(121-03-03) Gone Fishing
Gone Fishing
Summary: The Brothers Blackwood (Er Rivers) take in a time honored riverland tradition: Fishing.
Date: Date of play (03/03/2014)
Related: The Dolphin Festival events.

This is a little sandy-pebbly stretch of the Whispering Sound's shoreline, crescent-shaped and somewhat sheltered by the more precipitous coastline to either side of it. Terns and gannets and kittiwakes nest on the sheerest portions to the North and South, but it's much gentler here and the tiny inlet even offers good anchorage for small boats of shallow draft. The city of Oldtown, marked by the great bright spire of the Hightower, can be seen across the water to the Northwest.

There's a steep switchbacking track leading up to the Blackcrown Road.

The rain has stopped for a while, at least on the shoreline of the Whispering Sound, southeast of Oldtown's sprawl. Rays of sunlight peek through the clouds and reflect gently on the ripples within the water.

On the pebble-specked beach, a man has taken advantage of this respite in the soggy weather and sits with his feet in the water, boots off, weaponry gently laid upon his cloak next to him as he clutches a long fishing rod with the line and lure attached and dipping in the water. This man is Riderch, who casually looks from the ripple-infested water to the bucket next to him.

The bucket is currently empty.

"And they say it rains forever back home." A voice calls out not too terribly far from where Riderch perches. This man is clothed in the tell tale black and murky greys of someone fully unaffiliated, save if one knew who he was it'd be easy to pick. He reaces up to pull off the leather Gorget from his neck, before he is moving to undo his sword belt. "If I didn't know that you've likely got someone hidden out-I'd rob you myself. You're lucky I'm not some raper or worse bastard." A sniff, and he is turning his head to look back with lone eye as sword and scabbard join gorget on the ground, along with a cloak. "How's the water? Cool?" Apparently someone is deciding whether he is going to swim or come further out.

Jorah Rivers, is not much compared to the Lordly Blackwood, but there is a clear bit of familial resemblence between them. Once scanning is complete he is looking back to the younger man and then the bucket. "Are they not biting?"

Sploosh. The fishing line comes up and — well, that was fortuitous timing. Nothing but bait. "They're /in/ there, the little snakes." The smaller man with the fishing line replies, looking back over his shoulder. "But no." Smirking, he casts the line back in the sound with an exasperated flick. "Fortunately no-one cares. I haven't had the Bracken knives out for me yet, I'm just a foreigner here, with enough blades to make it look like I'm not worth trying to rob. And Tel's around here — somewhere. " Riderch refers to his big squire carelessly. No doubt he probably swindled him into a time consuming errand so he could get up to his bad behavior unmolested. Patting the ground, he looks back up at his fellow Riverlander with a careless, sloppy sort of shrug. "The water? It hasn't killed me yet."

Patting a large box next to him, Riderch pops the lid open to reveal several large bottles. Clearly, this is why one /really/ goes fishing.

The pat clearly implies something — an offer.

"It'll be soon, I bet. There's only so much of a good thing before they decide they want to fuck it." A shake of his head before he is drawing off armor and setting it down on the cloak. Tunic follows and he is patting himself down. A nod, before he is kicking off his boots and then making his way over. "I've not seen the sun out in some time…I am taking advantage." he murmurs before inked body sits down. Trousers-thankfully left on sink into the earth, while feet splash noisily into the water.

"I like it cold. Like a whore's heart." Jorah says before he is looking to the bottles in said box. And that gets a whistle and a nod. Apparently he approves, as his hand is sliding out to catch one by the neck. "So, little brother. How do you like the Reach?" A snort. there. "I hear some fancy lord is having a ball or bought a theatre. Whichever it is. Never been to a theatre."

"Neeeiiiiiigh." Riderch makes a sad approximation of a horse-sound, cupping his free hand to his mouth before dissolving into laughter and whipping out one of the ale bottles himself. "Speaking of f— well, you know." The laugh finally fades and ends as a prominent cough caught in his throat. Popping the bottle open, he downs a sip and immediately sets it down. "Uh — UH OH!" First catch of the day — and it is some kind of moderately-sized flounder that emerges from the water, twitching. He removes it from the hook dutifully and slaps it in the bucket with a less-than-appetizing 'smack' sound.

"I guess maybe you scared one up." He finally offers, before casting his line back in the water as he continues to comment. "Yes, apparently — good old Lord Garvin. Although I guess Lord Garvin Tyrell is no longer the Lord running the bloody show here. Don't ask /me/ what is going on. But the Reach? Yes, it's pleasant. Good, soft living. I don't know how their knights have learned to fight so well."

