Chosen
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Chapter 10: Waterlilies
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Far from paradise
Your life may change
The white dream
May betray you
Days are longer
In this new era
Time's running behind you
Without looking back
Far from paradise You may believe this Dreams, your dreams Nothing's gonna change the world
Never say:
From this water
I shall not drink
Or you may not
You may sense life
Or just wait and let it pass by
Our dreams, white dreams
Only your expression
Time's running behind you
Without looking back
Far from paradise You can see the sun Burning my skin White dream, my dream Far from paradise
Never say:
From these waters
I shall not drink
Burning my skin
You may see the rain
Soothing my needs
your dream, our dream...
Never say:
From these waters
I shall not drink
-Lyrics from "Far From Paradise (Heaven Voices Mix)" by Seoan
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Burns had just finished his afternoon meal of the fish Melusine brought him that morning and was washing his plate when she came out of the river. "Melusine!" he gasped, realizing what she was wearing.
It was her imitation of the picture in the cabin, the picture of the kissing couple. Atop her head was a crown of greenery bejeweled with purple-blue water hyacinth blossoms. Around her shoulders was a floral wreath of cream-colored waterlilies. The petals were touched with a soft pink blush while butter-yellow centers matched the lighter areas of the membranes between the spines of her fins. And he hated to admit it, but she looked quite beautiful.
In fact over the past week he had noticed that her color seemed to have changed somewhat. Where she had been unremarkable before, she was now noticeably brighter. Where she had been colorful, the hues were now intense. The tawny yellow fins now seemed quite solidly sunshine yellow, as did the areas above her eyes and up across her forehead. The cream-colored centers of her eye-spots had turned opaque white. The rusty red of her upper surfaces had brightened while the faint stripes in her pattern had darkened.
She came up to him, his costume in her hand—a crown of leaves dotted with white and pink orchids. He set his plate and fork into the sand and Melusine lowered the leafy headdress onto his brow. Smiling, she then stood back and admired him.
"Thank you," he said. "It's very pretty." He reached out to touch the lilies across her chest, large blossoms that hid her lower gills. His fingers brushed against the petals—waxy, pristine, and scentless. Then he touched her brow, framed by ferns and hyacinths. "You went to a a lot of trouble. These are beautiful."
She shuffled a bit closer to him and took his hand, placing it under her chin between her gill slits. She shut her eyes and leaned close to him.
Burns felt a wave of tension seize him from head to toe. Things were suddenly going to get awkward.
Damn that picture. He should have burned it when he first noticed that she looked at it every time she entered the cabin, and especially after her posing session last week.
He took a breath. No sense in fighting her. Just get it over with.
Burns gently leaned in and placed his lips to hers, kissing her delicately a couple of times. Pulling back, he noticed her gill-covers were fluttering and her eyes were innocently wide and bright. Suddenly the nervousness was gone. And perhaps she had been as nervous about the whole thing as he was. He chuckled and wiped off his lips with the back of his hand. "Your first kiss, I suppose. You'll probably be expecting me to ask you to prom now."
She closed her eyes again and leaned in, wanting another taste.
He kissed Melusine once more and decided it was like kissing someone that had been outdoors a while in the winter. Her lips were stiff and cool even if her heart was ardent.
Melusine was the one to break the second set of kisses. As suspected, the need to wet her gills and eyes was stronger than her need for affection. She moved down into the water, floating just below the surface, and from the river she watched him put away the plate and fork and toss another log onto the fire.
Burns picked up the bottle of cachaça and poured some into his glass. The moment had not been completely repulsive, and was much less like kissing a fish than he had expected. In fact, in this respect she seemed almost human. It wouldn't be too difficult to do again if she wanted.
Melusine, soon feeling refreshed and rehydrated came up from the water as he finished his drink, the late afternoon sunlight turning the water dripping from her floral ornaments into droplets of gold and her skin into radiant copper. She took him by the wrist and led him into the cabin.
As expected, she went straight to the picture on the wall and studied it.
As dreaded, she decided that the swimtrunks he had been living in needed to come off.
Burns pushed her hands away as she tried to tug them down, but she insisted and would not stop in her attempt. Gritting his teeth, he loosened the tie and undressed.
It was a strange feeling, standing there completely naked save for his necklace of snail shells and a hat of leaves and orchids, and even stranger to think of whom he was sharing this moment with—the fish monster that had kidnapped him, the ichthoid cryptid that had chosen him as her mate, the one he had just kissed. He felt terribly vulnerable. Carefully she placed herself in front of him and began to position their bodies into the pose of the amorous pair in the picture. And when Melusine felt they had achieved it, she pulled his head toward hers and kissed him, just like in the picture.
