Baby Sharks: A Perfectly Rational Pet {Matt}

[WILBUR HICKS]

Wilbur lazily sat on the edge of one of the docks down by the harbor. Really, this was just one of those days where nothing seemed interesting anymore. Wilbur had the sinking suspicion that he had done every fun thing possible in the three years he had been in the city. Unlike back at home where the river would constantly change and bring new things to try and do, the city seemed like it was stagnant. Nothing really changed. There were hardly ever any new parks being built, or new trees being planted, or new zoos to run amuck in. It felt like since he had come to the city he had gone on every possible adventure, seen every possible new thing and clumb up every last tree.

He dangled he feet into the water. Small little fishes would come up and nibble a bit on his toes, but even that was boring. Fish: been there, done that. They weren't nothin' like the big catfish and other such river monsters back home. These were just killifish what hung around the docks in hopes for a bite to eat.

Groaning miserably, Wilbur laid back on the dock, pulling his baseball cap with great exasperation over his eyes. Maybe he just ought ter take a nap or somethin'. Maybe in his sleep he would be able to dream up some great new adventure to go on.

Man, what he REALLY wanted was some kinda' partner in crime. All the great story heroes had one of those. Adventure folk weren't MEANT to go about the world by themselves. They were meant to have a side-kick, or a fella' who wouldn't be afraid to go the distance to help out with whatever the plan was. Wilbur couldn't COUNT the number of plans he'd made that failed miserably because he'd been all by his lonesome. Take that time he'd wanted to break into the zoo at night to pet one a those penguins! He'd been all geared up and dressed in black to trick the little buggers so he'd blend in with the darkness and what not, and what happened? He couldn't hop the dern fence because he was too short. He still cursed his luck about that. He was SURE that if he'd had someone else there to hoist him up and over the fence then right now he wouldn't just be Wilbur, the-bored-kid-sitting-on-a-dock. He'd be Wilbur, the-bored-kid-sitting-on-a-dock-but-that-was-alright-because-he'd-touched-a-penguin-once-and-lived-to-tell-the-tale.

Man. Damn those penguins.

outfit:yeah, I made a male outfit on polyvore. I'm that awesome
also, I will have you know that this song is now stuck in my head

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Why did Addison have to be so annoying sometimes? Seriously, she was really getting on his nerves. More than usual (Which wasn't all that difficult, as ordinarily she hardly got on them at all). All he'd asked was if she wanted to go down to the docks with him. Was that really such big deal? Sure, she had homework; so did he. That was why he was going there in the first place, because homework was...well, better left at home.

Matt grumbled incessently to himself as he made his way along the docks, aiming the occasional kick at one of the wooden posts anchoring the things in a sort of way that hurt his toes almost as much as relieved his anger. What was wrong with catching baby sharks, anyhow? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Addison was out of her mind. She worried far too much, and that was what peeved him the most; it was as if she thought he might get hurt or something stupid like that. As if. He'd tried telling her that, too--that there was no way anything bad could happen because, after all, he'd never fallen out of a tree before--but she'd quickly dismissed his logic as "ridiculous," and tried to get him to stay in that stupid, stuffy, moldy, boring library with her to read some even stupider book in Spanish. Not that he'd been dumb enough to agree that, of course. No sir. If she didn't want to help him catch any sharks, well, then he'd just have to catch some on his own and show them to her as revenge and further proof of his superior ability to defy death in all forms.

He was nearing the edge of the dock now, and with every step closer to the edge he was growing less angry and more and more impatient to actually get this adventure underway, even it it meant doing it alone. It would be easy enough--just lay down on his stomach and wait for one of the things to swim along so he could snatch them out of the water. There wasn't even anything for Addie to get to worked up about.

How Matt hadn't noticed the kid sitting on the edge of his dock, he had no idea; after all, the idiot was taking up about half of the thing, and for what? Sitting around and putting his feet in the water? Matt actually laughed at that, momentarily forgetting that the stranger would probably think him crazy for it. This kid deserved it, though, whoever he was; sitting around was easily the worst thing anyone could ever even think of doing with their spare time, and here this idiot was, acting like owned the place and doing absolutely nothing at the same time.

"Say, ya mind moving over? I'm trying to catch a shark here, and you're in the way," Matt spoke loudly, actually puffing his chest out the tiniest bit for added effect. Who knew, maybe the kid would join or something. The more he looked at him, the more fun he seemed like he could be...and if Addison was too dumb to join in on fun, who was so say he couldn't invite someone else to come along? It was his adventure, after all.

[WILBUR HICKS]

It weren't often that Wilbur felt this.... what? He didn't know a word that could completely capture this horrible, blarg-ish feeling of his. Lazy? Bummed? Cheated by the entire uptight society that was New York with all its rules and regulations? He couldn't figure out just what it was for the life of him.

