After getting washed and dressed, Kipper, Rip, and Solange headed out to the gear-house to retrieve their nets and hooks. In the doorway, Bottle- a former fisher- stood in the shadows, drinking some Slider booze and squinting with blind eyes against the waking rays of the sun.

"The run's gon' start soon." Bottle commented dryly, adjusting his false left hand. "I can feel it in my hand." He waved said hand and grinned, flashing a mouthful of silver-capped teeth. "There's gon' be a whole big run of Graki coming up the Note." Solange rolled her eyes. "That'll be the day that my sweetheart proposes." She shot back, spit flying out of her mouth to land on Bottle's arm.

Bottle took a long swig, his lank hair falling over equally greased skin. "Maybe your sweetheart ain't right for you then. How long have you two been together?"
Solange's face turned an interesting shade of crimson and she spluttered and spat until the flush retreated from her face.
Bottle took another long swig and bobbed his head.
"There's gon' be a new train coming through. Rumor is that there'll be a dancer with them."
Kipper scoffed. "A dancer? What would we do with a dancer? We need more fishers, not some fool with a ruffled skirt." Their long fingers wove through the nets, searching blindly for more fishhooks.
Bottle shrugged. "How old are you kid?"
Kipper glanced between Rip and Solange before hesitantly answering that they were fourteen years old.
Bottle raised his drink to the sun. "Give it a year, or three. You might just change your thoughts on the matter."

Kipper's nose wrinkled, and they carefully folded up their nets, making sure that none of the hooks got caught in the ropes.

Rip turned his attention to his own nets, his mind alive with thoughts of river giants.

"When was the last run of Graki?" He asked, half-hesitant to hear the answer. Bottle paused, brows furrowed as he tried to remember.

"I can't actually remember. Tanker caught one last year, but I've never seen more than five in one place. Alive or dead." 

Solange scoffed, an admittedly ugly sound in the humid air. "That's because there aren't any Graki runs left." she said. Bottle took a swig of his drink and looked up at the sky as the distant rumble of a train reached their ears.

"Don't count your catch just yet, Solange. We still have to reel in the nets."