"Fight?"
Trinket glanced down at the doll. The doll looked up at her. Then two pairs of glassy black eyes turned back to the mershark.
"I never made her fight before. That might be a fun game."
She stepped back, then set the doll down on the sand. It stood under its own power, unmoving. It would do nothing more than stand, and stare, and mimic her movements, not until she gave it a new command.
Trinket knew nothing of fighting. She knew the words, the definition of a punch and a kick. But not how to do such things, at least, not to do them well.
Still, she gave the doll a command, fight the mershark. It immediately moved forward to obey.
The doll waddled across the sand on porcelain feet. Its soft body was cloth beneath the dress, the arms and legs and head porcelain, sewn onto the fabric. The doll reached the mershark and began flailing its tiny porcelain arms at its tail. It had no real strength, no more than a toddler might have, but it continued to flail its arms, lightly smacking the mershark's tail over and over again with its minuscule hands.
Trinket watched the doll. Dissatisfied. It was not good at fighting. Maybe as they played the game, the mershark would teach her to fight better.
She looked back up at him with a blank stare, waiting.
Trinket glanced down at the doll. The doll looked up at her. Then two pairs of glassy black eyes turned back to the mershark.
"I never made her fight before. That might be a fun game."
She stepped back, then set the doll down on the sand. It stood under its own power, unmoving. It would do nothing more than stand, and stare, and mimic her movements, not until she gave it a new command.
Trinket knew nothing of fighting. She knew the words, the definition of a punch and a kick. But not how to do such things, at least, not to do them well.
Still, she gave the doll a command, fight the mershark. It immediately moved forward to obey.
The doll waddled across the sand on porcelain feet. Its soft body was cloth beneath the dress, the arms and legs and head porcelain, sewn onto the fabric. The doll reached the mershark and began flailing its tiny porcelain arms at its tail. It had no real strength, no more than a toddler might have, but it continued to flail its arms, lightly smacking the mershark's tail over and over again with its minuscule hands.
Trinket watched the doll. Dissatisfied. It was not good at fighting. Maybe as they played the game, the mershark would teach her to fight better.
She looked back up at him with a blank stare, waiting.
