Chapter Text
The wind whipped through the sails above you, tearing away the words the crew were shouting at each other. A storm is brewing, and the captain believes it’s your fault.
That stupid superstition.
You've heard of it before and you foolishly believed that the captain of this ship didn't believe in it. He said he didn't. Did he lie to you? You don't know, and you probably never will. He doesn't look at you, not even acknowledging your existence where you are tied up by the railing.
"Having a women on the ship is just bad luck." "We've angered the gods." "The gods wrath is upon us." And other such things are what you heard when the storm was getting started. You quickly got grabbed and thrown down into the hold.
Time lost meaning in the dark, stifling hold. The ship groaned like a dying beast, heaving violently with each wave. The storm's fury reached a crescendo, and with it, the crew's panic.
Suddenly, the hatch was ripped open, wind and rain screaming into the space. Silhouetted against the chaotic sky, two crewmen lunged down, their grips like iron on your arms. You were dragged up, your boots skidding on the slick deck.
The wind stole your breath, whisking it away easily. Hands and legs were quickly bound by rough ropes while you didn't struggle much. One glimpse of the captain's stony, averted face and you knew what was happening.
Dragged to the edge of the ship, shoved against the railing. The final push from behind was not hurried, but deliberate. A transaction with the storm.
The icy black water rushed up to meet you as you fell. Waves reached up and crashed back down, almost as if they were hands trying to catch you. You tumbled slightly in the air and landed on your back in the water. You sink quickly, the waves you compared to hands just moments ago grabbing at you and pulling you under.
The last thing you see as the edges of your vision fade is a dark shadow coming into view above you.
You reawaken. A sharp inhale from you has you wincing from the pain in your ribs. A hand gently comes up to probe along your side. They feel cracked, broken, which is odd considering you don’t remember hitting them on anything. But you also don’t remember ending up on land.
Wait what?
Sitting up sharply you wince again at the pain in your ribs.
Wait, how did you get up here? You remember being far away from any sort of land you could see. Maybe a current just, swept you up here? And you hit some rocks when you were unconscious. But, how does that explain your bonds being cut...
You're really confused. But you're not going to question your good fortune. Trying to stand carefully on shaking legs, you almost fall from the pain. Everything hurts, bruises forming on your extremities. You need to take stock of your surroundings.
There's some steep cliffs on three sides of you, with ocean to the front. Nothing much else and you don't think you could climb the cliff. You're good and stuck until you feel well enough to try and swim.
The water is dark, like it always is after a storm. You stare out at it for a few moments, looking for any sign of a ship. There's nothing. You turn away, just missing the fin appearing out of the water, meters from the shore.
You stand at the base of one of the cliff faces, looking up at it. Not many hand holds to use to drag yourself up it. Not that you could in your state, considering your ribs and your bruises and who knows what other injuries.
The reality of your situation begins to sink in, colder than the sea spray. Shipwrecked. Alone. Injured. You have no food, no fresh water, and the shadow of these cliffs will bring an early, deep chill.
A practical, desperate energy pushes through the pain. You need to move. Using the cliff face for support, you shuffle along the strip of coarse, wet sand, searching for anything: a piece of wreckage, a tide pool with drinkable water, a crevice that could serve as shelter.
The adrenaline that forced you upright is fading, leaving a hollow, shaky exhaustion in its wake. The pain in your ribs is a constant, grating presence. You need to rest, but the open beach feels too exposed.
You finally spot a shallow overhang where the cliff face has eroded, just deep enough to sit in. It's not shelter, but it's a semblance of cover. Every movement is agony as you lower yourself onto the damp stone, the world swimming briefly before your eyes.
As your breathing begins to steady, you notice something strange. The bruises on your arms... they aren't just the mottled purple and blue of blunt trauma. They have... shape. Defined edges that curve in familiar, terrifying arcs. Your blood runs cold. They aren't random bruises. They're prints. The clear, stark outlines of large, splayed hands. But the ship hands didn't hold you like this...
There's a splash, and your head snaps up to look. Nothing, just the gentle waves from before. But something happened when you weren't looking.
And then you see it.
A fin, slicing through the water further out. Not a shark fin. Not even a dolphin. It's a Mer. You recognize it from the drawings you've seen. Oh you're screwed now.
The cut bonds, the impossible rescue, the hand print marks... your good fortune suddenly feels less like luck and more like a transaction. The terms of which are still unknown.
Damn his feelings. He shouldn't have saved her. Damn it. No, he should've. He made the right choice, but the wrong decision on where to put her, now she's stuck on that stupid little strip of land he found.
