forever with dusk says: …
:&:Chapter Four:&:
Day was beginning to make way for nightfall. It yawned, stretching orange fingers painted pink across the sky. The beach was mostly deserted, save for two young surfers heading back to their navy pick up truck.
"That was totally awesome dude!" one of them exclaimed as they tossed their boards onto the back of the car.
They did not notice a figure a few feet away, stumbling across the sandy lot. It was dripping wet and seemed to have sea legs…which was impossible considering they were, in fact, on land.
"I know man," the friend hopped into the car, "It was like 'whoa' and I was like 'whoa' and the whole thing was like….'whoaa"!"
"Dude!" the first one cleverly agreed, shoving the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life. Headlights sprang to action a moment later.
"Holy shit!" the passenger jumped at the revelation of the figure. The woman was gorgeous, blonde hair plastered against her neck. Her golden skin glistened with water droplets, slender muscles taut and pure perfection…especially as she stood nude in front of them (completely unabashed at that) save for a silver clip in her hair. She cocked her head at the boys.
"I'm looking for a mermaid," her voice confirmed it – she was a goddess, "Can you tell me where to find her?"
The passenger opened and closed his mouth a few times. Finally, he swallowed and answered in a shaky voice, "Uh…yeah…you, you want to go to The Mermaid's Tavern. It's…um, on P-pier Street."
"We ….we can take you," the driver had also regained use of his tongue, even though it squeaked, and he nudged his friend. Taking the hint, he stepped out of the truck. The lady climbed in, seemingly unaware that they were openly gaping at her, or that the "gentlemanly" friend was grinning idiotically at her butt. She settled into the seats as comfortably as she could. Her helpers smirked over her ducked head. As soon as they closed the door, they put an arm around her, hands roaming everywhere. She rolled her eyes, disgust lacing her pretty features.
In one fluid motion, both her fists slammed into them, sending one out of each window.
The driver landed on his back, breathing hard. In a second, she had him pinned with a long, metal weapon that looked oddly familiar. Something with a T…but before he had time to contemplate that or how she had managed to pull such a stunt, he noted the scary scowl she sported.
"Give me your clothes. Now."
He gulped and nodded, too afraid to fight back. She jumped into the truck and sped off. He took a few breaths to calm himself. Slowly, he lifted his head, looking for his friend. The he heard it….the crash.
He was on his feet in a moment, a rock the only protection for his bare form. Running as fast as he could, he saw the truck. It had hit head first into a tree, the whole front smashed in and the window shield disastrously cracked.
"No! My baby!" he yelled in anguish. He was going to kill that bitch. But the driver's side door was open, the mysterious deity long gone.
She had, in fact, crashed the car nearby Pier Street. And there, in all its fluorescent glory, was The Mermaid's Tavern.
She entered and approached the bar, looking around cautiously. An older man next to her turned and started, mouth hanging open. She looked strange, dressed in wrinkled black board shorts. Men's, nonetheless, and a few sizes too big. The white shirt was also a guy's, despite clinging to her hardened nipples and narrow waistline. A pink Billabong label blazed across her thin shoulders. And what was up with that weird clip in her hair?
But the odd beauty was inspecting the brunette beside her. She was dressed in dark colors, black clouding her pale features. She slapped a green bill on the table and picked up the small glass of burgundy liquid, chugging it down in one gulp.
"What'll you have girlie?"
The blonde whipped her head up to the gruff voice. She refrained from wrinkling her nose. The old man looked…icky. Actually, all the guys up here appeared that way. Shuddering involuntarily, she replied uncertainly, "Sea water?"
He sneered, "Sorry lady but this ain't Red Lobster. Can I get you something else?"
She frowned, "I'll have…what she's having."
The man nodded when she gestured to the girl next to her. He filled a similar glass with the same liquid. She put her fingers in her back pocket, pulling out a crumpled dollar bill. Very slowly (and a little disdainfully) she placed it on the counter. The guy put the drink down. warily, she picked it up and then shot it down just the way she had witnessed.
The drink spewed out everywhere and the girl hacked on the burning liquid.
"This is what you drink up here?" she sputtered. She had been prepared for a bitter taste of vileness upon her arrival but she didn't realize it would be this literally. For some reason, she tried squeezing her pale green eyes shut in a fruitless effort to rid herself of the taste but found herself sneezing it through her nose.
"Peyton!"
She spun around at the sound of her name only to be engulfed by a tangle long limbs and brown locks. For this first time since coming to Tree Hill, she smiled.
"Dude that's hot," one of the customers pointed to their favorite dancer embracing the dressed-like-a-dude girl, "I'm so here every night."
"Try this, it's hot cocoa. You're gonna love it Peyton! The first time I had a hot drink I died and went to taste bud heaven!" Brooke squealed.
Peyton accepted it but grimaced into the cup behind the other girl's back. She had enough new drinks for one night. Instead, she inspected the small room. There was a sink, mini-fridge, and microwave jammed into one side with a dresser on the other and a small cot wedged in between. Brooke's legs dangled off the edge of the bed, only a mere inches from where Peyton's lazed from the tiny stool that some how fit by the door.
"So," she paused, searching for the right words, "You….dance. In a tank. For…men?"
"And the occasional girl," Brooke replied flippantly, "It's not all that bad. I get in, have some fun, flash a little tail," she giggled, "Not my real one thought."
"What exactly do you …do…in there?"
Brooke lifted a shoulder, blue eyes dancing with mischief. Peyton knew that look all too well.
"The fertility dance! Brooke, are you crazy!" she exploded.
Brooke's lips curled at the reaction.
"But Peyton," she whined, "You should see some of the men it attracts. Nothing like the one's down there who are gross, in well…you know!"
The dancer's face turned green at the mental image. Boy was she glad she hadn't mated with any of those men.
"Oh Brooke," Peyton sighed, gripping her cup tighter.
Blue eyes locked steely with green, "What are you really doing here Peyton?" Her voice had lowered, "You hate land. Oh, let me guess," she smiled dryly, "You want me to come home."
Peyton sighed, breaking their gaze, "It's been three weeks already." She felt like mentioning what an interesting shade of carpet Brooke had chosen but her mouth remained dry.
"I'm sure Daddy sent you right," Brooke laughed bitterly, "I bet he wants me to join him on a hunting trip? Well I'm sorry we all can't be like the great Peyton-"
"-Brooke."
The brunette shut her mouth instantly. Never had she seen the aqua eyes so easily filled wit tears, "He's…he's dead."
"No…" the words barely escaped her mouth as she crumpled into her sister's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, "No."