"My feet must have more flavor than your bait." Jorah muses as he catches the Ale bottle and he is popping open the top before taking a swig himself. Long, but it's not a deep chug of the whole thing. More like time to savor the swallows had. A sigh as the bottle is pulled from his lips, and his eye flicks over. "Yes. Speaking of, did Miss Elys come and find you?" teasing there, given the horse sound, one never knows. Still he continues.

"Ah." And there is a shift and a shrug. "My guess is they go south. That is where I ran into the majority of the Reachmen I knew. Stormlanders would mock em..Both are on par though." Another swig as he scowls to the water. "So, Good Old Garvin is having the party." a kiss of his teeth. "I am thinking, if you can-you should go. Make friends, sell wool. Bring me back arbor wine." As it is very likely that the bastard knight is not welcome in a lordly party. "Do you even like those things? Those high parties?"

"Whatever secrets you have to your success I think they'll remain secrets." Riderch's nose wrinkles as he casts his line again, pointing at the fish. There's another muffled snicker as he hits his own ale bottle. "No, thank the Gods, I haven't seen her and I hope that trend holds strong." Waving his hand in sharp dismissal of the topic he says further "I think if you wriggled your arse enough Lord Garvin would probably give you all the wine you could drink. I could probably get you in as part of my retinue. Heh. Heh heh." Oh, there is mischief in his eye.

That get's a look and a lean back from Jorah before he is snorting and taking another swig of ale. "Why am I thinking, that if I wiggle my arse for Lord Garvin, I may get wine, but I will also wake up sore." A shake of his head, before he is leaning forward to let his free hand splash some water out. "I think I have a nice pair of clothes." He adds before lookiung back. The mischief is enough to cause a brow to raise. "Or I could simply come in a skirt, like some Ironborn heathen, and then we will see how long it is before some pretty flower lord takes me home." A grunt that passes for laughter is loosed before he is staring out once more. "I think, this has to be one of the better assignments I have seen. With the exception of one-there's no real threat of brakens. And I don't need to be killing anyone." Right now. "I could get used to this."

"I guess there's no reward without risk." Riderch's dry retort comes with barely a smirk. It's not really mean-spirited though, as is per usual. Sniggering profusely, he casts the line again — nothing. Was that one fish a mere fluke? "But no, you're right." A beat-long pause and a deep swig. Ale and fishing — it's a time-honored tradition. "I /could/ get used to this too. Everything here has been too easy. Even with the nonsense surrounding the replacement of Lord Garvin."

"I don't know if wine is the proper reward for a bleeding asshole." Jorah smirks back, though there is no mean ness to the joke. Simply what it is. And then he's snorting like a horse once more before he is drinking further. If this is how one fishes? Then Jorah could get behind it quite easily, and quite immensely. "What did happen with that? I went by the puppet thing they stupify their children with here, and saw the little show. The Hightower one walking about talking in his high pitched voice about this and that6, with the Pansy one throwing out oatcakes? I assume that had something to do with it?" And there Jorah looks to the more political one of the pair right now.

"I only got thrown on my ass by Ser Viggo Hightower and a sound drubbing for second prize." Riderch reflects, humbly. Still though he doesn't sound bitter. There's no shame in second prize, of course. "Good thing you remembered the oatcakes. What /was/ with all the oatcake talk anyway? Maybe they might have all ended up stuffed somewhere." Chortling, he almost snorts ale out of his nostrils. Setting the bottle down, he reflects, "I think that was the long and short of it, but I suppose I should be fair. Garvin /was/ a good host, whatever his proclivities that don't at all concern me may be…" And then the fishing line rumbles again.

"Hightower? Interesting, I thought you had the Swordplay, Ser." This given to his brother with a look. "I didn't think these reachmen could fight much-bloody well thought you could have the tournament." A shake of his head. "Did you get anything good for second? Silver? Pride?" A look as if sizing up his brother-err. Half brother, for the moment. "You've got to put them somewhere, oatcakes go bad in a week if they're not eaten." he notes before he is shaking his head. "I am no fan of cake. It's." and there he grunt. "A pudding has substance, but a cake-cake is a lie." he grunts into his bottle before he is smacking his lips. "Good host. Yes. Do what you will as long as I don't hear about it in detail. I heard there were rumors of mismanagement. Clearly, I don't know politics here."

"You should have seen the Crownlander with the /giant fucking warhammer./" Riderch retorts. "He got dropped in the dirt before I faced him. Hightower just got the better of me. He was fast — I didn't realize how fast he was because he hides it well. Better a Reachman win anyway for the local smallfolk. You know how it is. If I won I'd probably be in the awkward situation of awarding one of the Tyrell twins a favor and having to dance through the battlefield of trying to tell which is which. But yes, the prize was small." Uproarious laughter again — some manner of bass comes flying out of the water with an angry twitch, slashing the sound-water squarely in Jorah's direction. "LOOK OUT!"

