12th June, Afternoon Watch: Fishing

"It is remarkable what manner of things dwell in these waters," Stephen began, in the midst of spearing a fat grub on the end of his fishing line. He perched at one end of a dinghy, enthusiastic in all but his close proximity to the water; peering down into the blue depths like a little bony heron waiting for a catch.

It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons where the crew of the Terpsichore could be found in fortunate good health or else could be tended to by the loblolly boy and so, Stephen had extended an invitation to Russell to accompany him in a spot of fishing. He had fretted, privately, that the younger man would not come and had expected to be disappointed. But he had not been let down.

"and above it; did you see that flock of cranes take by towards the coast just the other day?" The doctor did not often find himself in the presence of like-minded company and hence he found Russell to be something of a blessing. Stephen was perfectly content with his own company, that much was true, but he relished the opportunity to speak with a fellow scientist, philosopher and musician; a like-minded individual. During their short time as shipmates, he had discovered they had an awful lot in common.

He went on, handing the little box of biscuit grubs across the dinghy to Russell, "I found myself convinced they were flamingos; I have longed to see flamingos. Pink! Can you fathom it?" With a deft flick he sent his line to the water and held it in the crook of his knee, "but I daresay you know this coast better than I - we are too far north for flamingos, are we not?"


(Date can be changed as necessary :S I just took a wild stab at one I thought might work)

It was an extremely generous offer to invite him and not one thought of refusal had crossed his mind. Russell was not the greatest fisherman, having only fished once before in his life with his mother’s father when he had been living with his grandparents. But on such a nice day with warm and splendid weather, he was not going to waste his temporary freedom from his duties indoors reading a Grecian classic. The earth felt as if it were still and the waters were sufficiently calm enough that the prospect of sitting on a dinghy didn’t seem too terrifying.

“Mm,” he nodded in agreement to his comment, his attention on Stephen as he listened to the man. His eyes squinted from the shine of the sunlight. The man was much older and more practiced than he was and he held quite a bit of respect for him.

When the other man mentioned cranes, the younger man’s face lit up with curiosity. “I… I hadn’t, no,” he replied, his head instinctively jolted upwards to stare into the blue sky, imagining what it must have looked like. Seemingly disappointed, he continued, “That’s unfortunate, I would have very much have liked to see them.”

He took the container from Maturin and he could not help but emit a slight chuckle when he heard Maturin’s confession. Despite having lived in the West Indies, he had never seen a flamingo before. “I have yet to see flamingos myself,” he said as he started to put the grub upon the hook of his fishing line, his eyes concentrating until he managed to do so. “I believe you are correct, we are too north. Perhaps, if our course brought us a little more south, we might have come across some.”

He tried to whip his fishing pole so that the line would land far into the water as he could possibly get it. But it had only gone so far. He raised his head to watch the hook as it was submerged into the sea and let out a slight sigh of defeat, “It seems I am not much of a fisherman. Do you fish often?”

Stephen, quiet and pensive, studied his companion's hook; his pale eyes following the thread to where the small curved spear lay in wait beneath the water. "Nonsense. Your line is set and baited and you cast it seaward well enough. In my experience, so long as it sits in the water there's a chance some creature will bite." Fortune favoured patience where fishing was concerned, but so as not to appear unsporting the doctor twitched his line closer towards their dinghy. However touching Russell's admiration was, Stephen saw little point in disheartening the younger man. He had invited him with the pretence of an enjoyable afternoon, after all; of academic learning and debate.

As such, he cast a dismissive hand and shook his head, "not as often as you might think; matters of the sea are not my forte. But in the name of natural history," here he allowed a glimmer of his enthusiasm to shine, "it serves as a means to an end. There is no better fun to be had than with a scalpel and a fresh specimen. In fact, I hoped you would join me in dissecting whatever we catch."

