Not. A. Shark. Doo-doo-doo-doo.

As far as things he'd tripped over went, the woman was by far the cutest. Granted, most of the things he'd tripped over tonight were inanimate objects and/or his feet, but, you know, details. She was small and supple with bright green eyes and- oh she was talking so he should probably stop staring at her, shouldn't he? Hyperion averted his gaze for half a second, but it quickly found its way back. This time he managed to blink and not look seconds away from drooling dumbly. "I mean," he said glibly, "Do any of us really know where we're going?"

"I'm glad you're okay; that was a hard hit." What, fishing? Oh, yeah, his shark. In the seconds between being mad and oh hey, that's a woman, he'd forgotten about the shark. Damn, he'd been so happy to catch that guy. Now he was sad all over again. His one and only shark. It was unlikely he would catch another one. He was cool and all, but nobody was cool enough to catch two sharks in one night. It was hopeless.

"Yeah," he said sadly while listing drunkenly to the side. "I was fishing. Caught me a little tiny baby shark." He kicked at the sand dejectedly. "His name was Herbert, he was great." The name was about ten seconds old but the moment he'd thought it he knew it was perfect for his pal the shark. Rest in peace, Herbie. Damn he'd been cool.