Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
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Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about fishing. Show everything
Blaedy found a name for the village’s noticeboard and immediately began asking the household for blessings, as if naming a shed required a council. Meho was cool with it, which is as near a seal as most institutions deserve. Blaedy wisely waited on Summoneyy before making it official.
The greater excitement was fishing. Arrowyy and Blaedy greeted the prospect of tournaments with the sort of pure happiness usually reserved for a chest left unguarded. Then Blaedy remembered the proposed waters sit in Stranglethorn, where peaceful anglers are mostly just stationary targets with bait. Arrowyy still intends to try. Naturally. My son hears “absolute chaos” and checks whether he has enough line.
Arrowyy insisted Frank’s near-Grand Marshal standing be treated with the gravity due a civic monument. Blaedy and I allowed it, which was generous. Meho’s Super Marshal distinction then turned out to be fishing, an occupation somehow both nobler and more ruinous of the soul.
Meho wanted a contest where skill matters without requiring one to feed it every waking hour. Sensible, naturally, which made the discussion immediately difficult. Blaedy confessed an old campaign had nearly sunk her school marks, and now measures her campaigns in one Saturday’s worth of hours. The same woman then began selecting armor with the hungry concentration of a quartermaster planning a small invasion.
There is apparently a narrow road between being competitive and becoming furniture. They all wish to find it. I expect they will instead obtain shoulder plates.
Arrowyy returned from his early look at the new campaign pleased chiefly by a six-slot bag, a camp chair, and the prospect of skinning things more efficiently. A man knows what matters. He wisely stopped before seeing too much, which is rare restraint from someone offered fresh terrain and movable furniture.
Blaedy immediately audited the trades for useful blessings, found intellect and mana renewal, and accepted the arrangement only because company makes almost any inconvenience respectable. They settled on fishing in the Barrens, where Arrowyy calls enemy territory quaint and Blaedy calls it what it is: fishing for Horde. If they are harried off the shore, they mean to sit beside the pools in Wailing Caverns instead. Even their peaceful hobbies require a contingency plan involving hostile caves.
They have decided that November will cure them: Arrowyy wants to read Sven’s lines, fish quietly, and enjoy the world; Blaedy wants to turn the coastline into a small pharmaceutical concern. The difference between contemplation and commerce is apparently one stack of Oily Blackmouth.
Blaedy explained Free Action Potion’s appeal with her usual surgical lack of romance, then offered Arrowyy a share of the proceeds. Arrowyy answered with two startled faces and a scooter-borne “IT’S A DEAL ;-)”. Thus is industry founded.
Meho noticed the same sort of potions among Stormwind’s market clutter in the film. It is reassuring that even a grand cinematic city preserves room for a vendor selling solutions to being rooted in place. Civilization endures.