Eyes shut tightly and hearing only the occassional bump along the dock muffled by the soft whisper of the waves, he was sure that he had all the time in the world to riddle this problem of his out. Since he wouldn't be doing anything fun like catching penguins any time soon it wasn't like that would get in the way of his inward reflection. God, this was exactly what he'd always hated whenever Auntie had dragged him to church with her. That constant call to "look within" to find whatever. He'd always just found a bunch of nervous energy that was tired of being cooped up in that musty old church for so long. Now though, he felt like there was no reason to feel antsy. He felt like some kind of ancient monk up in some high and mighty tower somewhere in the far East with nothing better to do than lok inward to find the source of all his unhappiness and then -

"Say, ya mind moving over? I'm trying to catch a shark here, and you're in the way,"

Wilbur snapped to, sitting up and pulling the hat back up onto his head. In an instant he realized the perfect word to describe his feelings to discontent: lonely, but that didn't seem to matter anymore because in the course of one single sentnece he had found something to do. He had discovered that he HADN'T done everything there was to do for fun in the city. He had discovered someone else with a penchant for catching small critters what lived all over the city.

His mind was a reeling. Sharks, sharks, SHARKS! Why hadn't he thought of it before!? They were by FAR the most awesome, amazing, fantastically badass fish to ever swim the seven seas. He remembered reading on one of those little tourist plaque things they put up by the harbor that there were two kinds of shark just a swimmin around in the bay, like the Tiger shark and the other one. He didn't bother paying attention to names unless they were absolutely awesome.

Well, if there was a shark hunt going down he was just going to have to make himself a part of it. Looking up at his new partner in crime, Wilbur gave him a look of pure shock.

"What, you're goin' shark huntin' with just one man? That ain't how you're supposed to do it!" Doing his best to act horrified at the mere thought, Wilbur leaped to his feet, hands on his hips. He sized the fella' up and was quite disappointed to note that he was shy just a few inches from being the same height as the guy. He figured his display of machoness with the hips thing would have been much more effective had Wilbur not needed to look up into his new fishin' buddy's eyes.

"Why, don't you know anything, buddy? You gotta' have AT LEAST one other person around with ya'. That's how ALL the best shark hunters do it. Ya gotta' have someone around to getcha' whatever ya' need! Ya gotta have someone brave! Someone strong! Someone who'll jump right in after ya' in case of a shark attack ta' rip ya' out of the shark's jaws, so all ya' lose is an arm or a leg or somethin' like a real proper shark hunter, and then you can go back and tell yer' family and friends that you were in a horrible shark-related accident, but thanks to your crew's quick actions and loyalty you were brought back to the land a the livin', and the last thing ya' did with that arm was punch that shark right in the nose!"

Wilbur paused for a second to catch his breath after excitedly explaining that whole idea. Gosh, he was getting HIMSELF pumped up for this whole event. "Now whattaya' say. You in need of a trusty companion to rip ya out of the mouth of an angry shark or what?" Wilbur NEVER asked to join a game. He made it so that the other people were so wound up in a tizzy of excited awesomeness that they asked him!

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

In truth, Matt was more than baffled by the stranger's sudden interjection. He being who he was and hanging out with the people he did, Matt was more than used to calling the shots. People didn't just..disobey his orders and correct his way of going about things because they could. That was ridiculous. Not to mention utterly uncalled for.

Still...this guy, whoever he was (and Matt was becoming increasingly more interested in just who he was talking to), may have had a point. Maybe. Just maybe. Not a point about needing a partner, of course, but there was no denying it would certainly be more fun with two people. Everything was, though, so it wasn't like whatshisface was being all that profound.

Any and all thoughts of believing the stranger before him were hopelessly dashed the minute he called Matt stupid, however. So he may have no said the word. But it was implied, and that was just as downright horrible as saying it in the first place, if not worse. Matt's jaw clenched at the idiot's suggestion that he could possibly not know what he was doing. Instinctively, he stood up a bit straighter, as if that would help prove himself as in no need of a shark-hunting partner. "What makes ya think I'm not brave?" he snapped once the rant was quite over. "Why, I've punched plenty of sharks in the nose before and lived to talk about it....More than you have, I reckon," tone of voice changing from defensive to cocky, it would have been obvious to anyone who knew Matthew that he was not growing more displeased with the boy standing in front of him, but friendly. And when he proke out that devil-may-care smirk, well, the deal was sealed. If Addison wasn't going to go shark hunting with him, he was going to find somebody more fun who was, and be sure to brag to her all about it later, maybe even with a few embellishments on the many narrow escapes he and his sidekick were sure to have today.

Placing his tongue thoughtfully in his cheek, Matt crossed his arms over his chest as he sized up the kid. "Hmm...Well, you sure don't look like shark huntin' material..." he pretended to stroke a rather long goatee attached somewhere a bit off-kilter on his chin. "And I mean, a professional like me hardly needs any help to begin with...But maybe I'll make an exception. You know, just this once. For the sake of quickness and catchin' as many sharks as possible, and ONLY for that reason," he was overcompensating perhaps a bit with his excuses, but it was entirely necessary. There was no way he was letting this kid know he'd been desperate for a partner the minute he found out he'd be hunting alone.

