Get in my Net III

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

22 Winter, 511 AV “Them three pronged spears you be seeing waved around. Them’s what they catch frogs and carp with,” the arthritic old man croaked, presiding over a dock full of Svefra sea-rats all eagerly eating up his wisdom. Sable would never admit it, but she was listening just as intently from her spot with her feet dangling in the softly rolling swells. Her back was turned toward the group, and she watched the water lapping against a large fishing vessel. “They’s called tridents,” he continued. “Use ‘em in swamps, mostly. But we’s not in swamps, is we?” A chorus of hearty negatives answered him. Sable’s lips quirked in an indulgent smile. “So we’s not gonna use tridents, is we?” Another chorus. “We’s gonna use spears, isn’t we!” The prepubescent screeches weren’t so cute anymore. “Does you guys all got spears?” Sable wished he would stop asking questions. “What are ye waiting for?! Get in the water!” he barked, sending feet pattering and splashing. “Now look what ya sea-rats did, you scurred off the fish! Stay still, wait, they’s won’t take too long to return.” Sable had almost lost interest in the lesson, mind wondering off to what could be found for dinner, by the time splashing and voices resumed behind her. “No! No! No! You has to wait for the fish to ignore you,” the old man bellowed from into a little girl’s ear. Sable looked over her shoulder, stifling a laugh. That little lass seemed about ready to spear her teacher. “Okay, good, yes, those blue gilled fish, them’s good to eat. Don’t waste your time on the red banded ones, they’s useless. The brown ones make good stew. “Aim at they’s heads and a hand’s breadth beneath ‘em. If ye doesn’t aim below ‘em, ye’ll be stabbing nothin’ but water, the false fish. Sable knew they wouldn’t get anything, they never did at that age, and just as she started to hitch to her feet another group of slightly older kids showed up. “Uncle, we’re here to dive,” one boy of about nine years informed the stiff old man, puffing out his chest importantly. This she had to watch. As she resituated herself on the other side of the dock to watch, the old salt banished the young kids and gathered the new group around. He was not impressed with the little spokesperson. “Then do it,” he deadpanned, frowning at the kid. The kid, in turn, looked stymied. “What ye mean is that yer here to learn how to dive fish, aintcha?” The boy nodded, ignoring the snickers and sidelong glances of his classmates. “That’s right. It’s simple, but ye got to practice it over and over to keep from scurring the fish away and get more accurate. Wade out, lay down, put yer feet in the air, don’t kick. Never kick yer feet! Pull yerself along with a hand, slow! When ye find a fish, extend yer spear slightly, aim, and throw. It’ll be hard, but ye only want to throw as hard as necessary to kill yer fish. The smallest arm motion with the biggest bang.” He stared at the kids for a few seconds. “Well? Get at it!” They milled about. Sable rolled her eyes, slid off the weathered planks, and waded through the thigh-high water toward the group. Without preamble, she took the deflated boy’s spear and returned to the ocean. Sucking in a huge lungful while situating her diving goggles properly, the lanky Svefra sank into the water, her dense musculature helping descend to the rocky bottom five feet below. Swaying in the swells, she tentatively took hold of a rock, worried that some creature might be living there in wait and pulled along. Only a few such tugs were possible before she had surface for air again. The necessity for frequent trips to the surface—accomplished by simply standing up—proved problematic for lulling fish into a sense of security. Not even the tail end of a fin made an appearance to the determined woman before she eventually sloughed out of the water and returned to the salty pork rind of a man. The kids had scattered up and down the beach in practice. “Yer more of a sailor type, aintcha, Sable?” “I like to eat, Brine-buns. Can’t blame a gal, can you?” “Ye took one o’ me pupil’s spears.” “He wasn’t using it,” she quipped, and seeing that this stymied him gave a dazzling smile. “Well oh well, fine. Ye moved yer feet around too much, and only held yer breathe for ten ticks,” the arthritic salt informed her gruffly. “I’d hate to see how bad ye do when ye actually stumble on a fish.” Sable tossed him a wink and slung the weapon over a shoulder, sauntering on down the beach. The sky was a crisp blue, the sand a frothy tan, and only the jolliest of white clouds sailed overhead. All she had to do was get clear of all these kids and find some fish.