He struggles a bit with the fishing line. "You know — I'm sorry now that both of us mentioned the fucking oatcakes."

"A warhammer at a swordplay event?" A laugh there. "That's queerer than a three dicked dog. I wonder why he thought that was appropriate." Jorah says with a grin. "Well good, I am glad he did. I would hate for that Warhammer to break your sword-and we have to buy you a new one." the knight responds before he is moving quickly. Apparently fish startle the shit out of the bastard as he's scooting back. Wide eyed before he is movign to try and help with the line.

"Me too. This is our penance.." he grumbles before he is laughing. "As for twins. Pick both. It's every man's dream."

"Oh, the sword's bent anyway. It's my tourney blade, though." Riderch exclaims, ruefully. "It's fine — I can get a new one. Maybe I'll find one of those fast-talking pyromancers to get a weapon I can light aflame for shock value." He's surely not serious.

"The warhammer, well, I guess it was a sort of nod to battlefield prowess. If I'd faced him I might have fared better — that thing was /slow/." He grits his teeth, half at this idea and half at the concerted attempt by the two brothers to retrieve the fish. "I'm going to bloody salt this thing. And I don't know — I think both of those twins might be the death of any man who isn't already mad."

There's a wave of his hand. "A tourney blade is going to cost you more than a gutter of men." he states with a grunt. "All that tournament armor and arms, so bloody flashy. I don't compete for that damned reason. Too hard on coin." And then he's looking back with a slight blink and a laugh. "Soon you'll forget we pray to the living and you'll bow to fire and red."

Coming up, Jorah moves to come out into the water to grip the line harder and tug. This must be some bass-a monster of a river dweller. "It's the weight." he notes. "More power to swing, it'll break bones and rend armor-but in that time I could stick you with a sword or a spear quicker." A grunt as he tugs "Fuckign stuck fish..You might have caught a female Tully." he adds before he is looking back over. "Well then they are perfect for you. You come from touched blood. First of men." Teeth flashed and he shakes his head. "Or at least one of them and learn their name."

"Oh, them." Fire-worshippers? "They don't seem like they have very much fun. Although the tricks are flashy. Who knows?" Riderch muses as he finally pulls the — anticlimactic sound beast from the depths and yanks it back with a hard pull, almost knocking over his ale and laughing. The bass isn't that gigantic — it was just lively. Now it will make a lively meal.

"I have a line on a new blade. I wasn't as fond of that thing as I might have thought, anyway."

The warhammer's a terror weapon. I think that knight just had his head stuck on a battlefield. I could respect that. He does snicker a little though at the concept of going after a Tyrell. "I'm sure Father would be thrilled. Take her home — and then she sees Raventree's lack of fashionable hats, and the magic would just be - like that. Gone."

"I will admit, if I saw some man leap over a shield wall with a flamming axe or sword, I'd likley both piss and shit myself." Jorah quips before he is releasing the line as the-smaller- bass has arrived on shore. He's now splashing slowly back to get his own beer and get out of the water.

"Oh? Tell me? I don't know any of the smiths here to give you a good recommendation." Which is an honest report. He might be able to tell you of ale houses, but of a good armor or weaponsmith the Rivers is shit out of luck.

"It's a good weapon for war. Shit for a duel." His conclusion there. "But we have a tree-with birds." a smirk there. "There's that. You could get her a torque, or a tattoo."

"Mmm. Me too. I lack the proper obsession with fire. And the sword? It's not from here. And it came from a drunken Valeman." Riderch notes, his grin again rueful. "But it's something, I suppose. Man paid for the drinks with enough coin to spare that I suppose it was a sign." He narrates while finally pulling the fish free of the hook and casting the line again. Might as well keep going.

"I don't know if Reach women are our kind of rough, you understand. The moment I can see one skewer a beast herself I'll change my mind."

"I am sure there are books you can read on it." Brows raise, and a hand moves to to pull back at his dark and greasy hair. A bath is needed. "A drunken Valeman-How did you finangle that, beyond making him drunk enough to part with a sword well paid?" Or is the Valeman a smith-so many questions Jorah has, but doesn't let free. "A good sign, I would say."

And Back down with a solid thud, goes the Rivers. Hand to ale and then bottle to mouth. He chokes once on his drink before looking back. "Take her hunting." gasped out before laughing and drinking once more. "That is what I do. See if she can handle blood."

