milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It isn't really entirely often he comes out here to work off energy, not this way. Sure, he's always had a sword and always known how to use it, and he's picked up knowledge of various things over the years, from being more than passable with a bow to being fair with a stone and a sling--but it's that first one that's making the distant swish and thok noises. It's not sharp, because there's no point in dulling a blade when you're basically hitting a wooden pole with it, but it works out the muscles the exact same way.

And it gives him time to think. This is perhaps not a great idea.

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He nods a bit.

There's not really much he can say about them. He's not much of a fighter anyway.

"Quiet out here today," he says.

"It is," he says. "It's why I came out here."

"Me too," he says. "Not that it was loud in the stables--well, you got horses making horse noises, but that's still generally quieter than in the bar. Don't get me wrong, I like people, I like the bar... but I'm a country boy. I need some quiet too."

Quiet that he then fills with talking or singing or harmonica-playing, but he gets to choose.

"I live in California. I rarely get too much quiet."

"California, huh," he says. "I've never been that far west--grew up in Utah, and now I've got a place in Wyoming. Beautiful country, but not a lot of people. You can ride for days without seeing anybody, unless you've brought somebody with you for company. I prefer having company along, but sometimes there's no choice."

He manages a little smile. "I live just outside of Los Angeles. There are quite a few people."

"So I hear," he says.

And after a brief hesitation, continues, "And here I am interrupting your quiet... but you look like a man with something on your mind. My best friend back home, he doesn't like talking when he's got something on his mind--he doesn't like talking much ever, really--but he feels better when he does."

"All told, the quiet is not doing me any favors," he says. "I get absorbed in my thoughts, and there's only so much I can to that."

"Well, what would help?" he asks. "I've been told I'm very good at distracting people. Usually, I'm told that by people who are complaining about losing at cards, or missing shots, but I figure I can use that skill as an advantage..."

"Oh, now that...that I'm not sure I know the answer to," he says.

It's a tough one.

Luckily, he's got years of experience at wrangling Sundance in his moods, and he's a naturally friendly sort.

"Ever go fishing?" he asks. "I've caught some tasty ones, here in the lake. And it's pretty relaxing."

"I haven't, no. I've never really thought to." There are other things he does for relaxation.

"Maybe today's your day, then," he says. "I got some gear in the stable..."

He keeps it in the stall with his bicycle.

Yes, his bicycle gets its own stall in the stable. Pretend it's a horse.

"You're going to teach me to fish," he says, somewhat unbelieving.

It's not that he doubts he could be taught, but the logistics of it isn't something he's really ever considered. It seems to be one of those things men do when they have lives they feel the need to escape from--and Ganymede doesn't.

"If you want to learn," he says. "If you don't, you can sit there while I do it--hell, if you don't, you can keep practicing here. You can do anything you want. But you might enjoy it."

After a long moment, he shrugs. "Why not? This doesn't seem to be wearing me out any time soon."

"Fishing probably won't wear you out either," he says. "Unless there's giant lakefish here, but I've never seen any, and it's probably safer to avoid them if there are any. It might put you to sleep, though."

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