ORIGIN

Attikias's mind was silent as he'd worked on fishing hooks, scrimshawing them out of toes and smaller bones of the smaller Lessers his family ate. Cord had long been bad strong enough to resist pulling, and a wooden branch from the same material he'd made his bow out of was perfect for a fishing rod.

It wasn't the first time he'd had fish. Far from it, really, as he usually used more physical traps- but, if baiting normal land animals worked, then surely baiting for fish would too? He had a pot of bugs he'd just caught, ready to pierce onto the hook and cast out into one of Eridanus's deeper rivers.

He hadn't fished in here for a while- he wasn't the biggest fan of the fish texture, he had to admit, but he'd been wanting to cook it again to try and negate that slimy texture and get something else in his diet. But, with fishing rod in hand and a satchel full of supplies in the other, he was ready to try.

As the bag's strap bobbed on Attikias's raw shoulder (he'd decided to go shirtless, today), he resisted the temptation to walk in the warm water of Eridanus- he'd eyed it, of course, and yet he needed to find a spot with enough fish. A large swell had created a thick, lazy part of the river, and it was fairly deep. With silty waters of the jungle, he couldn't accurately gauge what had fish and what didn't- but, this seemed like a place they'd like, right? Here, he shouldn't go swimming and just scare them all away.

Setting his tool down, Attikias stripped himself of the satchel carefully and squatted down, balancing the rod on his leg and lilting his fingers to the top of it. He'd had a hole set into the wood- here, he'd tie the line in, and make sure it didn't snap. Looking to his other side, the elf opened his satchel (and frowned as the leather strap dipped into the water), taking out the various wood-paper coverings and the bag of hooks. Beneath it all were the various strands for rope.

He pulled one out, carefully, and tied it to the end of the rod like threading it thought the eye of a needle, securing it and giving it a tug. Yeah, that was good enough. Returning to the satchel, he pulled out a wooden ball he'd carved, and a piece of metal that had rusted a long time ago. These went on, too- a float and a sinker- before he tied on one of his bone hooks to the very end.

He'd made enough of each of these to replace, if this plan didn't work out, but he'd have to replace the rod entirely if that broke. Frowning, Attikias ran his fingers over it again, scratching gently at it with a nail. He could have painted it- but, it might need that bend to not snap. He wouldn't dye his bow, after all.

He soon finished off the whole procedure with a bug stuck onto the hook, and he stood up, bringing the fishing rod with him. Now, just to cast the line- and he jostled the rod in place a little, the bobber barely moving with the length of the line. Unsure of just how to do it, he turned the rod to the side, then raised it up, eyeing it all the while- the line trailed in the dirt, then the shoreline, and he rumbled with uncertainty.

Well, he might as well try. Raising up the rod vertically, Attikias let the line fall back behind it before snapping it forward. The line- hook and all- was easily propelled- and Attikias grinned, getting the idea as the line hit near the middle of the river.

Maybe this would be easier than he would have thought.

As he discovered, people needed patience for this. Some seconds passed, and Attikias was blissfully unaware of the wait that was before him. A minute, and he was frowning softly, resisting the urge to jiggle the rod. Two minutes, and he was, flicking the tip just slightly.

He should have gotten a chair.

It was a total of four minutes before he felt a tug at the line- by this point, he'd moved his attention on to watching the other side of the river, watching as a bird landed in a tree, listened as a Lesser cried out in play- or in fear- in the distance. -- No, that was interaction, because another of the same type called back, and Attikias had hummed.

But, the line. In the span of four minutes he'd managed to completely block it from mind, but it slammed back into the forefront of it when it moved, just slightly tugging the tip of his rod down. "Ah, shit," he whispered, taking the tool in both hands and waiting. Another tick, another tug, and then a small pull- and he figured he'd caught it now.

Yanking the rod back made whatever fish that was on the line thrash, and his face concentrated as he reached out for the line with his free hand. It wasn't long- and he didn't really know what to do- and he pulled back on the string in an easy tug-of-war that he overcame. The fish splattered out of the water, soon enough- a small little silver thing, and it flopped at the end of his line as he held it up.

It was too small to have any meat on it. What should he do with it? He couldn't just kill it and not use it. Could he throw it back? That seemed best- maybe it'd grow bigger, and he could catch it again in the future, or it could make more of its kind. (How did Lessers even reproduce, anyways? Giving life had always been a conscious decision from him.) "Hold on," he chided to the panicking Silverling, holding the rod between his knees and unhooking the line from its lip.

