Gold threw his brandy down his throat in frustration, the burning sensation most welcome. Had this been the good stuff, it would have been a waste to chuck it down like lemonade, but one tentative sip from the glass had told him that getting this over with as quickly as possible was the best course of action.
The alcohol did not help. He was still restless and also freezing cold. Gold scowled at the TV screen behind the bar, and thrust out his glass for the barman to refill.
"Yesterday's mass whale stranding on Aurora Spit in Golden Bay has left twenty-four of the animals dead and local authorities expect the toll will continue to rise," the news anchor said, and Gold watched himself and some of his people on the screen, rolling one of the pilot whales onto its front, trying to refloat it. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine at the memory of the distraught animals, the general chaos and shouting, and the feeling of cool early morning fog on his skin. His clothes still smelled of salt, seaweed and fish, and the feeling in his small toe still hadn't returned fully. Every muscle in his body was screaming, but he was too wound-up to rest.
He knew it was impossible to save all of them, but the loss still stung.
"Close to one hundred volunteers worked all day Friday and most of today to help refloat almost two hundred pilot whales that became stranded on the narrow stretch of beach. Most of the whales that survived were refloated in the high tide, but were swimming in a confused fashion, David Nolan from the Storybrooke Aquarium and Marine Research Center told TVOneNews this afternoon-" Gold's bitter disappointment made way to fresh fury at the sight of the bespectacled reporter who had gotten in their way constantly, and who was now extending her violently orange mic towards his employee on-screen. "Mr. Nolan, can you explain to us why refloating can be problematic?"
"What the risk is, is you've got some of those whales in that pod which are determined to restrand and they'll be dragging the ones that have been refloated back onto the beach-" Gold made a mental note to have Nolan handle more of the Press in the future. The man must have been just as exhausted and frustrated as the rest of them had been at that point, but he was still donning his biggest toothpaste-ad smile and, for some reason, his disheveled state seemed to be adding to his overall attractiveness rather than diminish it. "It's sad but in a way it's how nature works. You've gotta be pragmatic about these things." Nolan ran a hand through his blond hair, and particles of sand rained down like fine golden dust. Gold found himself reminded of advertisements yet again- some ridiculously expensive shampoo, perhaps.
"How can people help a live stranded whale or dolphin?" Like fingernails on chalkboard, the reporter's voice nearly caused him physical pain (and the old speakers weren't helping, either). TV-Nolan's smile, however, didn't waver. Gold wondered whether it was true that smiling could always be heard in one's voice too – even when talking on the phone. Maybe he should have Nolan man the phones as well, once they got back. Did that guy ever not flash his perfectly straight, pearly-white teeth at people? Gold almost felt his own facial muscles ache in protest, as he watched.
"The most important thing to remember," Nolan said, "is that marine mammals are wild. They can carry diseases which are transferable to humans, and they can cause injury by thrashing their tails, for example. Do not put yourself at risk of injury. Keep large crowds, children and dogs away - to reduce the stress to which the whale or dolphin is exposed – and alert the authorities at once."
The reporter nodded. "So it's best not to approach them? Who do I call?" She asked.
"Many countries have strandings networks of experts who are specially trained in how to deal with stranding emergencies and have veterinary specialists associated with them. Their involvement will help to ensure that the stranded individuals are treated kindly and appropriately. For this area, you should contact Cape Cook Strandings Network or Storybrooke Aquarium." Behind the two, a pilot whale trashed about in panic, sending damp towels flying, and people jumped back, some falling over. "If in doubt, wait for expert help to arrive. Should you choose to approach, always do so with utmost caution and remember the following–" Nolan made extra effort to speak calmly and clearly, checking each of his points off his fingers. "One, do not attempt to move a heavy whale or dolphin without adequate assistance and expert knowledge. It may cause it a serious injury. Two, always wash your hands thoroughly after contact. Three, make sure the blowhole- through which the whale or dolphin breathes- is not blocked or underwater. It is also helpful to keep their skins wet with water until-"
"Aurora Spit has seen quite a number of whale strandings in the past, so most volunteers aren't first-timers, but I am sure those tips are an important reminder to everyone out there to stay safe." The reporter cut across him, and poor Nolan looked slightly befuddled, clearly still hung up on his previous train of thought, as she went on. "There has been speculation that this recent stranding was caused by increased traffic in the Bay. After it became known that your people had captured a live mermaid–" She paused for effect- "in the waters not far off the coast and brought it to the Aquarium, many hopefuls– gold diggers and researchers alike- have set sail to maybe discover more where that first one came from." She looked at Nolan eagerly, and Gold clenched his jaw.
