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[tends_to_panic]

Justin has acquired a fish. Not that he particularly wants a fish, but there it is. So he's set it up in a tank by the window, where it seems contented enough; and at the moment he finds nothing better to do than stand watching it with an air of vague bemusement.

The door is open. Bother the twitchy space psychologist.

Comments

[plastic_loyalty]

"We should probably find it a nice plant," Grant says, watching the betta over Justin's shoulder.

"Acording to Amy Carnath bettas like plants."

[tends_to_panic]

"I'm not about to argue with the betta magnate," Justin says, amused. "Fine, it gets a plant. Next it'll want one of those tacky plastic castles."

[plastic_loyalty]

"Possibly you should," Grant says, equally amused, "It could just be shrewd advertising, after all. You can never tell."

He gives the betta a slightly-too-earnest searching look. "No, no, I do believe it has better taste."

[tends_to_panic]

"Great. A picky fish."

[dutifuldaughter]

Clar, a basketful of neatly folded cloth destined to supplement the Orkney household rags in the creation of Orkney household quilts over her arm, pauses by the open door. She leans around the doorjam, apparently on the principle that if some of her is on the other side of the wall, she's not technically intruding.

"He likes you," she says, "They don't like drafts. Window's not best."

[tends_to_panic]

Justin turns, blinks at her. "I'm sorry?"

[dutifuldaughter]

"The fish, your betta," she says, nodding to the tank, "He's from warm waters, it's cold by windows."

[tends_to_panic]

Another blink; then a rather diffident smile. "I guess it would, wouldn't it? I'll find somewhere to move it."