With a deep, seemingly purposful sigh, Matt extended his and for his new Second-in-command to shake. "Welcome abord the expedition, Mister....?" he paused, waiting for the stranger's name. Grinning suddenly, he added "Name's Matt, by the way."

[WILBUR HICKS]

Already, at the prospect of going to the end of that dock and hanging over the side, facing certain death as he swung back and forth and tried to capture himself a baby shark, Wilbur was practically shaking with anticipation. It was thrilling, really, to be able to have someone to help him come up with these things for once. he had thought that he liked being on his own, but that had gotten old real quick. He could see now that he needed more than just his own measly little brain in order to come up with the REAL fun things to do. It was like that old saying went. Two heads are better than one. Wilbur had always thought that had something to do with conjoined twins, but he was pretty sure that he understood it now.

Upon realizing that he was under inspection, Wilbur did his best to stand at attention, just like he'd seen them do in all those army movies he'd watched. Feet firmly planted together and drawing himself to his full five feet, seven incehs, Wilbur looked straight ahead. Sure, he felt like one of those weird dudes in funny hats who stood outside Buckleham palace, but if doing that was what got him his ticket into the epedition then he was all too happy to oblige. Oblige. He liked that word. It sounded suave. Debonaire. Mysterious. He resolved to use it at least twice throughout the rest of the day.

Upon being cleared for joining the expedition, WIlbur broke out into an enormous grin. Perhaps a bit too excitedly, he grabbed his new partner's hand and shook it with over the top roughness. "The names Wilbur. Happy to be of service, Captain Matt!" Dropping his hand, Wilbur started walking down the dock toward the ending. he may have only been a sidekick on this adventur, but THAT wasn't going to stop him from walking first and foremost and asking all the questions that he had.

"So, you ever caught sharks before? I mean, I personally haven't, but I assume it's right easy, y'know? I mean, it can't be much harder than catchin' some a those big catfish down in the river back home. Well, by home I mean Mississippi, y'know. Say, speaking of which, where ya' from? I mean, just curious is all, but figured I'd ask. Bit a' that Southern Hospitality nonsense and all. I never cared for it much, but there you have it." WIlbur gesticulated wildly the whole time, not bothering to look back and see if his Captain was there following him. He was firmly of the belief that people were mostly sheep at heart. If you walked and talked fast and loud enough they could help but follow in your footsteps and pay attention.

Suddenly catching upon a snag in their plan, however, he stopped suddenly and glanced over his shoulder. "Say, buddy, you got any bait on hand, or are we going to have to send one of us in to play dead to attract all the baby sharks? That's the only way to do it, y'know. Ya gotta' flail around like yer' drownin' else all the little babies will think yer' just tryin' ta fool 'em."

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Captain Matt. Even though it was a pirate-y sort of name, and even though Matt liked to pretend to kill pirates a heck of a lot more than be them, he sort of liked the sound of it. It was certainly an authoritative sort of title, wasn't it? No wonder Bluebeard had used it. Grinning broadly at the idea of being a real captain, Matt attempted to return Wilbur's handshake with equal intensity but failed. "Hey, watchit!" he snapped to the new recruit in what he deemed a very captain-y sort of manor. Snatching his hand back from the kid's death grip, Matt gave Wilbur a very accusatory sort of glare as he shook the feeling back into it.

"So, Wilbur, are you ready to brave near-certain de--" Just as Matt was about to give what he'd already decided would be the best Captain's speech in the world so far (or probably ever) when Wilbur--his FIRST MATE. He had no right--so rudely interrupted him. Honestly, didn't this guy know the meaning of second in command? Heck, Matt couldn't even get a word in edgewise to put him in his place. He stood stock still for a moment, watching as Wilbur began the walk to the end of the dock with a cocked head and curious expression. What was he...? Oh. Right. Matt was probably supposed to follow him, wasn't he?

He honestly wasn't sure whether to be impressed or annoyed with Wilbur. The unfortunate thing was that when confusion in both those areas met within the confines of Matt's brain, well...the end result was usually outright delight. Still, he couldn't believe the things his newfound friend was asking. " 'Course I've caught sharks before! I know how to do it, thank ya very much," he huffed, making a shameless effort to push himself in front of Wilbur. Sidekicks never walked in front. Didn't he know that? "I'm from San Franciso. Well, Boston. But I don't remember that much, so San Franciso. There's a real cool prison there, ya know," Matt began excitedly, feeling a bit more forgiving towards Wilbur now that the conversation had moved on to himself. " 'S called Abradazz," he nodded eagerly. Then, for just the right amount of dramatic attempt, Matt held his breath and hesitated. "I broke into it once, you know. At night. And it was real dark and spooky and stuff, and people said there'd be ghosts there at night 'cept there deffinitely weren't cause everyone knows they only come out if ya--"

