//------------------------------//
// Gone Fishing 
// Story: The Alleys of Ponyville: Short Stories from the Noireverse 
// by PonyJosiah13 
//------------------------------//

With a hiss, the fishing hook shot out through the air and splashed gently down into the water. Trace settled back onto the lawn chair with a sigh, tilting his cap down over his eyes to shield his face from the sun. 

“Beer?” Lug Wrench asked from his left. 

“You gotta ask?” Trace mumbled, adjusting his grip on the fishing pole. 

Lug Wrench dug into the cooler next to him, the ice ratting around, and pulled out a bottle of beer, tossing it to Trace from across the deck of the houseboat. Trace caught the bottle in his magic and popped the top off with his magic. He took a long draught of the beer, which tingled and bubbled pleasantly as it trickled down his throat. 

“Little help here, Trace?” Red called from his right. Trace turned to see Red standing on the other side of the houseboat’s deck, leaning against the side. He was currently trying to pull the top off his bottle of beer with his teeth, growling like a dog with a bone. 

Trace sighed and took the bottle in his magic, easily twisting the top off and handing it back to Red with a small smirk. 

“Wipe that smug grin off your face,” Red grunted, taking a long draught of the beer. He leaned against the railing, looking out over the waters of the Maresippi. The light brown houseboat bobbed up and down on the blue water, riding the wake of a speedboat that had passed by a few minutes ago. The shore was about three miles away: he could just vaguely see the ant-sized outlines walking on the golden sands of Horsehead Beach. The sky above was clear and blue, with only a few streaks of white clouds. A few other boats bobbed lazily in the water around them, all of them a safe distance away. 

"How's Lion Wing?" Lug asked. 

"He's doing good," Red nodded. "Honeydew told me he had all As on his last report card." 

"Hey, that's great!" Lug said. "You ever think about bringing him out with us?" 

Red snorted. "Don't think Honeydew would be keen on having her kid out with us, drinking beers and hauling in slimy fish." 

"Hey, fathers are supposed to take their kids fishing," Trace commented, casting his line out again with a hiss. "It's a tradition." 

"So when are you gonna get one so you can take him fishing?" Red smirked. 

"Lion was more than enough for me," Trace replied, slowly drawing his lure through the water, trying to tempt some silvery fish towards the bait.

“What is it about fishing that’s so attractive?” Red pondered, taking another draught of the beer. “It’s just sitting out on the water and trying to get a fish to eat a worm on a string.” 

“Least you got cheap beer that you ain’t gotta pay for,” Trace commented, lightly jiggling the line to try to attract a tempting-looking perch, who unfortunately seemed to decide after a moment that he had better things to do. “Better than a bar.” 

“And she smells better then a bar,” Lug added, patting the side of the Dancing Leaf. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Red shrugged. 

“And, you know, maybe some ponies like getting away from the world for a while,” Trace commented, lazily examining the water. “Maybe some ponies like spending some time just out with their friends, doing nothing for a while.” 

Red and Lug were both silent for a while, then Red chuckled and took another sip of beer. “Yeah, sure. ‘Course that’s it.” 

“Love you guys, too,” Lug Wrench laughed, hauling another beer out of the cooler. 

The fishing line suddenly jerked in Trace’s hooves. He seized it in both hooves, bolting up to try to brace himself. A large, plump white bass, silvery in the water, had seized the hook and was jerking around in the water, trying to pry itself loose. Its violent attempts to escape nearly pulled the pole from Trace’s grasp. 

“I gotcha!” Red shouted, dropping the beer and seizing the pole. Lug Wrench quickly joined them, the trio battling against the single fish. The bass jumped and jerked, switching direction in the blink of an eye and forcing them to continually adjust. 

“Fucking hell, has this thing been taking fish steroids?!” Red shouted, flapping his wings to try to counteract the fish’s pull. 

“I think it’s tiring,” Trace panted. “Okay, on the count of three, we all pull. One...two...three!” 

As one, the ponies heaved. The pole bent under the weight of the bass’ struggles, the line taut and creaking in protest. Trace took a step back, but failed to notice the beer that Red had spilled. He slipped on the beer, dragging all three ponies down with him in a chorus of surprised shouts and crashes. The fishing pole slipped from their grasp and disappeared into the water with a splash as the bass made good his escape. 

Trace, Red, and Lug Wrench looked at one another for a long moment of silence, trapped in a tangle of limbs, then simultaneously burst out laughing.