“Well, ‘ello there, mate,” the giant shark bellowed, his towering body casting a deep shadow over the stranger before him. “What’s yer name?”
The Repairman blinked through his visor. Beat-up and scratched as it was, he still had a hard time missing the Great White that was in front of him.
He had met a few sharks in his time, some nicer than others, so he was hardly surprised when this one greeted him. What baffled him was the fish’s casual acceptance of a blob of ink swimming in front of him, clad in a very aged rubber SCUBA suit. The Repairman had assumed this universe was a bit more reserved than that.
Still, the Repairman was not one to complain, so he just cleared his throat.
“Well, I don’t have a name," he said, guardedly, ”just a job. How about you?“
Siblings-a-Fixin' 