just let them think there's no place else you'd rather be

[LeslieFranc]

It had only been a few minutes with him aimlessly floating on the pool like a lifeless corpse on a cold river, and while there was no chance he could’ve dozed off, but the moment when Cecil opened his eyes and stared right back at the sky as he turned over, stretching his muscles under water before resurfacing back felt like the closest thing to awakening from a deep slumber that never happened. The alarm clock that woke him up in this situation had instead been the gentle splashes he felt passing nearby, already gone before his mind reached a sense of clarity. Wiping down his face as he lets his eyes adjust to the light, Cecil took a look around with a curious sweep of his eyes.

His gaze briefly landed on the group that he was sure there were of only four people after Beryl swam up to them, but there were now five of them; two new faces and minus the familiar one. Looking for the latter was easy enough, especially when she was the only other person taking advantage of the pool.

Although that only served to remind him of her improper swimming attire. Glancing back at the people not on the water then back at Beryl, he couldn’t help but wonder why the ones who were wearing swimwear were not on the water while the one person who wasn’t had no hesitation being on it. He wasn’t at all close to Beryl, he didn’t hate her or anything, but he’d be lying if he claimed not have his feathers slightly ruffled at the moment the longer Beryl continues splashing by still wearing that. He had already established to himself that there was no rule saying she can’t do that, but…

Besides the fact that I can see what’s underneath the shirt, I’m surprised she can swim that well with it. Or maybe it just looks like it? She doesn’t seem to care either wa—wait, is she wearing shoes?

Yes, she was. And they don’t look like pool sandals. Not a surprise, but still.

Cecil swam towards her direction, where he sees her striking up a conversation with the lone girl with a book.

“Beryl,” he called for her calmly, almost rather timid, wanly smiling once he got closer. He tried to sound more concerned as he asked, “Couldn’t you have at least taken off your shoes?”

((Cecil Salazar-Loveless continued in fitzcarraldo))

[MethodicalSlacker]

Max then felt a strong sensation of excruciating pain.

It was not entirely physical in origin, no, nor was it entirely social. It did not stem entirely from seeing his fellow adolescents frolic in the swimming pool, nor did it entirely originate from the realization that Ivy was making lewd jokes and references entirely for the sake of his continued discomfort. It was not heat stroke, nor was it dehydration, or starvation, or sudden heart attack. To be entirely accurate, it did not make him keel over, or clutch his chest, or anything of the sort. The sensation was not physically expressed in any way, save for the slight twitch of the lower left eyelid, but it pained him all the same. Any single one of these things, on their own, would have been incredibly easy for him to handle. Together, coalesced to form a singular and unified tableau, it made him feel entirely and incomprehensibly—

"If they're non-alcoholic, then I would like to try one."

—lonely.

"Sure. Why not? And, of course, I could go for a swim as well."

He was not so far gone that the simple joy of swimming was lost to him. Not yet. The calculations and predictions ran before he could stop them—one, maybe two years from now, he would likely see the pool ensemble from the doors and turn around then and there. Years after that, he might complain to the staff.

Now was not then, however. It was a trite observation, but one he had to remind himself of all the same.