stink_bait kingsuperspecial Had to be near 14 years ago he first set foot in the tavern. She remembered those first days like it a minute had passed. Now, Crower was a permanent fixture, and not just at the end of her bar. He had combined with the town, slipped into its shadow, and drifted the eddies of many of her memories. Merl had told everyone (except Crower, naturally) how he didn’t like the look of him. The others stayed wary and closed, and though the waters had calmed over time, she still noticed bitter side-shot glances over the bottles and smoke. But Abbie just shrugged. Maybe Crower didn’t say much, and what he did say didn’t always make sense. Still, his silent ways had charmed her, and over they he’d evolved into something else, showed another side, a side the others could never imagine. Granted, the rate at which he put away top-shelf bourbon alarmed her a bit, but through all his cold silence, he’d never shown more than a hint of ill humor. She had other regulars, which in the bright light outside the bar, might even pass for friends, who turned ugly on a regular basis. Crower was constant, and she valued the bond they shared, the nights where words didn’t matter. Abbie, like all the women she knew, did not fish. Nor could she understand the foolishness that drove men to it. She knew it was a ritual, and that pride and history were tied to the lore and the bragging. Abbie also knew that the others could never forgive Crower’s invasion, however long ago it had been. Crower was an outsider, and even worse, he was an outsider to be reckoned with. It was ages ago that Crower had set his mark, and out-fished every man in the county. Furthermore, he continued to out-fish any man that had set foot in the county since. Surpassed them all in an instant, and though speculation was common, nobody had pried from the silent man his secret. Abbie, even in their most comfortable moments, had never thought to ask Crower how he did it. Many of the others had tried, with varying degrees of subtly. Crower ignored them. It was clear his secret, whether it be technique, trick, or just plain luck. would never be spoken. The others could only speculate, and the longer Crower held his silence, the more his abilities were woven into legend, and the unspoken respect and resentment solidified around him like an aura. 021008 what's it to you? who go blather from