(2015-08-22) Fishing and Hunting
Fishing and Hunting
Summary: Nora fishes, Terry Hunts
Date: 8.22.2015
Related: None

River Bank - Southside

The bank of the river gently slopes downward toward the flowing waters of the Platte River. Near the shore the current is sluggish enough for wading, but get out to deep and the current picks up and could carry a person much faster and farther then expected. Jutting out into the river is a dock where the boats available at the boat house can be secured. A path follows the river.

Set up near the river is a little campsite. It's not much really, a small Stingray tent, strung between three trees, big enough for one person and not much else, a small fire circle and…well that's it. What else do you need? Especially when you are packing light. One of the trees also has a large hiking backpack hanging from it. The owner, a teen girl of average height and the build of an athlete (whipcord muscle and hardly any fat) stands a knee deep out in the river, fishing pole in hand as she slowly reels the line in patiently waiting for some fish to bite.

Manly man gotta hunt, at least that's the thought running through Boston native Terry Collins' head as he stalks through the brush, dressed in hiking boots, olive drab shorts, a dark green wifebeater, and a civilian-line bush cap. He carries a Mossberg hunting rifle that looks like he either recently swiped off the rack at the store, or just takes really good care of his weapons. He has a fairly good hunting blind set up a short jog away from the dock, so as not to scare potential prey.

"Hey there. Room for one more?" He says, coming up to one side of the girl, making sure to keep his weapon pointed down, and the safety on. "Looks like a good place to bag some tasty eats.."

Well he didn't shoot her own sight, so the newcomer isn't a Silencer or anyone else working for the badguys…or so Nora has to assume. The badguys usually shoot first. Sure he could be a bandit, but this is camp territory and the patrols are good at keeping ne'erdowells out. All this is going through the girl's head as she scrutinizes the man when he approaches. "It's a big river. We could totes fit the whole camp in here if we wanted." she reply‚Äôs with a grin, her accent pure west coast Californian "You're the new guy, eh?" news travels fast.

Terry nods. "Yeah. Terry Collins, from Boston. Born Greenfield." Apparently it does. His previous experience with gabbing about his police and military service didn't go all that well, so that'll go unsaid for now. The buzzcut might give it away, though, as well as how he carries himself, in spite of all that's happened. "Sonny and I go back." He motions indicatively with his free hand.

"Not Boston anymore, just like Cambria isn't Cambria anymore." Nora says. Both places being underwater thanks to the second wave "Boston is a nice place. Ran the marathon quite a few times, did the triathlon a few times as well." not only the body of an athlete, she is an athlete, or was, whatever. She looks from the older man to her line as she feels something bite "Gotta bite!" she tugs the pole to set the hook and begins to reel in the line "Yeah? Kinda late to the party aren't you?

Terry nods. "Yeah. Sonny and I first met up back when Camp Hope was in the process of securing the food plant. I helped out, loaded a few crates, figured I could slip away unnoticed.. I don't usually go for groups.. three's a crowd.. at least I used to think so. I wound up here a few days ago, and decided to stick around. Seems like a nice place." He pauses. "I've got a pretty good rig currently set for hunting waterfowl." He says, indicating a spot up near the dock. "If you want, I can pull double duty and keep an eye on you, protect you from… psychotic squirrels, or killer fish, or something." He offers with what he hopes passes for a charming, playful?.. grin.

Nora continues to reel in the line, pulling in a large bluegill that is flailing around at the end of the line. "Yeah, I'm not one for large groups either." she soundly agrees there. Tucking the pole under her arm she expertly removes the fish from the hook. No squeamishness in this one. Glancing from her task to the indicated direction she hmmms then laughs "But then who is going to protect you?" reaching under the water she pulls up the end of a fish stringer and attaches the fish to it. "I'll be heading out at the crack of dawn in the morning. Won't be back for at least a week." maybe longer depending how long she can make her supplies last. "I'm not part of this outfit." she gestures to the camp.

Collins smirks. "I've got eyes in the back of my head. Dad was a sonofagun, so I learned quick about the whole 'how to take care of yourself' thing." Beat. "Mind if I settle in, and see what all I can score from Mother Nature?" He begins to turn to his little hunting blind, but doesn't really start moving that way just yet, since he wasn't the first one here. He figures it's the polite thing to do.

The girls eyes lift to his hair "That would explain the haircut." Nora jokes as she rebaits the hook with a squirmy worm. "Yeah sure. Do whatevs. Just be careful where you aim that thing." reel, flick, whirr, splunk, as she throws the line out into the water "I didn't survive this long just to be taken out in a freak hunting accident."

"I'd never intentionally hurt a pretty little thing like you." Terry responds with a wink. "I always practice firearms safety.. treat every gun as if loaded, etc." He gives a playful wave, heads over to his spot, settles in, and does a few dry runs (no actual shots fired) to check things over. "Might get loud, so.. heads up, just in case." He calls out, his voice carrying, just enough, thanks to his years in uniform.

The compliment and the wink give her a bit of a start. She's cute an all, but she's also jailbait, he might even be old enough to be her dad! Nora isn't good at that age thing. To her anyone over the age of 25 is old. Even if they are easy on the eyes. She pauses in her reeling her line in to give him a thumbs up at the noisy bit "If it isn't loud you are doing it wrong." she comments back.

Terry watches, and waits, checking the area through his scope, looking for prey. Suddenly— YES! There it is. That damned squirrel. BOOM! Goodbye squirrel. …. LOOK, ANOTHER SQUIRREL! Click-click-BOOM! YES! … Hm. Yeah, maybe big guns aren't totally appropriate for such small things.

Terry steps out from his blind, wanders into the woods, collects a few good-looking branches, fashions himself a crude bow and arrow, and goes hunting the old-fashioned way. A few minutes later, he comes back with a pair of decent-sized squirrels. "Today's a good day. I caught something." Optimistic much? Methinks so.

Even though she was expecting it the gunfire causes her to start in surprise. It's close enough that it makes her ears ring a bit as well as makes fishing a bit moot for awhile. Reeling in her line she begins to wade out of the water, slipping the fish stringer from around her ankle in the process. It appears she caught a couple of fish before the arrival of the marine. Looking at the squirrels when he comes back she nods "So did I." she holds up her stringer with two large bluegills and a perch. Guess neither of us will starve today."

Terry goes about cleaning up his 'campsite', leaving everything as he found it, or as close as possible. "Very nice!" He responds, flashing a thumbs-up and nodding to the catch, before considering his gun for a moment. "Maybe I should stash this somewhere. Seems a bit overpowered for hunting small game. I wonder if Quin or one of the others has a weapon I can borrow?" He loops the string on which his squirrels are carried through one of his belt-loops, and goes about constructing and baiting more traps for tomorrow, using the obliterated squirrel bits to season the traps.

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