01-17-2026, 11:33 PM
==Ollie Pearson - Security NRC==
Pearson clocked the kayak the second Ardanna pushed off. Didn’t pretend otherwise, but then Oliver Pearson rarely ever did.
He was halfway through a vicious argument with a local kid about whether football was actually better played barefoot when he spotted the blue hull sliding out across the lake, Ardanna’s easy rhythm unmistakable even at a distance. No rush. No fuss. Just calm, steady movement. Something about it got under his skin in that quiet, inconvenient way he usually refused to overthink.
So when Ardanna had invited him to join her, he locked into it like a quantum torpedo speeding towards a wounded Bird of Prey.
Bloody decision made, mate.
Pearson didn’t announce it. Didn’t make a show of it. He just yanked his shirt over his head as he walked, boots already abandoned in the grass. His trousers followed, kicked aside without the slightest inkling of ceremony, revealing a dark, aggressively minimal speedo underneath. No hesitation. No modesty. No checking who might be watching. The bloke looked like he’d wandered out of some ancient Earth saga, broad shoulders, sun-bronzed skin, muscle built by work rather than vanity, though vanity and the occasional mirror had probably contributed. If people stared, that was their problem. If they didn’t, also their problem.
He broke into a jog at the shoreline, bare feet slapping wet earth. Then he dove. Clean, fast, all confidence and momentum, slicing into the lake with barely a splash for a man his size. The water swallowed the former surf champ for a heartbeat, the two obviously well acquainted, before he surfaced a few meters out, blonde hair slicked back a darker shade, water streaming down his face as he grinned like this was exactly where he belonged.
He swam easily, long, powerful strokes closing the distance to Ardanna’s kayak without hurry. When he got close enough, he rolled onto his back, treading water with infuriating ease, arms drifting wide like the lake itself was doing him a favour.
“Yeah, nah,” he called out cheerfully, voice carrying over the water. “Saw you lookin’ all peaceful and figured that couldn’t stand.” He kicked gently to keep pace beside the kayak, eyes flicking up to her with open amusement, no pressure or expectation there. “Hope you don’t mind the company,” Pearson added, grin widening as sunlight caught the water on his shoulders. “Left my dignity on shore, but I swim like a champ - dignity never's done me a dingo much anyway.” He jerked a thumb vaguely back toward the distant barbecue chaos. “And honestly? This beats awkward chit-chat and burnt snags any day.”
He grinned, the ever present mischievousness about him as it ever was, his blue eyes falling on his friend admiringly, "Besides, views a lot nicer from where I'm at now, eh Arddy?"
Pearson clocked the kayak the second Ardanna pushed off. Didn’t pretend otherwise, but then Oliver Pearson rarely ever did.
He was halfway through a vicious argument with a local kid about whether football was actually better played barefoot when he spotted the blue hull sliding out across the lake, Ardanna’s easy rhythm unmistakable even at a distance. No rush. No fuss. Just calm, steady movement. Something about it got under his skin in that quiet, inconvenient way he usually refused to overthink.
So when Ardanna had invited him to join her, he locked into it like a quantum torpedo speeding towards a wounded Bird of Prey.
Bloody decision made, mate.
Pearson didn’t announce it. Didn’t make a show of it. He just yanked his shirt over his head as he walked, boots already abandoned in the grass. His trousers followed, kicked aside without the slightest inkling of ceremony, revealing a dark, aggressively minimal speedo underneath. No hesitation. No modesty. No checking who might be watching. The bloke looked like he’d wandered out of some ancient Earth saga, broad shoulders, sun-bronzed skin, muscle built by work rather than vanity, though vanity and the occasional mirror had probably contributed. If people stared, that was their problem. If they didn’t, also their problem.
He broke into a jog at the shoreline, bare feet slapping wet earth. Then he dove. Clean, fast, all confidence and momentum, slicing into the lake with barely a splash for a man his size. The water swallowed the former surf champ for a heartbeat, the two obviously well acquainted, before he surfaced a few meters out, blonde hair slicked back a darker shade, water streaming down his face as he grinned like this was exactly where he belonged.
He swam easily, long, powerful strokes closing the distance to Ardanna’s kayak without hurry. When he got close enough, he rolled onto his back, treading water with infuriating ease, arms drifting wide like the lake itself was doing him a favour.
“Yeah, nah,” he called out cheerfully, voice carrying over the water. “Saw you lookin’ all peaceful and figured that couldn’t stand.” He kicked gently to keep pace beside the kayak, eyes flicking up to her with open amusement, no pressure or expectation there. “Hope you don’t mind the company,” Pearson added, grin widening as sunlight caught the water on his shoulders. “Left my dignity on shore, but I swim like a champ - dignity never's done me a dingo much anyway.” He jerked a thumb vaguely back toward the distant barbecue chaos. “And honestly? This beats awkward chit-chat and burnt snags any day.”
He grinned, the ever present mischievousness about him as it ever was, his blue eyes falling on his friend admiringly, "Besides, views a lot nicer from where I'm at now, eh Arddy?"