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OOM: Summer passes so fast
“Beach day! Beach day,” Luso yells, kicking open the door to Eden’s room. “Beach day.”
“I don’t know what that is. Why are you yelling,” Eden replies, one arm slung over his eyes.
“Summer officially starts in one hour. For the next one-thousand and eight hours, daytime is going to be extended by two hours, temperatures are up by fifteen degrees, and the air is two percent saltier,” Luso says. “And we need to be at the beach by the time it starts. For maximum beachage.”
“What? Who invented this?”
“Mog. Mog invented summer,” Luso says firmly. “It definitely doesn’t exist on other worlds. For copyright reasons.”
“Yeah, that tracks.”
---
“Luso, don’t be an idiot,” Queenie says once they’re on the tram, pushing her glasses up her nose. “There’s no copyright on summer.”
“But I heard -- …”
“It’s a trademark. Copyright is for works of art, trademarks are for everything else,” Queenie says. “Summer is trademarked, and that’s why it doesn’t exist on other worlds. We live above a library, Luso, how come you never end up studying?”
---
“So, what is it that summer involves, anyway?” Eden asks, playing with the edge of his swim trunks. They’re black, with some kind of golden, maned animal that he doesn’t recognise on them.
“We bury Alvis in sand, swim, spend obscene amounts of munny on Mog’s ice cream,” Izana explains, somberly handing him a plastic bucket and a spade. “And we talk about how much of the summer is left and act like we care about it ending.”
“Hurry up, guys, there’s only one-thousand-and-seven-point-nine hours of summer remaining!” Luso yells at them from across the beach.
“Doesn’t seem like any of that would take that long,” Eden replies dubiously.
“We also hunt the Shark Heartless that appear around this time,” Izana says, as the dark shape of a large, gilled, very toothy Heartless bursts from the surface of the water. “The Sharkless.”
“Summer is more dangerous than I was expecting.”
“Multiple kids die every year, yes.”
---
Ursus arrives eventually. Of course they do.
Eden sees the red-haired boy keeping his distance from the group, meticulously building a miniature skyscraper out of sand, but three of them -- the delicate, silver-haired boy, Kuja; the brawny boy, Jecht; and Artemisia, the girl who Eden still remembers skewering him on a spike -- approach immediately.
“Hands off the Sharkless,” Kuja calls as soon as he gets near. “It’s ours.”
Eden sighs, shaking his head. “So, what, we’re going to do this whole thing again? Fighting over who gets to hunt Heartless?”
Kuja blinks at him. After a second, Eden sees his eyes sheepishly slide to the right. “... Oh, I … we were actually going to suggest beach volleyball to decide …”
“Oh. We can do that.”
“No, no, it’s fine. We can fight. I guess.”
“I’m totally fine with the beach volleyball suggestion.”
“No, it was a stupid idea anyway, we should … murder is fine too. It’s fine.”
“Guys! Summer is going to be over in sixty-thousand-four-hundred-and-fifty minutes!” Luso yells. “Get a move on!”
---
Sand flies as Eden’s keyblade comes slamming down against Kuja’s, blue glass and filigree meeting the pink coral texture of Kuja’s own.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kuja snarls. “‘Oh, pink can’t hurt me, pink is a stupid colour,’ well first of all, you’re a stupid colour, and second of all …”
---
“I can’t believe those guys get to hunt the Sharkless,” Luso says, folding his arms as Kuja and Artemisia beat at the vast, squirming shape of the Sharkless with their keyblades. “It’s the highlight of the entire summer.”
“There’ll be other Sharkless,” Queenie says.
“But there’s only three-million-six-hundred-and-twenty-five-thousand-two-hundred seconds of summer left,” Luso mutters. “Time flies so fast.”
Eden nods. “Time flies so fast.”
“I don’t know what that is. Why are you yelling,” Eden replies, one arm slung over his eyes.
“Summer officially starts in one hour. For the next one-thousand and eight hours, daytime is going to be extended by two hours, temperatures are up by fifteen degrees, and the air is two percent saltier,” Luso says. “And we need to be at the beach by the time it starts. For maximum beachage.”
“What? Who invented this?”
“Mog. Mog invented summer,” Luso says firmly. “It definitely doesn’t exist on other worlds. For copyright reasons.”
“Yeah, that tracks.”
“Luso, don’t be an idiot,” Queenie says once they’re on the tram, pushing her glasses up her nose. “There’s no copyright on summer.”
“But I heard -- …”
“It’s a trademark. Copyright is for works of art, trademarks are for everything else,” Queenie says. “Summer is trademarked, and that’s why it doesn’t exist on other worlds. We live above a library, Luso, how come you never end up studying?”
“So, what is it that summer involves, anyway?” Eden asks, playing with the edge of his swim trunks. They’re black, with some kind of golden, maned animal that he doesn’t recognise on them.
“We bury Alvis in sand, swim, spend obscene amounts of munny on Mog’s ice cream,” Izana explains, somberly handing him a plastic bucket and a spade. “And we talk about how much of the summer is left and act like we care about it ending.”
“Hurry up, guys, there’s only one-thousand-and-seven-point-nine hours of summer remaining!” Luso yells at them from across the beach.
“Doesn’t seem like any of that would take that long,” Eden replies dubiously.
“We also hunt the Shark Heartless that appear around this time,” Izana says, as the dark shape of a large, gilled, very toothy Heartless bursts from the surface of the water. “The Sharkless.”
“Summer is more dangerous than I was expecting.”
“Multiple kids die every year, yes.”
Ursus arrives eventually. Of course they do.
Eden sees the red-haired boy keeping his distance from the group, meticulously building a miniature skyscraper out of sand, but three of them -- the delicate, silver-haired boy, Kuja; the brawny boy, Jecht; and Artemisia, the girl who Eden still remembers skewering him on a spike -- approach immediately.
“Hands off the Sharkless,” Kuja calls as soon as he gets near. “It’s ours.”
Eden sighs, shaking his head. “So, what, we’re going to do this whole thing again? Fighting over who gets to hunt Heartless?”
Kuja blinks at him. After a second, Eden sees his eyes sheepishly slide to the right. “... Oh, I … we were actually going to suggest beach volleyball to decide …”
“Oh. We can do that.”
“No, no, it’s fine. We can fight. I guess.”
“I’m totally fine with the beach volleyball suggestion.”
“No, it was a stupid idea anyway, we should … murder is fine too. It’s fine.”
“Guys! Summer is going to be over in sixty-thousand-four-hundred-and-fifty minutes!” Luso yells. “Get a move on!”
Sand flies as Eden’s keyblade comes slamming down against Kuja’s, blue glass and filigree meeting the pink coral texture of Kuja’s own.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kuja snarls. “‘Oh, pink can’t hurt me, pink is a stupid colour,’ well first of all, you’re a stupid colour, and second of all …”
“I can’t believe those guys get to hunt the Sharkless,” Luso says, folding his arms as Kuja and Artemisia beat at the vast, squirming shape of the Sharkless with their keyblades. “It’s the highlight of the entire summer.”
“There’ll be other Sharkless,” Queenie says.
“But there’s only three-million-six-hundred-and-twenty-five-thousand-two-hundred seconds of summer left,” Luso mutters. “Time flies so fast.”
Eden nods. “Time flies so fast.”