Matt hadn't actually noticed, but it sure seemed as if the two of them had been talking at the exact same time. In fact, Matt had been so utterly engrossed in his tale of trespassing that he didn't even notice Wilbur's sudden lack of movement until he practically knocked right into him. "Didn't I tell ya I know how to do it?" he snapped again. Pushing Wilbur roughly aside, Matt took a few extra strides down the dock until he was at the very end. He wheeled around suddenly, in manner that would have been quite dramatic had he been wearing a cape, and began speaking again in his Captain voice. "Listen here, Wilbur. You're my first mate. That means ya gotta do as I say. Ya gotta follow orders. I say I need a screwdriver, ya get me a screwdriver--come to think of it, I donno why I'd need one, but if I did, you'll get it for me. And if I say 'Wilbur. I'm askin' ya to do me and this here adventure a bit of a favor. I want you to jump into that water right there and flop around like the dead codfish you'll be if you don't follow orders,' ya do that, too. Are we understood?" Matt paced around Wilbur as he spoke, hands gripped tight behind his back. He'd always thought that made people look much more demanding. When he was quite finished with the speech, Matt was standing in front of Wilbur, looking down at him with his most fierce stare. "Well, what're ya waiting for?!" he barked.

[WILBUR HICKS]

Wilbur was pretty sure the only thing he'd heard from his new buddy's explanation of his life growing up was San Francisco. DAMNIT! He should have known! Wilbur had a theory that he was working on that all people who grew up near the oceans and on the coasts were tall, hulking behemoths, who left the people from the middle states to grow up into normal, Wilbur-sized folks. He should have been able to guess by the stilt-like height his expedition leader was sporting that something was not right about him. Something particularly.....coast-ish, if you will. At any rate it was clear that this tall sea-goer looked down, literally, upon Wilbur and all his middle state kind.

Before Wilbur could accuse Matt of his height related bias that always came with people who lived near the coasts, he was roughly shoved out of the way. Rather than getting upset or say, vengeful, like most people might after being hauled to the side, Wilbur merely got exctied. he figured that the only explanation for such a rough treatment was that matt had spotted a great white shark somewhere out in the harbor and was getting Wilbur out of the way so that he could get a better view.

At the thought of he himself being given the opportunity to act as bait for the baby sharks, Wilbur stood up a little straighter, ecstatic to be able to receive such a great honor. He felt that finally he was getting some of the credit that he deserved for being such an all around awesome guy. It felt good to have that fact recognized, at least every once in a while.

"Why, shoot, Matt! This is, I dunno' what ta' say!" He was grinning like a jack'o'lantern, and immediately grabbed Matt's hand to shake furiously. "This is monumental! You're crossin' borders, that's what you're doin'! I never heard a such a thing. You, the CAPTAIN of this expedition, are giving up the funnest part to ME, just some scrawny ol' kid you met on the docks! Well, if that isn't the darnedest thing I ever heard. You're a real pal, that's what you are. When we catch those sharks, I'm gonna be sure to tell everyone we meet that it was all because you decided to give up your RIGHT as Captain of the expedition to be the first to jump in the water and attract the sharks, and I'll tell 'em that I don't know where I'd be if not for you. Why, I'm sure I'd just be sitting up here on the dock, bored as could be, if you hadn't offered to let me be the bait!"

Excited as ever, Wilbur finally stopped shaking Matt's hand so hard, and quickly began to rip off his shirt, all ready to dive into the water and get to flailing like a dyin' cat to attract all those itty bitty shark babies.

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

"Well you could start with an 'Aye-Aye, Captain,' but--" again, Matt found his words of wisdom to be cut off by Wilbur's enthusastic rant. Really, he was awfully short to have so many words bottled up inside him.

And the most confusing bit of all, the one that tugged on Matt's brainstrings the most, was that he was making sense. Not only was that most certainly going against every single rule ever made on the subject of being a first mate, but it was just plain stupid. People weren't supposed to make sense on adventures. They were supposed to be...spontaneous, and silly, and most of all, senseless. That was it. He couldn't let this idiocy--wait. Not idiocy. Normalcy--keep occuring untested.

"Hey! Hey hey hey!" Matt practically shouted, coming obnoxiously close to stomping his feet. "And just what d'ya think you're doing? I didn't tell you to take that off," he pointed to Wilbur's discarded shirt with disgust. "And I didn't tell ya to get in the water, either! That was an example, you blockhead! I'M getting in the water. I'M risking my life on this mission because I'M Captain and you're--well, you're not. So you can put your uniform back on and prepare to sit your sorry hide on the ground before I--" he paused, searching the depths of his mind for an expression just menacing enough to be taken seriously. "Well, before I skin it off and feed it to the sharks! But...not as bait. Because I'm the bait, ya hear?"

