Used to it or not, the lack of explanation still gets a weary sigh and maybe the barest kind of eye roll once his back is turned. She fumbles briefly with the straps of her backpack, how they're set across her shoulders and the dig against the fabric of the light jacket, and then she ducks after him. The stairs creak under foot. Dust turns in the air. She sneezes twice and absently wipes her nose with her sleeve as she pads through the house not quite on his heels. Whatever. It's too early for conversation.
Anyway, she's doing inventory in her head. There's an honest to god candy bar melted and then hardened back into a solid block somewhere near the bottom of her backpack that she's been saving for a rainy day (it's survived all of a week, which isn't a bad track record if you ask her - that's some pretty impressive will power), but she's hungry and right now it's pretty fucking tempting to go digging for it as she follows Joel through the barren kitchen and back laundry room, catching the screen door with her shoulder on the way out onto the porch.
The shore's about fifteen feet off, all rocks with overgrown tufts of grass punched through the cracks, and one weathered old boat is currently crushing a good portion of it. Joel makes a b-line, sets his heavy hands down on worn wooden boards just near where he propped the rods and tackle box.
She probably can't be blamed for the way her stride shortens slightly, how her pace lags momentarily as they get close to the boat. "What, seriously?" Because this totally doesn't seem like an ill conceived notion at all. "Are you sure this thing is safe?"
No really though, she's pretty sure she can see right through the bottom over there on the far side. Who even makes a boat out of wood? Wood rots and shit, right?
"Ellie," Joel huffs out, usual irritation tugging away at the sound of her name. The thing's been sheltered for years, and while the paint's seen better days, any cracks he's felt up with his fingers have been superficial. Jesus Christ, he's not careless enough to cast off in a boat full of holes. She knows that.
"Alright, alright." Because if it's too early for conversation it's sure as hell too early to bicker too - and she knows better anyway.
So she clambers in over the side of the boat, still cautious whatever he might say. But the boat's wedged up firm against the rocky shore and doesn't so much as wobble when she makes her way to the bench at the bow which is, you know, kind of reassuring. The water looks pretty still out there anyway. As long as they don't spring a leak, it's probably okay.
With a foot on each side of the tackle box on the floor of the boat, Ellie perches on the edge of the bench. Her hands immediately stray to one of the fishing rods, picking at reel. "Whoa cool."
He dips his head low, buries the barest curve of a grin as he braces his shoulder against the boat's side. It creaks slightly, groans under the press of his body weight.
She does, abandoning the fish rod in favor of tightly gripping the boat's sides as it squeals out over the rocks. There's a distinct, sickening dip as it moves out. Ellie can't help but turn to look anxiously over her shoulder as the bow cuts into the still, silky surface of the water.
"I got you, I got you." It's muttered low into the shoreline, repeated as the boat hits the water and goes light as air. He leaves a hand firmly fixed on the edge to keep it from floating off.
"Just go easy when you're getting in, would'ya?" she says, clearly pessimistic about his odds of climbing into the boat without capsizing the whole thing and dumping her into the shallows. "I took a bath like last week." And in marginally warmer water too.
Sure, he lumbers when he walks. Swings hard into punches and climbs with too much weight on his heels, but if there's one thing he's done enough times in his life to get right, climbing into a boat at the crack of dawn is one of them.
His boots and the tattered cuffs of his jeans are the only things that get wet, tilting the boat enough from the bank for his foot to balance on the dead center of it before shifting the other one right in. The kick from it sways them, but he's low and standing wide enough for it to hardly matter.
"Like you should talk. Have you smelled yourself lately?" It's a good-natured jibe, though her grip goes white knuckled when he gets in. The boat sways beneath her, briefly scuffing against the rocks under the draw of the boat before it bobs up, settling under Joel's added weight.
Ellie's fingers don't quite uncurl until she's sure the boat won't buck up again. Because that's totally how physics works. "Does the motor in this thing still work?"
