#Shnitke | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themusicalhermit · 7 years

Text

Found the sci-fi thing that inspired this post here. Again, written some time ago (2014 according to the time stamp). I edited lightly to make the opening a bit clearer as to who was acting when by replacing pronouns with names.

This was actually born from my misunderstanding of a request for describing how you filet a fish. And instead of going a normal route, I decided to go ‘sci-fi fish merchants’

William’s voice broke though the dull hum of the engines as he eased up on the thrusters slightly. “Port’s busy again.” Beside him, he could hear Michael suck his teeth at the sight of the Exo ships.

“Yeah. Should be room to dock, though.” Sighting an empty loading zone, his partner began steering the small shipping vessel through the mass of ships of various make.

“ Wait, no, don’t dock there,” William said as hands knocked against Michael’s finger-less gloves abruptly, causing the ship to tilt and jostle as the two engaged in a small war over the steering apparatus.

He shortly found himself dodging a studded leather arm guard that seemed intent on introducing itself to his nose. “Do you see anywhere else to park, dumb-ass,” Michael shouted.

William rubbed his neckerchief like he always did when angry and straightened out before they could collide with another human vessel. “Go check the other side – maybe there’s something closer to the stall.”

“There’s a free spot here!”

Releasing a large gust of air, William gritted his teeth and clenched a fist on his threadbare jeans. “The fish will go bad by the time we set up if we stop here.”

A snicker sounded through the cockpit. “Like the Exos could tell the difference anyway.”

“If they get sick –“

His chastising remark was cut short as the ship pulled into the spot before someone else could move in. “So what? It’s not like they’ll die, or anything.”

“Fine. But it’s on your head when the IHS come calling.” Last thing he needed was the Interstellar Health Society calling on him and checking out his ship. Thing was in bad need of a proper cleaning, but by now he was used to the smell of the lake, fish, and engine oil.

“The new IHS leader is a human – she’ll get the Exos to drop their complaints.” Michael shot William his signature yet odd half-smile at him as he propped his feet up on the dash, having switched off the engines and put out a quick byte to alert the Patrol that a new ship had docked.

He sighed and gave his friend a soft glare as he walked down to the cargo bay. “Not the point,” he called as the door slid shut behind him. After a few moments, it opened again and Michael joined him to help with the goods.

Soon a hissing of doors signalled the equalising of the air pressure, and soon two sets of footsteps sounded as they unloaded their cargo onto the shiny dock before them. Michael called over a robotic lift, and after a quick thanks he set about loading the crates onto the levitating platform before hopping on himself for a quick ride. The muted sounds of the port and the intermittent revving of engines soon gave way to the loud chattering and music of the market. After they finished unloading their heavy load, he unfurled the stall’s banner. It seemed no sooner had he done this than clattering stepped up to the newly awakened stall.

“Thatket kikar Shnitk tatk?” The Exo before him had mandibles, and he’s pretty sure he recognised the chinks in the eye stalks, but his goddamn translator was working up again and he couldn’t place the foreign voice.

“Sorry, translator’s broken. What would you like today?” Smile and nod, and everything will work out great, he thought to himself as he surveyed his arthropod-equse customer.

“Kattkritnekaar. Kiktatt. Ak fresh fish taktratii?“

Shit. He really should have gone for the fancy translator instead of the coffee machine. “Michael, did you get that?”

“Yeah, he said he wanted a filet of catfish. Asked if the fish was fresh today. Oh, and he’s sorry to hear about the translator.” Michael sounded like he was trying not to laugh as he passed a bucket of clams to a scaly, blue humanoid.

His cheeks hurt from the false smile. “Oh, yes, apologies. Yes, our fish is fresh today, just brought in this morning. If you wait just a moment, I’ll get the cut. Ah, good morning.” Another Exo had come up beside him, and had cocked its head at him curiously. He wanted to strangle whoever taught the Exos that humans smile when they mean no ill-will.

“Lallaal, Wollinam. Lalli belli nawo paa?”

His eyes widened and he brushed a hand through his choppy hair – he knew this one. “Sorry Lillia, but I’m a bit busy at the moment. Michael can take care of you. Hey Mike, get over here!” He crooked his fingers at his friend and couldn’t seem to turn to go to the sheltered back of the stall fast enough. A laughing child ran by and the translator screeched angrily in his ear, causing him to finally reach up and turn off the offending mechanism.

Behind him, Michael’s voice rang out with confidence. “Yo, what can I help you with?”

A swish of cloth signalled his movement to the back of the stall, where fish were lying on tables as water slowly dripped from some unseen location – probably involving the ice in the crates. The comforting and pungent aroma of fish wafted throughout the room. After putting on a stained apron, he washed his hands and began whistling an old, half-forgotten nursery rhyme as he sharpened his knife. Reaching into a nearby crate, he pulled out one of the scaled beasts, and with a wet splat the fish was on the cutting board.

The first motion is easiest – removing the fins from the carcass, which he did with a series of easy cuts, though mindful of the fin barbs. After this, he secured the fish with one hand, and his knife moved smoothly through the belly of the fish from the anus up to beneath the jaw, the sound reminiscent of separating ribs. A series of soft squelches denoted the removal of the guts as he carefully reached into the cavity and pulled out the various entrails, rinsing out the cavity with a quick spray of water. Scraping commenced as a duller knife slowly pulled the scales away from the skin beneath in repeated motions, and a wet smack told of the flipping of the fish to do the same to the other side.

He took up the fish, and moved over to the nearby sink, and he rinsed the meat briefly, making sure to clean inside the cut he had made before returning it to the cutting table. A strangely hollow sound echoes through the small chamber as the knife is thrust in beneath the head of the fish and drawn up towards the spine, and then, following the earlier cut from when he had gut it, slicing down again closer to the tail. Slowly the flesh is removed from the skeleton with a peeling noise similar to removing a band aide, though the closer he gets to the head the more he has to saw his arm. He grimaces slightly at the sound of the spine and ribs grating softly against the metal blade. Then, with a small, dull clatter mixed with another, smaller wet sound, the fish is flipped and the filleting recommenced.

The water ran from the tap once more, and he gave the filets one final wash before washing his own hands, whistling the old song all the while. After a moment, the cloth door swished again as a paper bag is crinkled in his hands, soon to be crushed in a pair of oversized pincers. The market is as loud as ever, and he is vaguely relieved to see Lillia has left.

“Here’s your fish, sir. That’ll be 40 credits.”

The customer looks disgruntled, or at least that’s what he thinks the buggy face looks like as a small pouch is pulled from the Exo’s collar. The equipment in the bag clinks loudly against the fee board, and after an artificial metallic bell sounded he smiled, glad to be that much closer to replacing his faulty translator.

But first things first – can’t have an income if no one comes to your stall. “Thank you, have a nice day! Please come again!”

#original spewings #i miss creative writing classes #who exactly is driving? I don't know

1 note · View note