Once he was quite certain his point had been made, Matt gave Wilbur a steady glare for a good two seconds, just to better solidify his position of immense authority. Then, before Wilbur could speak anything else resembling sense, Matt took a running leap off the edge of the dock. The result was a bellyflop. Probably the biggest bellyflop anyone had ever seen, Matt thought even as he spluttered and coughed the sudden rush of water from his lungs. "Besides, that's how ya do it," he gave a confident nod towards Wilbur, treading water with relative ease. "Now c'mon. Get in shark-catchin' position! Hop to it!" he barked loudly. What "exactly shark-catchin' position" was, Matt wasn't entirely sure, but he knew full well that standing on the docks gawking like that certainly wasn't it.

[WILBUR HICKS]

Well, Wilbur was visibly disappointed to find that he was banished from acting as a piece of particularly tasty bait for those baby sharks, but he could hardly argue with the leader of the expedition. Slumping over a bit, he watched as Matt took a running start to belly flop into the water, splashing everywhere. Wilbur hardly flinched as he got wet. It didn't matter to him if he was soaked, he still just wished that it could of been him flailing like his life depended on it to attract the infant sharkies. Slightly dripping, he couldn't quite decide what to do with his shirt. On the one hand, if he needed to dive in at a moment's notice to capture a shark and drag Matt's unconscious body to the safety of the dock, then the shirt would totally just slow him down and waterlog him further. On the other hand, Matt HAD told him to put it back on. . . Damn, decisions were hard.

Deciding that the shirt would most likely ruin the fun of leaping to the rescue, he left it lying where it was on the dock. Other than that, though, there was really nothing mch else to do than assume the shark-hunting position, which he imagined to be sort of kind of like that thing guys do when playing football where they were all hunched over and ready to tackle anything that moved or whatever. Wilbur had never really gotten into sports. There were way too many rules to them. He preferred to just make up the rules as he went along. It made for a much funner time and you could hardly ever say that someone was out of bounds or needed to have a penalty called against them.

Anyway, there he was, hunched over and all tense and ready to leap at the slightest sign of a deadly shark making its way towards Matt. Wilbur was ready to leap into the water and the slightest hint of the Jaws theme song. The minute he heard those notes he was gonna go sailing through the air into the water to show that shark a good what fore and drag Matt's hopefully maimed body back to the dock. If he was lucky, Wilbur would lose a leg in the process and then he would have to walk around with a peg leg for the rest of his life, telling everyone he met how he had lost that leg in an epic adventure that would instantly outdo anything they had ever done in their lives.

After a few minutes of being hunched over, and without hearing a single note of foreboding music, Wilbur relaxed a bit, standing up and scratching his head. He just didn't understand it! What were they doing wrong? Matt ought ter have been shark chum long before now.

"....Are ya.... are ya sure you're flailin' the right way?" Wilbur asked, not really wanting to question his leader's techniqe, but at the same time fed up with waiting for this darned shark to show up."Y'know, I think you might want to try wiggling a little harder. Like you're hurt or somethin'. Is there any way you could, I dunno', bleed a bit or something? Just so ya smell nice and tasty to 'em?"

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Now that he was actually in the water and experiencing the thing, Matt had to admit that perhaps Wilbur'd had the right idea in taking his shirt off. It was a bit bothersome to have it floating around the water with him, and it certainly got in the way of the faliling. But it was too late now. He couldn't exactly go about taking his shirt off in the water and throwing it up onto the dock. Not only would it distract from the task at hand, baby shark hunting, but he was quite certain there was no way he was planning on giving his second-in-command the satisfaction of being right. Matt was Captain. If he kept his shirt on, that meant it was the best and only way to do things. And that was that.

Flailing was exceptionally hard work, Matt noted after a good thirty seconds had gone by. And for what? Not a single baby fin had been seen peeking out of the water. He hadn't even felt the slightest nibble on his toes--which, he noted, were still clad in soes. Probably not the best decision, either. Clearly, this whole endeavor had been for nothing. It was probably Wilbur's fault, of course. He was standing too close to the edge of the dock. What sort of shark in their right mind would come up and try to take a chunk outta him when they could see Wilbur crouched where he was, clear as day? The guy had to give the sea creatures some credit. They weren't idiots.

Matt was just about to tell his comrade to back up a bit when Wilbur beat him to the punch. Again. Had he not been in the position he was, Matt might very well have punched him right in the nose for severe lack of respect. As it was, he could only yell back inbetween splashes and violent waving of his arms. "Of course I'm--" Splash. "--Doing it right!" Matt actually went underwater for a good three seconds. When his head reemerged, he looked just as indignant as ever. "I'm wigglin' as hard as I can!" still, he managed to make a louder slapping sound the next time his palms hit the water, an achievement he was quite proud of until Wilbur went ahead and made his second suggestion.