"Perhaps if we find ourselves in land before the end of the summer you'll have better luck with the cranes, too. They frequently take church roofs for their nests," Stephen recalled how his grandmother mentioned the presence of the tall, gangly birds with red crowns was a sign of good fortune. He rather thought the birds preferred churches due to their height and relative safety. "As for the flamingos," he shrugged affably though his voice was tinged with a hint of regret, "this may be yet another voyage they continue to elude." He had so hoped to see them at last. "You surprise me Russell," Stephen trailed off, "I thought you of all people might have chanced upon them."

What followed was a silence from the doctor, accompanied by the water lapping gently at the side of their raft. Stephen knew he was at risk of pitching over the side if he moved about too much, such was his luck with water and thus to risk embarrassment he sat tight. It was only when a shape bobbed above the waves with a flapping fin he jerked from his reverie and elbowed Russell - pointing to the distance, "did you see that?"

Although Russell felt a little more relieved after Stephen reassured him, he couldn’t help but worry that he would not catch anything in the end and as a result, he impatiently pulled at his fishing pole gently. This drew the line out of the water revealing the hook and the grub that luckily remained reattached to it. He glanced over at Maturin hoping that he hadn’t seen that but he knew that he likely had considering that there wasn’t much else to look at besides the ship and the seemingly endless sea. He dipped the hook back into the water, watching it disappear once again.

He enjoyed listening to the other man speak, he quite liked his company. His expression had lit up when Stephen had invited him to a dissection, he enthusiastically responded, “Of course, I would love to.”

Russell wished he had seen a flamingo, he found their vibrant-coloured feathers fascinating. In his time in Jamaica, he had across various other local fauna such as their iguana, giant insects, and a crocodile even, but never a flamingo. The man who had promised to take him had passed away before they could even so much as leave Kingston. A brief silence had fallen and Russell sat there, concentrating on his line and hoping that there would be a tug soon. But he was distracted by something that had momentarily broken from the surface of the water.

Russell felt a jab in his side when the other doctor had elbowed him, his eyes followed to where Stephen was pointing. “It seems to be a rather large-sized fish!” Russell exclaimed. Once again the creature reappeared and without thinking, Russell instinctively jerked forwards to get a better look at it, causing the dinghy to sway from his movements.

"Large - Lord love us, that fish is a leviathan!"

Stephen's arms grabbed out at the sides of the boat to steady himself, almost forgetting the joy of their discovery with the sudden, overwhelming worry that Russell would have him topple out of the dinghy and into the sea. He nearly chided the other man, but his scold was replaced by a scrabble for his rod to keep it meeting a similar fate.

"Did you bring a glass? Here-" it took him a moment to seek out the slim, collapsible brass tube from amongst their belongings (including their lunch) and quite another for him to unglue a hand from the dinghy to retrieve it for his companion, but by then he was waving it in front of Russell with some insistence, "lest you tip us from our vessel altogether; tell me the nature of our find before it makes off!"

While he said that, Stephen gathered his resolve and knelt up. With one hand flat across his brow, having discarded his hat, he squinted at the gargantuan fish as it flapped at the surface. "A shark?" But that could not be right; the animal in question spread round and flattish like a coin, with one long fin extending upwards out of the water (the very one that had caught his attention) and, he presumed, a second descending down below. When the realisation hit him, he clapped his hand to his forehead and cried,

"Peix lluna!"

When he had realised exactly what he had done, Russell cringed as he had expected to be reproached. He felt awfully silly for getting over excited like that. The dinghy now had rocked in the waves; instinctively he gripped the sides while still trying to hold on to his fishing rod. His eyes returned to the sea and it seemed that the fish had for a short moment disappeared. The rocking died down eventually as he watched Maturin search for a telescope. The younger man obediently took hold of it, grinning rather guiltily. He did not immediately bring it to his eyes rather he continued watching the mysterious creature as he suddenly felt a bout of dizziness.

