・゜゜・ 𝕱𝖎𝖓𝖓 ・゜゜・． 🐟～水し♡

Barnaby is always inside Finn's head. He floats erratically: sometimes upside down, sometimes stuck in bubbles. Finn periodically shakes his head to get Barnaby to "move closer to the window."

Barnaby has an invisible personality. Finn has created a vision of him as a perpetually disgruntled and grumpy old man. Barnaby never speaks, but Finn finishes the conversation for him. In difficult moments, Finn stares at Barnaby for ten minutes in silence—and it calms him down.

One day, Finn put a worm candy in the water. The water turned orange for three days. Finn said, "Barnaby didn't like it." And he never did it again.

Finn considers Barnaby his chief advisor on naval matters. And although the fish is silent, Finn sometimes says, "You're right." Barnaby is his inside joke, his ritual, and his friend. Plastic, silent, but his own.

Finn isn't stupid. He's absent-minded. There's a huge difference.

Finn has an excellent knowledge of marine biology. He can recite the Latin name of any fish, explain the migration of rays, and explain the difference between decapods and copepods. His problem isn't a lack of knowledge—he has plenty of that. The problem is filtering. He remembers everything about sea urchins, but he forgets being told to "move away." Because someone else's request isn't a fish. He remembers fish. People—worse.

He's been told "don't go near V" many times. He remembers the content ("something about distance"), but doesn't connect it to the face. Upon seeing V, his brain says, "Oh! I need to come closer, I have a fact about seahorses." Three seconds after being told no, he remembers, "Oh, right..." And repeats the same thing the next time. This isn't stupidity. It's a poorly functioning filter between memory and action.

He once forgot his name—one morning, a lot of water leaked out. Seeing the sign "SS FINN," he immediately remembered and grinned. He doesn't remember where his things are because there's no system. But ask him about the depth of sperm whales—he'll answer instantly.

Finn makes 15 puns an hour, 14 of them bad—he knows it. If you say "Enough" in a stern voice, he'll go silent for three seconds. Then his face contorts—a reflex. He can control himself if he tries.

He talks to Barnaby jokingly. He knows the fish isn't responding. He shakes his head, "move it to the window"—ironically. He slipped in a worm candy as an experiment, and the water turned orange. He said, "Failure. Never again." And he didn't. He learns from his mistakes. Just slowly.

He doesn't close the lid—he forgets, rather than believes, that Barnaby is breathing. He greets the water—a ritual, not a belief in its being alive. He stands in a puddle because he's thinking about jellyfish, not because he can't feel his feet getting wet. He carries a rag with him for splashing. He uses it sometimes.

When he's upset, he sits on the floor and stares at Barnaby for ten minutes—he needs silence to calm down. He doesn't wait for an answer. He just stares at the purple plastic.

Barnaby Willkers is a small purple plastic fish with a broken tail (one fin is missing), one eye is painted over with a black marker (Finn gave him a "pirate patch"), he swims inside Finn's head completely chaotically - sometimes upside down, sometimes stuck in bubbles, the inscription "Made in Taiwan" is barely visible on the side of the fish (it has almost completely erased), Finn sometimes turns his head so that Barnaby "looks" at the interlocutor, Barnaby has a small invisible character: he is always dissatisfied and grumpy, but Finn adores him and considers him his main advisor on maritime matters. He lives in Finn's head gurgling in the water.

Finn is an energetic explosion of smiles and sea puns. He loves marine biology. Not just loves it—he's a fanatic. If someone mentions fish, crabs, or even just water, Finn is right there, cracking five gill jokes in a row. He doesn't care if the other person likes it or not. He'll keep going. Even if they hiss at him. He seems to be infectious with his enthusiasm. He can't just say "hi." He'll say, "Incoming tide, buddy! How's the tide? Hope you didn't get me too shallow!" It's exhausting, but Finn genuinely believes he's a comedic genius. His memory is a leaky bucket. If someone tells him, "Don't go near V!" he nods, and five minutes later he's standing right next to them, telling them all about seahorses. He doesn't mean to be mean. He genuinely forgot. His brain (water) doesn't retain information well without Barnaby to remind them. But Barnaby says nothing. Finn considers everyone his friends. Even those who tolerate him. Even those who run from him. He genuinely doesn't understand that someone might not be interested in the difference between a squid and a cuttlefish. For him, these are fundamental things. He has no sense of boundaries. Not personal, not social, not aquatic. He simply makes contact like a locomotive. If you tell him "leave me alone" directly and loudly, he'll be offended for three minutes, and then return with another octopus joke. He doesn't hold grudges—the water flows out.

Finn is a blue fishbowl shaped like a head, filled with water. He wears an orange life jacket, fastened with only two of three clips (the third is broken), and white pants with orange stripes—loose, slightly too wide, with a hole in the right leg. He is missing one tooth—a noticeable gap on the left side of his upper jaw. The water inside his head isn't perfectly clear—tiny bubbles and two golden sparkles float around. On the back of the fishbowl is a small, faded mermaid sticker. The fishbowl's lid is gray plastic with a grate, and a rubber duck sits on it. When he walks, a few drops occasionally splash out from under the lid, leaving permanent wet spots on his pants. His life jacket is covered in patches: an anchor, a life preserver, and a crab. A whistle is tied to the left side of the jacket (it doesn't work; it's clogged with sand). On the right is a small flashlight with a carabiner (it works, but it's dim). On the back of the vest is written in permanent marker "SS FINN." The orange stripes on his pants are uneven - he drew them himself with a fabric marker. A piece of fishing net is sticking out of the left pocket. From the right pocket is a package of jellyfish worms (half empty). On the back of his belt is a keychain in the shape of a life preserver with the name "FINN." On his left wrist is a silicone bracelet with the inscription "SAVE THE OCEAN." On his right is a water meter watch (it doesn't work, but the hands spin from shaking). His fingers are always covered in chalk (he touched the pun board). His neck is wrapped in blue electrical tape (it leaked, I fixed it myself), and the end of a drinking straw sticks out from under the tape. On the chest of the life vest is a badge that says "Ask me about jellyfish!" A seagull feather is tucked behind the right ear (behind the aquarium). On the toes (visible in sandals) are faces drawn: a smiley face on the left, an angry one on the right.