Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Crabs Always Know"

It's a damp and misty morning, and the sun has just barely risen - of course, most of the islanders are up early, so the settlement is a hive of activity nonetheless. Amidst the bustle, Rilka sits cross-legged on the ground, her back up against one of the benches that most people would use for sitting on. She's eating her breakfast - fish stew - and staring vaguely into the low-burning fire; as 'strange' as she's commonly considered to be, this kind of thing is quite normal.

Weaving through the crowd is a bright eyed and awake Azzarion. His hair is damp, either from a bath, but it could be from being up and in the heavy fog doing early fishing duty. He doesn't look particularly clean and bathing isn't his primary interest so fishing is more likely. Though he's silent, he does wave and offer smiles to friends he passes on his way to grab a bowl of whatever's on the fire. He ends up with his food, sitting next to Rilka, bobbing his head to her before checking what the server dished out for him.

"Azzarion," intones Rilka, in that way of hers: it would probably be creepy, except that she's spoken like this forever, so it's just... Rilka, really. "Were the crabs scuttling this morning? They were quiet last night." She doesn't wait for a response, but lowers her head towards her bowl to slurp up some of the food; fine table manners she has not. "I fear the rain will keep them away."

There's not an answer right away, just the click of the wooden spoon against the clay bowl, he gives Rilka's question a thoughtful consideration. As though such a question were very deep. His smile turns crooked, "/I/ heard much scuttling." The little man says in his rusty, unused voice. "Or, maybe it was The Monster." Because he's always been rather keen on making up stories at random. Besides, surely Rilka will see through it. "The rain will stop soon. The tides are already settling."

Rilka can't see the ocean from her position, more's the pity, though the way she shifts in her seat seems to suggest she's trying - in vain - to do so. "There are no monsters in the shallows," she retorts, dreamily, though she turns to give Azzarion a knowing glance. "Only in the deeps. The deep, deep, deeps." As if she's said nothing at all on such a topic, she adds, rather more conversationally, "The crabs always know the weather. If they are scuttling, then the day will clear. Shimana has taught me, and I know it is true."

Azzarion takes a bite of his soup but watches Rilka and offers a 'you never know' sort of narrowing of his eyes and roll of one shoulder. He does a good job of looking very dour as he chews and finally says, "You don't want to be the first to be caught out with one who has gotten caught in the grottos." It's not the first time he's tried to convince someone of some scary beasty, but it's not nearly as effective when the sun is up. Her remark brings one of his eyebrows up but he nods his head, understanding reading the weather and signs. "Fish go deep in bad weather too....." in case Shimana left out that tip.

Rilka is not convinced. Indeed, the glance she aims at Azzarion is about as close to mocking as her expression ever gets. "There's no such thing," she tells him, calmly, before turning back to her breakfast. Toes wiggling, digging into the sand that has crept up onto the stone, she adds, "Yes, they do. That's why we don't catch as much, then. That's why we salt the fish in winter, and store it in the caves, in case it rains too much." There's no sense that she's showing off, or being condescending, or indeed, remarking on any condescension on his part; her tone is sing-song, airy.

Azzarion's head bobs, a touch disapointed that she's not even playing along with his little game. Well, he can let that roll off like usual too. There's a sly smile for the serious girl's firm stand against his monster story and takes a few more bites of his meal. The quiet lingers as he eats and he watches people come and go. At last he looks at the girl again, "What are your chores today?"

Finishing her food, though without paying much attention to it, Rilka keeps her silence, too - hers lasts longer than Azzarion's, long enough that it might even seem like she's not going to answer. But, eventually: "My net will be full of crabs. If I leave soon, they won't make me work in the fields." Which, from the way she glances around, ever so slightly wary, would be something akin to her worst nightmare.

Azzarion relaxes in Rilka's company. She's not going to talk his ear off or give him odd looks. As the silence stretches out, he stretches out his short legs and looks content to just be there in silence so when she does answer him, he cracks a wider smile. A covert glance flickers in the direction Rilka looks, perhpas the field-monitors will be looking her way. "I think you're skills are better used gathering the crabs." There's more that he might say but then decides against it, "hopefully we'll crab stew."

Rilka is undeniably conscious of her own strangeness; no doubt she, too, finds this easier - not being the only one. She even smiles at him, albeit woodenly, when her glances catch his smile in turn. "I think so," she agrees. "We should do what we are good at. What we know best. You and I-- we know the oceans. I know the weather, too. Shimana is teaching me, but I do that /after/." Her chores come first. "They'll all come out to feed. The hunting will be good today."

"Too much catch and we'll be salting the rest of our day." Azzarion's remark is neutral. Just another chore to round out the day and keep idle hands from getting into trouble. "Will Shimana teach you other things too?" A shadow passes over his expression, what other things could Shimana teach her? It seems a mysterious and somehow dangerious, that 'match-making' knack. "I think I'd rather just stay with the nets and the fishe. Safer."

"Winter is coming," says Rilka, equally neutrally. "We'll need it all, for when the storms come." She stretches out her legs, now, though makes no other gesture that might imply she's about to move on. "She will teach me what she needs to," she adds, of Shimana, gaze seeking through the crowd, though if it is Shimana she's looking for, she doesn't find the older woman. "The weather is important. Someone must know it. Honour it. That's why I'm learning. Else, there will be no fish to salt. And no us."

Azzarion lifts up one of his shoulders slightly, not concerned about the two women being the only ones who hold the key about the weather and he says quietly, "My uncle showed me signs too." Then, sadly, "Although he's been gone so long....Imagine how much more I could have learned." As though he somehow was shorted some vast secret by the old man passing on. There's an added little pursing of his lips about the 'no us' part and he shakes his head, "There will always be someone to carry on. The sea wouldn't be that cruel." Because a life that unfair just can't be grasped for the young man. "I'll help you crack crabs if you help salt fish." Not that chores ever really work out that way when the chits are drawn, but it's a thought.

Dismissively, Rilka shakes her head. "How can you be sure of the weather, if you do not honour the seas? They would all turn against us... We /need/ to do it. Properly." She has no comment for his uncle; people die all the time. It doesn't seem to bother her, that some people are gone, and others are not. Rising, now, drawing herself up to stand on bare, calloused feet. "That would be acceptable." Sharing those chores. She turns to glance at him, nodding, her wild hair waving around her shoulders under the weight of the breeze. "I'm going to go and see the crabs now." Which, apparently, means 'good bye'.

Azzarion's eyebrows lift in question, puzzled, "Why do you think I don't honour the seas?" It's not as though anyone has asked me but, it seems puzzling she would think so. It's not important that she should answer him, the question just slipped out before the girl begin gathering herself to her feet otherwise he might have just given her the puzzled look. There's a wave to her departure, not that he means to be rude in his silence, but since she's going, he can save his breath and turn his thoughts inward.

Rilka has probably heard the question, but she doesn't answer. She does glance back, just once, though: her expression is utterly enigmatic. And then she's gone.