[BBS/ Action]

[om_nom_namur]

[BBS]

Tuesday/thursday morning biology 101 students i got your tests graded and im working on your papers. Ha! You guys are funny. Did good on your tests but youre papers suck. Seriously yall need to come talk to me or instructor enpecee cuz i dont think a single one of yalls got a damn clue what we been talking about. Aint got an office tho so im set up here on the beach. Bring something to drink and something to write with and we'll get ya up to speed.

[Action]

[As promised in the BBS post, Namur can be found chilling in a big hammock strung up between two trees. The papers he's in the process of grading are piled in a folder with a rock dropped on top to keep them from blowing away, the ones already graded in a similar folder. He's got his laptop and a couple text books in the hammock with him, one he's using as a hard backing to write on, a few bright red pens scattered over the lot, and a couple of water bottles in a pile at the foot of one of the trees. Yes, he's wearing the shades Thatch gave him for his birthday. Do feel free to come and bother him for fish caught in a net puns whatever reason. He'll appreciate it.]

Comments

[om_nom_namur]

[Namur leisurely kicks at Thatch's foot with his own, even though he has to sit up just a little bit in order to do so.]

Y' still on 'bout that Namu shit? Man I tell y'. Y' hook up with one orca girl once an' it never goes away. Ain't my fault they drop their Rs. Jus' kinda one a them things.

[thatched]

[he chuckles] She was a looker, though. [he sits up as well as far as he's able and wraps his arms around Namur, hammock and all, poking his nose into the back of Namur's neck]

Iyan! Namu-mu! Take me to the stars! ~<3

[om_nom_namur]

[slkdkfjal]

Damn it, Thatch, y' dumbass! Say that kind a shit t' Marco, not me!

[thatched]

Forgetting our love so easily, Namu-mu? My heart! [but he lets the Fishman go and flops back on the grass]

I bet your a lousy kisser anyway.

[om_nom_namur]

[Namur turns over in the hammock, treating Thatch to a decidedly less than amused pokerface.]

Wouldn't know. Never kissed me t' find out. Y' better not be leavin' buttprints on my students' papers.

[thatched]

[that evil grin? It spells your doom, Namur]

Only one way to find out.

[and he grabs Namur's face, just under the gills and gives him a big old exaggerated smooch on the li-- just under the nose]

[om_nom_namur]

[NICE TRY SUCKER NAMUR DOESN'T HAVE- oh.

Yeah, alright fine. Namur returns the kiss.

With a fist to Thatch's damn face.]

[thatched]

[ow shit! Thatch falls back laughing and clutching his nose, even as blood seeps through his fingers.]

Sorry sorry. [he holds up a clean hand]

I'll make it up to you. Want to go out to that sushi shack? My treat.

[but first]

Also I probably need a tissue.

[om_nom_namur]

[Please ignore the fact that pretty much all of Namur's face is nearly matching his gills. He's actually rather pissed.]

So go get one dumbass.

[He grits his teeth, and less than gently rolls Thatch off one of the piles of papers, grabs one to grade, and pointedly gets to work, his back to Thatch.]

Can at least trust y' t' not try stickin' 'round like a shitty moron when yer drippin' blood, right?

[thatched]

[it's a pretty clear indication to get lost. Though he's not entirely sure what the problem is. He'd just been joking around-- He lets Namur push him around then stands, pinching his nose closed]

Yeah sure. [he's not entirely sure what to apologize for so he just shrugs awkwardly] See you later then.

[om_nom_namur]

[Namur does his best to pay attention to the paper, but after the first page he's only reading it in order to give Thatch time to get himself cleaned up. He doesn't appreciate Thatch kissing him, but hell. That's just the sort of shit Thatch pulls when he needs attention. After a few more minutes of being flopped rather unceremoniously in the hammock, Namur picks up the papers, pens, books, laptop and water bottles, and stuffs them in a bag. He slings the bag over his shoulder and heads after Thatch, following the subtle taste of his blood in the air.]

[thatched]

[Thatch had retreated back into his room, feeling chastened and wondering how to make it up to Namur that wouldn't make the Fishman punch him. He washed his face to get rid of the worst of the blood and tried to get down to work, but popped open a bottle of wine from the fridge and sat on the couch instead. Damn. Why was everything a mess these days]

[om_nom_namur]

[He kicks Thatch's door then lets himself in, slipping his bag off his shoulder and only barely remembering not to outright chuck it behind the couch. He perches on the back, not wanting to slip down and get his fin nestled in the corner just yet, in case Thatch kicks him out, but still enough to make his intention to maintain proximity clear.]

