sojournerdeep | [Voice and Text] Spike|Sela

Aye, I did.

What do you want for it, then?

Glad to hear it.

What have you got to trade?

Not a bloody lot! Haven't been here long, have I? Easier to sort out what you want there, aye?

Do you use batteries.

I do use batteries. What sort have you got? And how many?

Four double-As. "Energizer."

I can use those, yeh. What I really want is a special sort of battery. If I show you, can you keep an eye out for it?

There'd be more meat in it for you.

Aye, that's fair enough.

HaHAAA that sounds dirty.

Heh heh! Pervert.

If you play your cards right, who knows.

Oooher, I dunno, that's a lot of meat needed!

Right you are-- thick, hot, and on the bone.

We'll see if it passes muster.

I've never had any complaints. Where'll I give it to you, then? In the bazaar, I mean.

Corner by the big green building. Look for the shark.

Shark-- like a large fleshy torpedo with fins and rows of nightmarish teeth? Just for clarification.

That's a shark, yes. This one has legs but other than that spot on.

Right. I'll look for the green building and the leggy shark. Quadrupedal?

Aye.

****

Sela leaned against the wall of the green building with one foot propped against it, and one hand holding Fishsticks' leash. This was a concession to all the sorry humans about. A dumb concession, because a leash wouldn't hold Fishsticks if something caught his nose-- not even with Sela on the other end-- but whatever, it made the humans less... screamy.

Actually. Sela considered this as she squinted down at her shark, who was sitting still, unbothered by the leash as he was unbothered by many things. In this size, probably, she could keep him held. He wasn't that strong at dog size. Was he? She'd never had reason to test it.

Hmm.

So, when Spike did show up, he was treated to the unusual sight of a tall, blond, uniformed woman yelling at a really fat, four-legged, dog-sized shark.

"No, gods eat your eyeballs! Listen, you idiot! You're going to go THAT way! THAT WAY! Feck! What do you want, a stick to chase?!!?"

Spike spends a portion of his time virtually every day in the little ramshackle tent city that is springing up around the arrival plaza. It's a place to barter, drink, gamble, swop gossip and generally pass the time.

He strides through the plaza with a canvas sack in one fist. It bulges and there's a dark patch of seepage becoming evident in one corner. The sack isn't dripping yet, but it's evident there's something wet inside.

He's a little sceptical about the shark, until he sees it with his own eyes. It's not shark-sized, and what it lacks in length, it seems to have made up in girth. It reminds Spike bizarrely of a pug dog. A sleek, sharkskin-encased, pug dog with a dorsal fin and black empty pools for eyes. Its mouth is too deep and wide like all pugs and sharks and lined with the usual array of nightmare teeth, at least, as far as Spike can tell from the distance he's approaching from.

The woman with him he assumes is Sela. She's tall, blonde, has a badarse haircut. From her face she looks like a bruiser. She's built a bit like a brick privy and dressed in some kind of military uniform. Spike recalls her mentioning 'brigadeers' in her initial post.

He puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles, a sharp note. Holding up the bag, he calls, "You the brigadeer, then?"

The shark, which is sitting there not really doing much of anything, sort of perks up at Spike's arrival. The blunt gray nose (flecked with a number of scars) snuffs at the air; the fat body rises off the ground on its stubby, tiny legs. Fishsticks takes some steps towards Spike and his Bag.

Sela looks up sharply, judging the distance between herself and the whistling... eh, whatever he is. "Yes! Good! Stop right there! I'm testing something!" she shouts back. "Go on Fishsticks! Get the bag with that yummy juicy meat! Good boy!"

The shark trundles forward. The brigadier plants her booted feet and wraps the leash around her forearm. The shark trundles.... and makes no progress, his short legs waggling in the air to a sort of comedic effect or horrific depending on personal tastes.

"HAHA," Sela says with a fist-pump into the air. "Fucking A! Good to know. Yeah, so, I'm the brigadier, but Sela's the name, you? Fishsticks, sit!"

The shark continues to futilely trundle in place.

The landshark moves along like a chubby tank encased in a sleek, waterproof coating. Spike stands still on the spot, watching the spectacle with a bemused expression.

A shark on legs is weird enough, now that its trying to surge forward, chubby tail wriggling back and forth as it makes a heroic effort but is getting nowhere, it's almost funny. There's a Monty Python-esque feel about it. Spike almost expects the shark's head to flip open on a hinge any moment and a troupe of angels to fly out, or a massive foot to come down from the heavens and obliterate them.

He quirks a half-smirk at Sela's enthusiastic pleasure. Squaring his shoulders and straightening himself up to his full height (aided by his Doc Martins-- he notes Sela is definitely a long tall drink of water even without her impressive boots), Spike holds out the sack.

"Spike, here. Seems as if he hasn't quite got the hang of it. Has he always had the legs, then? Where d'you want this?"

Sela nods, perhaps in approval of the name, perhaps in answer to the question.

"Ahh he's just not listening to me, the little shit. Fishsticks! Sit! Sit, boy!"

There ensues a brief battle of wills between the glaring brigadier and the still-trundling-in-place shark. Sela growls, and then... sits down on top of the shark, bearing the body down to the ground despite the stubby legs. (The shark shows no distress or discomfort at this.)

"I said SIT. There. There's a good boy. Just toss it here, aye?"

[Voice and Text] Spike|Sela

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