"Nope. Shot to hell and back," He hunches over his knees, leans towards her to motion past at a cracked up oar tucked away behind the she's soaking up. "Go on and pass me that oar so I can get us started."
"Sure, okay," she says, but is awfully slow about shifting around on the bench and leaning down to pry the oar up from where it's half lodged between the bow of the boat and where she's sitting. She pulls it up hand over hand, passing it off to him. Once the oar's out of her hands, her fingers set on the edge of the bench and grip there as she steels herself for the moment of shoving off.
"You're not planning to take this thing down river are you?"
In truth it's not ever. The stillness of the lake is what he's aiming for, and lake trout don't care to stray far from deeper waters. He paddles out, swapping the oar from side to side and splashing water down across the tops of their shoes. Doesn't bother to stop till the house has shrunk down to more of a dark speck than something recognizable.
"There. That ought to do it." Joel eyes her bone-white knuckles before adding, "ever cast a line?"
It's cold out here on the water, though she expects that might change soon. The sun's only just coming up, turning the tops of the trees from dark smudges across the grey sky to a hot burnished brass. The way the boat sways from the pull of Joel's oar through the water makes her stomach go in knots, loosening in turn as the wooden hull coasts quietly away from the force between each row.
"Psh, have I ever cast a line," She scoffs and peels her fingers from the bench, feet shuffling around the tackle box and poles in the bottom of the boat. After a moment of steadying herself against the side, Ellie bends down to ungainly lift one of the rods up. She swings it around clumsily. "No, but how hard can it be."
"--don't just throw the damn thing around now, hold on." He catches the rod with his palm, leans back away from the tail end so I doesn't clip him in the face.
"If you want breakfast, you've gotta do this right."
He slides his hand down, nudges up against the spigot so her grip shifts into something lighter, something he can direct. "Drop that end in the water, get the line wet so it don't lock up on you."
"Lock up? It's just string on a coil or something. How complicated is this gonna get, Joel?" But for all her bluster, Ellie lets him guide her hands: grip softening on the handle. The boat rocks slightly as she whips the pole around, stabbing it down into the water like a needle through cloth.
After a moment she brings it back up - it doesn't have to like, marinate or anything right? - and props the butt of the handle on her knee as she tips the pole vertical toward the sky.
Manhandling it like a machete, he shouldn't be surprised. As a matter of fact he isn't.
"Other hand on the bottom. There you go. Just like that." One finger tugs down on the reel till it's angled forward, and he eases back to grab hold of the other rod, pulling it up into his own lap and checking the line. "Now, swing it back over your shoulder and toss it out lightly. Same way you handle that knife of yours."
He'd guide her arc, but he trusts her. That and if he's too close he knows he risks a hook to the eye.
Lightly, he says. What he gets after a 'sure, okay' sort of shrug and a shift in the angle of her hip and shoulders out toward the water, is a sharp snap of the pole. It's like swinging a baseball bat except at a different angle. The line travels out, plunking down a few sad feet from the side of the boat.
"Aw what. Hold on--" Ellie hastily cranks the reel, the bob on the line jerking steadily backwards until it comes sweeping out of the water, hook and all swinging wildly back in their direction.
She catches the line without a second thought before the hook at the end can snag anywhere less than pleasant, seemingly unaware of how close she came to it. Jamming her tongue in her cheek, she swings it out a second time with marginally better results.
He flinches when the sinker goes flying past, whips across to displace a few wayward strands of her hair. The way she's throwing it around she'll be lucky if she doesn't end up with a couple of new scars.
But Joel's not about to coddle her. One heavy sigh exhaled through his nose and he rolls his shoulder back to cast properly, lets the line draw out high over the lake till it splashes down and breaks the surface of he water a good ways away.
