Mindon Island

By Harold's standards, it was a beautiful day, though he thought the stall keepers probably disagreed. Darkening clouds loomed the horizon, but didn't stray overhead; there was a thunderstorm a ways away. Lightning flashed now and again, flickering the market, leaving the shopkeepers looking vaguely nervous as though they might have to cover their wares quickly.

Still. It didn't encroach.

The humidity of it felt oddly comforting, pressing on him. At times, he stopped and closed his eyes to the drifting rumble of thunder. Harold kept a leisurely pace through the market, wondering at how often he'd actually found himself in a marketplace when he had a f*ckton on his mind. Though he took his time under the colorful lanterns and the darkening sky, he had a specific destination. It was a bit of a childish fancy, sure, but Harold was pretty sort of glad for any kind of fancy at all right now.

The little animal stall was draped in colorful cloth that wafted in the disturbed breeze, providing shade for the critters that needed it. Some white furry creature with impossibly large brown eyes yakked at Harold as he approached.

...yeah, he was pretty sure 'yak' was the only description for that noise. He resisted the urge to yak in return on general principle.

Harold crouched by the little crab tank he'd been seeking, flipping back the lid and sticking his hand most inadvisably inside.

"Hey again, crab-things."

"Come back again, then?" The stallkeeper was a rather large man with an improbable beard and warm brown eyes. He spoke with an accent that Harold thought sounded like a tempered, watered down half-German, half-Scottish. Maybe he was Glaswegian, Harold thought, though the very slight point to the man's ears would suggest otherwise.

The immediate thought was 'duh,' but even Harold knew better than to say it to a man he was going to try and get a deal out of. "Ah, yeah. Hey, there you are!"

Relief. The creature he'd fallen in like with the day before scurried out from under a half-coconut shell, squatting toward the center of the tank. Kyle - the name randomly given to an animal Harold had convinced himself he'd never buy - was easily picked out for the darker shade of purple and the mottled black tapering streak across his back. Harold's hand still bore the little mark the bastard had left, and he reached out with one fingertip to stroke the thing's back as it bounced up and down on the sand.

"Yeah, yeah. You're a big bad crab, I see." Harold chuckled as he dodged a determined claw.

"Orchid crabs, in fact," came the odd brogue from the shopkeeper, who was now standing over the tank and Harold, looking down. "Native to Mindon. At least, that'yun is. Can tell fra the three eyes." He tossed a chicken bone from his lunch into the tank, and Harold snapped his hand back as a cascade of little crustaceans popped up from the most unlikely places to swarm on it. Kyle was momentarily lost in the stampede, though Harold could catch his streak now and again.

Harold watched fascinatedly; little claws tearing and devouring the leftover meat. Skittering bodies of so many sizes and colors; green, purple, pale pink, red, orange. Some mottled and shifting gradient all their own. Some of them seemed to be shaped differently, but the wild color variance existed even between the three-eyed Orchid crabs. Eyes pivoted on little stalks, coming to a bulbous yellow point at the tops. Each eye was dotted black at the center.

He smirked as he watched Kyle rip off a particularly impressive chunk of meat, tearing off a small bit to transfer to his mouthparts before scurrying off back under the coconut with it to have for himself.

Harold looked at the shopkeeper, eyebrows up, chuckling. "They eat chicken? Seriously?"

"Fsht, they'll eat anythin'. They like orchids, as the name would suggest; s'where they get all those colors. But they'll eat their own granny given half a chance. Dead simple to feed, these'yuns."

Squinting, Harold couldn't think a willingness to eat one's family member was a particularly well-chosen selling point, but he figured the guy must be joking.

"Hardy buggers, too. Give 'em heat, give them clean water, give them something to hide under and a pal or three, and you've got a friend for life. Well. Ten years or so, anyway. Long-lived, them. I've got all the stuff you'll need. I'll do you a good deal." The last bit was sort of musically spoken, the man's easygoing grin widening as he said it. He bounced a little in place, nodding expectantly.

Harold laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Delightful!" The stallkeeper clapped and swiped a smallish plastic container big enough for maybe four of them comfortably from the table. He pulled the lid properly off the crab tank, brushing some of the sand into the bottom of the plastic container, turning it on its side in the habitat. "This is just for carrying home, mind. You'll need a proper tank. I've got those, too. Go on, then. Don't be shy, just nudge 'em by their backsides where they can't nip you." He gestured grandly into the habitat.

"Uh, I've got a long way to go. I'll-- need to pick up a tank back home," Harold explained absently, turning over the coconut shell and making a point to herd Kyle toward the container. Kyle was not best pleased with this turn of events, bouncing on his little legs and waving his claw in a graceful, arrogant motion. Harold narrowed his eyes in confusion when he found himself... chirped at.

"You get used to that," offered the stall keeper enthusiastically. He put his hand back in the tank, helping Harold to nudge Kyle toward the smaller tank.

Harold imagined Kyle harrumphed, skittering to the corner of the thing to clutch his prized chicken.

Pleased with himself, Harold selected one or two smaller ones; a pale green one with half a missing leg, and one that was a mottled sort of blue and had somehow lost its left eye. A shy, pretty one of gold with a red streak skittered by to hide under a leaf on a plant in the corner and he managed to catch her in his palm.

"Keep the skin of your palm taut," the stall worker warned quietly, watching Harold. "No need for a repeat of yesterday, eh?" The words were affectionate.

She didn't attempt to pinch, she just raised her claw and stared at him. Why Harold assumed it was a she, he didn't think to give reason. This one... was for Scotty. Harold smiled as he slipped her into the container, tipping it right side up, tripping a chorus of chirpy protests.

Harold bought way too much for them, after that. Sure, they'd eat anything, but Harold couldn't resist a little powdered selection of various orchid types from the island. He bought them cuttlebone powder, he bought them coconut shells to hide under, and he couldn't pass by cactus skeleton for them to climb on. Other odds and ends. None of which would really fit in the little container.

Wandering away from the stall, he pocketed the care sheet. Plotting the tank he hoped to put together with his husband, the occasional chirp sounding from the bag he carried served counterpoint to the crack of thunder drawing closer.