'Make A Splash!' (Silas Version)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a cotton candy machine. It's turned on so the circular, metal wheel is filled with aerated sugar while a worker takes a stick to collect the rapidly forming sugar strands. There are remnants of blue cotton candy sticking to the sides, but the bundle forming on the stick is a soft pink. They likely switched the color of the sugar. The title is 'Make a Splash!' in a pink, blue, and white font that was carefully layered by Aelsa to create a popping 3D effect. It's pretty!]

"Hey, are you sleepy? How are you sleepy?! There's games, water balloons, and snacks all around. I even saw Snowdrop in a miniature igloo thingy, so how're you tired? [Name]?"

Something dully prods your side, a poke.

You crack open your eyes to peer down at the excitable bundle of energy who has darted inside the stall. Beckett must be busy with a customer to have let her slip past. Judith's cheeky grin is accented by a ring of dissolved sugar that's stained her tongue and tinged her lips a cotton candy blue. She once again tries to poke you with her now empty paper cone while you muster up the energy to let go of the ice pack to block her. "…I'm hot, not tired."

"Oh."

Judith exhales, seeming to consider your well-being for a second, while you press a cool compress back against your forehead to—

"Why don't you eat ice cream?" she sagely suggests. "Or a popsicle? Both! I could get you one? Maybe one of those creamy ones?"

Though her questions are rapid fire, there is care beneath this sugar rush fueled inquiry into how you're doing. She was your first customer at the stand, amazed by how the sugar crystals grew aerated from the machine that produces spun strands. Judith is determined to assemble (and consume) a full rainbow of cotton candy. Her weakened, sugary grin tips you off to how close she is now, two colors left.

She has been your only repeat customer, skipping then jogging and then bouncing up to the stall after having played around the field.

"I can ask Beckett to get me another one, if you wanna take a nap?" she asks. "I can leave."

"No, that's okay," you relent. "I'll do it."

Judith squeals in delight following your kind agreement. She places the empty cotton candy cone against her forehead like she's a unicorn and then crushes it in a way that is only mildly concerning. Your surprised stare receives a giggle from her before she's tossing the crumpled cone into a nearby recycling bin.

"Reese taught me!"

"Of course he did," you knowingly mutter.

The two of you leave the small back area of the open-air stand that has been hand-painted by the Dorrans. This 'Summer Fun Day' is a way to help the community cool off along with raising awareness for how both people and animals can suffer from the heat. Among the slip and slides, water balloon wars, and subsidized snack stalls, there are pamphlets and free sunscreen. Reese supported Mrs. Dorran's event after she mentioned how Nox's fur color would make him more susceptible to overheating if he was left outside. (Obviously, Reese would never do that, yet not all pet owners are so mindful.) It has brought a lot of the townsfolk out to cool down.

"I thought you were still on break?" Beckett asks before he offers a confused wave to Judith when glancing behind you. "Hi there."

"Heya!"

Beckett's eyes comically plead with you while you locate the box of purple hued sugar. You're only young once. Judith's rush is better than a meltdown. You check the machine, pouring the crystals in and letting it start to create its wisps of sweetness that you'll soon get to catch. It's hotter up here from the humming machine and from your ice pack pathetically melting away without offering respite. Think cool thoughts.

"Reese also said to tell you to come to the dunk tank," Judith shares. "And that, uhm, it was something about a monster"—she falters when Beckett knocks over a few cones, helping him pick them up—"thing. What was it…? Oh, it's green—not the monster, but its eyes. I think?"

You focus on watching the growing web of lavender cotton candy rather than on how your thin T-shirt is sticking to you in places. The humid air should be weighing down the fluffy sugar! It was fun to fashion this sweet treat into cute bundles, but as the temperature rose, your patience plummeted. You withhold a sigh.

"Like, a green-eyed monster?" Beckett clarifies to fill in your quiet. "Does that sound right?"

"No, Alina has green eyes and Milty. I like both of 'em!"

"That isn't—it's just a saying," Beckett quickly explains in the face of Judith's warning look, even holding up his hand to placate her. The frown twisting her lips stands out from the sugar; it's downright surly. "It means jealousy."

