney."
Tybalt still remembered nothing about these fish with a funny name. "So, why are you fishing for them if you don't like fishing? Museum? Dinner?"
"Actually, to sell them," Vee explained, grinning. Though, now that he thought of it, Blathers did ask for fish donations on the bulletin board. And Vil needed more fish for his new attention-span diet. Perhaps this type helped more? "Apparently, Tom Nook buys them for ten thousand a pop. Big cash and easier to spot. Plus, the rivers are probably about to overflow. It's been raining nonstop since the early morning."
Tybalt sprung at the number. He practically felt the dollar signs flash in his eyes, heard the ringing of registers in his pink ears. "Ten thousand!" he gushed. Fantasies of upgrades to his personal gym came to mind. He tuned out imagining them, his grin growing. "Oh, man. I could buy so much new equipment with that kind of dough. And I'd have motivation to clean out my sports closet."
"You should clean it regardless," Vil suggested, seeing no silhouettes yet. "You'll get roaches if you don't. Then the roaches attract the spiders and maybe one spider is pregnant. Next thing you know, you find one with a million babies on her back. True story."
The thought sent shivers up Tybalt's spine and a hiss through his daggery teeth. "Oh, true," he admitted, embarrassed.
The tiger's body eased. He refaced the shore with Vil, joining his search for fish. Plenty of species lingered the shore always, another would pop up soon. Just hopefully not a jellyfish, Tybalt thought. Their shocks hurt beyond belief.
"Well," Vil began, breathing. Still not a single silhouette out there. "They're a really old species. Dinosaur times old, I think. They're like living fossils because they haven't really changed over he years."
He caught Tybalt snickering again. Looking over his shoulder Vil found him refraining from laughing, one paw over his mouth. Another one of his jokes, the human figured.
"What's so funny?" he asked Ty.
"Well," Tybalt hesitated answering. A thought suddenly came to mind, one that he found hilarious. "It's just." He hesitated answering, even when knowing (or more properly assuming) the person it involved wouldn't hear him. "Have you seen Rolf's parents before?"
Across the shore, Rolf's downed ears lifted. His fuzzy, half asleep mind started clearing. He made out the voices of Tybalt and the kid but had paid them little attention. That was until the younger tiger mentioned his folks. His sleepy gaze also began hardening—what about my folks, Tybalt, he thought.
"Yeah, even met them before," Vil recalled. He followed Rolf to his childhood home last summer. It started with a days-long trip from train to train, days spent staring out the windows and watching the sticks and woodlands and other animal villages and cities whiz by. Eventually, they reached the place. Well, the base of it. They spent that chilly afternoon climbing the snowy mountains to the East of Vista. Luckily it involved no actual climbing, just ascending a long stone slope carved from the mount itself. There at the top Rolf's folks' home resided, a village just under the frozen summit that he didn't climb and thankfully nobody even brought up. Mountaintops simply scared Vil for their conditions, and the supernatural stories.
They stayed there for a couple days, Rolf sleeping in his old childhood bedroom and Vil taking the guest room. The village bore no entertainment beyond the most basic cable with a handful of channels but his talk with Rolf's parents occupied his cutoff from technology.
"They're a year or two away from turning a hundred. Crazy, right?" Vil recalled among their many interesting stories throughout their lives. Rolf's mother recounted traveling into foreign places like himself, living out adolescence as a tiger in a human village. His father reminisced his own bygone days as a wrestler, a little legend in the region. Rolf always spoke of becoming a wrestler someday, hiring Tybalt for training. Vil then understood where it humbly came from. Worries of Rolf having a rough upbringing, explaining his grouchy behavior became laid to rest, these tiger people some of kindest animals he had met. In all honesty, he expected the opposite.
"Yeah, Rolf told me," Tybalt continued, breaking Vil from his remembrance. The animal giggled more, oblivious to his fellow village listening in from the porch. "So, what I thought was," he paused again in laughter, barely containing another outburst. "'you're fishing for Rolf's parents?'"
He returned to laughter. Vee chuckled with him for a second but shook it off. He shook his head again in disapproval. "That was terrible," he said. Compared to the other villagers, Ty lacked in maturity. Meant well but still childish at times.
Rolf heard that and heard it rather well. He shot up, brows furrowing as he glared down the younger tiger. What audacity! He heard jokes like that before from Tybalt, but none as offensive as that.
This jesting jock just had crossed a line.
The two at the dock acted the same for another minute. Tybalt laughed it out as Vil resumed fishing. He tossed his line back out, even without seeing silhouettes. He hoped laughter like Tybalt's didn't scare away fish.
"Ah, my chest is starting to ache," Tybalt groaned. He clutched his chest, both unaware of the villager marching onto the dock. "Either I laughed too hard or I'm still cramping from yesterday's…"
He suddenly went quiet as Vil heard shoving. Tybalt flew past him, dropping off the dock before he could turn. He watched the yellow feline plunge head-first into the bay in a big splash, probably scaring any fish not far beneath. No, definitely with his weight.
Turning where Tybalt stood seconds ago he saw him, Rolf. The eldest villager looked on disapprovingly as he approached the edge of the dock, a dainty umbrella in one hand. Vil blinked, then slowly smiled himself. Rolf emerging from his house during showers surprised him, pleasantly.
