One would not expect a man of his size to be found fishing, let alone be particularly good at it. Spending his entire life at the water's edge has its advantages, however, and one of them happens to be knowing when and how to get the best catch. And of course, he has a fondness for sea critters over any other type of meal. He is making use of the carcass of a hare, lounging on a rocky outcropping and dangling his forepaws in the water, chunks of flesh clinging to his claws as bait. Already he has gathered a small pile of silver fish that he tosses onto shore behind him as evening falls. It's a mindless task -- one that he has done hundreds of times before. Second nature. It allows his thoughts to wander without paying much heed to what he's doing. It is only since he's found Roarke that he feels capable of relaxing, that he doesn't look over his shoulder every other second. That he begins to think maybe, just maybe, they are well and truly safe. What a dangerous thought that is. Hadn't they been safe a year ago? Look at where they are now. There's his skepticism -- thwarting the one half-moment of hope he'd allowed himself to consider. Foolish. Whenever he thinks about the potential of a better future for his crew, he thinks about what they have lost to make them need something better. If they hadn't been so selfish, so cocky, so greedy -- maybe their joy wouldn't have turned to ashes. Maybe they wouldn't have been left putting their loved ones out to sea. @Hákon

table by koi

.
Black sands give way to yellow, a petite beige that he does not wholly hate. The day is warm and clear, making for bright blue skies and a calm, still ocean. Maybe it helps, too, that while he prowls forward the skagos punk is... in a strangely good mood today. It's easy to forget his woes ( or, at least, set them aside for now ), and as he meanders down the shore his ears pitch forward. Idle and a little restless, but fine. His fight had dome home some good, it seemed. He spots the hulking, crouched figure of the other up ahead but seeks to pay little attention, only glancing at the pirate.

The smell of blood and gore lingers on the air, much more than you'd expect when fishing, and it's this that catches his attention. Ears pitch forward as he realizes why -- @Calhoun has a carcass to bait the fish with. Huh. It's a good trick, and one his one clan utilizes when they have the extra meat to spare. Hakon doesn't realize he's stopped walking and is staring, though for once his expression is not severe. Less spellbound and more just... nostalgic.

Yearning, however subconsciously, for the grey stony shores he called home

code; background; art;

The last time Calhoun had been here, it had not been a peaceful encounter. And nor have things truly repaired with Calypso, from whom he has distanced himself further. It does not bode well for him how angry she had made him; if he keeps her at arms-length, she will be safer. Better off for it, even if she doesn't understand his motives. Things seem to be easier for his brother, who has become better at putting on a face than Calhoun has. One could easily mistake him for peaceful -- he is so still upon his rocky perch, only moving every now and then to sink his claws into some poor unsuspecting hungry fish, adding it to his growing pile. His routine actions betray the ceaseless turbulence of his mind, and he has become atypically unaware of his surroundings. Whilst his ears are twisted in either direction to listen for approaching sounds, only one of them is actually capable of picking them up, and @Hákon just so happens to be coming from his left. Minutes pass with the pirate unaware that he is being watched, and it isn't until he snags his next catch and half-turns to lug it behind him that he sees he has company. Calhoun freezes, inherently frustrated that he has been caught unaware, his gaze narrowing upon the pale stranger. How careless of him. How long, he wonders, has the other been standing there? Has he just announced his deficit for a stranger to pick up on? "Ahoy," he greets warily, propping himself up into a half-sit so that he can more properly appraise the drifter who has encroached upon his quiet evening.

table by koi

the skagos punk is unsure how long he stands there, staring idly at @Calhoun — it's not until the beast turns his muzzle that hakon blinks, snapped out of his stupor. fortunately the pirate does not seem to be terribly upset, and hakon's ears ptich forward — brows arching, slightly, at the word of greeting ( ? ) he offers. strange, but he's heard stranger. and it isn't the clumsy icelandic tongue of the sigrun, so maybe this man was just a stranger and not an almost-family member, lurking. ahoy, hakon replies, the foreign word lilting from his throat. it's almost mocking but not quite, lacks the teeth truly needed, as he prowls a few steps closer. enough to keep a comfortable buffer between them, but hakon is clearly interested in what calhoun is doing. the easy, mechanical rip, tear, and toss of flesh to lure the fish closer. with the large stack of fish at the dragon's side, he's clearly been at this for awhile, and he's good at it, too. i haven't seen anyone fish like that in awhile, he wonders aloud, though his tone too is lacking suspicion. a small wonder and his ears angle fully forward. lurking still, but at least he was being friendly about it this time — a stray dog, sniffing around.

code; background; art;

He quirks a brow, and there is a hint of a smirk that touches his lips when the paler lion parrots his greeting; it sounds strange on @Hákon's tongue -- unfamiliar, and just a little bit like a taunt. Even so, there isn't a sign of an immediate threat, and Calhoun's tensions lower, just a little bit, just enough that he doesn't so much resemble a coiled spring ready to strike. He can sense curiosity, intrigue, and his gaze drifts quietly towards the pile he's been collecting, his claws flexing against the rock as he offers a curious hum. "Ol' trick," Calhoun muses with somewhat lazy shrug of his shoulders. He's done it a hundred times before -- it's effective and relaxing, something of a meditation rather than any tasking activity. "I don't share wit' freeloaders," the pirate mentions offhandedly; he isn't exactly trying to shove Hákon off. Rather, Calhoun offers an opportunity to participate, since he seems so interested in the activity. Or he supposes the blonde lion can just keep skulking around and staring, if he really wants to. His bulk shifts back towards the waters, dipping his toes back into the brine.

table by koi

old trick, the black-pelted man says, and hakon almost smiles to hear it. an old trick, and one he was familiar with. the nostalgia curls in his chest, lingering for a few moments still before being extinguished. he did not know @Calhoun, nor was he his shield. instead he is here on this island and the man before him was as green as the forest calypso lived in. that feeling fades, even further, at the way the man quips — under no certain terms was there a free dinner to be found here. didn't ask to share, he says with a sneer, even as he treads forward. i'm happy to catch my own.

there's plenty of shoreline to share but it's been years since he'd begged for his own supper. he'd been hardly older than a boy the last time he'd had someone else fish for him, and certainly wasn't going to start now. instead he settles in at calhoun's side, leaving plenty of room between himself and the other man. he thinks he might have to bait his own section of the river, but hopes that calhoun's making enough of a mess that he won't have to. if the other man minded the company he'd surely say, but until then the skagos punk lapses into silence -- watching and waiting, missing only a cold beer for his free hand.

code; background; art;