The smell of oak and stone filled Fisk’s nose, the comforting noises of guildmates chatting, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional brawl were all music to his ears. Quietly, he smiled to himself, slumped and snoring away in a corner on the second floor of the guild. His black, leather jacket was draped over him like a blanket, comfortably resting with his illusion on. He’d slept in the building overnight, like he always does. Of course, he could easily afford his own lodging, but he was too lazy to search for his own property. Fisk would constantly pass it off as being ‘overly attached’ to the guild, but no-one ever believed him.

From this deep rest, however, a menacing presence introduced itself. A chill passed through his spine, as he opened his eyes abruptly. Further alarmed by the sight of his illusion wavering, he spent a short moment rebuilding it before looking behind him. Swatting his coat down, he came face to face with a very dissenting and unimpressed deer-person. 

“H-hey Armin!” Fisk sheepishly exclaimed, quickly sitting himself up. The tension dropped as Armin’s face softened, and the two exchanged sighs. “…How long were you sitting there?”

Armin stood himself up, taking a long stretch. His pale green fur was painfully obvious in this light, and his dress suit did little to cover it. Not that he minded, of course. “I honestly have no idea how you managed to fall asleep like that, but…” Trailing off, he helped Fisk up. “…Eugh, that’s not what I woke you up for. I’d have left you well enough alone, but there are a few new wizards that just arrived.”

Fisk smiled as he dusted himself off. With a nod, Armin followed him as he led them down the stairs to the main floor. The wizard knew the look of a greenhorn from a glance, and he immediately picked out the unfamiliar faces. A lonesome boy sat at a vacant table, looking to be rather young for a wizard. Not far behind him, a lady had recently walked in, and looked to be leaving sometime soon.

“Yo!” Fisk called loudly as he and Armin approached the two, although his voice could barely compete with the roar of the guild. “The Master never told us we had some fresh blood coming in,” he said with a warm smile on his face. He motioned to Armin with his arm. “This snarky leech over here is Armin,” he began, with a ceremonious bow from Armin. “And I’m—“

Armin interjected, shoving Fisk out of the way. “—Long story short,” he continued seamlessly, “We’d like to welcome you to Fairy Tail.” With arm extended, Armin glanced over to the side, looking at Fisk. ‘His tail should be…’ He murmured to himself, searching for something. Without another moment spared, he stamped his foot nonchalantly on the ground, yielding a loud yelp from Fisk. His illusion broke all at once, leaving a very disgruntled and pained otter-person on the ground, nursing his tail. “Oh, right, and that’s Fisk.” Armin smiled, arm still extended.