Flotsam;
Defined: The wreckage of a ship or its cargo found floating on the sea. Legally it belongs to the original owner, though finders may claim salvage.
/The council is . . . somewhat startled, and apprehensive over Mermaiden Zelbess's surprising decision to grace us with her unscheduled presence. /
/P-please, I-Council, there's something-/
/The Council requests that Mermaiden Zelbess shows a degree of the respect that-/
/Oh, please don't- Mermaiden Zelbess begs the council to . . . forget-forgive the lack of- formalities, because I'm- for she- has something to say that- is important and I- She can't stalled for the sake of the proper address! /
/What's the matter, Zelbess? Your tail's missing half its scales. Your fins are ragged. Are you ill? /
/Oh, Honorable Sage, I- . . . never mind that! It's just stress. /
/Stress isn't good for marine creatures. It's as deadly to them as any predator/
/No, it's... it's fine!/
/The council would like to know what is the meaning behind this!/
/Oh, I . . ., Fargo, the human and I . . . we've been secretly married this past few months./
/. . . T-the council begs your pardon-!/
/Shut up!/
/W-what did you say?!/
/ Oh shut up, just shut up!. . .W-we never thought that we would be able to produce young, but for the p-p-past few weeks I've been having fits of n-nausea and feeling strange all over and acting oddly, and Fargo says that that's the signs of pregnancy for human women and now I d-don't know what I'm going to do because none of us know if the offspring will be b-born live or in an e-egg or if it can even live as a half breed or what i-its needs are and I can't keep it alive m-myself, I mean, mammals need m-m-milk to live and I can't nurse it and what if it c-can't swim, all fish need to give birth underwater and Fargo says that human young are born l-large and I'm scared that I'll die-and maybe it'll die!-when it c-comes and-/
/The Sage demands that Zelbess falls silent!/
/Calm yourself. I will have every resident of the island pool seek out any way to assist you and your. . . husband. Although you have willfully disobeyed all the ideals that the council upholds, we shall not turn our backs on you in this time of need; you are still a daughter of Marbule, and we have not, nor shall we ever, forsake you./
/O-oh. . .th-thank. . ./
/Th-this is outrageous! Mermaiden Zelbess, you are a curse upon your peaceful neighbors, and a plague upon this island! You and your foul, unnatural offspring should be no concern of this council or any other demi-human- you should be cast off-!/
/The sage would be most pleased if the council speaker would kindly oblige and just. Shut. Up./
/She has conceived the human's child./
/. . . I know. Everyone knows. And by the sage's rule, we must see her through this ordeal./
/Poor girl, silly girl. . . she is going to die. No fish can live through the birthing of a live babe./
/We must wait. That is all. We shall wait./
He appearance was not human, pleasantly muted all around, in color and form, into a subtle beauty. It was neither that of merpeople's, angular grace to his limbs and eyespots on the verge of debilitating loveliness. It was both, in a way, although if aesthetic theory was defined as singular, blatant ethnicity, he was as homely as a tattered leaflet of browning seaweed, slimily writhing in the currents.
His hair was a bouquet of glistening garnet strands, not yet tumbled into a shining finish, and with the same rough quality of his father's. If swept up in the sun, it was rather a reddish pink, feathered and straight all about the face that had a flesh tone. There were to be changes to be made here and there before he was done becoming himself. As he grew, the hybrid's mane would thicken and become heavier; it would be slicked down by natural oils, and stiffen in accordance to his fish heritage. But it would still be lithe, able to twist and flow with him as he dashed down the beach. He'd be faster than any other bipedal mammal demi-human, as their recent ancestors had used four legs instead of two. It would still plaster itself to his bare back when he jumped into the ocean, out of temper when he saw merchildren leaving him on land. And his skin would darken, so that he did not burn from exposure to the day, even if he would want to stay in the shade of lagoons, as was a fish's instinct.
Yes. He would be healthy, and strong, even if would never prefer or even know the milk that was so nourishing to human children. Instead, he would develop under the sustenance of meat, which he had begun eating the day of his birth. Raw, with his mother, or cooked, with his father, it didn't seem to matter. He also would also nibble on the insect life his mother occasionally enjoyed but his father wouldn't touch, if it were to be had. At the same time he would chew the hard sections of fresh fruits, whose rigidity prevented merpeople from eating them.
He was missing any distinctive markings in full-fledged color, and there was not a scale to be seen descending in a trail from the abdomen down. But there were four oblong, banded blots on his feet, which could have passed as eyespots if they had any other pigments besides melanin. His eyes, which were not spectacular as human or merboy, were still a pretty blend of purples and lavender that had the faintest of white resin sheen, like properly protected sea-salt irises. Their darker flecks almost seemed to flicker in tempo when he was happy, and gurgling musical, throaty babble.
She was fine, and it had been uncomplicated, as no one could have predicted. He had been the size of a normal merchild egg (an adult's hand) but had rapidly caught up with the human standards for the normal weight and size of an infant. He had been delivered underwater, but brought to the surface where he had taken his first air, and thrived, despite its delay. No one hated him when they saw him, thought he was a freak. Here was the proof that although ill advised and still unspeakably offensive, the merging of the two races was possible.
Nikki sang himself to sleep with his own voice; not being fully merman, there was less undiluted mysticism, no longer any hypnotizing euphoria. . . but once imperfect, the merpeople's gift moved on to other characteristics.
Besides the feeling, there was room left for thought as the feeling was felt, from the song.(there were no words; Nikki had not yet learned any.) One wondered at how the baby could synthesize his fretful cries with a melody. His parents did not care. They only would listen . . . and think that maybe there was a revolution to be considered.
Er... I know it's not as coherent as the other chapters were. But I am very, very late on account of being very, very busy, so. . . here it is, yay? Thank you for the reviews, I hope everyone had a good time. I'll try to write better notes later. . .