romdeau | a fishing date;

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a fishing date;

There were no impromptu trips to Sundermount, in fact. Merrill had holed herself up with the Eluvian, avoiding Hawke whenever possible. The Arulin'Holm stayed at the estate, locked away somewhere, and the Dalish woman didn't want to see or hear from Hawke without good cause. Which was understandable (upsetting, but understandable), and she let Varric and Isabela take over Merrill's undertaking. They'd update her whenever possible and she was infinitely grateful, though she knew things couldn't stay that way forever. Eventually, they'd need to talk, and that would happen when Marian was good and ready. For now, she wasn't.

First on her mind was Anders and his mage underground. He would disappear for days on end, surfacing only to work in his clinic where he would refuse to go on any errands. Too busy, he'd say, occupied with his patients and his manifesto. It didn't stop him from pressing worn papers into her hands at every opportunity, the bastard. Her desk was full of Anders' scrawl, damning evidence if anyone should walk in and ask about it. She'd been certain to lock them in the bottom drawer, out of sight and out of mind, but she couldn't put him off any more than she could push aside the trouble she had with Merrill.

With her hands full of Kirkwall's smaller troubles - bandits, a few raiders on the outskirts, and a blood mage or two - she had nearly forgotten her plans with Cullen until she returned one night to a note on her desk at the end of the week. Even such a simple thing was enough to brighten her mood considerably and she packed that evening, though she wasn't to meet him for two more days.

She used the time to tell only a few that she'd be gone from the city, that no one was kidnapping her, and that she'd be very cross if she came back to find Kirkwall burning in her absence. Only Isabela and Varric gave her a hard time for her attempts at discretion, asking for details and gaining nothing.

By sunset on the second day, she was down by the docks to meet him, a pack slung over one arm and her blades across her shoulders, her eyes on the ships and the few workers lingering around. She couldn't be too careful, even now.

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"It could be both. There's a scary thought," he said cheerfully.

He watched her, eager to see what might be in the trap. It looked like it might be heavy. He braced himself against the side so that he could lean for a better view. He laughed when he saw what they had managed. "Maker, if this is what we have to look forward to in all of the others, we'll have just enough to make some fancy Orlesian dish that's all plate with a tiny dollop of food. We ought to throw that little one back. There's bound to be some natural retribution for eating babies, wouldn't you think?"

When she had it close enough to the boat, he reached over to help pull it in and set it out of the way. "That was our test trap." He straightened up and gestured at the water. "The next one is the full one. I'm sure of it."

"And dangerous." But she wasn't afraid of the implications. Not yet.

She chuckled as she brought the trap closer for him to grab and she peered into it with him. "If the dog doesn't eat it first," she said, eying the smaller crab. "Better to send that little one back if we don't want to be stuck out here. Or eaten by monstrous crab creatures." One eyebrow raised. "They could exist, you know." She might have been joking a little.

She stepped back to the side to dip the pole right back into the water in her search for the second trap. "That's confident of you. All right, this one is it." It took her a few more moments to find the second cage and she twisted the hook to grasp the trap. She pulled, surprised at the weight. "Ah. Hold on..." This was going to require a little more effort already. She pulled, dragging it above the water with some difficulty. Even without the weight of the water, it was still heavy, and it became apparent why: there were five, good sized crabs in the second trap, with one smaller one hanging on at the bottom.

"We're off the Wounded Coast. I'm not discounting the possibility of anything," he agreed. "Giant crabs are no less plausible than giant spiders. The only difference is we don't run around underwater to see them." He opened the trap and reached in to fish out the little one, tossing it back into the water before it could reach down and pinch him.

By that time she had the other one on the way up. He looked genuinely pleased with that haul, and as he had with the last little one, he pulled the smallest away and tossed it back. He hauled the dripping box over the edge and set it beside the first. "Now I wouldn't mind sharing with the dog," he said, flashing her a grin.

"The Maker has a sense of humor," she muttered, mostly believing it. If Lothering - little, quiet, bumbling Lothering - could have giant spiders, wolves, and bears...then Kirkwall probably had giant crabs at the very least, if not some other blighted monstrosity somewhere in the city itself. Varric had her convinced of that.