"But why?" she wonders. "That's dumb."

"Because… Okay, I don't actually know why, but it's a thing, like: 'don't count your chickens before they hatch'. Or maybe that's an adage?"

"Silas would know," Judith says before a flicker of realization crosses her features before she hops closer. "I got it! He said: 'Any green-eyed monster would be slain—slayed?—by Silas.'"

That draws your attention away from the cotton candy machine once you've finished her mini-bundle. (It's closer to a generous lollipop than a full serving.) Judith gleefully accepts her treat. Her grin receives a slight smile from you that softens when Beckett gestures for you to go. "I'll just be gone for a little—"

"I can handle things here," he interrupts. "You need to take a break; you've been out longer."

"I'll help!"

Judith's offer comes out muffled from sugar fluff, but her words still make Beckett freeze.

"Uh, we've got to make and bag the cotton candy for other people. We can't eat it."

"Can we add sprinkles? What about flavors?"

With that, you leave the two of them behind to venture out into the onslaught of the midday heat. Unlike most of the townsfolk, you don't have a sheen of cooling water, a glaze of sugar or snacks, and definitely not the shiny novelty of marveling at the event. It's just you and the direct sun rays. Each one steadily beats down, whereas Judith's message gently prods at you.

What could Reese mean?

It's tame in comparison to everything else.

You continue to pick your path across the field by sticking to the patches of shade and barely dipping into the stray sprinkler spray until you get doused. Water directly pelts the center of your chest, a chilled yet targeted beam. Its source is no other than the Verner heir who isn't smirking at you, waving you over instead.

"There you are."

"I'm not the one in a damn swimsuit, Reese," you complain. Startled reaction aside, it actually does feel better to have the cool water slowly dripping off of you. "Why send Jud—?"

"Silas is," he interjects. "I thought he would have stuck to face painting, but no."

You glance at where he's pointedly looking at the dunk tank that must be borrowed from one of the exhibits at the Fall Festival. It's massive, a porthole-like window and aged iron facade would make it more at home in a questionable laboratory. There are even clunky gauges and tubing on its sides that clash with the balloons tethered to them to brighten things. The seat itself is high, less of a quick 'dunk' and more of a steep 'plunge'. Your eyes are guided ever higher to who calmly sits on its metal seat, except that's interrupted by a dumb comment.

"So, how many tattoos do you have? You must be fond of something so… permanent."

Charlene's voice paired with Reese's knowing look is enough to spike your tired frustration.

"I could never," she concludes. "But I'm curious; they look better on your type—the artsy ones."

"Are you going to buy another ball?"

Silas's question is delivered so blankly that it's difficult to hear it over Charlene unzipping her wallet to handover a high-value bill to another volunteer. It wasn't for a single ball, but for a whole bucket full of them that must be counted out. She smiles prettily as the volunteer sets up her 'chances' to knock Silas into the tank.

"I guess I'll just have to figure it out for myself."

Her insinuation is clear from how she regards Silas who is in blue swim trunks and a T-shirt with his head reclined back against his raised arms. He could almost be on the beach. You aren't jealous because he appears utterly disinterested in Charlene's commentary, but red might be more your color than green if she keeps talking to him like that. "Let me borrow your water gun," you request. "It'll be quick."

Reese stepping back when you reach for his water gun would irritate you if not for his reply.

"It's too impersonal. She is playing with you."

"Well, I'm too hot for her games—and if I throw a softball at her, Bowers will probably arrest me."

BANG!

Charlene's first throw misses the target when the ball impacts a pole instead, rebounding.

"Char, aim for the colors—the extremely vibrant circles," Reese condescendingly advises her in the same breath as clapping. "I believe in you."

"My cheerleader." Charlene matches his tone in a second, equal parts patronizing with a veneer of snappy banter, but her smile broadens into a grin when she turns to see you've arrived. She extends a softball to you. "Would you like a whirl with him? I'm buying"—she pointedly kicks the bucket of balls, jostling it—"obviously."

You dislike how she's talking…

It isn't outright demeaning, yet very needling.

"[Name] would have a better chance."