"While the disturbance clearly exposes the animals to increased temporary stress, it seems unlikely, that -" Nolan spluttered, now clearly out of his depth, but still resolutely smiling. He took a deep breath. "At this point, there is no way of telling for sure what caused the pod to beach."
Broadcast cut back to the studio and the anchor informed the viewers that, "CCSN, Storybrooke Aquarium and the volunteers called off help for the night but will be back at the beach tomorrow morning to keep the remaining whales comfortable and healthy."
Gold looked down at his half-empty glass. True, they had no solid proof that the craziness that was going down just off the Bay had caused the stranding, but he couldn't help feeling responsible. His people had captured Indigo and made a fuss about it – and this mess was what that had gotten them. It was their mess. He had the distinct feeling that most of the animal rights activists, who had worked shoulder to shoulder with them over the past two days, would move on to camp outside their doors next – right after all of this would be over.
With a twinge of guilt he thought about Indigo in her tank. He knew it wasn't right. What had been done had been done, though – and she had been injured when the henchmen had brought her in. Was it morally wrong to keep her – even if only until her wounds had healed – and to conduct research on her in the meantime? Research to which she had not consented? Maybe it was her almost-human appearance that made him feel so uneasy, Gold thought. She was so much more than just another highly-intelligent marine mammal in a tank. If only he could figure out a way to establish communication, to connect with her. Perhaps she would be willing to answer his questions, if he found a way to ask nicely.
"We wish to express our unequivocal criticism of the appalling and irresponsible sensationalism and gold-digging that, it seems, even some of our most-valued colleagues have engaged in."
Gold's head snapped back up and, sure enough, his ears had not betrayed him. Milah, perfect make-up and rhetoric, was looking back at him, her bright red lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
"We chose to make our latest discovery public as soon as possible in the hopes that experts and enthusiasts alike would join forces with our excellent team here at Storybrooke Aquarium and Marine Research Center to further what is, no doubt, going to become the most exciting and groundbreaking research conducted in the field in a long time. Maybe our initial enthusiasm was misguided, but the invitation still stands."
Gold knocked back the remainder of his drink, the fiery kick of the alcohol dissolving the lump in his throat. Damn, she was good– and also full of shite. She should have become an actress- talent like hers, he thought bitterly, what a bloody waste.
"We beseech our fellows and the public not to allow their selfish interests to prevail over the principles that ensure the well-being of those animals that fascinate all of us. Their welfare should always remain our number one priority. We need to reflect on the ethic that we already have in common: a fundamental consensus concerning the existing binding values, irrevocable standards, and fundamental personal attitudes that ensure the preservation of marine life, and the sustainable handling of the resources - which are the responsibility of all of us. Therefore, it is our responsibility to remedy this situation. Together."
"You one of them fish guys, Sir?" His gaze fixed on his wife's gunmetal-blue eyes, Gold emptied his glass a third time before the barman had even set down the bottle, and the slightly bewildered man took it in his stride to fill it to the brim once more. "Them poor things. It's a tragedy, really."
"Aye," Gold sipped at his drink. "That it is."
"We do understand that demand is high, but increasing public interest cannot be allowed to determine our actions. It mustn't become an excuse to neglect the animals in our care. Our curiosity should never be sated at the cost of those that we seek to understand better and have vowed to protect from harm and exploitation."
Oh, bloody hell. Gold leaned back and roared with humorless laughter. She truly was a master of her trade. Milah had a strong intuition for reading between the lines, for reading people like open books. She had always known just the right thing to say to get whatever she wanted. She toyed with words, twisted and turned them, until they clicked right where she needed them, when she needed them.
"Thus, it can only be in the best interest of all parties concerned, if we handle this exceptional situation responsibly and proceed deliberately. Patience has to be our virtue."
People muttered and nodded their approval. They had taken the bait. Milah was smiling like the cat that ate the canary and Gold's stomach turned at the sight. Snag valuable fish; manage your worm supply and try to collect the bonuses – that was how his wife operated. This would not end well.
"To try and meet the expectations of our colleagues and costumers – while never losing sight of our animals – Storybrooke Aquarium has decided to loosen our restrictions regarding public access. Beginning tomorrow, we will schedule short viewings that will be open to all those interested. A limited number of tickets will be sold via our official website – with quotas allocated to press, professionals, and the general public – in advance."
A few reporters raised their hands. Gold closed his eyes for a moment and had to resist the urge to throw his beverage at the TV.
"Tickets, access to the premises, and viewing schedules will remain subject to change without prior notice to ensure the well-being of our mermaid. Thank you for your understanding and patience in advance. We look forward to welcoming you, your family and friends at -"
The glass shattered, exploded in his hand, and Gold winced at the sharp pain as brandy mingled with blood. At least the alcohol would keep the cuts from getting infected, he thought darkly.
