Jude looks up through his bangs, assessing the owner of the voice. He's still getting used to being addressed by the village at large, especially in a crowd. That anyone might want his input over someone else's comes as a surprise, when he still feels so much like a stranger.

"Uh," he starts, casting around for an idea of what needs doing. He hadn't come to the inn for more than a wash, his tub still in pieces at the back of his house, awaiting some new purpose.

Kind of like him, most days. "We could clean up those fish, I guess," he offers, remembering the few times he'd camped out with Charlie as a kid, before he just started driving out on his own. If this guy's catching them, he can probably keep Jude from cutting his thumb off as he remembers the ropes. "Unless you're taking those home."