Which just earns a low, scoffing noise from low in the back of her throat as she slowly reels her line back in a second time. And a sidelong glance that follows the line of his shoulder and the twitch of his wrist as he casts his own line. Ellie slows the reel to watch his line sail out, sun catching and glittering briefly off the synthetic before it arcs down somewhere almost too far to really see.
"Uh, that's kind of cheating," she says, carefully flicking the end of her line up over the side of the boat. She catches it again, fingers dancing around the sharp points of the hook as she steadies the pole. The next cast isn't perfect, but it's passable: punctuated by a light, easy flick of the wrist.
Joel scoots back sideways to straddle the bench, arms slack at the elbows to follow the steady rock of the boat without jerking the line, eyes still fixed on the bobber floating off in the distance. Hers keeps inching closer; she's getting the hang of it exactly like he figured she would.
"Y'know normally we'd be using bait," He'd managed the lines before he woke her, tying the bobbers, the sinkers, the hooks. Unearthed dust and grit left behind in the tackle box from 20 years of decay, where roe and worms unsurprisingly don't keep. "I reckon we'll do just fine without, but the next time we go at this I'll see if I can't dig something up before we jump in."
Her gaze is locked out toward the bobbers on the end of their lines, predatory like a hawk waiting for some sign of a mouse - as if she could somehow will a fish to find its way to her hook. She does however tip her head slightly in Joel's direction, mouth going all lopsided as she frowns.
"If there's no bait, why bother? Do they just hook themselves for fun?" She tugs faintly at her line. You're supposed to do that, right? Just mess around with it until something comes along and gets curious?
"Well it ain't nothin on the end, there- that hook of yours still looks like dinner to them." He stiffens up slightly, momentarily consider reeling back in to point out the plastic he'd lashed onto the line-- but it was a good cast. He'd rather not waste it.
"Easy, Ellie, easy. Movement's fine, but no fish alive is gonna jump around the way you're tugging on that line right now."
Counting out the rise and fall of the boat in the water, Joel jerks his wrist up at the highest point before going all loose as they settle back down.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Anyway, she's doing inventory in her head. There's an honest to god candy bar melted and then hardened back into a solid block somewhere near the bottom of her backpack that she's been saving for a rainy day (it's survived all of a week, which isn't a bad track record if you ask her - that's some pretty impressive will power), but she's hungry and right now it's pretty fucking tempting to go digging for it as she follows Joel through the barren kitchen and back laundry room, catching the screen door with her shoulder on the way out onto the porch.
no subject
"Hop in."
no subject
No really though, she's pretty sure she can see right through the bottom over there on the far side. Who even makes a boat out of wood? Wood rots and shit, right?
no subject
no subject
So she clambers in over the side of the boat, still cautious whatever he might say. But the boat's wedged up firm against the rocky shore and doesn't so much as wobble when she makes her way to the bench at the bow which is, you know, kind of reassuring. The water looks pretty still out there anyway. As long as they don't spring a leak, it's probably okay.
With a foot on each side of the tackle box on the floor of the boat, Ellie perches on the edge of the bench. Her hands immediately stray to one of the fishing rods, picking at reel. "Whoa cool."
no subject
"Hang on tight."
no subject
"Careful, not too fast."
no subject
"See? Nothin' to it."
no subject
no subject
Sure, he lumbers when he walks. Swings hard into punches and climbs with too much weight on his heels, but if there's one thing he's done enough times in his life to get right, climbing into a boat at the crack of dawn is one of them.
His boots and the tattered cuffs of his jeans are the only things that get wet, tilting the boat enough from the bank for his foot to balance on the dead center of it before shifting the other one right in. The kick from it sways them, but he's low and standing wide enough for it to hardly matter.
no subject
Ellie's fingers don't quite uncurl until she's sure the boat won't buck up again. Because that's totally how physics works. "Does the motor in this thing still work?"
no subject
no subject
"Sure, okay," she says, but is awfully slow about shifting around on the bench and leaning down to pry the oar up from where it's half lodged between the bow of the boat and where she's sitting. She pulls it up hand over hand, passing it off to him. Once the oar's out of her hands, her fingers set on the edge of the bench and grip there as she steels herself for the moment of shoving off.