Russell had also been under the impression that it was a shark, but it seemed a little too peculiar to be a shark. Holding on to his fishing rod, Russell pulled the tube to its full length before he brought the telescope to his eyes. He squinted a little as he tried to take in as much of the fish’s appearance as possible. Stephen had cried something in what Russell suspected was Catalan. The last word he recognised due to its similarity to the French word for moon. Poisson lune, he thought.

His jaw dropped. “Unbelievable. It is well over three feet in length!” Russell cried. With such an incredible size, Russell worried that the moon fish would cause the dinghy to tip over, especially if they were to catch it and attempt to get it on to the boat.

"Quite so!" He agreed, taking in the girth of the animal as it sunned itself and wondering out loud in the same breath, "how much do you suppose it weighs?"

Far too much to bring aboard their tiny boat. The longer he studied the fish, the closer Stephen came to the conclusion that there would not be enough room for all three of them; especially with those fins. They were longer than his arm and muscular, like the flippers of a whale. Not something you wanted to be on the receiving end of. Still, he sighed; the morphology was most peculiar. It would have made an excellent candidate for his scalpel.

Then a thought struck him; perhaps the situation wasn't as hopeless as he thought. "I don't suppose there's any chance of persuading the men to hoist it up on deck is there?" Russell, as ship's surgeon, would have known better than he if the crew were given to helping to men of science pursue their hobby.

Russell continued examining the creature through the telescope; it was stretched out and in full view. At first he wondered if he could remove his dark green tailcoat and boots in order get into the water to help lever the moonfish aboard their tiny vessel. But he knew that was just silly and wishful thinking as the fish appeared to be incredibly heavy. The best answer he could give Stephen was bewildered shrug and gentle shake of his head to indicate that he hadn’t slightest idea about its weight.

“There are likely some men who would help us,” Russell answered. Although, he would feel a little guilty about asking, Russell wasn’t entirely against the idea. And the surgeon knew that if any refused, he would hold a very long grudge against them. His main concern was primarily with getting it anywhere, particularly the lower decks, but he also worried about how the fish would behave once taken out of the water. Russell let out a sigh and put the telescope in his hand back into the pile of belongings on the floor of the dinghy.

Suddenly remembering his fishing rod which had slipped out of his hand earlier, Russell pulled it up as half of it had been sinking in the water only to realise that the grub at the end of it was gone. Either it had come loose or some clever creature had taken it without getting caught. “Why do you suppose it does that?” Russell asked as he nodded towards the moon fish as it lay flat out, seemingly sun-bathing. It was really a stunning creature, he felt like Shelley when he first encountered Mont Blanc. He still made note of its features with every intention of sketching it.

Getting the fish aboard had been pure speculation on Stephen's behalf; some wild fancy owing to his love of cutting up cadavers. On previous voyages he'd been blessed to be physician to a crew who went out of their way to bring him unusual animals since they knew it would delight him, but as of yet he hadn't found the time to acquaint himself properly with any of the Terpsichores. He was only taking passage on the ship and they tended to be busy places to live. Hence, he accepted Russell's view with a nod; the man was their surgeon after all.

"I expect it's taking the sun in the manner of a lizard, or a bee. Spending all your time in this water must be trying if you're cold-blooded; have you ever observed a snake attempting such a feat coming up from the ground?" He would have dipped his fingers into the sea to test its temperature there and then, but the dinghy had just begun to settle and he felt more at ease with it still. "It makes you wonder why they call them lluna at all if what we see there is truly an affection for the sun."

With the boat now settled, he sat back down with an awkward bump and rested his elbows on his knees; observing the fish scull gently against the tide to keep its position. "Oh, it swims like an oarsman," he marvelled, shaking his head, "if we had it aboard we could see how it came to be proportioned so."

Stephen stopped himself short at that moment. His smile became a little stilted and tight as he bit his lower lip and after another while studying the sea, he continued in more sober tones, "though I do think it has drifted a little far from the boat to be captured now; I shouldn't like to row after it."

