Seeing her stare into the Pike’s eye in much the same way the Pike is staring into hers, I’m expecting Claire to scream, though now that I think about it I can’t remember ever hearing Claire scream. Instead she grabs the handle of the net, shoots up straight, and lets out a martial arts “hraa” as she rotates the net over herself and slams the pike’s head on the stern seat killing that fish dead.
Claire and I were born the year of the dragon; though this point doesn’t say much about myself, it paints Claire with the right aesthetic — she has red hair (I have black), green eyes (I have blue) and she’s wearing a necklace with strings of green things wrapped repetitively around her neck so that they look like scales running down her chest. With predatory eyes and a long slow-moving neck, she surveys the shore and the people that stare at her from the opposing half of the absurd boat she’s woken up in.
Slowly, quietly, she says, “Is this some kind of joke?”
I say, “Claire, listen, I’ve made a stupid mistake, I brought you with—”
And screaming “Is this supposed to be funny?” She charges like a Komodo dragon on her knuckles and knees off the bed and onto the rocks. I see red on her knuckles. She doesn’t notice, but there’s definitely skin tearing.