growing gills

Rhyme retrieved his large fish from the water his face and chest drenched as he tried to still his wriggling captive. He felt himself sufficiently amused by the game of go fish, though he really preferred poultry. Up to this point he hadn’t decided what to think about the man he’d stumbled upon, but as he killed his fish the albino offered a respectful nod in relation to his catch. He also asked after his name. Still a little sore Rhyme hid any shift in emotion beneath the hint of a smile.

”Rhyme Cavaliere, Alpha of Abaven.” He told him with a quick bow before allowing the man to take his next shot at a fish. His eyes seemed to widen a bit as he watched Hannibal’s attempt managed to retrieve the golden fish. Should he just quit now? Rhyme couldn’t help but laugh heartily at his luck. ”And who are you, lucky bastard?” He congratulated him heartily before trying again himself, maybe there was a second one swimming about.

With care Rhyme made another attempt to catch a fish in his jaws.