“What song do you think I could sing, if I were to go on American Idol?” Billy asked randomly as he and Orlando, Elijah and Dom all fished in what Elijah called ‘a prime spot’ on the other side of the tiny island.

“You’re too old,” Elijah said, shaking his head. Orlando glared at him, he was getting rather fed up with his pessimistic attitude.

“I know that, Lij,” Billy replied. “But I’d like to sing to the fish and I need a good song.”

“How about The Beatles?” Dom suggested, reeling his reel in a bit. “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, er, or Paperback Writer. Hey Jude is a good one. How about Love Me Do? Maybe Here Comes the Sun? Probably fish would like that.”

“Yellow Submarine,” Orlando chuckled.

Billy’s eyes widened happily, “PERFECT!” He then began to regal the fish (and his three companions, only two of which were listening) with his wonderful rendition of the classic Beatles tune. When he’d finished, much to everyone’s surprise, something was pulling on his line.

Two hours later, Billy was the only one who had caught anything; he sang four more ‘fish-type’ tunes (including Dom’s favorite, “Under the Sea”) and pulled in five more large fish, which made him extremely happy, but the others were a little more on the crabby side.

The four of them were seated around a campfire Elijah had managed to concoct using his lighter. It had been quite a debate why he had brought a lighter but no cigarettes; Elijah himself wasn’t sure.

“Elijah, you might want to come up for air,” Dom suggested hesitantly, watching as his friend tore into a fish. “You’re freaking me out with your Gollum bit.”

Billy, who had been eating his fish daintily with some twigs he’d rigged up for a fork and knife, looked up from his plate and gaped. “I don’t like this Elijah.”

Elijah growled; Dom, Orlando and Billy all moved away from him on reflex. “He wasn’t kidding when he said he was starved,” Orlando commented in a sidebar to the other two.

“No, apparently not,” Dom said. “I’ve never heard him growl so. He probably hasn’t eaten since last week.”

Billy tutted sadly, looking melancholy, “Must be the movie star diet. Just lettuce for one week and then three weeks of not eating anything at all.”

“What’s the fourth week?” Dom questioned, though he knew Billy was joking.

“Tuna,” Billy answered, grinning crazily.

“So I was thinking,” Orlando said eventually. “We could sleep on the plane. We don’t have to play Swiss Family Robinson or Gilligan or Captain Jack if we don’t want to.”

Elijah swallowed the half fish he’d been chewing on and looked up at them all, his blue eyes gleaming in the fire light; he looked a little bit devilish, which scared Billy. “I’m sorry for being such a bastard, you guys,” he said sincerely. “We should be having fun, I was wrong to put a damper on everyone’s spirits.”

“What was in that fish?” Billy whispered to Dom, who shrugged.

“If we were playing Captain Jack, we‘d have rum,” Dom complained a few moments later, when everyone was drinking from Elijah‘s water bottle.

“No, we wouldn’t,” Orlando argued. “All his rum was burned. Remember?”

“Oh right,” Dom sighed. “What a travesty.”

“It was tragic, all right,” Billy agreed. “How is a man…or pirate…supposed to live without his rum?” Something seemed to dawn on him then, for he jumped off his log and began pacing around them all. “HOLY GOD!” he yelled suddenly, scaring everyone else. “I just realized I can’t have a pint.” He flopped onto the ground and began sulking like a true professional.

“Bill,” Dom laughed. “You can go without a pint for a day. You have before.”

“When?” Billy countered.

“Erm, well,” Dom looked to Orlando and Elijah for help, but they gave none. “When you were a baby. I highly doubt your Mum put lager in your bottle.”

“I dunno about that,” Elijah chuckled. “He’s a Scotsman after all.”

“Watch it, Wood,” Billy snarled. “You won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“This is not a satire piece,” Orlando, the voice of reason, said. “You will obtain from pretending to be the Hulk, please. For the love of god, just don’t rip off your shirt.”

Billy looked angry, then sad. “I wouldn’t have ripped my shirt off, Orly. There are no woman around to swoon over my manly chest. Well, except for perhaps Elijah.”

Elijah narrowed his eyes, “Oh shut it, Boyd. I’ll hobbit karate your arse.”

“Hobbit karate?” Dom echoed. “How does that go, exactly?”

Orlando was trying desperately to hold back his laughter, “He takes his very teeny walking stick and bops it over his opponent’s head. If he can reach.”

Eyes rolling, Elijah shook his head, “I now know why Vig calls you a poncy elf, you poncy elf. What form of karate do YOU know?”

“The real form, I’d imagine.”

“The ELF form, you mean,” Elijah retorted.

“If there WERE an elf form, which there is NOT, then it would entail a lot more than just a little walking stick being bopped over someone’s head! It would include bows and arrows!”

“I think we’re all missing the point here,” Dom interjected. “Karate doesn’t usually use props.”

“Just your feet,” Billy put in. “They use those a lot. For kicks and the like.”