Yellow Light Waves

by Comma Typer

DNF

In the Amareican Northeast, Maizelle University’s graduation ceremony had come and gone, and Silverstream graduated with flying colors.

But Sky and Ocean had decided to travel around, diplomacy still on the table as the Amareican president had been scheduled to meet with her, and Sky had signed up for biking competitions in the region.

In between a hectic presidential visit and the start of a triathlon, the two of them had gone on alone. Sky had earlier refused getting his “royal allowance,” as he put it, from Ocean. He had his own money to pay for the sights around town, to see the Freedom Statue and get a slice of Manehattan’s world-famous pizza. There were even kayaks wading through the rivers that wound around the island megalopolis.

So he’d went, come, and gone.

---

Even from within the dark, comforting crevice, through a dozen meters of water, Ocean could hear him loud and clear.

“I’ve got something good!”

And there he was, pulling a wagon precariously down the dirt path to the beach, past the signs of not leaving behind your belongings there.

Sky stopped before Ocean, pushing the wagon forward to let her see. Strapped on top of the wagon was a fishbowl.

“What are you doing with that thing?” Ocean asked. “Are you... what is it?”

“It’s a fishbowl, Ocean!” he said, slapping it on its glass surface. “Big enough to fit you and this goldfish we’ve found!”

Ocean crossed her fins, paying no mind to the confused fish staring at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Just because I’ve got gills and scales now, you somehow think this is endearing.”

“Endearing? What’s not endearing about getting you out of the beach and letting you move around?”

Ocean blinked. The wagon’s wheels were now her top priority; to her, they seemed sturdy enough, if rather worn down by outdated roads. But more than that, a couple antennae stuck out from the wagon, connected to the wheels by wires barely covered in plastic. “Did you...?”

“No, I didn’t make it, but it’s that big fishbowl ‘tourist trap,’ if you could call it that. The creator was a... nice guy? Okay, he was a guy, and now you get to use it! You can move around, and you can still work with this desk over here.” He took out a mini table and clamped it on the rim of the bowl. “Now, how about that?”

Ocean could only look on, her fin holding up her scaly chin. “Wow, that’s... that’s actually wonderful. How thoughtful of you...”

Sky could only grin. “Indeed, it is. You still have to give Breezewood major credit. Now, it won’t just be me out there.”

Ocean’s eyes widened the second time this week. “Won’t just be you out where?”

“The marathon, honey! I’ll be helping around!”

---

The windows and doors emptied themselves of their residents, and the roads flooded with hippogriffs stretching their limbs for the marathon ahead. Leeway and Lingon had expressed a desire to join, and the two could be found doing jumping jacks on all fours; Lingon even had a headband right under his antlers.

Sky Beak pranced around, counting down the minutes through the microphone, leading everyone to the starting line situated just a dozen meters from the gas station. Already, those not in the running were turning on their cameras, and some police from the bigger townships in the parish had been summoned just in case.

Sky Beak then looked up at Stinger flinging her talons left and right across a couple of laptops, handling social media for the marathon. “How’s it going?”

“Uh, we’ve gotten over a dozen reshares and reposts, tons of replies from all over the shire. Everyone really wants to get back to normal, huh?”

“That’s good! Ah, how about we say that this road was also the birthplace of the first Basalt Flow Marathon!”

Stinger could only shake her head as Sky’s constant bird-screeching, which he’d figured out just yesterday, filled the town.

And Ocean Flow would also be running, or more accurately, enjoying the occasion by participating. She most likely wouldn’t win or even scrape the top ten, but the remote control had a couple settings for speed. Breezewood had said he’d be out of town to get better batteries, make the fishbowl more permanent for her, but told her that royalty should be more than free to handle his property wisely.

Either way, she was finishing up her report then sending it to the Board when the last call for runners screamed through the speakers.

---

Ocean had gone to the galleries, and traces of herself popped out at her. Aracean artists, sculptors, sponsored by her. Manehattan knew her name, and its new-money socialites paid her their respects.

