Fins and Ferocity

[Plakats]

<It was really a spectacular looking fish room. The walls were equipped with row upon row of shelving, each containing dozens of tiny, rectangular containers of water. Down the center of the room were more shelves, these with smaller containers yet, as well as a few large, 30+ gallon grow-out tanks. An automated siphoning system buzzed dully in the background, transiently sucking water from a given row of containers, which were promply refilled with cycled, conditioned water. It was immaculately clean and well kept, but it held a very dirty secret.
In addition to the 100-someodd show quality bettas, from plakats to crowntails, and even a few rare wild species, there was one section of wall devouted entirely to fighting fish. They were plakats, imported from the mighty fighting arenas of Thailand. Kept in rounded containers dark and murky with almond leaf extract, the large, tough-scaled agressive fish milled endlessly up and down the edges of the glass confines, flaring and displaying to any flash of movement that caught thier eye. They were strong in the jaw, with small, precise fins - just enough to swim powerfully and no more, no decorations to be shredded in battle. Most had the thick bodies and dark scales of thier ancestors, though here and there a showier fish was visible. An overwhelming majority were male, though female breeding stock were kept on one row, each in a separate container, being nearly as agressive as the males.
To the left of the wall of fighters, there were a few 10 gallon breeding tanks, filled to roughly five gallons and well planted with a central "chimmeny" for the pacement of a female. Currently, only one was occupied by a male and his bubblenest; the one downfall of the stock was their tendancy to cannibalize the young, so only the best fathers were currently being mated. And, only one grow-out tank was situated by these breeding tanks, for the young were so ferocious at such a young age that it was standard to separate them when they were barely half an inch long. That was the purpose of the many smaller containers in the center of the room; the tiny jars would hold the infant warriors until they were sold to other breeders or fighters.
Towards the posterior of the room, a white door with chipping paint, decorated with posters of flaring plakats, was slightly ajar. Inside was a sizeable round table, stools situated 360 degrees around its circumference. In the center was one tall, narrow tank of perhaps 4 gallons. Presently, every seat around the table was filled with cheering, dollar-waving men. The small tank in the middle housed two fine young fighting bettas, one belonging to the breeder and owner of the facility, one brought in by a fellow "enthusiast" living in a neighboring town. The two fish were engaged in deadly combat, both with fins reduced to tattered shreds and bodies marbled by patches of torn, scaleless flesh. It would not be long before the "victor" would be declared, and the males could return to their enclosures to recover... or die.
Sumalee was lucky. As a female, she would not be used in battle. Though, it could be said that the practice of mating was hardly different than a battle. She was still to young, just out of the grow-out tank and tiny for her age, but the time would come when she would be introduced to the breeding tanks. Or perhaps not. Though she was of good color and finnage, she did have a flawed gill, eye, and ventral. This could label her a cull fish, and indeed, if she did not grow quickly, she would probably be "sacrificed" to make room for a more viable female.
It was not that she knew this, though from the way she frantically paced up and down against the glass prison, one would think she might. No, Sumalee was rather just bored and hungry, her barren, dark-watered tank of less than a half gallon bringing her no behavioral stimulation, and certainly no reprieve from her feelings of exposure. On both sides were other, larger females, females that she found intimidating and terrifying. Being sandwiched inbetween potential enemies was nerve-wracking, even with a thick layer of glass to protect her.
One of these females was Sirikit, a fine-bodied, well colored female who was quickly making herself popular for breeding. Large, plump, healthy, and beautifully formed, the young plakat was agressive enough to promise good, "game" offspring, but passive enough to at least not severely damage a male. Some degree of fin-nipping and face biting was always acceptable, but a female who killed one of the prized fighters she was placed with always was culled. There had to be, after all, breeding taking place to perpetuate the sport, so viciousness occasionally had to be sacrificed in part to ensure the species at least survived.
Of course, sometimes breeding simply didn't take the desired route, especially when ordering new stock in. The last pair bred clearly had some other tail type in its lineage, likely a pet quality one at that, for much of the brood came out long finned and passive. Amongst that brood was Chet, an exhuberently colored male with gorgeous, long fins... too long for a plakat, and much too long for a good fighter. It was unlikely he'd become one, at any rate; the male was more gentle tempered than most of the females in the place. His only function right now was growing into a large opponent to bait some of the up and coming fighters before he would be culled. For now, he was in one of the smallest containers in the place, a low-priority jail cell that often was allowed to get too cold or too dirty on account of the uselessness of its inhabitant. There was simply no room for weakness in the world of betta fighting.>