Stepping back, she helped ease the box onto the boat for him to take. "Careful. He could still probably eat this many without any trouble." Glutton dog. She knelt down to look at them better. "If he thinks he's getting more than one for himself, then he's delusional." She said that now but those big, sad eyes could get her every single time.

"You know, I've always believed that," he said. Too many things in life were far too absurd for him to see it any other way. The fact that at times He seemed to be laughing at His creations wasn't lost on the Templar. He saw no reason to be bitter about it. It was just as often it seemed He was laughing with them.

"Hmmm." Did he sound skeptical? Perhaps just a little! He flashed her a knowing smile and stood to take the pole. "Does he like them cooked or raw?"

He pushed the hook beneath the water and felt around beneath one of the floating bladders. It took a little twisting until he felt it catch. Weren't things in water supposed to be lighter? As he hauled it up, the reason for the weight became apparent, a large mass of water weed atop the trap. "Oh, here's the salad," he said with a grunt, dragging it in close so they could get rid of it. Three decent sized crabs and two small ones clicked and waved their legs from between the slats once the trap was revealed.

Well, at least she wasn't alone in that line of thinking. Many who associated with the Chantry seemed far more likely to tell her not to say such things. The smile she offered him was grateful for even that small understanding.

Hawke nudged him with her hip. "Ha ha. I've never given him one raw. If it was still alive, I imagined he'd have his work cut out for him." She was sorely tempted to give him one to see if he could kill it so easily or if he'd spend some time just playing with it. But that would be too unkind to the crustacean.

"There we go," she said, standing to help him bring the third trap onto the boat. She grinned at the catch, slipping a hand in to grab the smaller ones, one at a time. They both went back overboard, the second nearly nipping her thumb with its tiny claw. "Little bastard," she muttered.

"A mabari? I don't know. I bet he could crack it easily if he could just get past those claws first." Whether the dog would know to do that or not was an entirely different matter. He imagined he was smart enough that it could be explained. He played cards!

"He thought you were going to eat him. If I thought that, I might pinch you, too," he teased. He fished around for the next trap. "Oh...you should feel this," he said, leaning to let her grab hold of the pole with him. It was heavier than the weed choked one, making him think they were about to be treated to more of the same.

Instead the box was brimming to overflow. He couldn't see to count what they had, but he crowed triumphantly. "That's what we came for. Yes!" His smile at her across the wet trap was uncomplicated, the simple joy of the moment.

"I'm certain he could, after toying with it a little." Why did she have the distinct impression Max would eat out the innards and then keep the shell for a trophy to chew on from time to time?

"I was almost tempted to keep him just for that little mishap." Not that he'd be of much use. He was too tiny to be eaten. Hawke stepped in close enough to take hold of the pole beside him, eyebrows shooting upwards. "Maker, that's heavy," she murmured, holding it steady and helping him pull it upwards.

When it broke the surface of the water, she peered over and grinned at the sight, eyes alight with excitement. "Yes, that's it," she said, grabbing the trap. "Look at them. A perfect catch." Carefully, she set the box down beside the others, taking the pole in one hand and pulling the hook free of the wiring.

"I bet it would seem something like a toy, unless a claw found a lip or nostril." He didn't want to think about what that might feel like. It was bad enough when they managed to get fingers or the sides of his hands.

He helped set the full trap aside. "We're going to have a fun time of it hauling all of these through the docks and Hightown," he said. That was something else he hadn't thought all the way through. Perhaps between the two of them it wouldn't be so bad once the crabs were all in a big enclosed basket.

He offered her the pole again. "Last one," he said. "I'd like it very much if you'd do the honors."

Her face broke out into a grin, the look utterly mischievous on her, as she eyed the crabs. "I'm sure we could borrow something from the docks." Borrowing as in pilfering, of course. Just some netting or a sack of some kind. Someone would have something lying around, after all, and it might as well be put to good use somehow.

She took the pole from him and stepped around the trap, dipping the instrument back into the water. It was harder to find this time simply because all of the others had been pulled out, but she eventually felt metal tapping metal and maneuvered herself so she could better hook the trap. She twisted it and pulled...and was entirely surprised that if felt like it wasn't budging. Hands gripping the pole tighter, she pulled once more. "...I think it might be caught on something," she called back to him.