"It's Oldtown, man. It's Oldtown." Riderch laughs easily, as he so often does. As if that should explain everything. Well, maybe it does. "You should /see/ some of the madness I've witnessed here." Fiddling unsuccessfully with the line, he continues along though. "Nah. He showed me some good steel. Explained he knows someone back home who made it and apparently has made over a dozen of the things. Mind you, he /was/ drunk so maybe he won it in a dice game."

Hunting, eh? How's that worked out so far? Hopefully you weren't hunting Dornish horses."

"I've seen men going into a bathhouse.." Jorah offers over his bottle before he is finishing it with a few gulps. "It's made me not want to go in there." And his teeth are shown before he is looking back out to the water. "I'll let you keep your madness for now." And there he looks back to the basket and the other bottles of ale. With a free hand he forms a fist and then chuckles, though there is no weight to the sound.

"Maybe he is trying to get you to buy a crap blade.." And then he shrugs. "Not well. Game round here is scarce..as for Horses." He gives a long and braying Neigh out. "I wouldn't buy a shitsteed if it was free."

"Maybe next time we're back home we can steal some Bracken horses, paint them brown and then sell them to some drunks claiming they're Dornish." Riderch poses the suggestion cheerily. "Come on, what do you say? What could possibly happen? And I've heard that bathhouse has more crabs than Delbin the Fisherman. Bad enough it's run by some Iron Islander." He spits, and then downs the rest of the bottle in a fierce gulp.

"Anyway the thought crossed my mind about the blade. Why I pay nothing sight unseen."

"I could come up with an authentic dornish brand. I am sure of it. Brand them over anything the Braken might put on. We'll be rich by midnight, brother." Jorah adds, before he is sitting straight up. "Why don't we do that? It's unlikely if we stole from their herd, that they'd track us back to here. It'd be a major coup to count." And then he is looking back. Spitting he holds the other bottle in his hand, unwilling to open it just yet.

"Say you wash tween your legs there, you'll smell of fish for a forthnight." A snort. "Aye, which means you'll get barnacles on your cock-don't go in there." Another bit of spitting.

"Oh? Do share." Colour the one eye'd knight curious.

"Fresh from the stables of House Deceitfulcunt. My, that has a ring to it." Riderch notes, charmingly. "Nah, while descriptive, it's a poor selling technique. I have no future as a horsemonger. Or a whoremonger." He pauses a beat as he stares into the barely-filled bucket. "Or a fishmonger." He admits, sadly. The fish aren't biting now.

"I don't know, Jorah. I think — I'd like to think that Tewdric got killed over some horse shit like that, and while it'd be funny the awful truth is I don't know that the laughter would be worth the continued headache." Hmmm. "Although the gold /would/ be nice. But speaking of gold, I figure I would hear the Valeman out when he is sober and pay nothing until the work is completed. So far the former hasn't happened."

"Fishmonger, Horsemonger, Whoremonger..All are the same. You sell the flesh for riding." Though one who would ride a fish…Jorah doesn't pause to think on that. Instead he is contemplating his bottle before now, opening the new one and taking a swig. There he offers it over passed to Riderch.

"We could do it. Didn't Elys bring horses here? We could do it under her damned nose. Find a third party to sell." But that would be dicey and bold at best. "The work has not happened, or he's not been sober?" There's the telling bit.

"And /that/ is the best sort of bad idea I can possibly conceive. I /like/ it." Riderch observes, his voice wry. He accepts the bottle with a lift of his hand as he languidly sets the fishing line down. Nope, no pull, even now. "Maybe we can leave a trail of oatcakes in the stables." Laughter, and lots of it, only punctuated by a pause for a drink. "But to answer your question about the Valeman? Neither."

Remaining quiet, Jorah leans his arms against his knees and hunches over. Content in this slouched and slightly uncomfortable pose the knight is content to stare at the river-as off in the distance, faint thunder peals. "It'll be realistic..No one would suspect Lord Pansy." he offers with a grin before looking back. "Eh. Could be worse." he adds. "Could be a Braavosi selling truth."

"The horse was found in the chambers with the sellsword, and its cock was covered in oatca—" Riderch begins, laughing uproariously, and then he finally comes to a dead stop. "Ahhhh — it appears I might have gone too far. I've gone too far in a few bloody places." His shoulders shrug again.

"And a pillow over it's head.." Thus tying another rumor to the ridiculousness. "The Horse's not the sellswords.." he feels the need to differentiate. A grin and Jorah begins to laugh in his usual deep chuckle. A cawing laugh that coughs out after a moment. "So?" And there he looks out to the river. "You're a Blackwood. It's what we do." And he glances back. "Well. We in the whole family non shared surnames et all."

"That we do, brother. That — that we do." Riderch repeats, staring out on to the water. He offers the bastard a fish.

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