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Kicking a broken shell , Sable bounced the shaft of the spear off her shoulder and peered across the bright slash of sea toward her ship. The Sparkle waited at anchor about ten meters from shore at low tide, it wouldn’t be such a hard trek out there. Especially considering the water never got deeper than her shoulders up until the very last few strokes. Slamming the spear into the sand with a grand gesture, the lanky sea-farer strode toward the wash. A thunk behind her drew her up short. The spear had fallen over. A brow quirked and she returned to try again. The sand was loosely packed, there shouldn’t be any trouble burying the weapon deep enough to leave it upright. Each thrust toppled over like so many leaves in the wind. “Hrmph,” Sable grunted, not giving up. So what if she eventually had to dig a hole herself to fit the thing, it stood proud when she finally sauntered off. Wading out past the surf, she squibbled into a horizontal swimming type position and paddled inelegantly toward the ship. Several times she had to touch down on the soft bottom to reset her position and prevent submersion. The water was somewhat bone chilling, and tasted bad, and stung viciously when invading the nostrils, but not so terrible to crawl through. Slapping wetly against the wood, bony fingers latched onto a hold and the squirmy Svefra hauled herself up in one smooth draw, a sheet of translucent water bursting up and falling back loudly. Padding wetly along, she skipped nimbly over Sib, the young log of an otter that slapped sharply at her foot with one paw. The sea-farer obligingly bent down and tickled her. In her neat and efficient cabin, Sable pulled out a sewing kit encased in leather. The small port holes didn’t allow enough light in the little living space to make detail work comfortable on the eyes, so Sable waltzed back on out to the deck and found herself a seat against the mast with the kit spread out between her splayed legs. A small square of silk, previously shorn from the length stored under her bed, soon waited to have the edges hemmed. Concentration furrowing between her brows, and pursing chapped lips, Sable unwound an arm length of thread and selected a small needle. Leaving the ends unsecured would allow the material to unravel and wear quickly, but she could think of no other way than folding the ends over and sewing them like that. After sewing one edge down with a simple dash of thread running parallel to the edges, she realized that this method left the lip loose and didn’t actually do any good. The next edge she secured with a V stitch that crossed between the lip and the body of silk. Decent, she decided, fingering the lip of this new design. But next she used an X, and while it was a pain to keep untangled it was the most secure of all the attempts. She carried this stitch over to the last edge. Flipping the square over, bright with hope and pride at her accomplishment, she realized that the stitching was probably the ugliest and weakest she had ever seen. Releasing an elegant and mirthful snort at her overconfident expectations, Sable packed up the sewing kit again and stowed it. The handkerchief she used to tie her mass of blond curls back. With one final touch, a knife tied on and slung roguishly low on her hips, she gingerly lowered back into the water and struggled back to shore. Light white linen shirt sopping, sleeves pushed haphazardly up her elbows, the woman retrieved the previously discarded spear and kicked sand down the beach. Little footprints resided in divots. Small, brightly colored crabs scurried in a field of little black holes down by the water’s edge. Wading with utmost caution and infinite patience, Sable gradually reached an area flourishing with fish. Sinking once more, the rough, unceasing rustle of water dampened and faded, replaced by the seemingly distorted and alien sounds of ocean life. Naturally, the local populations didn’t find her presence benign, not with her awkward flopping to propel herself and clumsy bumbling into any and all nearby objects. In short, there wasn’t a single edible fish in sight no matter how many times she refilled her lungs. What was a girl to do, bouncing along on the bottom of the shallow bay, chasing the ever elusive flounder? Why, count how long she could hold her breath, of course. By the time she had lost interest in trying to find some fresh lunch, Sable had managed a personal best of twenty-two seconds.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