Listening to Maturin, he watched the moon fish while he lowered his fishing rod to have the hook dangling in front of his face. He nodded when Stephen had asked him, likely a rhetorical question, about a snake coming above ground. He smiled at his companion, seemingly very satisfied with his answer. The elder man’s explanation made quite some sense and part of Russell wished that they could have gone through all that trouble to bring it aboard the ship.

Russell leaned over to retrieve the container of bait that he had settled down earlier. He took one of the grubs and secured it to the hook, vastly eager that this time he would catch something interesting. A part of him hoped that he would get something before the older doctor, likely out of the fact that he had only ever caught one fish with a hook before. He usually preferred the method of using a net which he found to be much easier.

His eyes rose to see that the fish was on its way now, going farther and farther away. Being rather near-sighted, he could no longer see it in its clear form. It had now disappeared beyond his vision and was now just as blurry as the horizon in the distance was. He sensed an air of sombreness in Maturin’s comment. “There are plenty of curious fish to catch in these waters, my friend. I am certain we will find something to our liking, perhaps even better,” Russell was earnest in expression and clearly trying to be reassuring to the man, despite the fact that his eyes were squinting a little from the sunlight.

He tried to cast his fishing line as far as possible and again, it fell relatively close to the dinghy. He settled back in relaxation, the boat rocking with his movements. He could feel his stomach rumble a little. “What do you say of a brief pause for lunch?”

"Yes, yes - you're right, of course," Stephen said, now examining the hook at the end of his line. His bait was still there, but it had curled in on itself and hung deathly still. He dangled it, limp and flaccid, before the other doctor, "do you suppose your pelagic curios have no appetite for biscuit weevils? I don't think this would entice anyone, brined or not."

With that, he plucked the shrivelled, useless larvae from its moorings and flicked it into the sea. "And speaking of food, lunch sounds an excellent idea; shall I hand you the cold meat?"

He said this as he reached for, and unwrapped the little muslin parcel; setting it between them on the thwart. "So when was it you took an interest in natural history?" There had always been scorn amongst learned circles for the study of the subject; at best it was viewed as a hobby opposed to mathematics or philosophy. At worst it was still seen as a dangerous opposition to the church. Even among ordinary people the subject was met with some derision; Stephen himself often got questioned as to why he would want to spend hours looking down the lens of a microscope.

Russell left his fishing line in the water, still somewhat hopeful about catching something. He was not certain whether fish would be attracted to weevils but seeing as the last time he had gone, his grandfather used maggots. He reckoned that they would not realise the difference. “Yes, please,” he said immediately, evidently eager to eat. He pushed his weight onto his elbow to acknowledge parcel of meat, but he did not take anything in order to allow the older man to take first even though he had already offered it.

There was only a brief pause which Russell used to think of how to convey his answer into a short explanation. “I was always fond of gardens and creatures,” Russell began, “however; it wasn’t until I attended Cambridge that I was introduced to the study of plants, animals, and insects.” Medicine almost served as a gate-way and in combination with his curiosity and his love for the natural world, it seemed like the perfect hobby. In some ways, it appeared almost to contradict his love for Romantic poetry. He enthusiastically added, “It’s just fascinating; there is much to learn from Nature and about its connection to Man on a scientific level as well as spiritual...”

Realising that he was beginning to ramble, Russell stopped and changed the direction, “And yourself, doctor? You have a great deal more experience and knowledge about the subject than I.”

While Russell talked, Stephen occupied himself with the bread; tearing first a chunk for himself (which came to rest on his thigh) and second a chunk from this that he speared and cast back to the ocean on his line. The meat was left for the younger doctor.

He secured his rod back to his knee then, attentive to the conversation and nodding along. "Ah, I had heard you were a Cambridge scholar; I read in Dublin initially and Paris after that. Hardly as prestigious as Cambridge, but my education serves its purpose, certainly."

A mild frown found him at then; the issue that had nagged at him over the last few days returning with Russell's praise. He recognised it in himself as discomfort at being thought of so highly; as he had barely stepped into the sickbay since coming aboard, it didn't seem right to be heaped with such admiration based on hearsay alone. It felt false. He rubbed his jaw.