Carefully, he lowered it to the river, and it immediately booked off into the water.

Attikias only noticed a second later that the bug was off of his line- it was probably dislodged in the fish's thrashing. That made sense, he supposed. A lot of bait always ended up getting used one way or another, and it wasn't a total loss. Fishing worked! His tail lashed with a giddy glee and he was happy. Maybe he could catch something bigger!

Attikias soon replaced the bug on the hook, making sure he shut the lid of the jar after him and making sure the thing was on well. Everything was set! Straightening with pride, Attikias tried something a bit different- raising right up, letting the line fall just a little bit behind him, and letting it flick out.

Except, this time, it pulled up at the edge of his pants leg and sent him careening forward, front half slamming into the shallow water of the bank. He didn't go down gracefully, either- notably, it was with a loud "AAGH" and a smack into the mud.

He lay there, for a second, trying to decipher what just happened.

The moment passed, and Attikias scrambled back up, his face and chest now doused with mud. He was sitting back, and- the line was coming from his pants? Looking down, he picked at it, and- yeah. He hooked himself. 'Really?' Disbelief strangled at him as he pried the hook out carefully, the bug still attached and all, stuck in awe of what just happened. Nobody saw that, right? Glancing around, Attikias used a free hand to wipe down his face, trying to get the muck away from his eyes with a flick of his fingers.

Thankfully, Attikias wasn't far from camp, and he was already planning on going back to get a stool. This way, he could go downstream and wash himself off a little- he could tell he needed it, as he spit out a bit of mud that got into his mouth. Gross. Shoving up, Attikias left the rod where it was (while making sure everything wasn't going to move) and made his way back to the camp.

It wasn't hard to grab his stool and bring it back; it was right by the table, like usual, and it was rather light otherwise. He could get a project to occupy his hands while he waited for a bite, but he figured it wouldn't be worth it too much. On the way back, he set the stool down and quickly washed himself off, scrubbing the dirt away and coming out of the river a bit wet. Guess he'd just blend in with the fish, huh?

He shook himself out as he returned to the fishing spot. Nothing had been bothered, but he hadn't been gone too long, at least. The stool was planted into the bank of the river and the fishing rod was retrieved- and Attikias was ready to try again.

Attikias waited to sit, and he didn't do anything fancy with this cast, this time- just off to the side a little, and a bit of a flick, and it landed a bit closer to shore than last time. He still needed to practice, he figured, and as he sat down, he settled in to wait a while.

Attikias sighed out and raised one leg to rest on the other knee, leaning on it with his hand propped up on his face. It was a standard waiting position. His eyes flicked from the tip of the rod, then to the river, then he huffed out.

It was a shorter time for a bite, topping out to two minutes, at most- maybe he'd agitated them or woke them up or something, because he could just barely see the flickers of silver against the surface of the water farther into the river. Had one gone away from the school for this bite? Sitting up straighter, Attikias waited for the tug- and he waited, not noticing the bobber floating away. There was a tug, which excited him- but, then there was nothing.

Frustrated, Attikias pulled back, huffing out through closed teeth. He pulled the line back in and inspected the hook hanging in the air. It was baitless, and he frowned, one lip pulling up just slightly. Great, now he needed to replace this. Luckily, he was sitting, so he just had to lean over and pluck another bug out, then plonk it down at the end once more.

Despite looking bored, Attikias was getting into this, he thought. It was swing, and see if they took the bait, then bring it back- like trapping, but more interactive, and like hunting but with less death that made him think of Greaters.

He shuddered before casting out his line again. The rhythm was easy, at least, and he was starting to get practiced at this.

He settled in, sighing out gently. Were there fish people, too? There were people who liked the water, who were built for it- but not... Fish, right? Without wanting to, the thought conjured in his head, mind going into focus as the minutes stretched on. Would they have legs? No, the aquatic people didn't have legs, so fish people wouldn't either. Maybe they had just two eyes. Lungs? Probably not- deer people weren't that different from cave deer, sometimes, so maybe he shouldn't change a lot. Most people only had two eyes, though.

Would they be brown? Blue? Brown seemed more fitting for this kind of water, but maybe blue would be better for Pisces. Certainly there were fish there too. Were there fish in Fornax? -- Of course, but would they be in the City? Attikias rumbled at that, rubbing at his jaw as he watched the bobber.

