She was going out tonight.

Rikki wasn't a socialite. She couldn't even really be considered a social person. People were exhausting, especially those she didn't know and certainly didn't care about. She'd committed to this function only because her boss told her she needed to go, not out of some obligation to network with Australia's elite.

At twenty-two she thought that she would have her life figured out by now. Rikki was never a great student. Not because she wasn't smart enough, but because she couldn't find enough care to sit down and memorize facts that were ultimately useless to her. She barely scraped by with a high school diploma, which in these days didn't leave you with very many high paying career options, unless of course you were well connected.

It was a great summer, she remembered. Right after graduation. She would spend days swimming far and wide, collecting trinkets and observing new surroundings, all with Cleo and Bella by her side. It was also the last summer that they were together as a group. Cleo left in the fall to join Lewis in America. Bella and her family left in the spring back to Ireland. Will was still around, his breakup with Bella amicable for the most part. He was content staying in Australia and restarting his diving career, much to his sister Sophie's delight. Him and Rikki were together for a couple of months, though Rikki resisted for almost a year out of respect for Bella. But she was still human (mostly) and craved the physical affection that Will was offering her. That, and the shared company of someone who knew her secret. The water was full of living creatures, but could be terribly lonely with no one to share it with.

But she still struggled for purpose. She bounced around several jobs after graduation, satisfied with none of them, but had saved up enough money to move out of her father's trailer into a small apartment of her own. Around a year and a half ago she found an old necklace on one of her swims, and pawned it off to make that month's rent. Weeks had passed and she'd thought nothing of it, until receiving a call from some museum curators asking how she'd came across such an item. Several meetings and a job offer later, she was working as a photographer and free diver for the museum's upcoming "Wonders of the Deep" exhibit. They never questioned her on how she'd obtained the necklace soon to be on display, not that she could tell them regardless. But she hated working for other people. She knew what she wanted to be now, and if she was going to make a career as a treasure hunter, Rikki wanted it to be on her own terms. But she was still young, and finding that necklace was dumb luck more than anything else. She had a ways to go in learning the art of excavation and underwater exploration. These professionals may not have tails, but they had degrees and experience, something she lacked.

Rikki sighed, pulling herself out of bed. She threw on a dress, the fanciest one she owned, though that wasn't saying much. Combing through her mass of curls, she applied a suitable level of makeup and was out the door in 30 minutes. She was to attend a charity gala at an out-of-her-budget hotel, spending the evening in the company of people in much better financial situations than her.

"It will be a good networking opportunity," her boss had told her over the phone this morning. This of course after apologizing profusely for the sudden onset illness that prevented him from coming himself. Rikki's attendance was just as much for her personally as it was for the museum. They needed the exposure, and, not to discredit any of her coworkers, Rikki was the best looking of the bunch. Appearances mattered, a basic rule of thumb that carried over from high school.

She tried to think of the positives - spending the night schmoozing with rich people would at least open up doors for her career later. Hopefully. The food would probably be good.

Maybe she'd find a super-rich single twenty something that would find her attractive enough to marry. Then she would never have to worry about being able to pay the utility bill or eating something other than noodles for dinner. She almost grimaced at the thought. She was too prideful to depend on someone else's income, as nice as that sounded. No - if she was going to climb up to the top, she was going to do it the hard way, however long that may take her.

She arrived fashionably late to the venue, clutching her knockoff Louis Vuitton pocketbook as she made her way through a sea of well-dressed socialites talking to each other about whatever rich people talked about. She could only think of how fake they looked - the smiles plastered on their neatly groomed faces didn't seem to reach their eyes.

She spent the first fifteen minutes or so walking around rather aimlessly, speaking only when spoken too. Unsurprisingly, most people didn't have a clue who she was and she had to explain to every single person or group that approached her that she was here on behalf of her boss who could unfortunately not be present for tonight's gala. He sends his regrets, she would tell them.

