The shark blinked in puzzlement, having no idea why the long legged waterbirds were an exception. “Seems…complicated, to say the least. Does someone do somethin’ to the drawings which makes ‘em come ‘live?”
“Well, Toons…” he started, before looking at himself again. His face reddened a little. He had never been in any comic, show, game, or anything that he could remember. No, he was made with a task.
“…most Toons are parts of larger stories, ones that bring them to life.”
“Drawn?” the shark asked, still rather confused. “So’re they created? Not really reproduced like other animals?” he inquired curiously. “Can anyone make a Toon, or… is it a different kind ‘f process?” Surely he had seen children draw figures in the sand. Was it as simple as that? It must not have been, because he hadn’t recalled said figures getting up and swimming away.
“Nope. Other than storks and some very rare exceptions, Toons are just created.”
The Repairman considered Bruce’s second question. True, there were plenty of drawings, sculptures, and renders that remained inanimate, but why did some become alive?
“Er… I’m not too sure, myself,” he finally said, rubbing his hand behind his head, "I think it has something to do with having the drawing do something, but…“
He tried to avoid Bruce’s gaze. He was a Toon; how did he not know this?
Unaware of his own situation, the great white only gave a blank stare before shaking his head. “Ah, can’t say that it rings a bell, mate. I mean… what do these Toons look like? They some kinda species?”
“Well…sorta…”
The Repairman rubbed his temples. This would be a bit hard to explain.
“Toons…Can be anything really. Cats, sharks, humans, desk lamps, rabbits…”
He looked down at himself, somewhat self-conscious of his formless design.
“Blobs of ink… you name it, it could be a Toon.”
He looked back up.
“But Toons are different because they are drawn, animated…”
He unconsciously looked at Bruce’s form as he continued, “…or computer generated.”
The great white was silent with puzzlement, tilting his head. Had there been some unspoken rule in the other’s community about not giving themselves their own name? “Toons?” the shark asked, perking up at the unfamiliar term.
“What’re Toons, ‘xactly?”
The Repairman’s eyes widened as he shifted back slightly. This guy had never heard of Toons before? But he was one, right? CG, but still a Toon! Still, the Repairman quickly regained his composure. This was a somewhat more reserved universe, he reasoned, so it was a natural question for a shark to ask.
“Oh, you know,” the Repairman said, a tad reluctantly, “…cartoon characters.”
Ugh, he hated having to call Toons “characters.” Made his life more complicated.
“Why not?” the shark asked, genuinely confused. “Why, some sharks make up their own names, since parental care ain’t in all ‘f their species. Some pups go off as soon and they’re born and make their own names. No shame in it, mate,” Bruce explained.
“Well, I’ve seen things like yer lil’ suit, but nothin’ this…bulky… Most divers ‘ave black skin-tight suits. I think it makes ‘em ‘ave less drag in the water,” the great white replied with a shrug.
“Hmm.”
The Repairman did agree; the suit was pretty cumbersome. Still, it did suit his blob of a body well, and made sure it didn’t touch any liquid he was in. He did not like mixing with them. Nonetheless, he was interested in other options.
“I’ll have to look into those. It would be nice to swim faster. Anyway…”
He thought about how he could put the name thing.
“Erm,” he started, tentatively, “Most Toons have always had a name, given by either creators or fans. There are a lot of nameless Toons, and I have never seen one complain about it or get their own.”
He shrugged
“It’s just unthinkable for many of us, I guess. Maybe if I was a shark, I’d get a name, but as it is…”
He had to admit, Bruce had expected something other than a clear answer. Maybe something more along the lines of a scream or string of curses; maybe a startled jump at least. Yet, apparently that wasn’t the case. “Just a job, eh? Well there’s a name for everyone and everythin’ these days. ‘aven’t ye given yerself a name, perhaps?” the great white asked before bringing a giant pectoral fin forward in greeting. “The name’s Bruce. Funny lookin’ divin’ gear ye got on. ‘aven’t seen anyone in those things b’fore.”
The Repairman had never really thought about his lack of a name. He had never been given one by his creator (or creators, he wasn’t sure), and he just went by his drawn occupation of Fourth Wall Repairman. Calling himself anything different was just… just…
“N-no,” the Repairman replied after a moment’s pause, “I couldn’t do that.”
He saw the shark place his fin forward. Taking a quick glance to either side, he decided there was no real risk to telling someone in this universe what he did. He only had to come here once before, after all.
"My job is the Fourth Wall Repairman. Charmed.”
Bruce’s remark about his suit had the Repairman looking down at it. It had definitely seen better days. Days without patches, scorch marks, or odd glowing gunk on it. But, such is the life of most Toon apparatus. Worn down, but seldom destroyed.
The Repairman looked back up.
“Never seen one?” he asked in surprise. He was sure that there were others who swam down here, and he was certain that some of them would be divers.
“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' 