You're a girl who knows what she wants -- at least, that seems to be the case whenever you come here, to the Adoption Center. On today's menu: fish. Did we say menu? Not menu. Don't eat the fish. Fish are friends, not food. (Unless you ask Tate.) You greet Goldeen hopefully, promising him lots of friends, or even no friends, depending on his preferences -- whatever he wants, really. On the other side of the glass, he stares at you, fins billowing like a cape in the water. You might have some competition today for 'Most On-Point Look' -- and the fish doesn't even have to try. Goldeen don't prize themselves on their fins, though. That's just a weird human obsession. No, Goldeen favor their horns. Thick as your dainty wrist and hard as steel, with a point like a hypodermic needle, boy's looking real good by Goldeen standards, too... and he's sick of being in this aquarium. Like a prince, his fins sweeping around him gloriously, he turns and swims as far away from you as he can, before looping around and speeding towards the glass face. There's a sickening crunch when his horn breaks through the side of the aquarium, cracks spiderwebbing across the surface before the structural integrity fails, 200 gallons of water bursting forth in a sudden deluge and flooding the room. You don't escape a drop, looking like a drowned Ratatta as your new friend goes gliding gendly across the hard wood floor on about two inches of water. He looks very pleased with himself. The noise of exploding glass and running water has attracted a pair of interns, both of them redheaded but otherwise very different looking. The taller one -- a woman probably in her 40s, wearing glasses -- cries out in frustration. "Who put the Goldeen in the aquarium?!" She wails, sounding devastated. If you had to hazard a guess, she's probably the one who's going to have to clean this mess up. The other woman -- a bit younger, and significantly more attractive -- shrugs. "I think they said something about treating the algae bloom in the pond?" She offers, utterly nonplussed. Meanwhile, your new friend has flopped his way towards the door, evidently making an escape from this shit. The older woman chases after him, sloshing through the water, and snatches him up, but a moment later drops him again with a scream, when the Goldeen bites her. "Stupid fish-!" She yells, kicking at the Goldeen in a less than sincere attempt at striking him -- she's frustrated, not a monster. Goldeen flops away, fins flapping like a bird, to hide behind your ankles, water dripping onto him from your body like a gentle rain. He sticks his tongue out at the woman. Who knew fish could even do that? The younger woman approaches you, patting your soggy shoulder. "Congrats," she informs. "You've just adopted a Goldeen." There's no such thing as 'you break it, you buy it' in charity work, but evidently there is such a thing as 'you break it, you adopt it.' Not that this was really your fault. Not that that sways the younger woman, who guides her seething older friend to the front counter to fetch your paper work. Behind you, the Goldeen has flopped his way to the door, waiting impatiently for you to open it so he can get the hell out of here. Liberty, they say, is the rights of all men. Evidently, he thinks it's the right of all fish, too. As you look between the interns putting together a clipboard, and your new companion, you get a strong inkling that this one is going to prove difficult. Good luck with that. Adoption of Lv. 01 (M) Goldeen confirmed.