Of Fish and Wherries

White Sands (#7072)
Brilliant white sands sparkle across the wide beach of this lonely little island, blinding at first like sunlight upon the snow. Scattered across the sands are pieces of driftwood that look like ghastly sun bleached half buried remains. The lagoon waters wash up on the shoreline in gentle waves for a band of reefs keep it fairly calm. Encroaching upon the sands are a set of cliffs that rise high above the beach, broken only by a small stream that tumbles downwards from it, carving a pathway through the stone. To the north, the white sands give way to sharp rocks from where the cliffs have fallen and receded from the coastline.
It is a winter afternoon.
To the north, you see one person and a ship.
You notice Issri and Rozalija asleep here.
Iasri and Vostarik are here.
Obvious exits:
Shallows Rocky Beach Stream

Iasri is making her way up from the shallows, dragging behind her what looks like a bunch of fish, tied neatly to some line she had found somewhere. Being stuck on some freaky desert island caused the apprentice to slip back to her roots, pulling out string and rope and finding some food to eat. For everyone, maybe. She's bootless, her shoes thrown somewhere at camp since landing her. At least it's warm, and they aren't dying. All the while, she drags along those few fish she caught. Whistling. Happily? Sure, why not.

Tromp. Tromp. In sharp contrast to /someone's/ happy whistling, Vostarik is stomping down the beach - as much as one can stomp in sand, anyway - and squinting against the light, brow creased in a scowl beneath the still-healing cut down one side of his face. Freaky desert island apparently doesn't sit well with him. His gaze lights upon Iasri, though - and the fish - and he pauses. Hmmm. "Hey!" he barks. It's not a /friendly/ greeting, but .. it could be worse. "Beanpole!"

Iasri doesn't stop, but keeps going, squaring her shoulders and tugging at her catch to keep up with her. Man, those fish are gettin' sandy. She turns as she walks, behind her, raising a hand to shield her eyes against the sun. Oh, that other tall stick figure must be Vos. "What do you want?" she hollars back, scooting her way to small grouping of bags and tents that are set up for camp. Apparently she's broken that silence pact with Vos. Well, they are on a deserted island. Rules do change.

Everything changes! Like on Lost. Next thing you know they'll be attacked by polar bears. Vostarik reluctantly moves forward toward Iasri, hands shoving themselves in his pockets. "You do realize that most normal people don't keep fish on a leash for a reason," is his eventual response, voice still raised to cover the distance between them.

"You never learned to fish then." Iasri quips back, pulling a bag over to her side, rummaging through it before pulling out what looks like a small knife. She doesn't know whose it is, but she's going to use it anyways. You gotta gut a fish somehow. She pulls the line up to her, and slowly clips each fish off, one by one. "I thought you were from Keroon. /I'm/ from Keroon, and know that if you catch multiple fish, you tie them all up to one line so they all stay." An eyebrow raise the older boy's way. "Why are you bugging me anyways?" Poor Vostarik. No longer enchanting to young Iasri. :)

Vostarik looks positively offended. "I'm from /Igen./" Everyone should know that! "But I'd imagine even Keroonians should know better than to drag fish through the sand." He finally gets close enough not to have to pitch his voice to be heard, and casts a critical eye over the bags on the ground. Why /is/ he bugging Iasri? Who knows? "Where'd they put all the jerky?" No fish for this boy! All red meat, all the time.

"I don't know." Iasri shrugs, flipping a fish over on its belly and gutting it. On the plains of Keroon, there were only small streams and rivers. No big oceans. But she sure could gut a fish. "A lot of it got soaked and destroyed during the storm. Master Dala told a lot of us to go find our own food…you know, /hunt/. You can do that right?" Accusing look. "And besides. We're on an island of sand. You're from Igen, this is like home for you." Haha, witty.

"You're so funny, how could I ever not have noticed before," Vostarik deadpans, dropping to one knee in the sand as he starts to rifle through the closest bag. "There's plenty of food probably floating around in here. I'm not going out to stalk a wherry or whatever. /Ugh, underthings./" So much for that bag. He moves on to the next one. "That is disgusting," he remarks without looking over at the fish-gutting. "I hope you get a parasite."

Not looking up, Iasri scrapes the insides of the fish free of guts and flicks it Vos's way. "Well, I hope you starve. You're not going to find any food. Everyone's been out /hunting/ and /fishing/ for their dinner." And if he were nicer, she'd had offered him some. But toooo baaadd! She moves on to the next fish and continues to gut, raising her gaze up to glance at Vos absently. "What happened to your face?" she askes in monotone. Gut, flick, gut, flick.

