#hweeeeeze!!!

[heavensbled]

The first thing he's conscious of is the warmth tickling his cheek, the tips of his fingers humming, the gentle pulse of his body undulating as he's rustled gently. It's...calming. Familiar. Like everyone he's ever known all at once placing their hands on his body...guiding him. Leading him-

The warmth fades and breathing becomes difficult, impossible at times, the gentility of the moment becomes violent, thrashing, cold sputters against his face and though he tries he can't move to repel it. It's endless. He tosses, he turns, he's rolled over and there's something prickling at his bare skin until-

Hey! Hey!!!! You alright there, brudda?!

Hmm..? Oh- y-

His chest seizes, lungs spasming a warning that if he doesn't breathe he's dead. The whole of his body lurches and for the first time he can move! Rolling over, he coughs up a stomach full of sea water, seaweed clinging to his face, his eyes. Startled, he brushes a hand over his face and peels open his eyes.

"Wh-ere?" It's hard to talk, his throat feels like sandpaper, but Zack does his utmost to survey. Who said...? Oh! He finds himself face to face with a...beach goer? That's...some weird- oh, one sec. His lungs tell him its not over and he hacks up another dribble of water until it feels like he can breathe without his chest sloshing like the waves brushing up against him.

"Ugh..." That's it, he's laying back down. Don't mind him just...just let him sleep it off here...

Plotted starter @heavensbled (Spira needs a Hero!)

"C'mon, get me a good one..." An elderly man raises his fishing pole and casts the line out into the fish abundant waters as he patiently waits for the besaid trouts to catch a whiff of his homemade bait.

Aged amber irises gaze out to sea, licking his dry, cracked lips under the scorching heat. He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand before wetting his mouth via a swig of some unknown substance in his flask.

He sits. And waits.

Long, drawn out moments go by. The sun's rays beat down on his back while his eyes stare down the gentle rolling of waves.

Suddenly he feels a tugging on his line and clambers to his feet. "Boy howdy! This is it! This is gonna be my big catch, ya!" he exclaims, pulling and tugging on his pole. Though, it was like something was fighting him.

The elderly man digs his heels into the worn wooden planks of the docks, pulling his rod with every muscle yet still intact, putting his back into the pull and tug, fighting with the water's current and the fish? on the end of the line.

However, when he's reeled in his catch half way, he catches a glimpse of something black. Something...with arms...legs...and hair...

"Holy mackerel! It's a guy!" and thus the man dives into the water, wading out to hook an arm around the male's limp frame and pull him to shore upon the dry sands.

"Hey! Hey!!!! You alright there, brudda?!" the old man may have to perform CPR on the young lad, but he figures trying to wake him out of his stupor first was the best approach.