Baby Sharks: A Perfectly Rational Pet {Matt}

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Matt was so sure of his tastiness, he could have licked himself. He probably would have, had he not been concentrating so gosh darn hard on flailing as well as he possibly could, just to prove to Wilbur he could. There was no way in the world he was letting that little country bumpkin beat him at anything while he was captain—not ever. Determination etched across his face as he bobbed up and down, creating what he imagined to be a tidal wave but was in reality no more than a mere squall.

“See here, Wilbur?” he spluttered, a bit out of breath as he continued to flail his arms wildly about. “This is how ya catch a shark, it’s—“ before he could dispel his next bout of wisdom, however, Matt was again dragged underwater. By the time he resurfaced, he spluttered and shook his head, obviously no longer concerned with whatever it was he’d been trying to shove under Wilbur’s obviously thick skull.

As Wilbur spoke once more, Matt ceased his flapping. He bobbed, blinking curiously at his first mate who apparently couldn’t decide whether he was a genius or an imbecile. “The big idea?” he licked his lips, ready to berate Wilbur with words that simply wouldn’t come. Obviously the other boy had stolen them from him. Matt narrowed his eyes, letting the little turd know he saw straight through him. If that didn’t make him shake, well, Matt didn’t know which captaining technique of his would.

“Why that’s just about the dumbest idea I’ve ever—“ he began crossly. Then, suddenly, an idea came to him. Matt’s entire being seemed to lighten up as the thought made its way from his brain to his mouth and out his lips. “Say…” he began cautiously, not wanting to upset the brilliance of it all by speaking too fast. “What if we go find them? We could beat ‘em up just for not taking the bait! And then—well, then we’d really show ‘em, wouldn’t we?”

Oh, he was clever. Matt never ceased to amaze himself. He beamed as he looked at Wilbur, clearly waiting for the inevitable praise sure to float his way. Impatient as ever, however, he spoke again before it came, voice clipped and eager. “Well, c’mon then! What a’ya waitin’ for? Let’s catch some sharks!”

[WILBUR HICKS]

Wilbur had never been one who would get all fussy over credit for an idea for a game or somethin. He figured that, hell, as long as it HAPPENED he shouldn't see why it mattered who said it or who thunked it up first or whatever such nonsensical stuff should come up in conversation. Wilbur was perfectly content to let things slide so long as there was fun to be had. This fact of Wilbur's personality was perhaps Matt's singular saving grace. With that nasty penchant for taking credit off Wilbur's ideas, well, any other darned fella coulda had the right to knock him right upside the head to teach him a lesson or two, but not Wilbur. Heck, Wilbur couldn't knock sense into anybody that was so darned fun to hang out with! Besides, he was sure that it was practicly illegal to slap a shark hunter. It was unconsitutional or somethin. A basic human law.

Eyes lighting up with excitement, Wilbur prepared himself for what was sure to be a wild and raucous shark hunt, because that's what ALL shark hunts had to be, r'else the sharks wouldn't come out to be caught. The whole POINT of a shark hunt was to act as crazy as ya possibly could so that they would come out of hiding to either find out what the big deal was or bite yer' head off to getcha ta shut up, and then it would all be downhill and shark-face-punching from there. Simple as pie!

Wilbur jumped to attention after being called out for what apparently counted as laziness in Matt's book. Well, jumped so much as one could in a big ole' harbor. And, welllll, to as much attention as one could while still managing to tread water. Well, what he was REALLY trying to say, he guessed, was that he neither jumped, nor was at attention, but the feeling was there so that's all that really counted anyhow.

"All right Mr. Captain Matt, sir!" Wilbur shouted, ready to get down, get dirty, get dangerous, and knock out at LEAST a dozen sharks or die trying. Then again, he didn't know when he WASN'T ready for that. It was pretty much a daily goal for Wilbur to punch 12 or more dangerous animals in the face.

"Now, the surest place to get sharks is out there," Wilbur paused so that he could point towards the deeper, open water of the harbor. "All the momma and poppa sharks will be out there, makin' sure the babies don't get hurt or nothin'. So the best plan would be ta run out there lickity split and take one a the babies as a hostage, cuz ya ALWAYS got ta have a hostage, and then we come back here and wait for the mommas and poppas to come try and save 'em, but when they get here you act as bait and let me do all the punchin'."

Wilbur positively beamed at Matt, proud to have been able to com up with such a perfectly perfect plan. "Sounds good, donnit'?"

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Wilbur was really quite horrible at this whole being-at-attention thing, in Matt’s personal (and professional, as he was captain of this mission) opinion. He made sure to shoot his first mate a nasty glare just to be sure the disappointment was obvious; had it been possible, Matt probably would have spoken aloud to correct Wilbur’s actions, but there was far too much water in his own mouth for that.

Immediately after being addressed as Captain, however, Matt forgave him. At least he was learning to show some proper respect. A noble effort, seeing as he was probably going to die any minute now if a shark decided to swim on by for a nice little chomp. At least now, Matt figured, he'd die knowing Wilbur had respected him up until the very end, even if he hadn't been able to punch the shark in time to save him. When one put it that way, dying actually sounded rather fun. Adventurous, at least.

"Swim, nincompoop. Swim out there. We can't run. We're in the water, duh," Matt was unable to help himself from correcting Wilbur, especially in light of the fact that his comrade's plan was so gosh darn brilliant. Too bad Matt had thought of it first.

"I know that!" he cried, limbs flailing even more vigorously so as to prove some sort of point he hadn't quite figured out yet. Either way, there was a whole lot of splashing involved. "We've just gotta get a baby first. A really big, fat baby that everyone will wanna save. 'Cause we can't just get a wimpy one, or the moms 'n dad's will just wanna leave him, and then we'll just be left with a little stupid wimpy baby shark. And that'd be dumb," Matt nodded, feeling his point had been utterly made.

Before Wilbur could speak again, Matt dove beneath the surface. He stayed there for a few moments, cheeks puffed out and breath held tighter than a...well, as tight as he could possibly hold it. Which was pretty tight, if he did say so himself. After a second or so of looking back and forth only to realize that his eyes were shut as well, Matt opened them, only to find there was absolutely no difference whatsoever. He spluttered to the surface and shook his head like a wet dog, dragging his not-bleeding arm across his eyes before sending Wilbur a look of mixed disappointment and accusation.

"Ya can't see anything down there!" he spat, slapping his arm against the water pointedly. "How're we supposed to catch a shark or take a hostage if we can't see anything, nutskull?! Your plan stinks."