243 Vol. 4 pt. 46 Patch 8.0: (2/2)
There are rods lined up on the walls, all manners of fishing gear such as hats, vests, tackles, jigs, and lines underneath the rods, and there are even trophy mounts on display with a service offering to turn any catches into trophies!
All Fenrir can think about is having an in-game house with a large room somewhere in it, and the walls of said room being covered in fishing trophies.
He wants to push fantasy fish and fish monsters on his walls, real fish on his walls, maybe a shark or two, perhaps the jaws of a megalodon if those exist in this game, and he could even put that stupid mask they got from the chest on the wall since he has no idea what to do with it other than display it. Or throw it away.
Or burn it.
It's a really stupid looking mask.
”I feel like I'm a mistress to your real waifu, fishing,” Serra says as she pouts.
”I – I mean… look, I've barely gotten to fish even though I started playing this game to fish,” Fenrir says.
”Must suck playing a game to fish and getting a bunch of cute girlfriends wanting your dick instead.”
Fenrir chokes on his laughter as he turns around to look at her. She's looking away and acting like she didn't just say anything like that.
”You're something else, Serra,” Fenrir says.
”I'm number one,” Serra replies.
”We are number one.”
”That's a dead meme.”
”Listen, memes never die, especially one as glorious as that. I might have to divorce you if you ever imply that such perfection is dead again.”
”But we're not even married.”
”Yeah, and we won't ever be if you don't take it back.”
”Fine. We are number one is number one.”
”Good girl,” Fenrir says, petting the top of Serra's head.
”I don't mind this but that's Cass's fetish.”
”A-ah… right.”
Fenrir pulls his hand away from her head.
”Did I tell you to stop?” Serra asks.
Fenrir is too blessed and places his hand back on top of Serra's head over her hat.
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Meanwhile, the shop owner just awkwardly stands there waiting to see if they're going to buy anything.
They don't.
The final shop of interest that they come across is closer to the docks and has a sign in front of it with a couple of gears on it.
Inside, Fenrir and Serra are immediately reminded of something – or rather, of somebody.
”Welcome! What can I do for ya?” a small boy asks, rushing up to greet them.
He looks like he's too young to even be playing this game, but they know he's got to be at least eighteen or older in real life.
”Uh, hey,” Fenrir says. ”We're just looking around.”
The boy, even shorter than Serra, says, ”Ah, alright. Just let me know if there's anythin' that I can get for ya! If it's on display, ya can have it. If it ain't on display, I can make it. There's nothin' that I can't make! I bet ya I could even make a giant robot if I really wanted to.”
Fenrir and Serra look at each other and nod.
They've found him.
Tabitha's long-lost soul mate.
Or long-lost twin.
Either works.
Even both could work at once.
It's just a game, after all.
”Hey, how do you feel about a magic-propelled tower of darkness that can fly into space?” Fenrir asks.
”I mean, I'm sure I'd be able to do that, but that's kind of weird! Why do ya ask? That somethin' you're wantin' made? Would take a lot of fish and materials, and time, probably. Unless I could get slaves. Ya know, one of the best things about this game is that slave labor is a thing!” the boy explains, causing Fenrir to internally go ”yikes.”
”I can see it on your face! Don't worry,” the boy says. ”I don't mean actual slaves. I just like to call 'em that! What I really mean is cheap labor I can bribe to do dangerous jobs for me so that I don't accidentally blow myself up.”
That only helps a tiny little bit.
”We've got somebody we need to introduce you to sometime,” Fenrir says.
Serra nods her head.
”Don't care unless they've got an interestin' job for me,” the boy answers.
”Trust me, I think you'll care,” Fenrir says.
Fenrir has been the victim of matchmaking from his own girlfriends, and now it's time for Tabitha to be his victim.