Blood. Now why on earth hadn't Matt thought of that? It was so simple, and yet to brilliant. Why, all he had to do was cut himself just a little bit and soon enough the sharks would be swarming! Matt stopped mid-splash, hands up in the air, and bobbed for a minute as he stared at Wilbur in shock that someone of his rank could possibly come up with such a first-rate idea. "Of course! That was plan B, you know," he added hastily, not wanting Wilbur to start getting any ideas for mutiny or anything like that. "Now...what should I cut myself with?" he bit his lip as he tred water, not quite realizing he'd asked such a fundamental question out loud.

[WILBUR HICKS]

When Wilbur'd signed up for this expedition he'd assumed that there would be a bit more, well, leadership involved. He hadn't hardly expected ta have to be the one cookin' up all the answers to everything on his own or anything. Not that he was complainin', mind you. Wilbur had no problem stepping p to the plate as far as leadership and bossitude was concerned, he just hadn't expected it. He normally needed at least a few minutes to warm up his bossing engines to full capacity. As it was, he was forced to make decisions for his so called "Captain" on the spot, when his bossing juices weren't properly flowing. It was a shame, that's what it was. Wilbur just KNEW that if he had ta keep bossin' when his boss-ness weren't functioning correctly then he was gonna pull a leadership muscle or get a captaining cramp or the like.

Wilbur could only shake his head at the question of what to cut himself with. Gosh, didn't this kid know ANYTHING? Obviously he was goin' to have to se the knife that he carried with him at all times. Well, supposedly carried at all times. While Wilbur was sure that ALL expedition captains were supposed to walk around with knives on them, but judgin' from this guy's current track record he highly doubted that he was packing any seriously sharpened metal on him. Nah, if Wilbur was going to get ANY shark punching in for today, he was gonna have to get in there and make Matt bleed himself.

Taking a few steps back from the edge of the dock, he kicked off his sandals and took a running start towards the end of the pier, diving off and into the water. Once he surfaced, he whipped his hair like a crazy person, getting ready to flail like he was drowning once they'd gotten this blood thing worked out. "Now, since I'm assuming you haven't got a swiss army knife on ya' er nothin' of that nature and persuasion, we're gonna hve to make so with what God gave us on our own darned bodies." He grinned at Matt, ready to improvise. Realizing that he had just brought up God, however, he felt the need to improvise. "Not that I believe in God or nothin', it was just a figure a speech. Like, my Aunt used ta tell me." Noding slightly, he returned to the problem at hand. Right, bleedin'. Well, that shouldn't be a problem.

"Well, sir, the way I sees it is we got two options. One, we go with the teeth, cuz' they're sharp as can be and could probably draw at least a bit a blood, though it won't taste too swell. The second option bein' the nails. Now, as for me, I'm lucky. I got the longest nails of a boy this side of the Mississippi, as my Aunt also used to tell me. She said I ought ter' cut 'em, but I ain't one for all that girly groomin' business, so I figgur I could slice ya open right easily if ya need me to."

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

What kind of first mate was he? Why, all Wilbur'd done this whole adventure was stand there on that stupid dock and shake his head and point and talk and act confused, but not once had he done anything. Matt was the one in the water, after all! He was the one risking his neck for this mission, putting his limbs on the line, and all Wilbur had to do was punch a shark if it came too close. The sidekick always got the easy job. Unfortunately, in Wilbur's case, it seemed to make him a bit cocky.

Matt's eyes grew wide as he bobbed up and down, watching Wilbur curiously. It was only when the other boy started running that Matt fully understood exactly what was going on. "Hey! Whatta ya--Ahhh!" he flailed his arms wildly as Wilbur torpedoed off the deck, for the moment forgetting about Captaining anything and becoming more and more concerned with the fact that Wilbur's leap had come dangerously close to taking his head off. Matt was just about to yell at Wilbur for being such a lunatic when he found his face suddenly splattered with water. That was it. He couldn't take it anymore. He laughed as he tred water, bobbing beneath the surface every few kicks or so due to the fact that he was clutching his stomach so tightly.

Whipping his own head of hair about as Wilbur spoke, Matt was only half-listening to the words of the other boy, and honestly couldn't care less about his religious orientation so long as it didn't interfere with his fun-having abilities. He slowed his movements in order to listen to Wilbur's next proposition, for he hadn't the slightest idea himself how they were supposed to cut him open. A swiss army knife! Why, that would have solved all their problems! Matt wasn't usually too fond of things, being of the belief that they made the fun things in life far too simple with all their little gagets, but he sure could've used one now...Why hadn't Wilbur brought one along? He seemed like the kind of kid who at the very least kept a good, sharp arrowhead with him at all times. Surely he had something pointy on him?