"It's not such a bad idea," he said. "I could return it on my way to the ferry, so it's not even like it would be gone all that long." It wasn't stealing if they brought it back, right?

"Oh?" He stepped away from enjoying the sight of the full trap and bent to take hold of the pole. "Maybe if we pull together? Or we could try to get it from a different angle." The last thing he wanted to do was to pull both of them into the water. He'd sooner pay for a lost trap.

And he was agreeing with her. Even better. "Absolutely." And if they truly did take it... Well, she could leave a coin or two for them. "Keep talking like that and I'm going to be convinced that I corrupted you," she teased.

With a nod, she moved the pole to see if she could catch a different part of the trap for easier maneuvering. "Let's try together," she suggested. At least they could say they tried. "Here, on three," she said, gripping the pole tighter. "One, two--"

"It wouldn't be the first time I borrowed something in this city," he assured her. Of course, he actually meant "borrowing". He wasn't in the habit of taking things and not returning them, and he usually only did it when circumstances were somewhat dire.

"All right. Let me get braced." He set one foot against the side of the boat and planted the other as firmly as he could in the sloped bottom. "I'm ready." He tensed up and on three gave a good heave of shoulders and back.

"I don't think anyone can get anywhere in Kirkwall without borrowing something from someone." He was just one of the good sorts that actually returned what he originally took. Another point for him. She could still remember when pilfering small items was a necessity for living in Lowtown. Or in Ferelden.

She moved with him and felt whatever was holding the trap come free after two successful tugs. Bracing with her feet, she stepped forward to hoist the trap up and pull it close. It was covered in the greenery they'd seen before, as though it'd been stuffed inside and twisted around the sides of the box, some clinging to the bottom and dripping profusely. But with it were four very large, very angry crabs that were also tangled in the weed. "Ah. No wonder." She grabbed some of it and tugged it off, tossing it back into the water.

He thought she had a point. Things happened quickly in Kirkwall. Things went bad quickly sometimes. The best one could do was take what was at hand and start throwing, tipping, or swinging it to even the odds. If they had to sling crabs to avoid thugs, he wasn't going to be happy, though.

"Watch your fingers," he warned. He couldn't see all that well, the moonlight hitting the weeds and the water making everything glisten in a way that obscured what was trap, crab, or leaves. He also took his own advice, tugging carefully at the slimy muck without sticking his hands too close to the slats. "Maker, this stuff smells. I hope they haven't been eating it recently, or they'll be just as bad."

"If one of them snaps at my fingers, then I'm putting it in the pot personally," she said idly, clearing off as much as she could of the trap. He was right about the smell, though. If she thought it was bad earlier, it was just as terrible now. She wrinkled her nose once she'd cleared enough off of the box to see just how many were inside.

"I hadn't thought about that." Her lips pursed in thought as she took the trap and set it down. "How long do you think we could wait until they tasted right?" Perhaps boiling them would take some of it off. She didn't know. It'd been some time since she'd cooked them and when she had, they hadn't been from her own personal catch.

"You'd have every right," he said. He thought he'd do the same if he got bloodied.

"You're asking me?" He laughed and shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm not the chef. I'm just the grunt. I'll do whatever you tell me in regard to preparing them. Beyond that I don't have the first clue. I suppose we'll have to take our chances."

He bent to set the pole back in its place. The crabs clicked and made strange sizzling sounds as they expelled water through their gills. They seemed almost like otherworldly life forms in the moonlight, bellies pale and backs as dark as sin. It was hard for him to imagine how the first crab eater saw one of the creatures and decided to give it a try.

"Are we ready, then?" Part of him was reluctant to leave the calm and isolation of their spot. It had been going so well, but time waited for no one. They didn't want to be caught in the press of other fishing boats going out while they were trying to come in. He had also promised her discretion and intended to deliver to the best of his ability.