[Six Fish]

:Anath swam her endless circles, slowly slithering through the upper reaches of her ‘tank’. Her coal black eye, rimmed with feral yellow, gazed out at the world, penetrating the gloomy murk with some trouble but none the less showing her enough to cause her to flare nearly every time she swept past the fish on either sides of her: the smaller, younger red, and on the other side, a larger fleshy-brown female. Anath enjoyed causing the smaller fish more anxiety, and delighted in the fact that the fleshy-brown fish gave her some sport, flaring and squiggling through the water. In a real fight, Anath would not stand a chance against the other female, yet with glass and air between them, the other could do nothing. Smiling smugly to herself at these thoughts, the piebald moved a little slower, sinking down so that her fins brushed the bottom of her tank. Soon, she would come around the corner, see the other... and yes, the fleshy-brown flared at her...:
:Lavinia snarled in frustration, gills flaring outwards and form taking on the classic ‘pose’ of a betta. She swore that she could see a maniacal grin on the other female’s face, that the other female was doing this just to annoy her, without any care for any sort of dominance structure- it made Lavinia want to cry, really. The female had the feeling that, if the two ever met in common water, she might just give up without any fight actually happening, seeing as she was emotionally beat already- after having spent so long being flared at by the fish across the way, she couldn’t help but think of her as her better. Finally too aggravated to deal with the other fish anymore, Lavinia flicked her fins and sped into the depths of her tank, surrounding herself with murk with a grumpy ‘harrumph!’...
:Anath frowned, disappointed, continued to swim. The other female could be so boring, sometimes. If only she could meet her in common waters- then she could really teach the other fish a lesson. Not that she could ever beat the relatively larger, quicker fish.:
:Cavallera, meanwhile, was heaving with laughter. The fish whom dwelt within the bowl next to her seemed to be attempting to attack her- of course, there was glass in the way, and hence, the female hit her face every time she tried to reach her opponent. Add the equivalent of fish classical music, and, as far as Cavallera was concerned, it was pure hilarity. So funny, in fact, that the female was forced to swim away just to calm down, worried that she might suffocate herself with the laughing. She couldn’t help but swim back, however, eye twinkling merrily and a grin stretching her face, to watch the other Plakat thump and thump and thump...
:Bugle was in a rage- how dare the other female mock her! After randomly swimming up to the side of the tank and posturing, the other female had started showing as much aggression as was possible, it seemed- yet, when Bugle responded accordingly, posturing and flaring and attempting to attack her opponent, the other fish seemed to... well, seemed to start laughing, posture that of a smile. Bugle, for a moment, was baffled, but that bafflement soon turned to rage, whole body bristling and burning with the desire to kill the female that dare torment her so. Of course, she would run out of energy sooner or later, or the rage would run out, and she would return to swimming endlessly. The anger was better than that, really.:
:Up, down, up, down, right, right, left, left, up, down, up down, top, bottom... such were the thoughts of a very tired, very neurotic fish as she swam through her tanking, swinging into one position or the next so that she moved in the direction that she came up with, at random, body twisting as if she were going into spasms, obviously bored out of her submissive head. Kender was breathtaking, really, looked like she should be blood thirsty monster, by human standards, what, with her maroon eyes and fins, translucent body, and over-all vampiric appearance.
:That simply showed how unintelligent humans could be- probably the least aggressive, most childish fish in the compound, Kender hadn’t flared a single time in her life, dominance not marring her curious, intelligent nature. She never wished that she could have been less intelligent, yet that truthfully might have been better for her- seeing as her neuroticism would never have afflicted her, had she not been so mentally swift.:
:Meanwhile, Lacy watched the world with sad black eyes. Nothing, she had decided long ago, seemed quite right about this place.:

[Three Bettas]

Bethaela, being the rather large and aggressive fish that she was, didn't realize that she was flaring and rushing at the tank-wall every time that the strange fish she was watching swam near. Such a spidery and frightening looking fish it was, almost devilish looking, but all it would do was swim around in frenetic zig-zags. Bethaela watched on in a sort of mindless daze, noting how the other's blood-red fins absorbed the light that shined off its nearly see-through body. It both creeped her out and fascinated her, but all she could do was respond to the presence with forgetful combativeness.