...Like nails. Matt for one didn't keep his fingernails particularly long, finding them to get in the way of tree-climbing if they reached a length any greater than nubs. Of course, he'd never been blind to the various benefits of having longer talons, and had thus always felt a strange sort of envy towards those who managed to keep theirs at a length bordering on claw-like. And, well...now that he got a better look...Wilbur did certainly have some pretty lengthy nails. In all honesty, Matt felt he was going to have to keep him around as second in command if just because of the many uses those things undoubtedly had. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" he snapped, already annoyed he hadn't come up with the idea. "No way you're bitin' me--I'll get enough of that when the sharks come around 'n try to tear me to shreads," he spoke fast, shaking his head in agitation as his arms and legs began to spin faster circles in the water. "It'll have a to a scratch. A big long one though, ya hear? Not one of those sissy cuts people get from scratching at a bug bite---I want a big long one. Like a victory scar," Matt nodded as he thrust out his arm in Wilbur's direction, using only an impish smirk to indicate that he wanted the damage done now. They had sharks to catch, after all.

[WILBUR HICKS]

Wilbur felt a surge of pride and approval for his captain upon seeing such nobility to demand such a long scratch. Of course, Wilbur would have demanded more himself, but it was an admirable attempt nontheless. The little part of Wilbur's mind that had been sure this fella was some kind of coward in disguise as an expedition leader all but died away as the rest of Wilbur's min yelled at it for even THINKING something so stupid and traitorous of this truly wonderful and courageous leader. Wilbur instantly respected the amount of nobility and pure awesometude it took to ask for even a FRACTION of the size of a scratch/cut that Wilbur would have demanded. Wilbur decidedly liked this captain of the expedition.

"Well, alright, if you say so, boss." Wilbur was all for acting as subservient as possible now. Whereas before he had worried about acting anything less than manly and brave and independent in front of his new buddy, he now considered it an honor and a privilege to be the second in command to such a courageous leader.

Taking the arm firmly, Wilbur placed his fingernail (well, nail was hardly an adequate term, it was by far more similar to a claw, or better yet a TALON) at about his elbow. "Okay, ready? I'll count to three and then let it rip. One.... Two..." Wilbur sliced down his forearm, all the way to the wrist. Sure, it wasn't as bad as anything from one of those horror movies or nothin', but it would definitely bleed more than a bit. "Three." Wilbur grinned, happy to know that he had most likely caght his leader off guard. Wilbur was a firm believer that if you didn't expect something coming then it would hurt less. It was all that mental build-p and psyching yourself out that made stuff hurt. Like, Wilbur was almost 99 percent sure that if he were to get hit by a car when he wasn't looking he wouldn't feel a thing. He had yet to test this theory out, but he was almost positive that it was correct.

Knowing that Matt would only want to congratulate Wilbur for doing such a fine job of opening up some veins, and wanting none of that congratulation and fame until they had caught themselves a rogue shark, Wilbur quickly went about talking, if only in order to keep Matt from wasting all his praise. "Righto, well, looks like we'll have enough blood to bring about all the sharks on the entire East coast. Now, you got your flailin' muscles ready? Have ya' done the proper stretches to get ya' all warmed up and ready for flounderin' around like you've never floundered before?"

Wilbur was eager to show off the proper technique, one he had developed in the muddy waters of the Mighty Mississippi. Holding up a single finger to indicate he needed a moment to compose himself, he swum off a bit from Matt, so as not to injure him in what was sure to be an exemplary display of bungled up swimming. After a moment, he began spasming as best he could, slapping his arms in the waters and splashing and kicking and wiggling like a worm on a hook in such a way that he was sure he looked absolutely delicious to each and every shark in the vicinity. In short, he was absolutely perfect.

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Matt liked being called boss. Or captain. Or sir. Or his name. Anything that oozed authority and wonderfulness, really. So far, Wilbur was doing quite wonderfully at building that part of Matt's ego, if he did say so himself. Still, he couldn't be letting his second get any ideas, that was for sure. " 'Course I say so, ya nitwit! Wouldja be here if I hadn't?" he really didn't have any idea what he was saying at this point; all he knew was that he wanted that scratch, and he wanted it now, before anybody here got the idea he was going to chicken out about this whole thing. Which he wasn't. Matt wasn't even close to chicken-like, and everyone knew it except Wilbur, and it was about time someone taught him.

Matt nodded vigirously, resisting every (completely nonexistent) urge to close his eyes and look away from the gorey spectacle that was no doubt about to take place. This was going to be one heck of a battle scar; he could feel it already. Addie would freak out beyond belief. That was, if he got out of this all alive; Matt really hoped Wilbur knew just how much rested in his hands in the grand scheme of this adventure. He held his breath as Wilbur counted, eyes wide open and staring at the pristine expanse of flesh about to be sliced open.

