Kenza
That seems like letting her off the hook (funny, right?) way too easy. She's surprised at his calm response, the lack of judgment—I guess in some way she was expecting him, a master of the sea, to sneer at her lack of skill in the noble pursuit of fishing. Like, fish above all! Worthless land-crab. But no. As his line snags and the rod grows threateningly taut she realizes that in this regard, the way of the tackle, they are not that far apart. Funny how that works sometimes.
She holds her breath, fearing his line will snap, but he just... lets it spool back out. Gives to that needy sea.
She releases her pent-up breath and folds neatly where she's standing, sliding down into a cross-legged position and pulling her fish basket up against her legs. "Sure is a lot less efficient than trading," she says, still a bit quiet, but some of that joyous, quipping spirit starting to flare back to life.
What's less joyous though is how stuck his line is. Kenza sighs, folding her arms over the basket and resting her head against her crossed wrists. She opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it, and she closes it again. "Oh. Well. Bits and bobs. I work at a bar-" such a glorified profession, truly an ambassador for your race "-so whatever I get left as tip, really." She grimaces, brushes a straying strand of hair from her face. "What uh... what do you do?"
She holds her breath, fearing his line will snap, but he just... lets it spool back out. Gives to that needy sea.
She releases her pent-up breath and folds neatly where she's standing, sliding down into a cross-legged position and pulling her fish basket up against her legs. "Sure is a lot less efficient than trading," she says, still a bit quiet, but some of that joyous, quipping spirit starting to flare back to life.
What's less joyous though is how stuck his line is. Kenza sighs, folding her arms over the basket and resting her head against her crossed wrists. She opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it, and she closes it again. "Oh. Well. Bits and bobs. I work at a bar-" such a glorified profession, truly an ambassador for your race "-so whatever I get left as tip, really." She grimaces, brushes a straying strand of hair from her face. "What uh... what do you do?"
