fandomtownies | Syndulla Scrap; Tuesday [06/18].

Wayne was not feeling so hot today, and it really hadn't improved much as the day went on, so he could only conclude that whatever bug Delirium had gotten had made its merry way over to him. Great. And, really, by all logic, he should be following his own advice to her and be resting and hydrating right now, not going out and moving pieces of metal and scrap from here to here as he usually did after his classes, but Wayne wasn't one to admit that he wasn't feeling well. He certainly wasn't one to stop working if he wasn't feeling well unless Katy made him stop, and, well, weren't no Katy here to stop him, now, was there?

It was just a little bug, anyway. If anything, maybe the hard work and fresh air would help him sweat it out of his system. And he was at the very least staying hydrated. From plenty of bottled water. That whole glowing water thing was sticking with him, much as he'd rather it didn't, and it didn't take a whole lot of looking around to see that there might be a little something more to that.

A little something more he was trying to ignore, for the most part, just like the raging migraine pounding in his head right now. S'just a bug, though. Ain't no reason to get excited...

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"That's just what someone with a brain eating amoeba would say," Mae said. ". . . Mostly because you usually don't know it's there until it eats something vital and you're gorked."

"I don't have a brain eating amoeba!" Wayne insisted, and, boy, wouldn't he feel silly if it turned out that he did, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. "An' I'm not gonna be gorked. If it's anything, it's just a cold, and mebbe a rash from sharing hot water with some degen who probably has no business sharing hot water with anyone."

Now that he thought about it, actually, it probably had something to do with that shark guy. He seemed intent on an awful lot of canoodling with Vette, realleh, which number A: how about gettin' yerself a room there, big shoots? and number B: he'll refer you to the point about a lot of stuff bein' able to stay alive in hot tubs.

And those scabs he was gettin' did look an awful lot like scales...

It was one thing when your sister avoided certain hawkey players because they came back from a summer with their big city slams, but Wayne never expected he'd be the one coming back from summer camp with...space crabs.

"Sure thing, big guy." Gentle teasing kept the existential horror away, okay? "You should have just stuck to having your glitter-shirt bonfire. Like we haven't had enough excess water already?"

"I did have my glitter-shirt bonfire," Wayne said, sounding suddenly very dejected about the whole thing. "That week with the animals talkin'. But no one came."

Because you didn't invite anyone, there, super chieftain.

"Also," he added, because this felt like pertinent information that Mae might like to know, "the smocks do not work."

It defied logic, and he didn't want to think about it because of that, but he thought she'd appreciate an update.

"I would have come!" Mae said. "No one told me about it!" You'd think at least one animal would have felt like spreading the news. ". . . Maybe the glitter is made of brain eating amoebas."

These were the things Mae thought when she was not getting proper sleep.

"Well," said Wayne, almost thoughtfully, squinting off into the horizon, "that would certainly explain where I'd gotten the brain eating amoeba, then, if I had a brain eating amoeba. Which...again...I'll remind you....I don't."

He was sticking to that story until the cows came home, Mae, and, since there weren't no cows on the island, well...

Oh sure, Wayne's narrative. Ensure they'd be struck by a magical steer stampede. Good job.

"I dunno man, you've been exposed to a lot of glitter by now."

Mae had been exposed to exactly the same glitter.

Yeah, but Mae had a cat head. Maybe her whiskers made her immune.

There was a very long, very squinty pause.

"I don't have a glitter-induced brain-eating amoeba," Wayne insisted yet again.

But he didn't sound nearly so sure about that anymore.

“Glitter-Induced Brain-Eating Amoeba should be the title of a glam-metal concept album,” Mae decided. “But I am not the one to produce it.”

She could still only barely play bass.

“You know, I gotta say, Possum Springs has its problems, but death glitter isn’t one of them. Neither are mutant deep sea divers or actual facts vampires.”

Someone was getting a little homesick.

Emerging from Wayne just then was quite possibly the most empathetic, relating grumble-growl ever, and he took a moment to just sort of rub his aching, glitter-brain-eating-amoeba head.

"You know what?" he grunted tersely. "I will say this, and that's that this place sure puts a lot of Letterkenny problems into perspective. Worse we usually have to deal with is methhead skids, worm pickers, degens from upcountry, and people tryin' to grow pot in your back Bush. I could probably go for a few of those problems again for a change, that's what I have to say about thst."

"Right? At least with methheads and . . . I don't know about worm pickers, but Possum Springs has, like, weird train people and creepy old folks who yell at you to get off the power lines. Which are probably similar." Or, you know, not. "At least with them it's always people problems. Even when we had floods, we didn't have sharks in the floods."

Syndulla Scrap; Tuesday [06/18].

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