A/N Sorry for the lateness update. I hope it's worth the wait!


Chapter Eleven: Nothing Personal

Moreau insisted on washing and drying the dishware and utensils. Joy did most of the cleaning and chores so he assumed she must be tired and surely, she'd take it easy before going to sleep. The cheekbones of the fish- man arched. He was looking forward to being granted another goodnight hug.

Joy had rinsed and scrubbed their makeshift napkins with the basin washboard and hung the damp dishtowels on the cleared and dust free clothes rack. While dusting, the young woman had made certain not to miss a speckle of dirt in the little lodge.

After barring the backdoor, she stomped off the blizzard's aftermath from her sneakers, then picked up a water jug beside her damp sneakers, which was chockfull of snow.

"Da snow's lots closer ta da door den da water barrels… And I think… dey might be filled with ice anyways… from all da cold!" Joy huffed, placing the corked container with the others in the food pantry. "But snow saves us more water ta drink and wash stuff."

Moreau nodded in concurrence, humming an unknown tune of which he somehow knew. By now, he wasn't surprised by the cleverness of his precious person. Using more of the snow to their advantage and not breaking teeth on frozen rainwater was really planning ahead!

Joy pulled the pantry's wide sliding door but slowly; her eyes centered on the big board.

"Is Joy still hungry?" inquired the contented fish-man while toweling a plate.

The woman faced her friend. "Oh, no, da pasta filled me up. I was just thinking…"

"Oh? What's Joy thinking about?"

"Well… Does da lodge need a plumber, Mo?"

Moreau blinked once. "A plumber?"

"Y'know, someone dat fixes hot and cold pipes. …Dat kinda stuff."

"Oohh," drawled Moreau with returned recognition. "I… don't think so. Uhh, why is Joy asking?"

The woman glanced to Moreau's left, at the in-grid sink. "'Cause, umm… I didn't see a faucet on da wittle bathtub."

It had taken a few moments for the fish-man's comprehension to come full circle. She was referring to the bath basin with the surrounding curtains.

"Oh…" With a grunt, Moreau placed the dried porcelain into the small hanging cupboard. "The little bathtub doesn't use a faucet."

"It doesn't?" Joy tapped her pouted bottom lip. "But how does it get filled up? I didn't see any buckets with it like da sink."

"It holds water that was already made hot," answered Moreau as he picked up the last white plate to dry. "Like boiling water over the fire."

"Ohhhhh!" Joy slowly nodded. "I get it now. Thanks, Mo!"

Moreau beamed from teaching Joy another thing that was new to her. Although he never used this bath basin himself, it just made sense to know how it worked.

Perhaps his precious person's smartness was making him smarter, too!

The fish-man shooed his reverie with a few eye flitters when he saw Joy approaching closer, holding up the medium-sized cauldron in front of her person.

"Is Joy hungry for… more… pastas?" he questioned, trying to quiet a belch.

The young woman briefly hid a sheepish grin because her friend's burp had instilled her digestion to loudly approve their big meal, as well.

"Oh! E-E'cuse me!" she giggled, shyly tucking her neck between small shoulders. "No thank you, 'cause I think both our tummies are good!"

"Hmm-hmm, yes!" Moreau chortled. "Very good! …But why does Joy need the cauldron?"

"'Cause I'd like ta fill up da wittle bathtub with warm water, please."

Still circling the dishtowel over the held plate, the fish-man canted his head.

"For what, Joy?"

"Exactly!"

"…Huh..?" drawled Moreau, his broad forehead crinkling even further.

"For me!" Joy raised the pot near her bosom. "I'd like ta have a bath!"

And right after the declaration, the shattered plate also made the woman's smile suddenly drop. With a gasp, she rushed around the broken porcelain and reached her friend's side.

"Oh my goodness!" She hastily put the black kettle atop of the nearby stovetop and patted Moreau's forearm. "Are ya alright, Mo?!"

The rigid fish-man's slacked jaw finally resumed working. However, not a single syllable was emanated.

"It's okay, Mo! Please stay where ya are. I'm gonna clean dis up!"

Not wanting her friend to hurt his back, the woman dashed for the wall-cabinet in the corridor and returned with the dustpan and broom. The straw bristles gathered several large chunks of the plate, then Joy swept up the tiny remaining remnants.

Moreau quietly ogled his passible friend as she made certain there were no broken bits left. Next, she carefully poured the gathered shards into the pail that was by the clothesline. After returning the broom and dustpan to the closet, she walked up to him with an assuring smile.

"Dare! All done!" Joy decreed, wiping her hands. "I just didn't want us ta cut… our… toes…"

Her voice trailed off because Moreau had not yet left his spot and was stark silent.

"Mo? Ya alright?" Her sights flitted to his pointy toenails. "Oh, no, did any'a da dish pieces hurt your feet-?!"

