[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/5y91Qmq.png[/img]
[h2][color=a187be]Whiskey[/color][/h2][/center]
[center][b][u]Summer 1, 12:00PM[/u][/b][/center]
It was a hot and sweltering afternoon. The Spring season has ended the day before, as the villagers are busy setting up vendors along the beach and Town Square for the Night Summer Festival. It was like any typical day of Willow's Valley, a heartwarming scene with grumpy old men cussing & swearing for their childrens & grandkids to do their jobs properly; the able-bodied ones carrying crates of goods, the others hammering their signboards on their stalls, and the younger ones who are more educated are busy jotting down the good and supplies .

Whiskey sat on the pier holding a fishing rod. It is the day of the festival, so it is a day off, just like almost every single buildings in the village. Blowing on those blisters and calluses from the whole morning of helping out, she repositioned her straw hat against the bright glare of the sun. She straightened out her purple T-shirt that has been stiffened from the summer heat. Her pet bird was kept at home for now, because she wouldn't want a roasted parrot after the festival. She took out a riceball from the picnic box, wolfing it down with a few bits of rice falling upon her dark shorts. It is her lunch break now, but there isn't any bite from her fishing rod. [i]Even those fishes hate this weather...[/i] She thought, despite the fact that she was actually unskilled at fishing & just trying out for fun.