"You speak kindly; though I cannot agree." He pointed at the water, "consider the fish we chanced across just a moment ago; had either of us seen it before?" Allowing that question to hang between them for a second, Stephen added, "to know a thing by name is hardly knowing it in its entirety, you see? It is no different to knowing Cumulus but not its nature to produce inclement weather."

"So I say to you this; aboard this ship as physicians, just as aboard this vessel as men of science; we are equals. Moreso -" he held his hand up, "if you will allow me to speak frankly, I will not permit you to feel undermined by my presence simply due to a difference in age and experience." This, he believed, was the crux of the reticence he observed in Russell during their time in the sickbay together; he believed the younger doctor to be suffering some form of anxiety due to having a more practised physician present. This would never do. "You are as fine a physician as any, doctor, and the men are blessed to have you responsible for their health."

"May I also remind you that it is your station here aboard the Terpsichore." He permitted himself a smile at last, "I am simply a passenger. Happy and willing to earn my keep, but a passenger none the less."

Russell was only slightly startled by Stephen’s response. His throat tensed but he felt neither irritated nor resentful by the man’s honest commentary; it was perfectly legitimate for the man to express himself and perhaps, Russell had been behaving in a way that reflected that he thought himself undermined. He had not noticed it but when stressed, particularly when caring after patients, his mind was elsewhere and he usually over-worried. Russell remained still, instinctively giving the man his respectful attention; although, occasionally, he glanced elsewhere in order not to appear slighted.

When Stephen had finished, he nodded his head quickly, his eyebrows upcast, and said in a thoughtful manner, “You are right, doctor.” He let out a sigh that released the small build-up of tension in his chest, then he added: “I apologise if I have made you feel at unease.” He felt guilty about the prospect but after saying this, a weight lifted from his chest. He then offered a smile, though it was admittedly forced, it was genuine. Glancing at the bread, he edged sideways and grabbed the meat, feeling hungrier than he had previously, and took a small portion of it before setting it back where it had been previously sitting.

“I’m rather curious,” Russell started; he decided that a change of subject, at least for the time, being would be best, “other than natural history, does either literature or music perhaps interest you?”

To this, Stephen sighed also; the aim of his frankness had not been to force an apology from the younger man, but to try to bring them to a mutual understanding. He saw no reason for Russell's self-depreciation; the hesitance at diagnosis, his imagined rotten luck with fishing; in fact, his maudlin state rather reminded him of himself, at times. Uncomfortably so.

"Let us say no more of it," he suggested as way of an accord, helping himself to the meat, "I'm sorry to have broached the subject at all."

So then he settled into a silence of bread and cold meat; punctuated only by Russell's question, when it came. He nodded, swallowing his mouthful before he spoke, "both. Though music I find difficult to come by at sea, unless you count shanty's. Are you a musician?"

“Why, yes,” Russell said with a grin, strangely holding his piece of meat until he again positioned himself so he was able to grab a good chunk of bread and then settle himself back in a slight recline once again. “My mother and father made it a point to teach me the piano and the violin,” as he said this, he slid his bit of meat into his bread, it smelt incredibly appetising. “Of course, when I first started learning I hated the idea of it but I became very fond of my teacher, though,” his grin widened as he bit into his lunch, he had rather fancied his teacher.

“And you, Stephen?” he asked, looking up from his food before he finished the small sandwich. His stomach was feeling satisfied, but he was still hungry and so he once again retrieved a little more meat and bread for himself, carefully making sure he didn’t finish any of it. Russell quite liked sea shanties, but he never cared for them enough to learn any of the lyrics unless he really needed to. He had a preference for baroque and classical music, which he found more pleasing to the ears.

Russell's grin and enthusiastic answer brought a certain warm glow to Stephen's face that had not been there before; he leant forward a fraction, nodding as he chewed the last of his bread and helped himself to the meat. "Me too! Me too - though I only scrape a little on the 'cello from time to time and the piano even less. How excellent you should play the violin," his tone softened slightly, "one of my dearest friends is a violinist also."