"For your opinion, at least," she said, glancing at their catch. "I suspect it'll be all right once it's been boiled. It would behoove us to put some spices in the water too, at least to ensure they're not going to stink so much." And they'd be properly cleaned before they were put in any pots. If any of that bait followed them while they were cooking, no one would eat well. "They weren't sitting down there long enough to be a problem. Had we been fishing for over a day, that might have given us some complications."

She leaned back and looked up at the sky, trying once more to gauge what time it might be. In either case, he was right that they should have to go back earlier to avoid the larger boats in the dock.

"Yes, I suppose we are," she said, keeping her disappointment quiet. "Let's hope the journey back won't be so hard with how dark it is." For them to have come so far and then to be stuck in some way would just be their luck. She smiled. "And then we can boil them up and see what we can make with them."

"I brought some things for that. I don't know how good they are. I had to take someone else's word for that," he said. "I think we probably ought to find some way to wash them."

He nodded. "If you don't mind pulling back the lantern hood, I'll get the anchor. I'm going to row us back out of this channel before trying to hoist the sail. The wind is stiff enough I don't know if I trust my sailing skills to keep us out of trouble until we clear the marsh."

"The washing's a little difficult. You remove a few parts of the crab after it's been cooked, then you wash out all of the off-color bits." Which was entirely not-specific and very unhelpful. She shook her head. "I'll show you, don't worry. It gets messy but it's entirely worth it."

With a nod, she traversed over the traps to the front of the boat so she could do as he asked. She pulled back the hood and turned back to him. "And I'll keep watch for the rocks again?"

"I'm putting myself in your hands. No pressure or anything," he said mischievously.

He sat on the bench and swung the oars in the oarlocks, dipping them beneath the water and beginning to row. "That's the idea. I'll take it a lot slower pulling out of here since it's so much darker now." He didn't believe he'd get them going fast enough to do any real hull damage. It seemed better safe than sorry, though.

He started turning the skiff to get them facing the proper direction to make use of the light. He could make her out crouched near the prow, backlit by the illumination of the lamp, and a small circle of lamplight reflecting on water beyond. That was the extent of his vision for steering.

"No pressure, he says. Send the Champion to fight Qunari without batting an eyelash. It's looking after a Templar in the kitchen that's the trouble," she shot back with a grin, taking her place at the prow. She kept herself crouched and balanced so she could get a better view of where he was steering them.

"You'll be all right. I'll let you know if there's a problem." They wouldn't be moving fast enough for problems, it was true.

Even with the dim light, actually looking at the water for signs of dark shapes was difficult at first with the shadow cast by the skiff itself from the moon. But as he shifted the boat to allow both the lamp and the moon to light their way, it became much easier. She nodded, giving him the go-ahead to keep on as he was. They weren't in danger so far.

"Particularly this Templar," he said, laughing. "Just you wait."

He trusted her to do just that, believing she was used to maneuvering in the dark enough to know what to look for. Once the boat was fully turned, he felt better about his prospects. The oars made a quiet, rhythmic sound dipping into the water and dragging. They slowly picked up a little speed so that he wasn't fighting to gain momentum.

He knew that somewhere ahead was a narrowing of the passage with rocks to either side. That was what he was most concerned with, whether he was pointed straight or at an odd angle. There was no way to know without drawing much closer.

Once it was turned and moving at a steadier pace, she could lean over and keep an eye on their path, knowing that there would be a few cumbersome sections of water that had been easier to navigate in the daylight. It wouldn't be too much work, not with her keeping an eye on the water, but it was enough of a worry to have her constantly scanning the surface for trouble.

He'd been right about the thinner passage. She recognized it some distance away but couldn't confirm it until they drew closer, and then she hesitantly stood to examine their approach. Hawke glanced back at him.

"Turn us slightly towards the left," she called. "Er, portside." Isabela would be terribly ashamed of her not remembering the sides better.

"Aye aye," he said. He doubted she could see his smile. Maybe she'd hear it in his voice. "Left" was much better than "port" for him, too. He didn't sail often enough to have the jargon readily pop to mind.

He pulled just a little with the left oar, creating enough drag to change the bearing of the prow. "How is that?" he asked. He caught himself futilely craning his neck. He was seated too low to see well and on the wrong side of the light for it to make a difference. He settled back down and waited for further instructions.

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