“Ah see ye’ve come to yer senses. Now run along and get back to yer rigging, lass,” that same old salt from earlier growled, deftly removing the untested spear from the bubbly Svefra’s hand. Sable frowned with an amused twist of her pink lips and dropped a tightly bound bundle at his feet. “I’ve had more luck catching fish with skipping stones. How about showing me how to use a net?” Sable inquired with facetious sobriety. Charmed, he rubbed a palm roughly over the bristle on his chin and nodded. “Fine o fine, it be better than watching these sorry sud-sops stab at shadows,” he spat with a façade of contempt for the young pupils whose studies had devolved to frolicking. Hauling up the bundle, he situated it over one bony shoulder and stomped off. Sable hurried after, surprised at his high level of mobility given the stiff nature of his joints. “All right, little Brine-bun, this be a hand line,” he pointed out, unraveling the net with a single flourish to lay neatly at his feet, only the rope remaining in his fingers. “Which hand do ye throw with? Put the other one through this loop.” Sable did as directed, rubbing at the rough material encircling her left wrist. “Now coil up the line in yer other hand. Stop! What are ye doin’?! Don’t make yer loops different sizes, ye ninny-noose! Evenly! Do it over!” Sable obliged, quirking a sharp brow at him with indulgent amusement. He jerked the line tight for some reason before continuing. “This be the horn here, what the line attaches to. Grab it in yer left hand, too, and then grab the net again about an arm’s length down. Hope for ye yet, Sop-sud.” Sable glanced up from her inelegant attempts to keep the net untangled, suspicious that she might have just received his highest praise. “Gather up about half the netting. Good, good, keep it untangled like that. No, no, yer just making it worse, here. Gimme that,” the salt groused, batting his pupil’s hand away and helping to situate the material properly. He then grabbed her hands and pulled them out in front of her, guiding her through this next move. “Wrap the net over your left thumb so it dangles over your hand. See this?” Sable did not. He repeated the gesture until she did it on her own. “Now see this?” Sable did not. “Gods of the shrimp fries, yer useless!” His temperament was starting to grind unpleasantly. “This right here! Here! HERE! The dip in material, THIS!” Sable saw, but did not appreciate when he abruptly stuffed the salty edge in question between her teeth. Spitting it out, growling indignantly, she retaliated by thwacking the presumptions old fart with the net unrepentantly. “What are you doing! Don’t put things in my mouth!” “Why ye little squid-cup! Ye want me help ye do as I say!” “Fine! Mhphmtsp!” Sable retorted elegantly around the net he’d stuffed in her mouth again. “Bite it between yer teeth. Reach down, grab the edge—the lead line, by the way—with your little finger, palm up, grab the net half off your left hand again.” He moved her hands in the proper motions again. “Now rotate yer body around, feel the way the net be moving, when ye’ve got a feel for it, release. It should be smooth, the throw being an extension of your spin.” “You just wanted to slip your fingers between her lips, Uncle Soppy,” a new voice chimed in with a chuckle. “Far as I can tell, she wasn’t giving you any reason to shut her up.” The new man, clearly a close relation of her mentor, sauntered up, rubbing his thumb over a small marlin tattoo above his eye. “Instead of biting the net you can toss it over your left shoulder, but you’ll have to practice your throwing so that it doesn’t come off until the proper time.” Sable made this adjustment and attempted to rotate around with the warning in mind. Biting the lead line was much easier. In front of her, the old man just rolled his eyes. “Get into the water. Practice!” He roughly pushed her out toward the water but she didn’t need any encouragement. The two men watched from shore as she made more buckled casts than proper ones, but slowly, she got the hang of it in the knee deep water. “Good! Go out waist deep to yer right, I see dinner!” Practicing utmost caution, the pupil gingerly eased deeper toward the little flashes of blue and silver. They seemed agitated, and it gave the Svefra pause, but even after waiting for several chimes, their behavior didn’t change. Taking it as a sign of her own over-caution, she tried to get the net in position to toss into the waist-deep water. “Don’t worry, lass-o’-loam, just lift yer hands straight up in their current position by yer ear. Do the same rotation. Be loose and smooth, ye’ll be fine. Don’t be tensing up.” Releasing a breath, and associated tension, the woman spun from the waist and released. The net only buckled slightly at the far end before sinking quickly. Tugging on the hand line, she was disappointed to find no bounty within the wet strands.