Carl
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Carl wasn't a great angler, personally. He never really had a reason to learn the skill. Sure, he's fished a few times, mostly off short docks and never from a boat, but hey, first time for everything right? While Sonia decided on which lure to use, Carl inspected his pole. He made sure the reel wasn't jammed, and that the string wasn't broken, and that it was taut up the length of the pole. He wasn't even a big fish fan himself (the smell was absolutely revolting) but compared to some of things they've had to scavenge, fish was practically a delicacy. He could still remember the time he forced himself to eat stale bread, simply because there was nothing else to eat. Except, there was no way he was taking a fish off the hook if he caught it. Nope. Walkers were gross to look at, all mangled and decaying, but at least he didn't have to touch them and slide a hook out of their lips. Carl hadn't ever even shot a Walker. Not yet. He knew how to use his gun from the hours he spent target practicing with his father and Shane, but he's never actually had to shoot one.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and glanced back over at Sonia from his pole. He sure hoped she wasn't squeamish about taking fish off of the hook, or else he'd have to bring the fish back to camp still hooked and have one of the others take it off.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and glanced back over at Sonia from his pole. He sure hoped she wasn't squeamish about taking fish off of the hook, or else he'd have to bring the fish back to camp still hooked and have one of the others take it off.




