abraxaslogs

Michael recognizes the sound of Nanaue's footfalls down below, but he can't quite place the slapping of smaller ones trying to keep up with him. A glance over the side of the roof reveals the source to be his attendant land fish. He didn't think anyone had managed to keep anything so tangible from their recent experience, one he'd be inclined to call a shared mass hallucination.

Good for him.

From his perch on he roof, he nods at at the shark looking up at him. He puts aside his works and a flap of unseen wings carries him down to the ground to join him.

"Nanaue, brother," he says. The title is automatic. Fake or not, eight hundred years of memory is still a habit that takes more than a week or two to break. "What's this?"

A gift, but what of? Michael looks at it, but he's not always very good at interpreting Nanaue's artistic intent. That clay face could be anyone's likeness.

Nanaue happily repeat broooother and laughs to himself as Michael descends to ground level. So funny how Michael makes wing sounds but his wings are invisible! Michael has good magic...

At the question his gills flutter and he points at the lump of clay.

"ZEEMER!" Maybe up close Michael can see an attempt to make a tail and two stubby arms. Nanaue lifts his basket, which also smells suspiciously like fish.

"BRING SHRINE PRESENTS!"

But Michael can have this one. Maybe Xeimer will visit him too!

He can see the likeness now that Nanaue has spelled it out for him. Sort of. Well, Nanaue's seen Xeimer closer than any of them, so who is he to judge this interpretation?

Of course the manshark would have less trouble processing their recent experience—or is it more trouble putting them aside? He has the memories, so it must be real. It certainly seems like he's not giving up on Xeimer.

Michael's not so sure he wants a gift to one of the gods on his lawn, but since it's from Nanaue...

The rain will probably melt the unfired clay anyway.

"I see. I have just the thing for that."

He disappears into the house with another flutter. Michael could just walk this distance, but he knows how short the shark's attention span is. He might wander off in the three minutes or so it would've taken him to go inside and get it. Instead, a moment later, Michael is back standing where he was with a stone statue in hand: a fish with the face of a smiling child, one of the last pieces of junk Gabriel had left behind.

"Here, for your offering."

Please just take it.

Nanaue doesn't wander off (although he does eat a couple of the fish he gathered for the shrine in his basket). He'll be standing in the same spot when Michael reappears, jaw agape as he stares at the offering for a long moment before accepting it.

"FIIISH...?"

He seems both in awe and mildly confused. But he places it in his basket with the real fish.

"THANKS, BROOOOTHER."

He grins widely, and begins to toddle off with a wave of goodbye.

The feety fish watch him go, then stare up at Michael expectantly.

Michael waves back and wonders if he ought to follow and make sure there's still enough left in his basket for an offering by the time he reaches the shrine by the coast. Nanaue doesn't generally concern himself with things like portion control. Like a child, he'll probably just be upset without understanding where it all went.

Is that what the walking fish are trying to convey? He stares back at them, watching him with their shiny little eyes as if he's forgotten some routine and expected step of this interaction.

"Do you also want gifts, or do you want me to follow?" he says, speaking in their own tongue.

Except the language of fish is not terribly complex and they don't have the concept of gifting, so it's more of a questioning Food? Follow? spoken in the soft, wet lip-smacking of a toothless fish mouth opening and closing.

The feety fish reply in a small chorus:

Food? Food! Please food! Follow yes! Friend? Friend! Safe? No dog. Safe!

It seems, that if Michael wants, he has his own feety fish to look after.

Edited 2024-06-09 02:56 (UTC)

Nanaue is by now well out of earshot, merrily off on his way to make an offering to Xeimer. Michael supposes that means he's taking care of his tagalongs until the manshark returns to collect them.

(Surely he will come back for them. Right?)

"Fine. Line up."

He kneels by the side of the inn and flips over a rock, then proceeds to hand feed his guests the crawling insects he finds there.

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