Eleven smiles, concerns about the man's disposition easing. Though Goddess, he's missing an eye. He settles in the cleared space and shifts his focus to his companion's- Kahl's- improvised rod with a nod.

"It's pretty simple," he assures, reaching out for the line to brush a careful thumb over the hook. Serviceable. He lets it drop, then twists to fish out a small box out of his bucket. He flips it open and sets it between them. Dark soil writhes and wriggles. Eleven's fingers dig into it, then gently pry a worm from the container. He holds it out to Kahn.

"Live bait. Pierce it once or twice through, then sit still until you feel the line tug."