Catch & Release [Lewis]

The clothes make the man, alright, and anyone who says otherwise is shopping at the wrong damn place. Lewis habitually slid his new jacket off and on as he walked; it fit perfectly and looked better. He'd spent most of his day shopping, getting ready for class (meaning getting ready to look memorably great on first impression - and I guess a notebook and a few pencils too, why not). Some form-fitting shirts and pants to match, and to top off his look, a set of expensive headphones to drape around his neck everywhere he went. Whether he liked school here or not (he wouldn't), he was going to leave everyone in no doubt that he was, in fact, hot shit.

It was a little weird, actually. He felt like he should be more anxious about starting school in a completely different place with a completely different system, but he just had this decisive feeling that when it came to it, he was gonna feel like a million bucks and he wouldn't take any shit from anyone. It was a strange sort of confidence with a totally unknown origin, but he welcomed it all the same.

As he left the commercial districts and came to the bridge, the sun began to drop, and the sunlight hit the river like a million glittering scales. He wasn't pleased to be here, but it was a damn good view. If he hustled, he'd be back in his room for nightfall. If not, it wasn't a really big deal, now was it?

There were a few fishermen on the bridge. Now there was a pastime he would never understand. On one of his few bonding excursions with his father, after he got guilty about spending most of his son's childhood sealing contracts in another hemisphere, they went fishing. He felt a little bad for his dad, actually, because it soon became pretty evident that he didn't much like it either. Maybe his dad used to make him go fishing, or maybe he just thought of it as a stereotypical male bonding activity? At any rate, after they had sat in the sun for a while bored out of their minds, he apologetically said, 'Son, I'm sorry, this is a lot more enjoyable when you're drunk'.

But it looked like they weren't as hopeless as some. One fellow he walked past, another foreigner, apparently (not so rare around here after all; it was a business hub, after all), was apparently trying to fish with just the bare hook. He tried and failed to suppress a snicker. "Think some bait would help with that, fella." he mumbled as he walked past (who knew if the guy spoke English? Well, it didn't really matter, he supposed).

When the guy replied first, he thought he was being a smartass and planned to ignore him. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out," he idly called back over his shoulder as he started to walk away. His mind started to wander back to normal thoughts - what would he get for dinner tonight? These banalities were suddenly interrupted - the guy knew English (albeit a bit stilted); truth be told, he did feel a little bad about just walking away from someone who might be genuinely confused. But in any event, whoever he was speaking to wasn't done yet, evidently.

He turned back to see the guy was now totally on him. This guy wasn't thinking about fishing anymore (actually, he was done, which was a little disconcerting). His attention had totally shifted to Lewis now, and from that focus the teenager could discern what he didn't see when the guy was fishing: this was not the sort of person you wanted to get into a fight with. He was a big guy, and he was smiling in that distinctly-discomforting way, the kind of smile where a guy knows something you don't, the kind of smile that makes you feel like someone's driving a corkscrew down your spine. He sort of gave off a dark sort of feeling. Or maybe that was just the grin speaking.

So the natural thing to do was piss him off. "I said you need bait to catch a fuckin' fish." Now he started speaking slowly, as requested: "What is your fucking problem, man? Lewis replied (and it was kind of a genuine question) in English once again - with a raised eyebrow and confusion flashing across his face.