The worst thing about always being on the move...
A surprised roar came from the big furball, a roar that mutated midway into a phrase as Tenor swam below the dock."Ack, what in Disortion?!" was the phrase in question the merman could have heard above and swimming back above the surface would reveal a very-different figure exactly where the lion once was.
Now sitting cross-legged where the lion once laid was a male in bright clothes unusual for the area: yellow cloth jacket worn over black shirt with a high neck, purple pants that seemed relatively thin in comparison, yellow shoes that seemed without any form of lacing yet seemed to fit snuggly on his feet, and a wide-brimmed yellow hat. The figure wasn't wearing the yellow jacket, though. Instead, that was in his hands being wrung out, a surprising amount of water being forced out of it. "Aw, come on, can't even get a nap in after getting worked out like a Mudsda---"
From under the hat and the shaggy, shoulder-length blue hair the unusual person had, a familiar set of neon-green eyes found itself looking towards the swimmer. "Hello, again," the person said in greeting, letting go of his jacket long enough to wave 'hi' before returning his hand to the task. "Though...why you swimming at this time of year? Ain't it getting freezing in the drink?"
...is that no one believes the tales that emerge later on.
NEOS
