Ah, the Orinoco Delta... It never fails to bring in new sediments from uphill, in the Parima Mountains, far southwest of here. It stirs up the bottom, and summons many nutrient-hungry fish. It would be easy for many of them to mistake a simple fishing lure for part of that sediment...if it smelled right.
On a pier nearby, a little jar of oil sits. Its contents stink, a bit. They're somewhere between red and black. To fish, they've a potent smell. Fish think of it in much the same way that some human males...including yours truly...think of some kinds of Mexican food.
Now, a guy holds his fishing lure over the jar, and dips it into it. He stinks it up, raises his pole, and casts his lure. It splashes down way out there. Next, he gets to work reeling it in.
Meet Roldán. He's a local Latino. Most of his Spanish ancestors, if they're not Castellanoleonés, are Valencian. There are very few, if any, living pureblood descendants of his indigenous ancestors.
With a steady hand, he reels his lure in. Alas, this time around, he gets it all the way back to the wharf, and out of the water, without striking.
He shouldn't give up. It's early; the fish are probably still adapting to the strange new shadows of existence that the dawn tends to bring to the Orinoco Delta...better known to Venezuelans as Delta Amacuro. Plus, the Orinoco valleys are full of predators. Hence, the fish can't just react to ANY good smell that reaches their osmosis.
Just above the little jar of oil, Esa teleports. Flailing, she falls into the oil, and splashes down. She spews as she surfaces, and works hard, in a panic, to tread oil. She wants to vomit. This shit stinks. On one hand, she's used to worse smells, via the proletariat of New York. On the other, no one ever goes fishing in New York. They can't. There's nowhere to do it. Not even the Hudson River seems to attract enough sporting ichthyology species.
From above, a boy of interest dips his Zeppelin-sized lure into the oil, nearly drowning Esa. Beneath the surface, Esa flails her way around the lure. She doesn't mean to get stuck to it...but she does. She's so revolted, she can't tell if the oil itself causes her to get stuck, or if she inadvertently casts a spell that does that job.
Now, Roldán raises his lure from the oil's depths. Once more, he rears his rod back, and casts. This time the lure bears a stowaway, as it flies across the delta, trailing a line with it.
Upside down and stuck against the lure side via her back, Esa vomits several times, while dreading yet ANOTHER reunion with the Orinoco's nasty waters. For her sake, and his, she sure hopes he's not catfish-fishing.
Before she knows it, and not at all where she wants to be, she's back in the water. The lure splashes down and submerges, taking part of the line with it.
Esa's gotten to where the bubbles cast themselves around her nose and mouth on her own. Hence, she no longer fears drowning. The more she gets used to this, the more accustomed she gets to not feeling fear. She's just...not entirely sure that not being afraid is always in order, wherever she goes, and whatever dangerous situation her magic thrusts her into.
Esa's got NO idea how her mother does it. Day magic can be such a bitch. Funny; Esa would more expect it to be an alpha wolf.
Esa isn't expecting the fishing line to suddenly become taught. She also doesn't expect the sudden rush of water, against all sides of the lure, that come from the lure's reeling-in. She's so overwhelmed with sudden experiences, that she doesn't realize that her inadvertent captor is actually taking her back to the wharf... Alas, if Esa had her way, she'd go back to New York, and put as much distance between herself and the Hudson River as she could...and, of course, keep the distance between her and the Orinoco as it is. She doesn't care if one of Enya's more famous songs is "Orinoco Flow."
She's not going to sail away anymore. Alas, she also won't be sailing away any less.
Like a good boy, her big new friend Roldán reels her in. It feels SO good, to her, to feel the river water dripping OFF her thighs, rather than rushing endlessly past and through them...
While upside down and still stuck to the lure, she gets good looks at Roldán's Latino-tanned arms. She also sees his hair, his eyes, and everything else about him she finds desirable. There's more than a considerable amount. It all causes her boobs and butt to inflate, and her pulse to rise.
Before she can pleasure herself, though, she's soon dipped right back into the lure oil, where she was before. She'd re-conjure the bubbles around her nose and mouth...if she wasn't concerned about vomiting into them.
Lucky for her, Roldán doesn't keep her down there long. And soon, she's back in the air and over the water. She really hates this. And yet, you'd be surprised what foolish and irresponsible things a girl would do to get a guy's attention. She's NOT getting his attention, of course, but... Maybe, if he stops casting her into the water as if she was some kind of "bait girl," her chances would enhance...
Once again, she splashes down, while still stuck to the lure. Alas, she's not as stuck as she was before.
Downstream, a male arapaima has found a sunny spot. Here, he treads water, while he can...before the boiling Delta Amacuro sun arrives, and makes the water too hot for him to be active. (If you're a poikilotherm, weather that's too hot is just as likely to make you sluggish as weather that's too cold. All fish are poikilotherms. This includes the arapaima...despite the fact that they nurse their young with nipples and breathe air, like some homoiotherms.)
Older specimens of this fish's species are the largest freshwater fish in the world. For now, though, this arapaima is just a bullock; not quite an ornery bull, but CERTAINLY not a fry. He's got a voracious appetite...mostly for crawdads and smaller fish. And boy, can he breach. He can breach high enough to make some of his older giant male kin envious.
It's bound to happen...and it does. The scent of Roldán's lure oil reaches his nose's attention. Like a bimbo, he abandons his sunny spot, and swims after the lure.