"You're not planning to take this thing down river are you?"
no subject
In truth it's not ever. The stillness of the lake is what he's aiming for, and lake trout don't care to stray far from deeper waters. He paddles out, swapping the oar from side to side and splashing water down across the tops of their shoes. Doesn't bother to stop till the house has shrunk down to more of a dark speck than something recognizable.
"There. That ought to do it." Joel eyes her bone-white knuckles before adding, "ever cast a line?"
no subject
"Psh, have I ever cast a line," She scoffs and peels her fingers from the bench, feet shuffling around the tackle box and poles in the bottom of the boat. After a moment of steadying herself against the side, Ellie bends down to ungainly lift one of the rods up. She swings it around clumsily. "No, but how hard can it be."
no subject
"If you want breakfast, you've gotta do this right."
He slides his hand down, nudges up against the spigot so her grip shifts into something lighter, something he can direct. "Drop that end in the water, get the line wet so it don't lock up on you."
no subject
After a moment she brings it back up - it doesn't have to like, marinate or anything right? - and props the butt of the handle on her knee as she tips the pole vertical toward the sky.
"Now what?"
no subject
"Other hand on the bottom. There you go. Just like that." One finger tugs down on the reel till it's angled forward, and he eases back to grab hold of the other rod, pulling it up into his own lap and checking the line. "Now, swing it back over your shoulder and toss it out lightly. Same way you handle that knife of yours."
He'd guide her arc, but he trusts her. That and if he's too close he knows he risks a hook to the eye.
All right, he mostly trusts her.
no subject
"Aw what. Hold on--" Ellie hastily cranks the reel, the bob on the line jerking steadily backwards until it comes sweeping out of the water, hook and all swinging wildly back in their direction.
She catches the line without a second thought before the hook at the end can snag anywhere less than pleasant, seemingly unaware of how close she came to it. Jamming her tongue in her cheek, she swings it out a second time with marginally better results.
no subject
no subject
He flinches when the sinker goes flying past, whips across to displace a few wayward strands of her hair. The way she's throwing it around she'll be lucky if she doesn't end up with a couple of new scars.
But Joel's not about to coddle her. One heavy sigh exhaled through his nose and he rolls his shoulder back to cast properly, lets the line draw out high over the lake till it splashes down and breaks the surface of he water a good ways away.
"Told you, kiddo."
no subject
"Uh, that's kind of cheating," she says, carefully flicking the end of her line up over the side of the boat. She catches it again, fingers dancing around the sharp points of the hook as she steadies the pole. The next cast isn't perfect, but it's passable: punctuated by a light, easy flick of the wrist.
"How the hell d'you get yours out so far?"
no subject
Joel scoots back sideways to straddle the bench, arms slack at the elbows to follow the steady rock of the boat without jerking the line, eyes still fixed on the bobber floating off in the distance. Hers keeps inching closer; she's getting the hang of it exactly like he figured she would.
"Y'know normally we'd be using bait," He'd managed the lines before he woke her, tying the bobbers, the sinkers, the hooks. Unearthed dust and grit left behind in the tackle box from 20 years of decay, where roe and worms unsurprisingly don't keep. "I reckon we'll do just fine without, but the next time we go at this I'll see if I can't dig something up before we jump in."
no subject
"If there's no bait, why bother? Do they just hook themselves for fun?" She tugs faintly at her line. You're supposed to do that, right? Just mess around with it until something comes along and gets curious?
no subject
"Easy, Ellie, easy. Movement's fine, but no fish alive is gonna jump around the way you're tugging on that line right now."
Counting out the rise and fall of the boat in the water, Joel jerks his wrist up at the highest point before going all loose as they settle back down.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)