It seemed like she was wandering and making small talk forever, when in really it couldn't have been more than an hour. Regardless, it must have been time to sit down and eat as people began to shuffle towards their assigned tables. Rikki breathed a sigh of relief. She was starving, and it had been a long time since she had any decent food. Her eating habits hadn't really improved since high school. She never really learned how to cook anything more complex than eggs and noodles, and her financial situation restrained her from ordering out. She was also lazy, something she forced herself to admit after the fifth night in a row eating some variation of pasta and sauce that had been sitting at the back of her pantry for an indeterminable amount of time. A chef she was not.

She made her way to the table, trying not to look as desperate for food as the company around her. She hoped that whomever she'd been assigned to sit with were decent conversationalists. Or perhaps they would just ignore her entirely. That option didn't sound entirely bad either, to be honest. She was just a couple steps away from her seat when she stopped in her tracks.

No. It can't be him. Not him.

He was sitting there, suit and tie, arm draped around the shoulders of some girl who she'd never seen before in her life. They were laughing at something she couldn't hear, completely comfortable in each other's presence. Zane Bennet was always so popular with the ladies.

Rikki felt sick. Sick and warm.

No. No, not now.

If she was heating up, it wouldn't be long before every else around her started feeling it as well. Her powers were often tied to her emotional state. If she lost control of her emotions, she lost control of her powers. If she lost control of her powers, well, bad things would happen.

She took a deep breath and turned around, flagging down what looked like a waiter.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I...uh..." Rikki paused, struggling to think of the right words. "I was wondering if it would be possible to switch tables."

"For what purpose?"

"I would feel more comfortable...closer to the exit."

The waiter smiled sweetly, the fakest thing Rikki had ever seen.

"Apologies ma'am, but it would be impossible to switch at this point in the night. If you had told us further in advance of your preferences...,"

"You know what, it's fine," Rikki interrupted with clenched fists. "Thank you for your exemplary help."

She turned back around, trying not to hyperventilate.

"It's just... I dunno. It's hard to breathe sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Miss Parks questioned softly. "Why do you think that is Rikki?"

She tried stifle the tears running down her face.

"It's... loud. And the people, all the people..."

Her teacher smiled, if only slightly, and bent down to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand.

"I need you to think of a pretty painting."

"I don't know any paintings," Rikki sniffled.

"It doesn't have to be a painting specifically," Miss Parks chuckled. "Just think of something you really love. What do you really love?"

"Chocolate ice cream?"

"Ah, that's a good choice. I love chocolate ice cream as well."

"How is this helping me?" she demanded, fresh tears threatening to be released. She felt her throat constrict as she struggled to take in air.

"Because if you are thinking of the best, most delicious chocolate ice cream, then you won't be thinking of what's making you stressed."

"That's stupid."

"Try it."

"It'll never work."

"'Try it.'"

God, she could really use some chocolate ice cream right about now.

Rikki was the last to sit down at the table, the ambient noise immediately ceasing as everyone's attention turned on her. There were eight people at the table in total, Rikki, and older couple (60s, maybe?), a woman in her 40s with her 20s something son, Zane, his girlfriend, and a portly gentleman with a rather unattractive handlebar mustache.

She took note of Zane's widening eyes as the look of recognition passed through his face.

"And who might you be, young lady?" the portly man questioned.

Rikki shifted uncomfortably.

"My name is Rikki Chadwick. I'm here on behalf of Dr. Rothstein, head curator of the Brisbane Museum of Arts and Sciences," she replied as politely as possible.

"Of course David wouldn't show up," he snorted.

"Is he busy tonight?" the 60s something woman asked.

"He's unfortunately taken ill."

Fat mustache man snorted again.

"Well, it was very kind of him to send his, um, secretary in his place," the 40s something woman added on after an awkward moment of silence.

Maybe it was her exhaustion, or her apathy at even being here, or perhaps her hunger that wouldn't be quelled by the plate of leaves and vegetables sitting in front of her, but Rikki wasn't having it tonight.