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Though she’d been sure that they’d have to move to another area in order to find un-spooked fish, the two men assured her that she could just wait a bit and try again. That had been about twenty tosses ago. Sable was starting to lose interest in the task. Who needed to eat? Eating was overrated. Snorting at herself, the lanky Svefra resituated the net in preparation of casting, once more in knee-deep water, and waited for a pair of silver and red fish to come within range. The net flared out, buckling, as usual, on the far edge, but trapped the duo within its confines. Hauling the catch in, Sable victoriously brandished it over her head and beamed at the men wearily wiling away the afternoon on the shore. They tried to muster up some excitement, but it was clear they had little interest in her personal achievement beyond its ability to reward them for their help. “I suppose ye don’t know how to cook yer meal, either?” the older man groused, barely keeping himself from throwing his hands up at her blank expression. “Hey! I’ve cooked fish before!” Indignant, she struggled out of the surf, ignoring the goose bumps and chill spreading over her legs, which had adjusted to the insulation of the water. The younger man stifled a smile and shifted to reveal an unlit fire. “Come on, then,” he invited. “Don’t I need to clean these first?” The old man guffawed. “Little Brine-bun be knowing a thing or two, after all! Here. This here kill the fish quick and painless, then drag the knife up the scales this way,” he instructed, working on one of the fore-arm length fish while she mimicked the motions on the other. Slice from the tail to the lower jaw. Grab everything under the head and pull.” His guts came seamlessly out, and he chucked them back into the surf. Sable’s…did not and she spent several minutes disgorging it in pieces, her distaste and aversion for the task written clearly on her timeless features. “Ye could also cut that center out, the part ye grabbed, if necessary.” Her baleful look at this belated tid-bit made him stifle his smile. “This be the bladder, this the liver, and these the gills, remove ‘em all. That be it for gutting. Let’s start the fire.” He showed her the proper method of starting a fire with flint and steel. She carefully built the fire up while the men watched. “Let it die down, now, and go find two forked sticks and one to lay between them.” Heaving a sigh at the prospect of venturing into the nearby forest, Sable scrubbed idly at her dirty knife and reluctantly meandered off. She found some sticks, small ones, but managed to hew the forks down to a proper size before returning. The fire was nothing more than a gray pile of coals now, but surprised her with remarkable heat when she knelt to position the branches on either side of it. That gruff old salt placed the fish on the straight branch, grumbling at the low clearance between them and the coals. Cooking only took a few chimes, and dinner was served. “When ye get into lusher lands, ye can cake the fish in clay and put them in the fire. Once the dirt be hard, the fish be done,” he shared around a slovenly mouthful of white meat. Sable just shook her head, reaching over to nudge him with a shoulder. “Tungsten always said that his ‘Uncle’ was all scales and no spines.” The old man swallowed, a faintly wistful expression crossing his gruff features. “And he always said that he’d never leave us unless the girl embodied us in one cute bundle.” Sable blinked, wondering at his sudden change in diction. “’Cute’ being the main stipulation.” Amidst the chuckles, they finished their dinner in companionable ease.

[Trident]

Sable Baggwrinkle Skills: Swimming +3 Weapon [Spear] +2 Fishing +1 Sewing +1 Cooking +1 Lores: Sable's Podkin Stitching Patterns [Basic] Proper Usage of a Fishing Net [Basic] Catching Fish in a Net Cleaning and Preparing a Fish [Basic] Starting a Fire with Flint and Steel Comments: Wow, you managed to include a lot of stuff in here while still keeping the thread interesting. Nice job! I tried to give you the lores and skills you wanted, but I kept off on the trident because Sable didn't actually participate, just overheard details. I also added Weapon [Spear] because you added a good point about using it, but kept off on the net because it's not an actual weapon, and all it can be used for really is distracting and delaying your opponent. Helpful, yes, but not a weapon in the traditional sense. I also condensed a number of your lores, but tried to keep them broad for later use. If you have any questions about my ruling, feel free to PM me!