S'appening, Mate?

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dauniiurchin:

Murch was impressed by the sheer size of Debbie, and the healthy array of other snails in their tanks. “Woah… don’t show Spyke, but jeez…”

“Don’t show me what?” Spyke was at the front door, and not actually in Shoal’s apartment simply because he had not technically been invited in.

“Snails you’re not allowed to eat!”

“Phah!” Spyke called through the door. “Not all snails are for eating, Murch!”

He went on to, out of the blue, go on about a one-sided rant regarding the ecological ethics of Urchin-kind consuming snails. Rather than listening, Murch rolled his eye and mocked Spyke with a jabbering hand-puppet motion.

Shoal laughed, and invited Spyke in.  Debbie was in their tank, happily eating a cucumber wedge.  The other snails also enjoyed their meals of greens.

The young Inkling obviously took pride in her care of Super Sea Snails. 

“So, uh I suppose just grab... whatever... you...” Murch trailed off, looking over at Spyke. The Older Urchin was crouched down in front of Debbie’s Tank, faced away from him and Shoal. “Uh... Spyke? Uncle Spyke? You’re kinda starting to freak me out....”

“She’s so beautiful!” Spyke exclaimed, with a bit of a squeak in his voice.

dauniiurchin:

Eventually, the supper came to a close, and Murch was left to ponder how to continue the night as Spyke started gathering dishes. “Hum… we could always play a board game. Shoal, d’you  like Monopoly?”

Spyke stopped, mid-lean, as Murch suggested the idea. “Um… you both may, but I’m afraid I’ll have to duck out…”

“Aw, what’s wrong, Unca? You afraid of,” Murch snapped double finger-guns at the older urchin, “the Monopoly master?”

“No!” Spyke quipped back, a bit too quickly. “I just have some orders that I could stand to fill and work on, is all.”

The confidence drained from Murch’s face. “Oh, right… orders…” It took him a few moments, but he let out a deep sigh, exhaling something to the effect of him also having orders that he needed to work on.

“But, lucky us, this could be a good thing!” Spyke smiled over at Shoal. “Would you like to work up here with us? We could talk while we work.”

“Or we could watch TV,” Murch added, kind of quietly.

“I c-can help…” Shoal smiled.  “I wraap and b-box my own pieces…”  Glancing at the clock, she gasped, “Oh…  I have t-to feed the snails.  I’ll b-be back…”  Pausing, she asked, “Would you l-like to see them, Murch?”

In Shoal’s apartment, there were still boxes needing unpacked, but overall, her few belongings were already set up.  On a table lay crochet patterns, a rack of yarns, patches, and an assortment of crochet needles.  Boxes, tissue paper, and tape were all neatly organized.  Several tanks lined the living room wall, each with a Super Sea Snail.  Shoal carefully measured food, and fed each snail.

Picking the biggest snail up, Shoal introduced them to Murch, “This is D-Debbie.  My breeder sssnail.  Those four are her babies from t-two years ago.”  Gesturing to another tank, this one with a cluster of eggs, “Those will ha-hatch soon.  Debbie t-tried to eat them…”

Murch was impressed by the sheer size of Debbie, and the healthy array of other snails in their tanks. “Woah... don’t show Spyke, but jeez...”

“Don’t show me what?” Spyke was at the front door, and not actually in Shoal’s apartment simply because he had not technically been invited in.

“Snails you’re not allowed to eat!”

“Phah!” Spyke called through the door. “Not all snails are for eating, Murch!”

“Thaaank you…” Shoal sat, and added, “Water’s f-fiine…”   She smiled at Murch, “I’m f-fine…  Thaank you…”

The stew was delicious and warm, and Shoal enjoyed listening to Murch’s and Spyke’s banter.  She was relatively quiet, more listening than talking.  She was nervous to fully remove the surgical mask covering her mouth, self-conscious about the chaps and scars on her lips.

Eventually, the supper came to a close, and Murch was left to ponder how to continue the night as Spyke started gathering dishes. “Hum... we could always play a board game. Shoal, d’you  like Monopoly?”

Spyke stopped, mid-lean, as Murch suggested the idea. “Um... you both may, but I’m afraid I’ll have to duck out...”

“Aw, what’s wrong, Unca? You afraid of,” Murch snapped double finger-guns at the older urchin, “the Monopoly master?”

“No!” Spyke quipped back, a bit too quickly. “I just have some orders that I could stand to fill and work on, is all.”

