| What Can Be Caught |
| Summary: | Tommas and Gedeon discuss creatures one can find in the sea and other things that can be snared (or not). |
| Date: | 24/02/289 |
| Related Logs: | None, directly. |
| Players: |
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| Campsite — Harlaw Island |
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| Rocks, a fire, some fish. |
| 24 February 289 |
It's quiet as evening comes on in the new and larger campsite that the Cape and Flint contingents joined a day ago, and there is, in general, a sense of restored spirits as the army was reassembled. Gedeon Rivers is seated by a campfire, gutting the fish that others have managed to catch, and setting them on sticks to dangle above the flames and so slowly cook.
Ser Tommas Belte is somewhat cheerfully among those who volunteered to catch the firs — if he used half the time pulling nets that he did spotting for Sea Dragons in the mists, well, it was help enough. He is settled in his jerkin, dusty and half damp with salt spray with bare arms as he sifts through the catch and sorts out any surprises. Like a crab.
"Sea's a strange place," Gedeon muses as he watches Tommas forage through the fish and draw out the more peculiar creatures among them. He pokes a stick through another fish and sets it alongside the others.
"Odd enough, yeah," the big man agrees slowly, smiling at the squirming grab in his grasp. Hello, there. "That's the problem with it really. A man can't much tell what's in it before it suprises him." Tommas settles the crab on the ground, avoiding its pincers and nudging it back towards the ocean.
"Those make good eating too, I hear," Gedeon says of the crab as it scuttles its way back towards the water. "I've less worry for the creatures in it, more the waves and what they're inclined to do to our ships."
"They do alright. You pop 'em in a pot and boil them. Wouldn't do though, one man eating something different than the others," Tommas opines, watching the crab with lopsided grin. "A noble'd get it and then cry for the lack of butter." He shifts, tossing another fish towards Gedeon's pile as the other man speaks. "Aye." The waves are in the ocean too, his expression seems to say. "Ask a sailing man? They might set you to rights."
Gedeon huffs a faint laugh for the image of a noble with his crab but no butter. "A bit too pampered, some of them. A bit too entitled. I suppose it's to be expected, though." He watches the crab, one brow lifted. "Suppose he'll just drift the way back home, then?"
"It's not for the likes of me to question overmuch," Tommas admits, shrugging slightly and brushing off his hands. "My Lord is a good one, he'd hear me if I had say. A Lord is a Lord, like as not." Looking towards back towards the crab, who is making pretty good time on the sand, there's another shrug. "Can't say. I don't know much about crabs. I'd sure hope that the little blighter would."
"Length of your arm, you likely could have just tossed him in from here," Gedeon teases around a smirk. "Lord Kittridge seems a reasonable man, for the few times we've spoken. I haven't met any of the others, save Lady Rosanna back in Stonebridge."
"True enough. I've heard tell that tossing nobles is frowned upon though," Tommas replies with a bland smile, easy going as can be. "They might skip if you toss them hard enough." Those nobles. "He's a solid Lord, that he is." At the mention of Rosie, a wide, toothy grin spreads across Tommas's face — the look of a proud uncle. "Have you, then? She's loveliest little thing, proper as a butterfly."
"I meant the crab," Gedeon laughs, "though if you ever feel inclined to send a noble skipping, do please let me know so I can watch." He nods for the mention of Rosanna Groves, his smile softening into something more mannerly. "She's a lovely young Lady."
"Nae, I wouldn't throw a crab. Poor wee bit," Tommas says with a laugh that rumbles, a bit like a growl. "They squirm too much to get a good skip off them and a number of them probably don't swim too well." Nobles, that is. Not crabs. He ducks his head in a nod of agreement to Gedeon's words. "That she is. Poor Lord Kitt's squire thinks the world of the little Lady. Shame for the lad."
"I'd agree," Gedeon answers as he returns to slicing fish open and removing their innards before setting them over the fire. "Though I suppose, if he's of the right blood, the boy might manage to turn her eye. Who's his family?"
Tommas shakes his head, voice rumbling with slight mirth. "Too common for you to know them, Ser."
"Oh," the blond knight murmurs, brows lifted. "Then I suppose you're right. Lad's a bit doomed."
"Just a tad, yeah," Tommas agrees ruefully. "It's good for the heart though. We've all had a love or two that was beyond our reach. It gives you something to talk about when deep in your cups, makes things clearer."
"Or makes one bitter, depending," Gedeon opines wryly. "All depends on the man and the love. Though I suppose we each gain a tale to tell on that count if we live long enough." With the last of the fish set over the fire, Gedeon wipes his hands and settles back with a faint sigh.
"It could. Each man's love is different after all, we all have a girl or two who we would have stripped our skin to the heart if only…" Tommas trails off, smile shifting lopsided as looks at Gedeon. "As you say, always a tale to tell if you live the long enough to tell it."
"And get drunk enough," Gedeon reminds with a smirk. "I think that bit's important as well, eh?"
"Well, you can't be spilling that sort of feelings without proper motivation now can you?" Tommas replies, grin wide and proper.
"No, ser, you surely cannot," Gedeon agrees with a sigh as he studies the stars up above. "Can't say I ever thought I'd find myself on an Iron Island, fighting to conquer it," he muses. "Strange times, we live in."
Fingers digging into the dirt, Tommas picks up a rock and balances it in the palm of his hand. The stone looks miniscule in comparison tho his large paw. He tosses it up and catches it before he speaks. "Time is strange. Can't say I saw myself fighting in the last war all those years ago, neither. We aren't fighting to conquer or claim this time. We're fighting to subdue. The first forays have already prove this, like as not we'll leave a right trail of ashes on the dirt."
"Think there will be much left, if we win?" Gedeon muses, watching the fish and nudging one starting to char on one side so it's less in the heat. "We've already slain a prisoner and a priest. What's next, I wonder."
"Do you think we came here for there to be much left when we were finished?" Tommas replies dryly, fingers curling around the rock in his hand. "There is nothing to conquer here. It's all mist and stone. Any honor has been taken already." He leans over, dropping that rock next to Gedeon. "Try skipping. At least you'll know where the stone flies, it's steadier than this." Rising to his feet, he offers the Rivers Knight a flat smile, but heading off towards the Grove encampments. "Good eve, Ser."
Gedeon considers the rock and then the man who set it down for him. "Good eve," he replies, picking up the stone and tucking it into his pocket. A little bit of Harlaw to carry home, should he manage to live long enough to see the Riverlands again.
