"You implored me to teach you what I know, so that's what I intend to accomplish. You can't do that with such an overall negative mental attitude." Boulevard stated, hands on his hips, looking down at Wynter whose head leaned back over the top of the tattered lawn chair. She had been tired of learning to catch the moment Boulevard put her in the fisherman's seat.
Both of her hands were on the rod and the reel, clenching the pole in anticipation. Standing up, she whirled the line around like a lasso to the detriment of Boulevard, but it seemed like he didn't mind; more just accepted it, and then Wynter threw it out far into the endless pool.
When Wynter asked Boulevard to take her fishing, he just motioned to follow and took a seat in the captain's throne, gliding to the sea. She had been using the park station as a momentary home for a week, and on most days, the two didn't interact with each other. But whenever she and Boulevard crossed paths in the woods, he would wave. And that motion was returned with vigor. There was one more place Wynter wished to explore in Unmei National Park before she moved to her next destination.
After a five-minute ride, they arrived. Here, there was only water. Three hundred and sixty degrees of horizon and the sunshine beaming off the ripples of the waves and onto the deck where the two of them sat. Boulevard even lugged down that huge leather chair he uses as his captain's pride for her lesson.
As much of a lesson as it could be. "There are three steps that I can concoct to teach you how to fish. They go in order, as follows. Grip the fishing rod, cast your line outwards, and feel the sea." Boulevard said with a raised tone akin to a teacher talking to a whole class.
Considering he had taught himself, Wynter knew her lesson wouldn't be professional. But that last step was way too personal, especially for someone as calculated as Boulevard. This is how he taught, however, and she accepted that, nonetheless.
When the hook first plopped into the ocean, the duo saw the end sink until it couldn't be seen. And Wynter waited. Waited and waited. For around ten seconds until the questions started to cruise Boulevard's way. "What does step three mean?"
Boulevard looked over, side eyeing her as he focused on pouring some booze into a small, patterned glass. "I knew that would be a point of contention. If you wait, listen, and feel, I do indubitably believe a catch will come your way."
Spending more time with Boulevard was fun. Their talks were scarce, yes, but when they did exchange passing remarks, it was always more enlightening. Wynter hadn't had someone to talk to consistently for a good while, so she'll accept this short-spoken, pioneer of knowing.
Though his tone never raised, and he never made facial expressions akin to cartoons like she did, Boulevard's speech patterns weren't heard before throughout Wynter's continental odyssey. The use of a bigger lexicon wasn't unexpected for a man of science, but he stretched out sentences and put in unnecessary wording like he was leading up to a punchline. Recalling every interaction they've had; a normal person would never speak in such a quirky manner. A comfortable juxtaposition was the best way Wynter could describe it to herself.
A question crossed Wynter's mind. "Will I get to know him even better?" That first night on the yacht implied the exact opposite, but as she prodded into Boulevard's schedule and involved herself in his work, he let her inch into whatever came next like an apprentice. Wynter was wondering if she should try to convince him to flip the script and get involved in something she was working towards. No matter, time is of the essence. "Snow tomorrow." Boulevard mumbled to himself, staring at the cloud coated sky. His sixth sense forecast was best to be believed, so today is the last time for a while Wynter can "feel the sea."
A cool kiss of a breeze blew through Wynter's hair and made her nose crinkle up. She could hear the audible gulp of alcohol from her right and then saw that another shot was poured right after. This was a golden opportunity for Wynter. "I've never had stuff like that, can I try?" Boulevard shook his head up and down and handed her the small glass with vine designs, him now cupping the liquor like a baby bottle in both hands – taking another drink – covering what it was called slightly. "Fireball? Sounds exciting!" Wynter said.
She placed the liquor near her nostrils, wafting the scent of the liquid towards her like someone would in a school science experiment. Wynter related the smell back to charred cinnamon rolls she came to love in the past from an old friend who tried her damndest to make them edible. Her head began to hang low, remembering that she'll never be able to have one again.
In one fell swoop, Wynter downed the fireball and let the alcohol swish around in her mouth to fully taste the alluring flavor like she would with any other tasty drink. A one eighty of expectations and instincts surprised her and even Boulevard when, with a raised brow, she felt her mouth and eyes contort and the orange liquid exited her nose.
Wynter muffled a yelp from clenched teeth and tumbled into the ocean blue. In an act of desperation, she snorted the cooling water to sooth her smoldering nostrils. It worked, at the cost of some stress, with her twitchy nose being slowly filled with water.
She had three fears that ruled above all others. Gluttons, pugs, and drowning. Watching oneself die is something she would never wish on anybody. Wynter swam to the surface as fast as she fell. When the barrier of chilling water was breached, she expected a stare or a helping hand from her teacher. To anyone else, what Boulevard did would be offensive. To her, she followed suit.
He laughed. His chortle came into form with a one second, three beat, hearty laugh. From Wynter's assumptions about his character, Boulevard would have maybe expelled some air from his nose, attempting a laugh. Wynter was gleefully shown wrong and giggled with him.
"What's so funny, bass pro?" She teased.
"You reminded me of a dragon spewing fire. Some aspect of your more than bloated face ticked something inside of my brain, lightweight."
This was one of those small moments Wynter was always told to look for by people she traveled with earlier in her life. They said the possibility of any one person living happily ever after was not just overly hopeful, but dangerously unrealistic. So, when she'd sit around the fire and play cards or take the time to draw a mountain side sunset, she'd tuck those memories somewhere safe to recall on them later whenever sadness took form. Now, she has one more.
"How unexpected for Boulevard to do such a thing, but he's one kind of weirdo. I think I'll stick around for a little while longer. Maybe until the cold passes." Wynter thought. As she began to wonder about what to do in the near future, there was a pull on her hook.