Quoted By:
>SHRIMP SHOWBOAT
>"Behold my shrimple beauty, shrimps."
The tension on Chardy's face turns into one of <span class="mu-i">those</span> looks - absolute incomprehension, like some isolated sewage tribesman or surface dweller being shown the concept of a car.
With a most delicate touch, you place your fingers on the disastrously unawesome balding sphere that is Chardy's head and use just the smallest amount of pressure to push him away. Fortunately, the fat man gets the hint and unfastens himself from your coat.
Looking into the murky waters, you can just barely make out the faint shadows of shrimps, the small tiny dots of pigmentation in their almost, *almost* vestigial eyes. But they can most assuredly see *something* and that is good enough.
There is a time and place for style. The stage is set. The audience is here.
You exhale and begin to dramatically pose.
...
Ace
YEEEEEEAOH!
Ace is showing off his moves!
GWOAGH!
Ace
Wooooo!!!
Ace Smith does a gainer kick!
UAUGHHHHGHHH!!!
...
"Shrimply exquisite." Ah, doing those poses felt amazing, even as your head does feel a little faint, having done them a little too hard. <span class="mu-i">Have you been out of style for so-</span>
On the other hand, Chardy looks completely mystified. (As expected, considering his extremely receding hairstyle. It's completely over for him - he will never understand the world of style in which you have been submersed in.) You let out a sigh and prepare to communicate on his level.
"You may keep your shrimp, Chardy. But please, leave the other tub open for me."
"Ah." Chardy beams with gratitude. "Thank you, sir."
An undercurrent of shellfishness rises up as you consider taking some of his profits, but that would be overkrill. If you styled any harder on him, you would certainly kill this dumpy lump of a man right on the spot.
<span class="mu-b">Right now, you don't want his money or much of a conversation, you only want his gaze and attention.</span>
"Buh-bye now~"
You stride out of the room towards the other bathroom, feeling utterly confident in your abilities. You still got STYLE, bitches.
It's only later, having tucked yourself into spidersilk pajamas and a moth-bitten bedroom (ah, how the mighty have fallen), that you remember that the facility is built right next to the false ocean. For some reason, you crack up at the image of Chardy slaving away in that crummy bathroom and the laughter follows its way into your dreams...