All three of you turn to face Silas following his steadfast vote of confidence in you—well, your ability to dunk him in a scary-deep tank. He has lowered his arms, no longer at ease reclining in the rigid, steel seat. His long legs couldn't even allow his feet to dangle in the water far below; however, Silas is at ease while watching you with a comforting certainty. Somehow, you're on his level despite how he is seated so high above. It's like he's asking you to be the one to do it—to take away this satisfaction from her.

"Is that your idea of heckling?" Charlene asks with a laugh. She tosses you a ball without any forewarning, except you manage to catch it.

"The pole did that for me," Silas flatly reasons.

This time she does actually hit the tarp around the bull's eye that has been placed in front of the old lever mechanism. The impact was in the upper left corner, a white section. You're able to catch Reese's scoff of muted laughter.

"You would still be pretty wearing glasses," he snidely reassures her. "It's a common misconception of beauty… Or simply forfeit."

"I can see the target just fine, thanks."

"Then is it your hand-eye coordination?"

Charlene doesn't pause in snatching up another softball, not even when you step up into place beside her on the pitching line. She looks past you to where Reese stands. "I'd ask you to join us, Reesie, but your arm might flare up…" She gives him a brief pout of affected sympathy, running her thumb over the stitches on the ball. "It was how many stitches again? I think you're still 'pretty' too. Let's not risk that."

Reese rolls his eyes, no quick-witted retort leaves him following her low-blow reference.

"It was his left arm, so you're wrong," Silas asserts. "Wait your turn, or I'll leave the stand."

Silas's tone leaving its typical calm cadence alerts you to the fact he's only going to give Charlene a reaction if she's rude to you or Reese. He doesn't care otherwise—too secure in himself and aware of her tactics. That isn't enough to prevent you from visualizing her face on the target. You dig your nails into the leather casing of the softball. "Step back."

"Still, not the usual heckling, but at least this is entertaining," Charlene concedes after taking a purposefully slow step away. "I thought he'd want a book to read while up there… Go for it."

You hurl your softball with a touch too much force, impacting the outermost black band of the tarp hard enough for it to ripple and pull.

"You're warming up—it's fine."

"I guess words of encouragement are the new heckling?" Charlene questions Silas in a mocking slant. "Okay, sure, everyone wins. It's like those participation medals—so unrealistic."

"He actually likes me," you simply reply. "That's the difference."

She tosses you another ball without any heads-up, although you again easily catch it from intuition rather than coordination. (Yes, your emotions might be helping things.) Her gaze darts between you and your right hand in clear puzzlement and disappointment before that's masked by an eyebrow raise. It isn't as perfect as Reese's and far less playful; it's a challenge.

"Oh, that must mean you can answer my question about his tattoos then?"

She murmurs that after joining you on the line to take her next turn, unusually close to your side to make a point. Her expensive sunscreen provides a subtle sheen to her sun-kissed skin and her hair is attractively damp from the water games. Summer looks infuriatingly good on Charlene Schade—from her hugging, Daisy Dukes style jean shorts to her crop top that's a rich purple. Why isn't she sweltering too?! There's an ease present that irritates you further. Her elbow nearly brushes you when she gets ready to lob the softball, a full wind-up type of pitch.

Your barely-there pause counts as an answer.

Silas's tattoos remain a mystery because the two of you haven't gone that far for—

"Aww, I thought so," she smugly concludes before raising her voice once more to repeat your earlier order. "Now: step back."

Before she can even think of hurling her ball, you launch yours after hardly sparing a glance at the target that caves from the bull's eye impact. The lever flips backwards with a metallic whine that's overtaken by a crashingly loud splash. Still, Charlene's face is priceless—the shock and outrage—because she's still in a pitcher's form before stomping her foot down.

"What the hell!? It was my turn."

"[Surname] was making up for your first one."

"That isn't how it works."

"You were always one round ahead, Char," Reese counters her. "It more than 'works.'"