"I'm not his secretary," she said through clenched teeth, trying not to lose what remained of her sanity.

"Of course!" the older woman backtracked. "I didn't mean to..."

"I'm a photographer for his upcoming exhibit on marine life," Rikki cut in icily. "But if you would like to talk to his secretary it would be my pleasure to pass on his contact information."

Through the corner of her eye, she could see Zane smile.

"So you take pictures of like...fish and stuff?" Zane's girlfriend asked, trying to break the tension.

You sure chose a winner there, Z.

"And stuff," Rikki responded simply.

Her table finally lost interest in her within the next couple of minutes and Rikki was finally able to relax. She slowly learned more about who she was sitting with over the course of the conversation. The older couple had just celebrated their 40th anniversary. The husband (John) used to work in real estate. Apparently their children don't call enough. The 40s something lady (Jody) was a recent divorcee whose husband had a prominent position in city government. Her son is a law student. The portly man (Steven) is a banker. And he had amassed a considerable amount of money. A considerable amount of money. Zane was in the process of taking over one of his father's companies. His girlfriend, whose name is Allison, currently works as a model.

Shocking.

She spent her time picking at the rather unappetizing looking salad - god I hate vegetables - while Steven and John discussed in detail macroeconomic theory and the state of the stock market. Zane looked bored, Allison looked confused, and Jody looked annoyed. Her law student son tried to chip in, but soon quieted after being shot down. Rikki incorrectly assumed that that actual meal would be served after the salad, but instead some unidentifiable type of soup-like substance was brought out in front of her.

One of the cons of growing up poor was the lack of available food options. Growing up on frozen chicken fingers didn't prepare her for the type of stuff she would be eating tonight. She looked down at her array of utensils. Three spoons. There were three spoons.

Which one am I supposed to use?

It's a complete waste of space to have three spoons. Reusing something wouldn't hurt anybody, would it? Rikki looked up, trying to figure out which one she was supposed to use without drawing attention to her apparent incompetence. She inadvertently made eye contact with Zane, who gave her a slight smirk before indicating the spoon to the far right of her salad plate.

I don't need your help, she thought angrily before recognizing that she did, in fact, need his help.

It was so like him, she thought, to remember her eating patterns. Whenever he came to her place, they would always order out Chinese and eat with her cheap plastic utensils. He found it amusing that Rikki would wash them and put them back in the cabinet as opposed to throwing them out, but didn't judge her for it. But people who rewash plastic forks and people who need more than one spoon per meal certainly don't overlap, at least not often.

The soup tasted vaguely of tomato and some other combination of spices. It wasn't terrible, but wasn't exactly filling either.

"And what are your thoughts on the Mako project?"

Rikki looked up immediately. The question came from John. It wasn't directed towards her, but to Steven, who was busy digging into his soup.

"It's a worthy investment. Plenty of space for property development, if one can get past those damn environmental codes, of course!" he chuckled.

Rikki felt herself growing warm again.

"What say you, boy?" Steven asked looking at Zane.

Her ex-boyfriend clearly looked uncomfortable with the question.

"Didn't your father try something with that island years back?"

Zane cleared his throat. "Um...yes he did. It, um, well it didn't pan out. It was considered too harmful for the environment."

"It's a shame," John said. "Give it another couple of years, time enough for the regulations to be loosened..."

"And then what?" Rikki cut in. "Turn the place into your own personal paradise? Who cares about the exotic marine life or the animals that inhabit Mako. Right?"

"My dear," Steven responded. "No need to get so worked up. We were just talking, is all."

God you're condescending.

She downed her glass of champagne before responding, trying to ignore the bout of lightheadedness given her empty stomach.

"There is nothing wrong getting worked up about the things that matter to you. I have every right to voice my opinion on the topic of Mako island, just as you do."

"Of course. But as a matter of experience..."

