The morning sun glints off the calm surface of Miller’s Lake. Bob sits on his tailgate, shirt off, belly resting comfortably against the wood of his truck bed. He cracks a cold one, the hiss of the tab cutting through the chirping crickets.
Bob
Finally. A day without a soul in sight, just me and the bass.
A bright, garish melody begins to drift across the water, growing louder by the second. The familiar chime of "Pop Goes the Weasel" jingles with an aggressive, off-key tempo. A battered white van rolls onto the dirt access road, stirring up a cloud of dust.
Icecream Dave
Hey there, Bob. I see you managed to drag that gut out of the recliner for a little sport today.
Bob
That voice makes my skin crawl. Why is Dave out here at seven in the morning?
Icecream Dave
You mind if I pull up right here? The cooling unit is acting up, and I think I need to vent the back pressure right about where you are parked.
“Try not to be interested”
SUCCESS (Great Willpower, rolled +0)
Bob
Keep looking at the water. Don't look at the van. Just watch the bobber.
Bob turns his head slowly, tracking a dragonfly as it skims the surface. He takes a long, calm pull from his beer, intentionally ignoring the sputtering engine of the ice cream truck.
Icecream Dave
I said, I need to open the side panels, Bob. You are blocking the best ventilation spot on the entire shoreline.
Bob
He is testing me. If I turn around, he wins. If I ignore him, he is going to keep yapping until the fish are scared off for good.
The van doors groan as Dave begins to pry them open, the metal screeching against rusted hinges. A thick, metallic smell wafts toward Bob, clashing sharply with the scent of damp earth and pine. Bob keeps his gaze locked on his fishing line, his shoulders stiffening as he feels a shadow creep over his cooler.
“(There's tons of other places he could of parked )”
SUCCESS (Great Willpower, rolled +2)
Bob
Hey Dave, buddy. You drove all the way out here on a perfectly good dirt road to find the one spot with a breeze. Seems like you had plenty of other options, maybe even better ones, before you decided to park your business in my kitchen.
Bob turns slightly, pointing his fishing rod toward the wide, open expanse of the lake shoreline further down. His expression remains placid, almost sleepy, but his grip on the rod handle is firm.
Bob
He is definitely up to something. Nobody brings a van this rusted out to a fishing spot unless they are trying to hide a noise or a stench.
Icecream Dave
The cooling system is delicate, Bob. It needs the specific wind flow from off the water, or the whole load of treats turns into soup. You understand the value of a good product, right?
Dave steps closer, his boots crunching loudly on the gravel. He reaches for the metal latch on his truck, his eyes darting toward Bob’s beer.