As Attikias mused, the bobber had begun to move. It took a total of six minutes this time- perhaps it was longer the deeper in he went? Was it because they had further to go? Attikias shrugged slightly, anyways, ready to pull in the line. As the bobber dipped down and stayed, Attikias reached for the line and tugged back, watching.

The fish wasn't happy with that. It thrashed the moment it felt the tug back, and Attikias stumbled forward, pulling back in a battle with the Lesser. It was a long moment, and he could feel the line straining under his hand- hands, now, that he used both of them.

It was a good moment before he was able to get a hold on the thing, getting it closer and drawing it in. "C'moooon," he strained, tugging hard and drawing it onto the shore. It was large- large enough to cause such a struggle, but was it large enough for a meal? Maybe for one of them, once all the rest of it had been stripped.

Attikias huffed, sitting back and holding the flailing fish up. He'll keep this one, then.

The elf shoved up and kept the fish close, getting slapped once or twice at it flailed and twirled in place "Hold on," he chided, going back for something simple.

A stick. More importantly, a bopping stick, and he could get his hand on it pretty well. Right. He laid the fish down on the nearby rocks, huffed out, and whacked down on its head, killing it quickly. It brought him back to his primitive roots- just, whack, and they were gone.

That was easier than he imagined it to be. Now, how long would it keep? He could keep it how it was now, but he didn't want the blood to coagulate, and he brought the paper material for a reason. He had to try and fillet it. Frowning, he took out his knife (a sharp, iron one- he wouldn't use the one of stone.) and picked up the fish by the gills, turning his head this way and that.

Well, the stone below was dry enough. Cutting in under its belly, blood flowed from the cavity- ah, shit. He was careful not to pierce guts, but it was hard to see anything. Pulling back, Attikias froze, unsure how to approach this.

He didn't fillet it last time. he just-- took a bite, from someone else that ate the fish, usually. They didn't have a lot of blood, but the unfamiliarity with the Lesser was astounding, and he worried all along the way as he cut into bone.

This wasn't doing good. Turning it over, he began to scoop out the blood and let it slide to the stones below, pulling away guts and the like. Worming in his knife, he cut away the innards as carefully as he could, and yet-- it all seemed wrong. This was slowly turning into a dissection rather than skinning, and he pulled the knife up to the spine, peeling back the meat away from the ribs and spine. Bones snapped, and he winced- this felt wrong, too.

After cleaning it off and peeling back skin, there wasn't a lot of meat left- enough to snack on, maybe, but no longer a meal. At least, not a meal without bones. Would it be fine to eat raw? Sniffing at the one out of two pieces he got, Attikias raised the fish to his mouth before eating it, contemplating.

It wasn't half bad, without the skin. His eyebrows raised slightly- the other times he'd eaten it he'd had the skin on and hadn't cut around the bones, and he had hated it- this, though, wasn't half bad! Taking the other piece of meat, Attikias chewed on that, too, before returning to the river and tossing the remains of the fish downstream.

Attikias made sure to wash his hands off in the river, briefly, before continuing to fish. He was still wanting to actually cook some this time, to have a bit of a meal or something.

The fish seemed to be getting active, too. Had they gotten upset at his fishing? Did they smell the blood? Probably not- the river might've not flowed that direction with the blood. It would be like being downwind, right?

In any case, Attikias sat back down and retrieved his fishing rod, replacing the bait and crossing one leg across the other knee. He tucked it close, before flicking out the rod to cast it out. While he was still obviously new to this, the cast was much like the others- a quick snap, and it landed near the mix of Lessers.

Now, he just had to wait again, Leaning on his leg, Attikias hummed, letting his rod lay in the crook of his knee as he watched its bobber. Was this river full of mostly silverlings? Maybe he could get something bigger- he hoped so, at least, and settled in to wait.

It was another few, long minutes before he got another bite- enough for him to want to flick the tip of the rod, but he worried about doing that as the end of the line floated closer to the cloud of fish. Even with the water so murky, he could see their silver backs cutting through the top of the water and glinting in the filtered light.

However, they soon began to part. Had he waited too long? No, it'd only been a few minutes- but they had gone all the same direction, past his bobber.

Wait. It moved-- it started to dip! Attikias leaned forward and tugged back on his line, until a force shot him forward, surprising him. 'Is it that strong?' No, it was just a little silverling, if anything. Still, he tugged back, and he could see his rod bending. Until, with a silent snap, the line flew back.

Tensing, Attikias pulled the hook out of the water. Empty. Had something eaten the silverling on the line..?