The confidence drained from Murch’s face. “Oh, right... orders...” It took him a few moments, but he let out a deep sigh, exhaling something to the effect of him also having orders that he needed to work on.

“But, lucky us, this could be a good thing!” Spyke smiled over at Shoal. “Would you like to work up here with us? We could talk while we work.”

The scarf was immediately wrapped and knotted around his neck. “Aww, thanks, luv! Now, I have a gift for you. Close your eyes!”

As soon as Shoal was confirmably not looking, Spyke draped his present to her- a lively poncho- over her head, so that her head slipped though the neck hole and she was wearing it. “Now, this next bit is a bit of a combined effort between Murch and I.”

Shoal smiled as she came in.  “Hello…  W-where should I set-set my bag?” In the bag were her crochet needles, inventory book, and some examples of her work.

The stew smelled delicious, and Shoal made sure she had the dose of enzyme powder so she could digest what she eats.  “Thank you for ha-having me over.” Shoal fiddled with the mask covering her nose and mouth, hesitant to remove it.

After showing her to a coat rack to hang her bag from, Spyke lead her to the dining table, where Murch was already seated and the dishes were already plated with stew. “It’s no problem at all! Ah, I suppose I should have asked if you had any food allergies, though-”

Murch raised his hand with a tiny, hopeful smile. “What if I’m allergic to silver sea snails?”

“Biological impossibility, but good show, lad,” Spyke quickly said in passing to Murch as he pat his back firmly. A cautionary gesture. “Sit wherever you like, Shoal. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“S-h-sure.” Shoal smiled again, and fiddled with the lucky crochet hook tied to her tenta. An hour later, Shoal met Spyke at his apartment.  The smell of snail stew was hanging in the air, as well as a few muffled sounds of complaining.  She rang the doorbell.  With her, she brought examples of her pieces.

“But why did you have to kill it?” Murch asked for the umpteenth time. He had made it a habit to practice and speak in his “Inkopolis accent” as much as he could, but in his complaints, a little bit of his own native Mid-Atlantic-Isles twanged out.

“Because it was dinner,” Spyke retaliated, ladling the stew into the bowls on the table.

“But it was clearly smart,” Murch sassed back, looking at the little floating bits of snail meat in his bowl. “It probably wouldn’t have been too much trouble to just... y’know... keep around?”

“Really?” Spyke gave Murch a half-lidded, incredulous look. “After the stunt that it pulled today? You really think that we could have cared for it?”

“Y’know, give it a tank, let it just... be...” Murch mumbled as he looked down, feeling Spyke’s gaze burn holes in his forehead.

Spyke let out a sigh as he set the stew pot down on an oven mitt in the center of the table. He understood Murch’s angle, really, but it wasn’t like either of them could really elect out of eating nutritious food. Well, they could, but Murch’s mother would kill him. “Look, we can look into gettin’ you a pet, if that’s what you want.” Spyke sat down, slouching forward a bit to get on Murch’s eye-level. “But this was food. We need to eat sea snails, and I-”

The knock at the door stopped Spyke. “Alright, there she is. So, what’s the plan?” A question he already knew the answer to, but Murch might have ignored what he had said in his dejection.

“We welcome her in, let her have food, broach the topic of being business partners, and if she doesn’t want to, no pressure, we just hang out until she wants to go home.” Murch’s pout was replaced with an almost cocky swagger. “There was an emphasis on the whole ‘no pressure’ part, too. Don’t worry, Unca, I’ve got this!”

“C-crochet and laace…  Thanks…” Shoal put the Vendor’s Pass away.  Noting the concern in Spyke’s eye, she quickly stated, “I-I’m nooot sick.”

“Crochet and lace, eh?” Spyke said, nodding. It was an untapped market, but it would be a challenging one. The local squids were in the market for durable pieces that they could take into battle, and most of them weren’t accustomed to decent lace and crochet, only cheap knock-offs that were the product of mass production. His brain raced as he thought of how the pieces could be marketed. He shouldn’t have been thinking of work at this red-hot moment, but a part of him just… couldn’t help it.  

“Shoal, then eh? Nice to meet ya, luv-” shifting the Sea-Snail over to rest in the crook of an arm, Spyke went in for a handshake before he got distracted by the falling piece of paper. His hand tried to catch it in mid-air, which, sadly, failed. Muttering something about loosing his edge, Spyke crouched down to lift the paper up to Shoal. She appeared to be under the weather, and leaning down with a head cold was one of the worst feelings Spyke had ever felt. Plucking it off the ground, he noticed that it was a vendor pass.