The Universe's Mixer

Some called it fishing. Some called it noodling, which Sweeney supposed was a kind of fishing. Though what anyone would call what he was doing was his guess. Pasty white, bare skin reflected an obscene amount of light off his body as he waded through the water, eyes open and hoping to find some kind of fish. Wading... through the water... with his clothes in a pile on the dry land.

Mad Sweeney was naked.

Bare as a jaybird and maneuvering himself through the water with a clumsy oafish sort of movement. For the first time in the past few days, he was absolutely sober at that. Sober and hungry. And in Ireland when you were sober and hungry, you found yourself something to eat. Then you went and found something to drink. Simple as that, and even though it had been many long years since Ireland, Sweeney kept to that adage. Something that hopefully didn't involve chestnuts in the tree tops... or so the story went.

"Comeon.." he grumbled, grappling for another one and failing. Which had absolutely nothing to do with lacking a pole and line. No, in hindsight he should have brought his shirt out with him to use as a sort of net. Hell, he remembered a time before fishing poles and lures were even used. He had been able to catch fish then, he would certainly be able to do it now.

It just meant he was out of practice was all.

"Comeon you little buggers. Can't you see I'm Irish and therefore allergic to sunlight? Don't want my ass to look like Rudolph's red fucken nose by the time I catch one of you." There was a splash as Sweeney got on by the tail, only to have it wriggle free.

This worked so much better in streams.