Meanwhile, very much nearby, a gorgeous white female was being anything but mindless. She felt particularly driven today, taking a break from admiring herself in the dully reflective glass, to try her hand at planning once more. Being highly dominant and dignified, Amaranthi just could not find complacency. There just had to be some way to find something better, more interesting. Was it possible for a fish to be destined for better things? Many times she had tried to communicate with her neighbors, but her voice did not carry and all she received in return was violent flaring. She would return the gesture of course, the betta version of flipping them off, and return to her thinking. She longed to fight for the simple reason of finally proving herself and dominating another female, but even the thought of ruining her fine fins was horrifying.

And then there was Mirym. If she had been near to Amaranthi, which she sadly was not, she would have at least tried to communicate in return. She would have made a game out of it, trying to create some sort of sign language perhaps. Oh how she would have enjoyed something like that, imagining that there was no glass between her and a friendly neighbor, pretending that she could swim right over there is she so chose.
"But alas..."
She started at the noise, her lithe feral body twisting around in surprise. Whose voice had that been? Oh well, it didn't really matter at all now did it? She could carry on a conversation now. And so she did, gliding absent-mindedly around the parimeter of her jar floor and talking to herself, tail stirring up the grime in little suffocating clouds.

[Female Bettas]

<The fight concluded, the losing betta pulled before he was killed, though who knew if he would survive his injuries, fins chewed down to his body and side deeply flayed. He was placed in a small container blackened with indian almond leaf and bank mud. The curative mix would help speed the healing if he made it through the night. The victor was placed in a similar mixture as well, still pumped from the battle despite his wounds and flaring enthusiastically as he circled the small tank. Money was exchanged, the breeders shook hands, and soon enough, all of the humans were cleared of the facility. The lights dimmed, leaving the fish alone in their tiny cells in complete darkness.
Sumalee was restless that night, stirring in her tank and moving in slow circles through the murky water. Occasionally, she'd give a strong flick of her fins, moving swiftly through the water only to bump her snout on the edge of the tank (if you could gratify something so small with such a name). Frustrated, she settled to the bottom, amongst a few sunken Indian almost leaves, tail flicking as the leaf tickled against her egg-swollen belly. She was about to doze off when she heard heard a crash. It startled her awake, and she shot fowards, forgetting the narrow confines of the tank and slamming face first into the glass. It stunned her as badly as a male's breeding embrace, and for a moment she floating motionless through the water.
Once she recoverred from the shock, she tried to see where the noise had come from, but in the near blackness of room, there was little to be observed. Then, suddenly, a bright round light pierced the darkness around her. It flashed over the small tanks, bouncing off of the glass and causing some of the fish to make panicked dashes for the surface. Dimly, she could see human forms outlined against the darkness as the light cast a greater glow across the room. They were pulling something out of a large cooler - plastic bags, the kind used in shipping.>

[Many Bettas]

:Boredom caused Anath to sigh as she settled into her tank for the night, occasionally making circuits of the upper rim, maw bobbing above the surface to take a gulp of fish-scented air. At the apex of one such circuit, her iridescent scales catch the beams of a flash light, circular radiance swiftly swinging away. Shocked and surprised- this was most definitely not part of the nightly routine- Anath scuttled backwards until her rump came against the glass of her cup. She didn’t have far to go. Breathing hard, it took her a moment to sort herself out. As she listened and watched, it seemed these humans had a very furtive air, and could they... yes, they seemed to be taking fish from their containers. Now interested,
Anath swam to the fore of her cup, flaring as a gloved hand approached...
:Without dignity, the female squealed as she was dumped unceremoniously into a bag, then shoved into the murk of a cooler. Seconds later, her long-standing chocolate enemy was placed next to her. After a brief bout of mutual flaring, the other backed down, then said something- Anath could see the other fish’s mouth moving.
“WHAT?” the piebald screamed through the plastic, air, and water separating them.
“I said!” her voice was surprisingly gravelly boom- “What’s happening!”
“Do I look like I know?” Lavinia glared at her neighbor, but didn’t bother to flare. Both females settled into the waiting, looking mutually worried.:

:Cavallera cackled madly as she watched the fish around her startle and freak as the humans took them from their tanks, putting them into small baggies. The pale fae grinned as her long-standing enemy and play-thing was taken away, looking distinctly enraged. The smile was wiped off of her face as the hand approached her, however, all merriment gone as she was dumped into a bag, herself. Cavallera flared at the hand, then at the other fish around her, and continued to swim circuits in her bag, her previous laughter gone, now that she was confused and worried.
:Bugle would have told Cavallera that she had it coming, if she weren’t fascinated by the sound of two fish yelling at each other through the plastic. Granted, the conversation was anything but inspired, and it looked like quite a strain to have to shout. If she knew anything about herself, however, Bugle knew how loud she could be, remembering her days as a newly hatched fry... she swam in frantic circles until she saw a face she recognized (not that it was a particularly happy recognition, but it would have to do).
“Hey you!” Cavallera regarded Bugle mildly. Bugle tried again: “Hey! Fish!” No response, again. Perhaps she had imagined the earlier shouted words. Feeling upset, now, Bugle settled in the middle of her bag, trying to ignore the frantic fish around her.:

:Kender was enjoying herself, probably more so than was anywhere near natural. Change made her swim in happy figure eights, grinning like a mad fish, maroon fins paddling water and iridescent, translucent body slipping easily through the water. She giggled, eyes wide as she took in what she could around her- the other baggies, the fish, the cooler wall, the vague motion of the humans above. Nearly wiggling with joy, Kender scrutinized those around her, rushing up to the plastic walls of her prison and looking at each individually. Most, she had never seen before, and the multitude of variations in body shape, size, and color fascinated her beyond belief.
:Finally having worn herself out, the small fish settled down, still sensing what she could.:

[Bethaela Amaranthi Mirym]

Fairly tired from trying to keep up her flaring every time her maroon-and-white neighbor had come near that day, Bethaelah was actually drifting along in an open-eyed fish-sleep when the intruders arrived. The light and vibrations of the break-in had her energy miraculously returned in an instant. Waking up and racing around her cage before she even realized that she was conscious again, the aggressive little fish flickered across the front panel of her tiny home as the event unfolded. She wasn't even watching really, just instinctually reacting to the explosion of activity. She could actually hear the other fish now, shouting, laughing, crying. It vaguely fascinated her, but no real thoughts were going on in her mind. Finally, she was assaulted and dumped into another container and shut up in the dark and cold. Only then did she calm down and return to floating dumbly through her shockingly new water.

When Amaranthi noticed all the commotion, she had already been wide awake and thinking-- unlike Bethaela. Plotting, more like. Dreaming and predicting and planning. When the foreign creatures burst in, Amaranthi felt only a knowing sense of dread. Somehow, she felt as if she had known this was going to happen tonight. Floating remarkably sedately for the first few minutes, the ivory female tried her best to watch and figure out what was happening to all her neighbors. None of it made sense, but it terrified and intrigued her. This distant sort of observing changed abruptly however, when a dark gloved hand reached for her tank. Crying out in her fishy way, Amaranthi fluttered backwards and tried desperately to run away and hide. Even this fish who prided herself in her intelligence and confidence succumbed to blind instinct and dashed around and butted into the walls of her container, knowing full well that there was no escape.

Mirym was both surprised and frightened by the whole thing from the start. Babbling frantically to herself, half-sentences and exclamations poured from her as she wove knots through her tank. When it came time for her to be added to the liberated lot, she fought against gravity and turbulent water as she was dumped a little too violently into the bag. She had been one of the last bettas to be attended to, and this would cost her. In the activist's haste to be done and make their escape, the dumping ended up very sloppy, and Mirym found herself in sudden desperate trouble. On the way from tank to spilling into the bag, the flimsy plastic of the bag folded over and acted as a ramp to prevent Mirym from landing safely in the water...and she ended up falling suddenly into open air. Screaming for her nameless and unreal companions, Mirym fell to the dirty floor. Her breath was knocked from her, cutting off her shouting until she was able to once again take frightened gulps of air. Sharp debris clung to her and her fins felt too weak as they flapped uselessly without water. Finally, after a lifetime of fear and screaming, the rough onslaught of gloved fingers plucked her up harshly and deposited her--this time successfully--in a bag.
In the numbing cold of the dark cooler Mirym floated awkwardly, motionlessly, struggling to overcome the blanket of shock.