February 6, 2016
A week later...

Sunny San Diego is not looking like its iconic, sunny self: The skies have been obscured with a thick blanket of dark, grey clouds; pouring out from the skies are torrents of the heavy rain. The droplets of water pelt against everything that is laid out on the earth’s surface: the hoods of cars, the fabric tops of umbrellas, the surface of sidewalks, and on the smooth surface of the window Brandon Montour is peering out of.

With a sigh, he turns away from the dripping window, taking a look at what’s behind him. The living room is awfully quiet with the except of the calming drumming of the rain against the house and the soft snores coming from his roommate and best friend, Nick Ritchie, who is sprawled on the other sofa in a deep sleep.

The ambience the somber weather has casted upon the city is clearly putting an effect on the Monarossabergie House: plodding, languid, devitalized, weary…

Brandon groans as he lifts himself off from the sofa and onto his feet. “I’m gonna get something to eat.” He then shuffles down the living room and into the dining room, toward the kitchen.

Yet before he could reach the kitchen, he is halted by the view the glass sliding door is displaying of the patio. He becomes mesmerized by the showers of rain surging down on the small city of Del Mar. He then turns his head back to face the kitchen when he catches something green and shiny from the corner of his eye.

He whirls back to the face the patio and peers lower. His eyes immediately grow wide: Flopping on the wooden bottom of the patio is a small, green fish, surrounded by a puddle of water.

“What the--?” Brandon bolts to the patio’s door and thrusts it open. He looms over the jumping fish before rushing back indoors.

“There’s a live fish in our patio, there’s a live fish in our patio…!” He scans his eyes all over the room as his mind scrambles for an object that can hold the fish conveniently. His eyes then light up. “The closet!”

He dashes down the living room and makes the turn through the foyer and into the hallway. He skids to a halt at the end of the hallway, where the closet is located. He opens the thin door and begins scanning through the shelves of clutter.

It is noticeable that due to the massive amount of clutter, it will take plenty of time to find an appropriate bowl. More time than the fish has to survive in the rain.

With a huff, Brandon whirls back around and rushes to the bathroom. He snatches the hand towel from its hook and stuffs it in the opening of the drain. He then flicks the faucet on and speeds out of the room, leaving it running.

He darts back toward the patio and bursts into the pouring rain. He immediately spots the fish, which is thankfully still in its same state he left him in.

He lowers himself next to the fish, eyeing it cautiously. Then with both hands, he gingerly scoops up the wiggling fish, clutches it against his chest so that it would not slip out, and bolts straight back inside.

He scrambles across the house and into the bathroom, where the water is rapidly rising to the edge of the sink. He instantly parks himself in front of the sink and slips the fish into the sink full of water.

The fish dives through the water and begins contently swimming in it.

Brandon lets out a sigh of relief. The fish is all right.

“Now to find a bowl,” he mutters to himself.

He turns the faucet off and grabs another towel from its rack. He uses it to dry off his face, hair, and arms from the rain before he exits the bathroom.

Brandon strolls back into the hallway and makes his way to the opened closet. He continues to search through the miscellaneous objects, pushing the useless items out of the way to find the perfect object for this scenario.

He pushes a box filled with clutter toward the wall to reveal that perfect object: a round, glass, typical fishbowl.

Brandon excitedly takes down the bowl with both hands, shuts the door close with his foot, and speeds back to the bathroom.

He peers down in the sink’s water, easily spotting the fish dashing to and fro inside it. He then lowers part of the bowl’s opening into the water and swoops it back up, scooping up the fish with a sufficient amount of water.

He grasps the bowl with both hands and peers into it. The fish continues propelling through the water satisfiedly, not appearing to be shaken by the transfer.

With a happily smile, Brandon strolls out of the hallway with his new pet: the rescued fish.

---

Later on, Brandon is sitting by the countertop with his head propped on his fist. In front of him is his fish in the fishbowl, which he is clearly admiring.

From the other side of the island, Brandon’s other roommate, Joseph Cramarossa, is standing up, munching on his lunch, which consists of a gyro. He is staring down at the fish with an unamused expression.

Brandon peers up at him. “What’d you think about my fish?”

Joseph rips a piece of pita bread with his teeth. “It’s pathetic.”

He pees back down at it. “It’s actually really pretty.” He pulls out his smartphone from his jeans’ pocket and reverts his gaze at it as his thumbs fly across its screen. “I looked it up--it’s called a ‘Green Sunfish.’” He holds the phone out toward him. “See?”

Joseph narrows his eyes at the screen. The screen is displaying an image of a small, olive green fish with turquoise speckles and yellow fins. “Hm.” He goes back to eating his gyro.