Their conversation falls away once you hurry over to the large viewing window on the tank to find Silas inside the dimly lit water. Sunlight penetrates the metal, barrel-like interior that has chains and manacles along its side that glint more than the dark metal. The vibe is too sinister for summer fun. You're about to peer deeper when Silas splays his hand against the glass, flattening out his palm so that you press yours against it too. He swam over to you as if emerging from the gloom after the plunge. It helps you to better see him. His close-lipped smile speaks to how he's very proud of you, whereas you're caught up in how his braided hair ethereally floats some in the water. The dyed strands are a fitting sea green. There is a fluidity to his movements, floating to remain on your level without hardly making an obvious effort. The sunrays you previously despised highlight his beautiful skin, statuesque build, and how Silas is intently admiring you through the viewing window, no matter his lack of air.

He gestures to the rungs on the tank's far side.

"Okay," you needlessly reply.

Silas angles to swim away, letting his hand that's almost pressed up against yours be the last part of him to leave. You linger there for a moment to watch him go. He'll have to climb out, so you turn away to locate the point of exit after collecting a nearby towel from a chair. It's a fluffy, full body one that still might come up short on his tall frame. Charlene is still being placated by Reese, which is preferable to you having to deal with her. They seem mostly fine.

Silas has finished climbing down a ladder, one that resembles a lifeguard stand's, when you find him. He tugs off his band T-shirt to wring out the water saturating the cotton right when you think it's a spectacular idea to hold open the towel for him… Oh. There you stand with your arms spread wide with the towel a big rectangle for him to step into. Silas turning around gives you a better glimpse of the warm pride accentuating his tender smile for you. He doesn't pause, unlike how your fingers froze in the towel, nonchalantly stepping into your kind gesture. Instead of you hugging him, Silas is the one to hug you close as the stray water from his plunge offers cooling relief to you. It isn't the real reason why your mood improves.

"I knew you'd beat her."

He murmurs that softly, pulling back to let you gauge how you've only partially wrapped him in the towel. Silas is too tall for it. Still, he stays in your arms, letting you feel the coolness before it evaporates from his skin, while you admire his lean muscle. It's the tattoo nesting along his left collarbone that you notice most.

It's a small quote.

But what Charlene said comes back to you—her tone—so you drag your eyes higher. Silas will tell you about them when he's ready, not from you directly asking to spite a nuisance. Still, it's hard not to wonder who's penmanship that is: the tattoo artist's or someone else's they transferred.

"I also considered beating her with a softball," you shamelessly admit to stoke some quiet mirth into how he regards you. "Violence isn't always wrong, you know. She's so annoying."

"It's just rarely right," he points out while whisking some water from your cheek. It would seem nonchalant if Silas's swift touch hadn't lingered. The back of his knuckles skim along the side of your face, tracing it and grounding you. "I take it that wasn't just beginner's luck?

He knows.

Of course, he knows…

"You were glaring more at her than at the target."

"Because she deserved it," you reply. "It wasn't—I was low-key about it, honestly. It's been a long and hot day, then how she was talking to you irritated me. What she said to Reese was out of line too. Also, she isn't even sweating…? Who does that? It felt right—natural—to do it."

Silas patiently waits for you to finish letting off steam that should be super-heated by now. He listens to your every word—from the complaints to your reasoning—while staying close by to offer a counterbalance in the form of his steady presence. Your frustration starts to ebb.

He doesn't add to it, nor does he try to fix it with a quick word, letting you process instead.

"Let's take a break together," Silas suggests. "Because that's what I think you deserve."

There is so much you could say to that—to his compassion that asks for nothing in return—but you hug him again. He's still cool from the dunk tank, yet you would do this in the sweltering weather too. Silas only lets go after you do.

"Judith recommended I have a popsicle, a creamy one," you share after linking your hands. "Oh, also that Snowdrop is in a mini-igloo." Interest flickers across his features at the mention of the rabbit you once visited together. (It's adorable.) "We can visit him too."

"So, like a dreamsicle?" Silas confirms. "We could do that or create our own. Alina is making them to order. Reese 'found' her a blast chiller."

He 'found' the youngest Corvin top-of-the-line chef equipment to make custom popsicles for a single day event? "I'm not even surprised," you joke. "I bet she'll let us blend our own."

The two of you venture into the field to enjoy the 'fun' part of this Summer Fun Day together.