A/N: Greetings and salutations! This will be a co-authored fic, written and edited by myself and Chalcedony Rivers. Just thought I'd mention that today is Julian's and Chalcy's! birthday! Happy reading.
-x-
Rage.
Rage, despair, fury, revenge.
That funky purple udder, his only companion, was gone, and Old Gregg just wasn't the type to be stolen from.
Stolen from by his fiancée, nonetheless! Certainly, Howard was different than Curly Jefferson, the ungrateful, shoe-licking fiddler. Howard loved Gregg, as he could love only Gregg and as Gregg could only love him. And so he should! Gregg knew that he did. For one, he was still wearing the ring the merman had put on his finger (partially due to some superglue), plus Gregg had already selected a wedding dress.
But then, why would he have run?
Pre-wedding jitters. Inexcusable. This, too, would have to be dealt with. Right after Gregg got his Funk back.
Already, a plan was forming: go to Dalston, find Howard and take back what was rightfully his. If he hurried, he may be able to stow away and come back with Howard as well; maybe knock some sense into the fool, find out what in the world he'd been thinking. The fuzzy little man-peach didn't know the first thing about the Funk: didn't know that it needed to be bathed in a tub of warm buttermilk every other Thursday, and that it could be fed only fresh lettuce and curry, and orange juice on special occasions. No one but Gregg knew these things, and Howard should be punished for his arrogance.
Those fishermen back on land, he knew that they all called him evil, and Gregg begged to differ. It wasn't that he was evil.
Just a bit psychopathic…