Brandon pulls his phone back to himself and looks down at it. “It really boggles me though how a fish just ended up in our patio like that. I mean, I know we’re close to the ocean, but not THAT close.” He pauses as he reads something on the screen. “At least they’re a native to San Diego.”

Joseph rolls his eyes. “You’re just talking to yourself.”

He perks up at him. “You’re still here, listening to me.”

Joseph just stuffs his mouth with another bite of Greek cuisine goodness.

Brandon gazes at the fish as it sprints through the water. “I think I should name it…”

“Oh no, please don’t,” he hears his roommate murmur.

He lifts his eyes up at him. “Why?”

Joseph throws his hands out toward the fishbowl. “It’s just a fish! Can you even take care of it? Can you even feed it?”

Brandon’s eyes light up. “Feed it!” He darts his eyes back at the fish. “I gotta feed it! I gotta get food for it!” He jumps to his feet then whirls back to his roommate. “Guard my fish, I’m going to the pet store; I’ll be back!” He then speeds down the room, disappearing around the foyer.

Joseph peers down at the fish. “Great. I’m now a fish-sitter.” He groans, then finishes up the last of his gyro.

At the end of the hallway by the coat closet, Brandon pulls out an umbrella. He then goes to the room he shares with Nick; there, he puts on a raincoat and rainboots, fully protecting himself from the cascade of rain.

Brandon squeaks his way to the foyer with all the rubber over him, then exits the house.

---

The rain has yet to cease as Brandon guides his Jeep to the back parking lot of the pet store.
He turns off the engine and undoes his seat. He then opens the door, points his umbrella out through the doorway, and opens it up. Finally, he hops off of the car, successfully not getting wet in the rain.

He strolls down the damp alley that is made up of two buildings, then turns left to the main sidewalk. Right at the corner is the small door to the pet store.

He swings the door open and enters into the room with the umbrella still over his head. He then lowers it down, closes it, and hangs it around his forearm, getting a full sight of the store.

The store is small and cozy, decked with many sorts of equipment necessary for owning a pet.

He strolls down the aisles of cages before getting to the back of the room, where the bags and cans of food are located. He spots a row small plastic bottles and bags of fish food.

Perfect! he exclaims mentally. But which one?

He pulls out his phone and begins researching the best food for fish. After a few minutes, he found the brand on the screen and on the shelf.

He takes the bottle with his phone still in his hand and proceeds to the front counter to pay for it. After paying for it, he is handed a white bag with the bottle inside it.

After saying “thank you,” he strolls toward the only door of the store, slips his phone into the bag, and pushes the door open. He ambles outside in the storming rain, immediately getting soaked.

“Ugh, pfft--!” Brandon wipes the precipitation from his eyes with his bare hands. He then quickly slips the bag’s handles up his wrist and grips the umbrellas with both hands with the intention to open it.

Yet before he could get a handle on the lever to open it, a strange sensation spirals through him. He immediately freezes in place as he feels the fuzzy sensation take its course inside of him in loops and gyrations.

His heart begins beating fast; he feels his legs begin to grow weak; sweat begins to form on his face as the raindrops land on his face and slide down.

“Ohhh maaan…!” Brandon makes the sprint around the corner and down the alleyway. He can feel the sensation intensifying, pulling at him, making it extremely difficult to ignore.

Before he can make it to the other side of the alley, he feels himself unable to move his right foot forward while his left foot swings backward, causing him to lose his footing and crash against the moist, yet hard asphalt ground.

Brandon stays lying against the ground, tensing up and waiting for the pain of the fall to come rushing in. His face begins to sting a bit, including his arms, but that is all about it. He immediately notices another thing: the sensation is gone.

Brandon exhales in relief. With a sigh, he pushes his upper body upward with his arms then hands to kneel on the ground. Yet he feels his legs strangely heavier and bulkier than before, forcing him to be propped in a seal pose.

A bewildered expression crosses his face. He attempts to slide his knees underneath him, yet his legs are the equivalence of gelatin: they would not budge.

He lets out a groan. “What is wrong with my legs?” He then peers down to see if he can catch sight of them; his eyes immediately fly open.

He is no longer wearing his rain jacket and the other many layers of top wear he had on; his bare chest is exposed.

“What happened to my shirt?!” Brandon pats his chest and tattoo-filled arm with one hand so that the other can keep him propped up. “Dang it, what happened to it?”

He peers behind his shoulder to see if it was for some odd reason lying behind him. But instead of spotting the shirt, he spots something much odder.

Notes

E.7 "Imma Merman"
Part 1/8
Episode 7/20