Zane, who seemed to sense something was about to go down, tried changing the subject.

"Did you hear about Apple's stock? It's skyrocketing with the new iPhone release."

It was too late. Rikki slowly closed her fist under the table, watching Steven's soup beginning to bubble, faster and faster before it exploded in his face. The red liquid ran down his cheeks, staining his shirt and tie.

Allison shrieked as Jody jumped from the table. The waitstaff, alerted to the noise came by quickly and apologetically, saying something about talking with the chef about the temperatures.

Steven was escorted to the nearest bathroom to clean up. Rikki sat rigidly as the table conversation slowly reverted back to normal. She could feel Zane's eyes boring into her.

He knows.

Of course he knows. Why wouldn't he know? Soup doesn't just explode without explanation. Rikki sighed, trying to gain control of her faculties. She knew she had anger problems, certainly exacerbated by the alcohol, and had spent much of her teenage years and adult life, as little as there was of it, trying to get it under control. She tried her best to smile and pretend like she enjoyed being here, chipping into the conversation every now and again.

Doing what she was supposed to be doing in the first place.

That didn't stop dinner from passing awfully slow. Nor did it stop her from finishing another glass of champagne and starting on the third. Every part of her said to stop, that getting publicly intoxicated was not an optimal solution given the current situation, but with every sip she took, the faster time seemed to pass.

Dinner finally finished and people began to congregate on the dance floor. Rikki stood up and began making her way to the bar, all whilst avoiding Zane in the process. She didn't need any other awkward encounters with her ex, and there were enough people in the building to lose herself amongst the masses.

She felt dizzy from the alcohol. She certainly wasn't a stranger to it. At thirteen years old she was a pro at hiding cheap vodka in her water bottles and bringing it into school. She grew out of it eventually, becoming so far removed from the taste that her body wasn't accustomed to such a large amount in so small a period of time. Rikki couldn't be described as anything other than a lightweight, which was why drinking tonight was so dangerous an activity. But it had been so long since she was able to have fun. The enjoy herself. To believe that there was more to life than spending her weekends curled up on the couch watching old soaps.

It took less than a minute of sitting at the bar before someone offered to buy her a drink. Some man, probably in his late thirties, maybe early forties, who made no effort to stop his eyes from taking in every minute detail of her body. She accepted once, then twice, enjoying the thrill as the bitter drinks hit the back of her throat.

Life was good. No, life was great.

She didn't stop this stranger's hands from inching higher, from her knees to her thighs. She didn't stop when he ushered her across the dance floor. She didn't stop when he kissed her, in some darkened corner of the room. She hadn't had this much fun in a while. She deserved this, deepening the kiss as he pressed her against the wall. She deserved to be touched this way. His hands slid further down her back. She deserved to have someone, anyone, pay attention to her. He grasped her bottom. She deserved to be the subject of someone's affections.

She didn't deserve to feel alone.

To feel...abandoned.

Abandoned by everyone.

She pulled away.

"I...I need to go," she whispered hoarsely.

"Hey," he grabbed her arm. "It's all for fun right? Why don't we just head out to my place..."

"I said no!" she hissed.

"Ah!" He released her from his grasp.

"What the hell, you...you burned me!"

Rikki saw his hand start to blister.

Oh no.

She needed to leave. She needed to leave now.

She went quickly back to the dance floor, trying to find an exit.

She was drunk, that much was obvious to her, and walking straight was a struggle. Everything was blurry, the noise defeating with the sound of hundreds of conversations happening all at once.

"Did they turn the temperature up in here?" she heard a woman ask.

She quickened her place, struggling to stay upright.

"Ma'am do you need help?" The question came from behind her. Rikki turned around quickly. Much too quickly. Her elbow met the edge of the tray that the waiter was carrying, flipping it over.

Even after taking another step backwards, Rikki didn't put enough distance between herself and the flying glass of ice water that spilled directly on her arm.