One. This was going to be so much fun. They were going to catch a baby shark out of this effort, all because he, Matthew Peterson, had been willing to sacrifice his blood (and possibly an entire limb, if fate had it planned so) for the benefit of the expedition.
Two. "HEY! WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT FOR?!" Matt splashed a particularly large amount of water in the direction of Wilbur's face, his immense displeasure at his first mate's antics more than obvious in hsi scowl.
Three. "Why you--you--you warthog-faced buffoon!" he spluttered, flailing his arms in angry, circular strokes as he bobbed under the water for a second. "That was idiotic! You said you'd go on three, not two! Why, that's practically mutiny! I could have you drowned for that, you--" he bobbed under again, spluttering and shaking his hair rather ferociously as he re-emerged.

The more he looked at it, though, it was a rather good cut...There would certainly be a nasty looking scar for a few weeks...and it hadn't hurt half as much as he'd thought it would...But Matt wasn't putting any of that on Wilbur's surprise attack. It was obviously just because of his immensely strong tolerance for pain. And as for the copious amount of blood...that was just because Matt was noble, and noble people always bled more than others. Again, nothing to do with Wilbur's skin-slicing prowess.

"Ya don't need any 'proper stretches', ya imbicile. That's the point! You just flail. Like this--" before he could properly demonstrate the anti-technique, however, Matt was again displeased to find Wilbur had already begun. Even more disheartening was the fact that he was, all things considered, rather good at that flopping thing...Matt would have none of that. After staring at the boy for a good ten seconds or so with his mouth open, Matt snapped out of his trance and sent a gigantic splash of water his companion's way once more. "Listen up!" he called for good measure. "You're the first mate on this mission, ya hear? Now I need ya to do something for me, and it's not flopping--that's my job," he jabbed the thumb of his unwounded hand into his chest. "Ya gotta be on the lookout for sharks, ya hear? I flop and flail and splash, and you gotta watch and tell me when you see onna their fins sticking outta the water, ya hear? And then you hafta punch 'em, square in the nose. Right here," he swam a bit closer to Wilbur, planting his pointer finger at the bridge of his nose. "Think ya can do that?"

Without waiting for an answer, Matt swam back to his previous position and proceeded to flail as he had never flailed before. Water slashed every which way around him as he demonstrated what he deemed to be the technique of champions, all the while relishing in the fact that he was obviously infinately better than Wilbur at this whole shark-catching thing. Heck, sharks hadn't even come along yet and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before he got to prove himself.

[WILBUR HICKS]

What had most certainly had the potential to be the finest example of flailing the world had ever seen was cut short by Mat's need to badger on and on about rules and regulations and captainship and first mateship and all that nonsense. Really, while Wilbur had initially signed up for this expedition with every intention of being a subservient adventurer, he couldn't deny the fact that he was having certain mutinous thoughts flit through his head at that particular moment as he considered whether or not to truly relinquish control. TO be sure, Matt's flailing was of a most surprising caliber for a novice, but Wilbur was sure he could have had a few sharks there already if Matt hadn't a stopped him from calling them in with his most beauteous floppering.

Silently fuming, Wilbur ceded to Matt's demands. He swummed over a bit so that the sharks wouldn't get spooked or nothin' by seein' someone else hangin' around so close like and not seizurin' around too. He figured that, while Wilbur himself would clearly have been better shark bait, Matt couldn't manage to ruin the trap TOO much with the way that he showed off his flipperin' skills. Wilbur figured that it would only be a matter of time before he heard that characteristic music and the fin started poking out of the water and chargin' right at them so Wilbur had to dive over and save the day by punchin' that shark right in the kisser.

........

That's right... any minute now. He tread water carefully at first, but after a few minute this care and tension turned to boredom and desperately trying to find something else to interest him while waiting. Without even thinking about it, he stopped treading and let his feet float up to the surface as Wilbur waited for that familiar song to start. Welp, in the meantime he figured it would be quite nice to look at all those clouds. In fact, those clouds were might powerful levels of pretty. They were just a fine old mess a clouds, floatin' around in the sky like it was their only job. For a moment, in that peaceful moment of tranquility as Matt slapped the water and beat the ocean into a frothy mess beside him, Wilbur felt calm. He vaguely wondered if, since he was floating and since clouds floated, did that mean he was part cloud? Or did that mean that somewhere there was a cloud that was part Wilbur? Now that he thought about it, he realized it was drastically imporant to know if somewhere there was a cloud looking for its own sky-shark, and what exactly that cloud was doing to attract it.

Slowly he came off his back and became aware of the fact that the cloud-Wilbur was most likely better at catching sharks than Wilbur-Wilbur, because right now there was not a one to be found. This was severely disappointing. Wilbur was sure it all boiled down to Matt doing something wrong. This was taking decidedly far too long. "Hey, what's the big idea, Maptain?" Wilbur asked, combining the name "Matt" with the word "captain" in order to save time as he refused to waste any more time not catching sharks. "We've been here for who knows how long and there ain't one single shark. Now, I ain't gonna sit around here till my fingers get all pruney. No siree. I say that since the sharks ain't comin' to us we gotta' go find us some sharks our selves and beat them up to make them regret not comin' to us first. That'll show 'em!"