“So not every minute?” the shark asked, a bit of relief in his voice. “Oh, well that’s good to know! It’d be awful nosy for someone to constantly watch me without m’ permission and all,” Bruce answered, eyeing the boat. “So where’re you off to, now, mate?”
The Repairman nodded, half in agreement. For him, however, it wasn’t so much nosiness he was concerned about. The Repairman wasn’t a performing Toon (save his blog), but he imagined it would be exhausting to have to entertain 24/7.
Upon hearing Bruce’s second question, the inkblot looked around uncertainly.
“Well, my siren light’s not up,” he started, tentatively, “so I don’t really have to go–”
Of course that would be when that stupid red thing sprang up. The Repairman sighed, pulling a single oar out of the raft.
“…Looks like I’ll have to go…” he started again, turning around, “that way.”
He squinted. “I think I’m headed to Free Country, USA.”
Siblings-a-Fixin' 