Sorry I punched y' in the face, bro. Didn't break nothin', right?

[thatched]

[he's a little surprised at the thudding kick on his door. Not because he didn't know who it was but because he did. He absently scratched at his chin with the pen as Namur came sauntering in, parking himself on the back of the couch. He smiles briefly at the Fishman's words]

A little tap like that? Barely felt it. [he looked back down at the pen and began to fiddle with it, twisting the cap back and forth] Sorry I got carried away. It was a stupid joke.

[om_nom_namur]

[Namur takes that as a cue that he will not be summarily dismissed, and slides down to sit almost properly, facing Thatch.]

Figured it might be, but I couldn't tell right at first. Y' play lots a weirdass games, Thatch, 'n' I ain't ever sure when yer playin' me like y' do everyone else an' when yer bein' legit. If y' want attention jus' come say it. Y' know I'd drop all that stuff if y' come up an' say "let's go for a walk", right?

[thatched]

[Weird ass games? He'd be lying if he said he understood completely what Namur was talking about. There was a lot that he did that could be defined as 'weird ass games' but--the definition of that wasn't important right now.]

If it was legit, you'd know it. I have no intention of doing anything weird with you. You're entirely too rugged for my tastes. [Sorry, Namur. It seemed like he really couldn't say anything without-- saying something like that, too.

He rested his arms on the table and his chin on his arms as he peered at Namur]

I don't need attention. What made you think I needed attention? I'm perfectly fine.

[seriously. honestly. mostly.]

[om_nom_namur]

Y' called me Namu-mu an' then y' kissed me on the mouth. That's beggin' for somethin' no matter what current y' take 'round.

[He is, actually, quite glad to hear that Thatch doesn't find him appealing.]

So what's up?

[thatched]

I forgot how damn literal you are.

[he says this with a sigh and without heat, more blaming himself than Namur. He swivels his chair, facing away from Namur as if that will make a difference and wiggles his pen between his teeth.]

What do you think of Sparks?

[om_nom_namur]

Weird question, but okay. Say he's reckless as he ever was. Mean, it ain't like he's done any changin' the last couple a years. Why? Y' think somethin's off?

[thatched]

I dunno. Maybe it's me. [he laces his fingers together and covers his eyes] I just-- I don't know what to do with him.

[om_nom_namur]

A'ight, so what's different? Weren't things the same back on Moby Dick?

[He leans his elbows on his knees.]

Or was it uncomfortable for y' then, too?

[thatched]

The Moby Dick... That's another world, Namur. [literally. Anything that had happened then didn't apply here. Nothing applied here. Not really]

I miss that old ship. [he sighed, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in his chest but pushed past it anyway because somehow it was easier than talking about Ace]

Is it true they burned it?

[om_nom_namur]

[It's good Namur can't read Thatch's mind, cuz he'd slug him hard again and mean it. If what happened there doesn't apply here, then they aren't brothers, nor pirates.

But they are. So Thatch's internal monologue that Namur can't hear can stfu.

He does nod, though.]

Lost everythin', 'cept some a the crew.

[Namur leans back, such as he can, wedging his dorsal fin in the corner of the couch and spreading his arms along the siderest and back.]

Shit, that's the way a things though. One day yer sittin' on top a the world an' then someone comes by an' knocks y' int' the deep. 'S what I done t' Lefty, back in the District. 'S what everyone kept tryin' t' do t' us. Someone jus' finally managed t' do it.

[thatched]

[that's different, you damn Fishman, and you know it. If you had more common sense than a bar of soap you would know that, so Namur's nonexistant monologue about the one he can't hear can stfu.

He winces at the information, glad that Namur can't see. There went his star charts... no... no wait they probably...probably got rid of those already. Of course they had. Buried it at sea. Burned it. Locked it in some chest after the memorial.

He didn't want to think about it]

Lefty couldn't see his way around a brick wall, if I remember. [remember from what Namur told him, anyway. He'd never met the guy. Anyway it was better to keep his voice level, though it was a little rough as he asked:]

What happened after?

[om_nom_namur]

After what? Got knocked int' Time Compression while the war was still happenin'. Marco says we managed t' limp on out a there, so I guess that's what we did.

[This conversation is getting kind of weird.]

So usually yer sluggin' me 'bout this point for talkin' shit. What gives?