The sound of somebody breaking the surface shifted his attention back to the bay. The upper half of Tybalt resurfaced, his gray coat a dark shade from the water. He spat a mouthful of saltwater then heaved, eyes clamped shut as some got in there too.
"Yo!" Tybalt shouted, coughing a couple times. "Who did that?"
"So, you like cracking jokes about peoples' families behind their backs, huh?" Rolf scolded.
Hearing the old man's voice froze Tybalt. Opening his eyes he exchanged the stare then strayed off, looking twice as embarrassed as earlier. Vee did the same, eyes to the planks and moving his voltorb away from Ty.
"It was just a joke," Tybalt defended, swimming in place and still looking away. The pride in his voice had washed away—now, he sounded regretful.
"Well, that joke was tasteless," Rolf reproached. "Even my cooking has more taste."
"Which can be pretty bland," Vil confirmed, glancing at the shameful Tybalt then to Rolf. "No offense."
"None taken," Rolf assured. He simply sucked at cooking some dishes.
Tybalt froze at a slimy feeling on his chest. He needed only a second to figure it out, something had wriggled up inside his sweatshirt! He felt it start struggling in his clothes, making him yelp. Both his arms reached inside and grabbed hold of something slimy and scaly and huge. Rolf and Vil beheld the sight in amusement. Then, amusement turned into surprise.
The soaked cat held the flopping creature in both arms, scales black with white spots. Green-tipped fins and dark green, solid-looking eyes. The thing's looks rung bells in Vil's head, Cashmere described the coelacanth exactly the same.
"Is uh," Tybalt began, struggling with the fish he didn't recognize at all. It looked weird and seemed ticked off, whatever it was. "Is this a coelacanth?"
"Yep, matches Cashmere's description perfectly," Vil confirmed. He watched Tybalt swim and galumph ashore with his catch. The human frowned—she knocked him into the ocean but gave him a coelacanth? Unless...
"Aw, yeah!" Tybalt cheered. He held up the ancient fish triumphantly, body shivering in the warm afternoon air now cold for him. He racked his brain for the amount Tom Nook paid but apparently it had slipped. "Wait, how much does the Nookster pay for these again?
"Ten thousand," Rolf answered just as Vil opened his mouth. He stepped off the shore, a blue cooler he left on the porch in his other hand. The grumpy villager hasted toward the distracted Tybalt. With his free hand he snatched the coelacanth away. He then tossed it into the cooler filled with fresh seawater.
"Hey!" Tybalt exclaimed, reaching out with an arm as Rolf started back for his house.
"Which is more than enough for an apology," Rolf stated, marching off the shores and onto the wet grass. "You're lucky I'm too lazy to write your parents! I doubt they'd like to hear what I heard."
Tybalt didn't move from where he stood. He only lowered his dripping head, filling with regret. The facts sunk in deeper than the water. In a rare moment, Vil found Tybalt ashamed.
"Kids these days," Rolf grumbled midway up the porch steps. "Thinking they can crack those kinds of jokes. In my days, we got sent to the corner. Or worse, the belt."
Feeling the coelacanth move about in the cooler, his anger cooled. Thoughts of his own dream buys came to him. His irate face softened away to another rarity Vil witnessed—Rolf smiling. He recalled that last happening as long ago as last month!
"You know," he said to himself, setting down the cooler to open the front door, "this day ain't looking so bad after all."
Tybalt drifted off. He lowered his hood and took off his cap for wringing. Perhaps the old man overreacted a little. Although, it taught him something. Sometimes, he toed a line or two. This time, more than a toe. Wasn't the the first time either, thinking back.
The sound of footsteps along the sands made him rear his head. Vil approached him, carrying his tackle box and fishing rod. The grin on his round face had disappeared. Was Vil mad? He seemed mad when he got scared a few minutes ago. Vil let a lot of his lousy behavior slide.
The human smiled again. Not only for what just happened, but for Tybalt's face. He knew it hit the jock, literally.
"Okay, I might have deserved that," Ty admitted, squeezing the saltwater from his cap. "And for scaring you. And for the time I called you too skinny.
"Maybe a little," Vil agreed. His smile vanished at that last part. "Wait, when did you say that?"
"You didn't hear me?" Tybalt wondered. "Well, we were playing with my drilloids. But uh, sorry for being a jerk sometimes."
Vil shrugged it off. It mattered not anyway, for the lesson was taught. He knew someday the tiger would change. That day had come for his friend.
"Apology accepted," Vil said. He imagined the relief the tiger felt, too.
He looked to the gray skies. The clouds stretched past the horizon in all directions. It hadn't weakened, possible even gotten heavier. Rain he enjoyed, but too much of anything leeched the enjoyment.
"You know, coelacanth show up in the mornings, too," Vil recalled. He shared stares with a still-upset, but better Tybalt. "I think I'm done for now. Want to head to your place? Maybe we can clean out that sports closet."
Tybalt regained his smile. Vil and his humor—strange at times, but likable. "Yeah, there's more than my act I need to clean up."
They started for the nearest cliff slope. A hole in the storm clouds let through the thinnest pillar of light. The ephemeral sunshine shone on the waterfall ahead of them, creating the rainbow that always arched when the light touched it. How corny, Vil thought, but he liked the timing.
"Oh! Maybe we can find you a cooler bobber?" Tybalt suggested, slowly returning to his energetic self.
"Is that what it's called?" Vil wondered, presuming Ty meant the voltorb. "Huh. I'll still call it a voltorb."