“Oh no,” she said, then she deflected their attention away by turning her back to them, turning herself toward the latest piece of neo-romanticism. Her heart swelled three times in a single hour, seeing vast landscapes and mosaics of Aracean history in thousands of intricately planned brush strokes. An Aracean painter was hosting his own exhibition, and he ended up shaking hands with her multiple times, profusely thankful, unaware that he was invading her personal space.

Of course, a visit to the Convocation of Countries’ Headquarters wouldn’t just be nice—it had already been scheduled. Already, there’d been expectations of her, with diplomats and lesser officials hoping to greet her and pave inroads into Aracea’s resources.

But as she and Sky agreed, they’d meet at the World-Famous First-Ever Roamane’s Pizzeria for lunch.

It’d been over a year since they’d last eaten out together.

---

The bowl tipped over.

Against the rush of the starting gun, Ocean’s world shrank. She and that wet spot on the road became everything to her.

“Sky Beak!” She coughed, choking for air. “No, no, don’t hurry! You’ll—!”

---

“Agh!”

A running Sky found pain shooting up against his leg. His wings flapped hard, ripping apart the few scant bandages that’d remained, but he and his broken leg leapt across turned-up asphalt pocked with jagged potholes.

Sky found himself writhing on that small puddle, curled up against his broken leg, with one wing pinned to the ground, all the scattered fragments underneath shooting against hard, hot, crude asphalt.

“No, Ocean, no! I’m... I’m bringing you out of here!”

“Are you... crazy? You can... barely stand... up yourself!”

Cramping against the knives of torment racing through their veins, they lay in the shallow water.

But Sky stood up, tried to, though not too far; she pushed soft fins against the stubborn road, supporting herself against Sky as her own body and lungs dried up, shriveling fast.

“Hey, hey!” The faces of Stinger, Kiting, and Leeway and Lingon appeared in their blurry visions. “We need to get you—“

“No, I need to take her to the beach, right now!” Sky yelled.

A splash of water shot from Leeway’s bottle for the marathon, and he quickly grabbed Ocean by the fin. “Come on, let’s get her out of here! Lingon, get the other fin and her tail! You two, carry Sky!”

---

At the World-Famous First-Ever Roamane’s Pizzeria, they ate.

“So how’re things?” Ocean said.

“It’s fine,” Sky replied.

A whole pizza sat in its box, plain cheese and pepperoni. Rowdy students were coming in to order a stack of pizzas for themselves. They didn’t know who this royal couple was, but the both of them looked at them longer than expected.

Then, eye contact was made.

“Oh hey, I know you from my politics class a while back!” said some starling student from one of the nation’s top universities across the bridge.

The couple smiled together. “Why, yes,” Ocean started. “And who do you suppose we are, just to be sure?”

“Miss Ocean Flow and Mister Sky Beak! You’re practically Aracean blueblood!”

“Not the same!” Sky said, all perked up and raising his hand. “But you’re getting close.”

The initial commotion drew in a curious crowd; the students gawked at them before Ocean invited them to eat pizza together. They’d learned their names, the first questioner being some Cambling overseas student named Ocellus. Ocean and Sky fielded a great many questions, covering the economy as well as its diverse geography. Sky took out his camera to show them photos from across the nation’s natural landmarks, while Ocean cited current political events against and relating to the backdrop of history.

When all was said and done, they’d left, and their pizza was finished.

“Argh, I’m late,” Ocean said, already standing up. “Those kids were nice, but they’ve taken a toll on our time.”

Sky nodded. “Same, a bit.” He checked his watch. “Yeah, I’ll miss a meet-up at the Amareican Tennis Open. I hope I could still train with Reef Noel.”

“I’ll just call someone there to give you a seat of honor and you’re in.”

“Thanks.”

They left the restaurant, away from each other, disappearing into the busy pandemonium of suffocating Manehattan traffic.