He pokes his head up above the water, watching her inspect the bruises he accidentally left. "Grabbed 'er too hard" He mumbles to no one but himself. A few moments later he dives back down, causing a bigger splash than he meant to. He winces at it, his back sail fin flaring up above the water for a second.
She definitely noticed that. There's no way she didn't, unless, no she did. He can see her looking at the water. At where he is...
How does she, oh, his sail fin. He immediately lowers it, feeling foolish for letting her see. Now the element of surprise is gone. If he ever wanted it in the first place. He dives lower in the water, thinking.
Now what? She's technically his responsibility now, injured and stuck, he did put her there. What in the world should he do?
Well she won't survive long by herself, no way to get food or water. Food he can do, fish or edible kelp or something. Water, now that's the tricky part. Humans can't drink the sea, something wrong with them. He scoffs to himself, unable to drink sea water, ludicrous.
Time passes, you having settled yourself under the overhang you don't know how long ago, but its been hours. The sun is setting, casting the land in a dim twilight. You've just started to doze off.
Splash!
You jolt up, looking around. It takes you a second but you realize that there's a fish on the shore. Just barely visible in the light of the moon and stars. What? Did, did the mer do this? Why?
Hesitantly, slowly, being careful of your injuries you creep forward. Picking up the fish you see a few puncture wounds on its side, as if its been speared. Probably by the mer's claws.
You shudder to think of the claws being turned on you. You look up at the ocean and see nothing but the gentle waves. You turn, going back to where you were sitting, taking the fish with you.
He snorts as he watches her pick at the fish. His night vision letting him see clearly in the dark. "Doesn't know how to scale a fish." He grumbles, but dives back down underwater. Maybe there's something in a ship wreck to help her.
Leaving her alone for a little while should be fine. Even if the nagging voice at the back of his mind is worried about it.
He's digging through the wreckage, looking for something for her to use. But he has no idea what he's supposed to be looking for. This? He picks up an object before tossing it away over his shoulder, it's not helpful.
Something glints in the faint moonlight. He turns to look, his attention immediately caught. It's, a claw of some sort, half buried in the sand. He scoffs, a faint stream of bubbles rising from his lips. Of course humans need to make claws and things, they barely have anything of use. He grabs it, careful of the sharp edge. This should work.
You discard the fish, having picked it apart as best you could. Which was, not very well, but at least it was something.
You wander to the edge of the surf, the first colors of dawn streaking across the sky. You stop, a knife is washed up on the beach. Or was it left here for you?
You bend, picking up the knife. It's simple, a wooden handle and a finely made steel blade. You look up and startle. The mer is just a few feet away in the water! You point the knife at him, he looks startled as well.
"I'm not gonna hurt you." He snaps, looking wary of the knife you still have pointed at him. "If I was, would I have saved you?"
You lower the knife slightly. "No..." You reply hesitantly. "But why did you?" You lower the knife all the way.
He blinks, at a loss for words. "Well um. I don't know. It was, the right thing to do?"
"You don't sound sure of that." You take steps backwards away from him, sitting on the dry sand, away from the waves lapping at the shore. "What's your name? Do you even have a name?"
"Have a, have a name? Of course I have a name! It's Jacques Pierrot. Stole it from a pirate I did, it's in French though because French... well it's scarier." He sniffs haughtily.
"French is scary?" You question. French? Scary? You shift, pulling your knees up against your chest and crossing your arms on them.
"Well of course it's scary! It's, it's... " He trails off, grumbling. He looks away, a hand coming up to scratch at his gills. "Of course you wouldn't understand," He looks back at her. "You're just a land dweller, not a sea farer. Is no wonder you got thrown off."
You sit up straighter. "That's not why I got thrown off the boat you, you over grown fish."
Splash!
Jacques looks smugly at you as you wipe water off your face, surprised. "What was that for!"
"That," he declares, flicking a webbed hand dismissively, "was a warning shot. You are lucky my magnanimous nature stays my talons." He nods, as if agreeing with his own magnanimity.
"Magnanimous?" You parrot incredulously. He rolls his eyes. "Of course you haven't heard a word as long and treacherously spelled as magnanimous."
"Uh huh, well then spell it." You ask.
He freezes. "What?"
"Spell it. Go on, spell magnanimous for me."
He sputters for a few moments. "I, I don't perform tricks on command for stranded mortals! The spelling is... arcane. Secret! Known only to the deep!"
"You can't do it can you?"
"You, you dare question my lexicon?! I, who have conversed with the drowned poets of a dozen shipwrecks?!"
"Yep, you can't do it."
He puffs up, his fins flaring for a moment before turning and diving away with a splash, soaking you again. By the time you wipe the water from your eyes he is gone.