[Adelie]

There's some near-florescent cocktail in his hand - tasting of sweet ginger and bitter tequila and looking nothing like either - that he ordered at random off the bar menu; there's a paper plate of half-eaten suadero and lengua tacos he bought off a street vendor, nestled into the sun-warmed sand at his feet.

In the distance, a raucous group of teenagers are playing a particularly rowdy game of beach volleyball punctuated by the occasional shouted obscenity or spurt of cheering; in proximity, the steady crash of ocean waves against stubborn protruding stone serves as a soothing background soundtrack - enough that he almost wants to roll over and take a nap.

All in all, it's a good day.

[Adelie]

He'd call it a vacation, but that's a bit of a misnomer - it's a little embarrassing, honestly, to call going to a beach a twenty-minute bike ride from your apartment a vacation, especially when his most defensible reason for not doing so earlier is that the aforementioned twenty-minute bike ride is a non-trivial amount of effort.

Well, that and sheer poverty. When your landlord raises the rent for your apartment yet again - citing the desirability of the ocean view that you have identified as the slightest slice of blue overlooking an alleyway frequented by addicts and feral cats - and you don't have a stable source of income, it's hard to justify beach time when that could be work time.

[Adelie]

Irrelevant for now, at least; he'd inadvertently stumbled upon a fairly significant display exploit while checking his rapidly diminishing bank account, and while the bug bounty hadn't been too significant - financial institutions rarely paid well, assuming they even bothered to fix the problem - it had been enough to hold him over until a few freelance jobs had paid out.

There's still some shame, though, that he'd had to turn to freelancing for his living expenses; a little bit of disappointment that he was betraying his principles by creating code that wasn't free for public use. But - well, it's not like you can eat ideals.

In any case - what's important now is that he's here, his bank account has more than enough to pay next month's rent and then some in it, and he's enjoying a long-deserved day off in the sun.

[Adelie]

Languidly taking another bite from one of the tacos he'd ordered, he admires the way the umami of the suadero, perfectly browned and crispy along the edges, mingles with the fresh sharpness of finely chopped onion and the faintest tang of lemon juice; he's really got to look up this taco truck vendor when he gets back, because this is heavenly - and surprisingly affordable.

That's the beauty of living here, after all. Good food, which he rarely gets a chance to enjoy since most of it doesn't eat well in front of a computer; good weather, which he rarely gets a chance to experience since going outside is a pain. Already, he can feel himself sunburning a little, but it's too comfortable to bother getting up and buying sunscreen.

[Adelie]

It's when he settles in, sun-heated sand warm beneath his back and his jacket strewn over his face in a haphazard attempt to protect it from ultraviolet rays, that he's suddenly interrupted by something that is neither the gentle roll of ocean waves nor the excited chatter of tourists. 'Mirny!'

That's a voice he'd recognize anywhere. Not that he even needs the vocal cue - there's only one person he knows who insists on calling him by his last name like that, only one person he knows who might recognize him off a sprawled silhouette on a breezy summer beach. He'd say that he wishes he weren't here, not now - but he thinks that every time.

[Adelie]

'Mirny!' the other man shouts again, likely assuming he's being intentionally ignored. It's not a bad assumption, really - he certainly has been guilty of doing exactly that in the past - but it's incorrect, now. He's just trying to soak up a little more time in the sun before he has to deal with this.

Nothing can be put off forever, though. With a loud, somewhat exaggerated sigh, he pushes the jacket off his face, pushes his mussed hair back, and sits up. It takes a few moments for the world to come into focus, but he quickly locates the source of the interruption, just as expected. 'I always tell you to call me Ian,' he grumbles.

[Adelie]

His friend just laughs, same as always, pulling him close for a hug and a gentle peck on the cheek. 'It's always good to see you too, Mirny,' he says, patting him heartily on the back. 'How's it been?'

It's always the same old song-and-dance with the two of them - the greeting, the denial, the meaningless commentary. He's tried to get his friend to call him by his given name every single time - his last name just sounds like something you'd call a professor or something - and has always been disappointed in the outcome. It's just too fun to say, his friend might profess, sometimes, rolling and elongating the y sound like a stick of gum. Or, Ian's just such a boring name, y'know?

[Adelie]

'Yeah, yeah,' he says, dismissive, but he scoots over on his beach towel, making enough space for his friend to sit down. There's still one more taco left on his plate, although it's slightly wilted from sitting in the sun. 'Want one? It's good - well, it was good twenty minutes ago. Not sure about now.'

His friend eyes the taco slightly suspiciously, then shrugs and pops the entire taco into his mouth, in one humongous bite. Ian can't help but watch in slightly horrified fascination as his friend chews, cheeks bulging, swallows, and beams. 'Oh, this is great. Where'd you get this? No - let me guess.'

He lets him guess. 'It's that Taco Bird guy, isn't it? I'd recognize the way he does salsa anywhere.'

[Adelie]

'Taco Bird?' he asks, jogging his memory for a trace of recognition of those words. He did remember that the food truck he'd bought these tacos from had had a fairly complex logo - although it certainly looked like one of those designs created by college students for exposure - that vaguely resembled an eagle or some other bird of prey. 'Probably. He had his stand parked on Ocean Street when I got here.'

'Huh,' his friend muses. 'Didn't know he'd changed his usual Friday location. You should talk to him, y'know. He's a cool guy.'

'You're always telling me to talk to people,' Ian grumbles. 'Did it never occur to you that I just don't want to?'

[Adelie]

That's the same old song-and-dance, too - not even just for this friend, but for all his friends. Not that the sample size of individual friends is too large, that is, but the population of comments about how he needs to get out more and talk to more people he's received is a statistically significant one. 'Look, when you get to my age, you realize most people aren't worth your time to talk to.'

'There you go again,' his friend says, jabbing him in the arm affectionately. 'I'm practically two months older than you and you're still whining about being an old man already.' He pauses for a moment, leans back to look up at the clear sky. 'I think you'd like the taco guy, though.'

[Wild Pet Found]