He wonders what led to those choices. Going out exploring -- onto the ice? The waters during winter? -- and what a person expects to find out there, heading in that direction. Not quite the 'not handling it well' that Robby was thinking for a story, but nearly ending up seafood - yeah, that probably fits.

It's the crab that gets the raised brow however, a scoff for the imagery, spiced rice before his mouth. "Sounds like he won that run-in," he offers before the bite, his implication not leaning towards the fatal kind, but - it could be taken that way.

"I'm meant to be meeting someone later to check out the crabs." Information, harmless to give away, a nod giving to one side of the boardwalk. "Whenever I see them. But going out," he gives a shrug, "--I've never hunted; never thought about it. I offered to go out before I heard what passes for crabs around here. I'll still go."

So there's no doubt that he's changed his mind. Everything about this place is a little bit unbelievable, even with the oddities right in front of your face. But it was a word made, and a word he intends to keep, even if 'venomous crabs' aren't something you really hear about.

"But, it doesn't sound like a job for long." And neither does he really want the netting or other watery handiwork to be a job for long, so he might as well ask: "How did getting a job here going for you? Once you stopped checking out the ice."

It's a tease, a friendly one, matched with a smile.