Buod: Miong is fixing his net in the middle of the sea, amidst a brewing storm and Pole knocks splashes some sense into him.
Pabatid: 900 | General | fluff
He hears the splash first before the low moaning of a language both familiar and unknown.
Miong smiles, continues on with the last bits of his work, tying his net together in knots strong enough to handle the rough waves, keeping one eye on his handiwork, and another on the gathering restlessness on the horizon of the sea. Once he is done with his net, made sure it was nice and tight, he looks up.
And promptly gets a splash of cold, salt water in the face.
“That wasn’t very nice.” He says, laughing as he wipes away the water with the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s cold out, you know? I’m going to get sick.”
But his laughter is not returned, and over the edge of his little bangka where his merman is hanging on, he receives instead a glare and the agitated tick of a scaly green tail.