Burns sighed and told himself to enjoy it...as long as she didn't try to French kiss him. But then she turned and pulled her body tightly against his. Her webbed hands enclosed his shoulders. Her tongue stroked his neck playfully. It didn't take a degree in ichthyology or aquatic ecology or potamology to understand the look in her eyes and the thoughts in her head.
Breaking contact she again returned to the water, again her physiology interfering with her love-life. Though this time she kept a hold of him and tried to lead him into the river with her. Burns only went halfway, stopping at the table he had placed near the firepit, and he noticed that he was trembling.
The questions started again, but from another point of view this time. Why am I so afraid? Why do I keep dreading this moment? She isn't going to hurt me. There is no one about watching. Besides, people had done far worse and far more disgusting things. So why am I so afraid?
Why do I let this dread keep me a prisoner?
She beckoned to him from the river, crouched in the water amidst her floral array.
No, this wouldn't be rape. This would be compliant. No, it would be better than compliant. It would be willing—entered into with eyes wide open and an enthusiastic curiosity.
"All right, Princess," Burns said confidently, pointing at her where she waited in the water for him. "You wanted a human mate? Well now you've got one, and I'm going to show you all about me." He grabbed the bottle of cachaça and took a big swig before corking it again. A little liquid courage would certainly help at this moment.
As he walked down to the water, she rose slightly and her smile was obvious. She swam into the shallows to meet him, taking his wrist and leading him in. And soon they were in a typical pose, Melusine stretched once again across his lap. He looked down at her through the rippling veil of water as her golden eyes stared back up into his deep blue ones. And for the first time he saw her for what she really was—a lonely woman in love with him. Somewhere deep beneath the scales and claws and fins was a beating heart. And somewhere deeper yet, where no surgeon or scientist could ever find it, was a soul.
He slipped his hand beneath her wreath of waterlilies and spread his fingers atop her chest. Her pectoral gill-slits fluttered excitedly beneath his fingers.
Slowly he drew up his knees, raising her to him. His hand eased beneath her head again and lifted it from the water. He kissed her, this time of his own determination, not of hers. No longer was he at her mercy, no longer allowing his fears and mores to control him. He kissed her cheeks and her eyelids and ran the tip of his nose gently along the edges of her spines and gill-covers. He stroked her smooth scales and teased her fins with his fingertips.
Melusine reached out and caught an orchid that had fallen from his crown and was slowly floating away on the surface. She sat up and playfully stroked his face with the petals, until he took it and did the same to her. "You really are beautiful," he said pausing to look into her eyes once again. Burns caught her delicately under the chin and turned her face to the setting sun. "It just took me a long time to see it. I hope you'll forgive my blindness." And then he tossed aside the orchid, rolled her onto her back, and pulled her up to slightly shallower water. He chuckled. "And here they always told us love was blind."
Gripping her upper arms tightly, he kissed her again, her brownish lips barely above the calm surface of the water, their limbs entwined against the sand. Civilization had abandoned him, leaving behind the primal man-of-land.
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When it was over, Burns lay on the beach trying to sort out his thoughts on what had just occurred with Melusine. Pushing his fingers into the sand, he realized that he felt somewhat relieved it had happened. The paralyzing fear of such an encounter had vanished. And like those first kisses, it had not been even as close to repulsive as expected. She had a waist and hips and surprisingly recognizable female anatomy tucked away well out of sight.
She was gone now, having swum away after the long cool-down cuddle that had followed. He expected she was hungry after all that. The crumpled remains of her wreath and crown had been left in the shallow water at the edge of the beach.
His crown of orchids still sat on his head, and he pulled it off, admiring the strange structure of the blossoms in the light of the fire. There was an inescapable sensuality to their waxy forms, at least to the ones that hadn't been damaged in their moments of passion.
He sighed. The tabloids would pay a fortune for his story. Kiss and tell... Book offers... "I Married the Creature." "Prisoner of the Monster." Appearances on off-beat talk shows seated next to victims of alien abduction. "And were any children born of this encounter, Mr. Burns? Or did she lay eggs afterward?"
No. That was not him. These past couple hours were his secret to keep. He and his mermaid alone shared the memories. Not even Trakker would be keeping this secret. He poured himself a small cup of the strong drink, downed it quickly, and staggered up the beach to the shack, wondering what the after-effects on his psyche would be, whether he would sleep well or fitfully.
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Chosen continues in Chapter 11: "Fears"
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M.A.S.K. and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of DIC Enterprises, Inc and Kenner Toys. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.
This fic is dedicated to Ben Chapman (1925-2008), Ricou Browning, and Tom Hennesey (1923-2011)
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