Work Text:
“...Which is exactly what I’ve been working to capture in my current novel. There’s just something so tangible about the constant motion of the water, not to mention the ever-unknowable ecosystem contained below the surface. Do you agree?” For the first time in what must have been several minutes, Elliott looked over his shoulder at Willy, who was concentrated much more on the bobber of his rod than his musings.
“‘M sorry, lad, I’d love to listen, but…” As soon as the bobber dipped below the water, Willy eagerly started reeling. With great strength and efficiency, he pulled up a glimmering albacore. “Fishing ain't exactly a conversationalist’s sport.”
“I see,” Elliott replied awkwardly. Even though they had shared many hours on the pier, he still found it hard to truly connect with the fisherman. “Tell me, how much would that go for on the market? I’m not exactly familiar with such a trade.”
Willy looked over his catch. “thirty-incher like this? Oh, probably a hundred-n-forty. Depends who’s buying.”
“You must be a good salesman after, er, so many years in the industry. What’s your best tactic?”
“My boy, you’re looking at it from the wrong perspective. If I overcharge, word spreads, and I'd be out of business by the end of the season. Besides, I’d rather encourage more people to take up the trade!”
Elliott pondered this. Whenever any of the townsfolk wandered over this way, Willy was always trying extra hard to push his training rods. Maybe this was the way to his heart?
“Say, Willy, I’ve been looking to increase my own skills. To prepare for the ice festival, of course. Any advice?”
On cue, Willy rushed into his shop, the door slamming shut. He emerged again, another rod in his hand and a smile on his face.