Of course, it had been impractical to haul the cumbersome violoncello with him on his trip; he was not a permanent member of the Terpsichore's crew and he hadn't seen what joy he could glean without his usual accompanist. But he regretted this decision now; had he but known of the surgeon's enthusiasm for chamber music he would have almost certainly brought the 'cello along and begged him for a duetto. "Is your instrument aboard?" With a glance towards the ship he returned his eyes to the younger man.

“Oh! The ‘cello,” Russell had exclaimed excitedly and immediately covered his mouth as he did so upon the realisation that he was still chewing his food. Grinning sheepishly, he had thought of the possibility that Stephen might have brought his instrument aboard then realised that its size might have been impractical to bring aboard. “It is, actually,” Russell said in response to Stephen’s inquiry, shifting slightly. He had not played it for quite some time, now that he thought of it. “I suppose you haven’t brought your instrument with you…” His voice trailed off as he wondered whether there might be one lurking somewhere in the hold, it’d be pure luck if there was. Furrowing his brows, he then dismissed the possibility as it was likely wishful thinking and took another bite of his meal, slightly eyeing the rest of the food.

"No," he confirmed with obvious chagrin, though he laughed in spite of it, "I wasn't sure I'd have the room to keep it." Amongst other things, for violoncellos were large instruments and Stephen was a small man; one who considered it a success to board a ship without suffering an untimely meeting with the sea. It would not have been becoming to arrive on the Terpsichore sodden from head to toe like a lubber. But this was not what had made him laugh; he imparted that to Russell with a low, "and can you imagine trying to bow the thing in my cabin? I'd do my elbow a mischief."

"Still, you must show me your repertoire -" he pressed, handing him the rest of the meat with some insistence, "do you know Corelli? Handel? Or perhaps you write your own sonatas?" It wouldn't have been unheard of; Stephen had come across amateur composers in more unlikely places and furthermore, composing and musicianship went hand in hand. It only took so long to grow tired of the contemporaries and to try your own variations on a theme.

Russell nodded with a grin, which appeared innocent despite the fact that he was thinking of the possibility concerning small size of the cabins and if perhaps the ship rocked violently, sending the ‘cello crashing down, it would not be hard to miss either Stephen or something important. Russell made a muffled “mm” as he covered his mouth with the back of his head in response before he swallowed in order to answer Maturin’s question. As he did so, he accepted the rest of the meat from the older man. “I know Handel, Mozart… Henry Purcell, Locatelli…” he listed but then his voice trailed off. Unable to recall any others, he added, “and some folk pieces I’ve picked up here and there.”

“Well, I have attempted to compose my own little bits,” he admitted, smiling shyly before he returned to finishing off the rest of his sandwich before he started at the meat Maturin had given him. Songs of his own original creation formed in his head sometimes. When he considered them interesting enough to play, it was always conveniently when he was too tired to get up and jot anything down and come morning, he’d forgotten every note.

“Have you ever been to the West Indies?” Russell asked, almost out of the blue but having lived in Jamaica, Russell felt not only tied to the place but there were also many remarkable creatures that inhabited there.

"Oh if only!" A mournful noise accompanied his exclamation. The Americas were yet another whole world to explore and at the present time Stephen had seen but the barest fraction of them. "I have seen some of Brazil, but never further than that. Have you spent any time there yourself?" There was a certain wistful expression he read on Russell's face that hinted this might have been why he'd asked, "am I right in thinking that is where we find the sea cow?"

As well as flamingos, he thought privately, though Stephen had heard across the Atlantic they were ruddier than their old world cousins; a shade of vibrant red opposed to the delicate pink. His eyes strayed back to the deep blue water as his mind meandered and contemplated what could cause such a marked difference in colour between them; theorising it could be diet, rueing that he could not study the birds for himself and eventually coming to notice that just beneath the surface of the sea there were pale shapes, pulsating.