Jaunty whistling proceeds the statuesque figure of a tall woman, striding back onto the beach with the outline of a pair of well-sized wherries, cleaned and trussed for carrying, slung over her shoulders. Despite the heavy load, Beka walks with no apparent effort; her blue gaze focuses sharply in on the two apprentices and the gut flicking. "Apprentices," the woman drawls, "A little more maturity would be nice." She dumps the carcasses next to Vos, and rolls her shoulders. Perhaps it's odd to see Beka without the green tinge of perpetual seasickness.. but here she is!

Vostarik makes an awkward and definitely un-manly hop-twist away before the fish entrails land harmlessly beside his boot. "Well, then I'll find a better, more charitable apprentice than you and get some from /them,/" is his plan. So there. "My face?" He looks suspicious for a moment before remembering that there actually /is/ something on his face. "Something must have hit— aah!" Wherry attack! He falls flat on his ass in surprise before realizing that it /is/ dead. Uh. "Yeah," he echoes Beka, shooting a Look at Iasri. "Maturity." Oh the irony.

There's a loud screeching noise and then a fluttering and a squawk from somewhere up stream.

Iasri lets out a loud laugh, turning to wipe the dirty knife on the log she's sitting on. "Pansy," she hisses under her breath, putting on a face of pure innocence as she continues to grab for her last fish and gut. "Yes Ma'am…" the girl drawls, shooting back a face Vos's direction. "Well, you better clean it or something, because it's going to get infected and we might have to amputate your face." She shoots back a leer the boy's way before turning her head sharply in the direction of that noise. "Hey… hey, what was that?"

Beka sardonically raises an eyebrow at Vos. "I would expect more out of you, -senior- apprentice Vostarik," the woman states, before glancing nonchalantly towards the sound. "Some fool apprentice gettin' himself mauled, no doubt," is her tranquil response. Beka, loaded for boar as always, flips out the smallest of her knives and starts cleaning under her fingernails. "Speaking of learning maturity, I fully expect these wherries plucked and cleaned by evenin' meal, senior apprentice," she directs as Vos, before focusing in on Iasri. She doesn't say anything, no— she just sits there, cleaning her fingernails with a six-inch blade, that regard settled steady on Ias.

Vostarik's mouth opens - all set to squawk in protest, or possibly obscenity - before he comes to the conclusion that getting into an argument with a wherry-wielding Amazon with a knife probably isn't the best idea. "By evening meal?" Sigh. "Haven't got a knife," he adds sullenly, gglaring at Iasri. All her fault. Somehow. The screeching barely gets Beka's attention, so he doesn't pay it much mind, either. Huff.

Iasri blinks, and without a beat turns the knife towards Vos, handle first his way of course in offering. "Here, take this one. It cuts reeeal nice." A small, wicked smile weaving across her lips. Her gaze follows up towards Beka and holds there, for a few seconds. It's awkward, really awkward, and she turns her gaze back towards her fish and the ground. "Um.. well." A kick at the ground. "Shouldn't we go.. help?"

Of course, the sounds are getting louder and then suddenly there's a smallish wherry flying out from the rocks, followed by several smaller avians who are chasing after it. As the wherry gets farther away the smaller ones break off and fly back, now the wherry is heading towards apprentices and Master and guts?

Beka doesn't shift from gazing at Iasri; Vostarik's compliance is assumed. "Why, thank you for that, apprentice Iasri." She's all for unsettling the apprentice, for some reason; she still gazes calmly upon the girl, ignoring the sounds. Her gaze finally tracks sideways as she notices action, and she nigh-lazily pulls a throwing knife, a small wicked affair, and cocks it thoughtfully, watching the wherry get closer, and closer.

Vostarik grunts something like "Thanks," swiping the knife from iasri's hand. As he sits back he sees Beka pull another knife - and it isn't until a slightly panic-stricken moment later that he sees the wherry she has her eye on. "Aw, crap," he mutters. "Don't tell me I'm going to have to prep /that/ one, too." Life is mean to Vos.

What's a knife to a wherry who has it's stomach on guts. Giving out a screech the bird descends like the lumbering mass it is. He's headed straight for the male apprentice since that's where the food is.

Vostarik is hit by his second panic-stricken moment of the hour. Guh? "Are you— uh.." The wherry gets closer and louder, and at the last second Vostarik completely loses his nerve. "AUGH." He bolts for the shore! Wherries don't swim, right?

Beka watches Vostarik with an impassive gaze. "Pansy," she states mildly after the bolting apprentice, and finally throws the knife when the wherry's less than a runner-length off, catching the avian in the right eye. Thud. She shakes her head, then, and mutters, "Apprentices these days."

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