Mark is in the submerged library, floating with his
tail curled around the rungs of a stepladder and an open encyclopaedia of marine life held close to his face. He proceeds steadily through his chosen entry, despite the difficulties caused by running ink and eyes that have turned slightly fishy. Unable to take notes, he murmurs softly himself as
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He leafs through his book, trying not to tear the sodden pages. He's happy to have a distraction from the possibility of mansion-induced mer-pregnancy.
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I'm glad my voice box still works. This would have been much less enjoyable otherwise.
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Because logically that doesn't make any sense. But then again. Eggs. Out of nowhere. He's not in any position to question.
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"I can't move too well, that's all. It worries me."
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He's weathered worse events than this, after all.
"Why fish, do you think?
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