The sunfish had rowed itself about face in all this time and slipped beneath the water such that the doctor had given it up for having swum off. But it could not be coincidence that its presence coincided with what he saw now. Drawing his line up and away from the water, Stephen stowed his rod behind him and leant over the side of the boat to take a better look, commenting to his friend, "I believe our luck with fishing is shot, doctor."

“You are correct,” Russell said simply with a gentle nod then added, “I had seen some while in Jamaica.” In truth, he had also swum near the creature and while thinking back to that sunny day and wondering if Stephen had journeyed into Brazil’s jungles, Russell ate the rest of his meat. When he was done, he licked his lips and eyed the rest of the boat hungrily as if to search for more food. But then feeling satisfied, he returned his attentions to his own fishing rod while Stephen packed his away and looked into the waters. “Indeed,” Russell nodded in response to Stephen’s comment; although, he still left his fishing line in the water and decided that he would leave it there until he caught something.

He calmly mumbled, “I suppose... in that case, there will be no dissection.” Slightly disappointed, he shuffled sideways to the edge of the dinghy to look as well. “I would have thought that we might have at least caught salmon,” the man confessed as he leaned over to fiddle the water with his tanned fingers. Had the Terpsichore been in the West Indies or perhaps closer to Africa, there would have been an abundant amount of fish to see there, many of them were different colours, vibrant and varying.

"Not necessarily, look-"

Stephen pointed to eagerly when Russell looked over the side; gesturing to the shapes haunting the water beneath them. Scores of jellyfish wafted like little globular bags, pumping against the sea and waiting for some unfortunate fish to drift into their stinging tentacles. "We need a net -"

Just as he had whilst looking for the telescope, Stephen began hunting through the untidy pile of belongings in the bottom of the dinghy, asking his companion after a moment or two, "did you bring one? We could scoop a couple out and study their nematocysts under the microscope."

Russell recognised the bulbous shapes of the jellyfish, he had seen them in Jamaica before and excitedly, he shifted to get a better look at them. When Maturin asked him whether he possessed a net on his person, the younger man nodded briefly in response as when the other had invited him to fishing, Russell had brought his own supply. “I believe I did…” replied Russell under his breath, breaking his gaze away from the jellyfish and turning to rummage through his own belongings to find his leather satchel. Once found, he pulled out a cotton net neatly folded from it and began to unfurl it. “In fact… I did,” he said these words with wonder and the realisation that he could have used it all along.

“Here, if you take hold of this end, we can submerge it underwater,” Russell explained, leaning forwards to extend one end towards Stephen, the fishnet itself was long enough to stretch across the dingy, “and after a while, we only have to pull these ends here and drag it out like a bag.”

Stephen accepted his end of the net with enthusiasm, dipping his hand into the sea. The water lapped at his wrists as the cotton mesh sank down beneath the waves, shifting from white through to blue until it eventually disappeared from sight altogether. Now all they had to do was wait until some jellyfish were carried into the jaws of the thing by the waves themselves; having no means of propulsion save for their ineffectual pulsating.

"Mind yourself on their tentacles," he cautioned, regarding the man as he said this "I've known some species to leave welts on the skin for months. Exceedingly painful." Though the man seemed more intrigued by this than concerned, and as he went on to tell Russell, "I once saw a man completely littered with tentacle stings; huge purple lashes across his torso and arms - nothing a heavy dose of vinegar didn't see right - but it was astonishing he survived, given the amount of venom that must have exuded into his system."

Eventually, reminiscing about his past jellyfish experiences got too much and Stephen gave the net a little enthusiastic tug. "Let's have this contraption out and see how many of the devils we've snared." It turned out, after the water had drained dry, that there were no less than five of the things; translucent gelatinous masses dripping useless in the net; crushed by their own weight without the ocean to support them. Stephen gave the nearest an experimental poke with his forefinger, before declaring, "I believe we could call this a catch, Doctor."