"N-no-no..," meekly blurted the fish-man as he regained the ability to blink. "You… y-you want…"

He stopped inquiring to drape the damp dishtowel onto the sink, then gulped a lungful of air so he wouldn't pass out.

"…a… bath?"

"Yes, please," confirmed Joy. She peeked underneath her round nails. "I just feel kinda musty dusty from all da cleaning we've done. …I could really use some bath-time."

"B-B-But… But… But..," Moreau sputtered, hobbling to and fro in front of the woman; her head swerving to follow his panic pacing.

"Ummm, Mo? Why're ya moving back and forth like dat? Oh, do ya have ta go potty?"

"…Bath-time is personal!" he finished rapidly.

Joy lopsided her view. "Huh?"

Still clumsily marching, the fish-man held up a clawed finger.

"No, bath-time is very personal! And, and when a person has n-nothing on… nothing is personal anymore because the person isn't-isn't personal!"

Bottom eyelids raised as the bewildered young woman held up outspread palms to the slanted ceiling.

"What does all dat mean, Mo?"

"I DON'T know!" bellowed Moreau, holding onto his concealed temples.

Quite worried, Joy advanced and held onto his upper arm and Moreau ceased his manic stepping. But when his supportive friend noticed him looking at her from the side, but also averting doing so at the same time…

…that was when she understood. Joy recollected the memorized quote of her wise friend.

Eyeballs can say lots more than mouths can.

"Oh… don't worry, Mo. It'd be okay," she said softy. "I would stay behind da curtains da whole time."

Moreau licked his drying lips and hesitantly, partly turned his head to see her fully.

"I'd really feel better if I have a bath." Joy placed a hand above his askew shoulder. "But… I won't have one if ya don't want me ta. …Okay?"

The edgy fish-man felt the small hand gently patting him. Normally, the tangible comfort would put him at ease. But surprisingly, now it was making the scenario even more… problematic.

Still, in spite of his flustered mindset, one thing that Moreau was most aware of was he needed his precious person happy… and to stay happy.

"Okay?" Joy calmly repeated, rubbing his shoulder.

Admiring the round, fair face of the benevolent being, Moreau relented a sharp respire through a short, bent nose.

"…Okay."

Joy blinked and took a step back and folded her lowered hands. "Good! Sooo, is dat an okay for bath-time or an okay for no bath-time?

Moreau closed his eyes with a profound swallow. "This is Joy's lodge, too… So, so is the little bathtub."

The woman beamed broadly. "Really?" She raised knitted hands to her chin. "I can take a bath?!- I mean have a bath, I'd never take anything from ya!"

The fish-man's mouth-line matched Joy's smile. Regardless of his conflictions, her high considerations for him would never stop awing him.

"Yes… really, really." Her friend made a brief bow of the head. "Joy can have… b-bath-time."

"Yay! Thank you, Mo!" Joy cheered after a short bounce. "It won't take me long ta make da bathwater ready 'cause I don't like super-hot baths. And I'm wittle like da bathtub so I don't need a lotta water."

She retook the cauldron and headed for the backdoor to begin collecting snow but paused and turned to reveal a delighted mien.

"And don'tcha worry, Mo, I'll be all personal for you!"

With a lower eyelid tic, Moreau's smile converted to a long and taut grin.

"…All right!"

Joy skipped on to begin her task of self-care. Once Moreau could no longer see the back of his friend's red scalp, the wide, superficial smile flattened in a millisecond, while his heaving flat chest attempted to keep up with an elevating heartrate.

For the young woman's reassurance about being 'all personal', wasn't reassuring at all!


With newfound confidence, Joy had taken multiple trips from the fireplace and to the big oval basin to pour in the much warmed up water from the kettle. Near the middle end of the tin tub was a rubber plug that sealed a drilled hole to a long, nonvisible pipe set in the ground, hence, the water could be drained. Joy was relieved that it didn't need to be hauled and dumped outside. Moreau, still feeling fidgety, offered some aide by telling his friend when the heating water over the hearth was ready. He didn't have to wait for it to boil; just enough to see the steam to know that it was suited for bathing.

Scolding his precious person's skin was not a risk he wanted to partake in.

After Joy unhooked the cauldron with the wrought-iron poker and allowed it to cool a little, Moreau helped her tilt the pot the last few times to ease the chore. Unpredictably, his back wasn't protesting. All the same, even if it was, he definitely would've not perceived it. Because currently, his pained upper torso was the least of his concerns.

As the fish-man blinked at the rising water of the big basin, he sensed the sides of his face warming up. And it was not from the emanating warmth from the misty water, but the hindsight that the tub would be no longer vacant…

"Dat should do it!" Joy chirped as she and Moreau finished with emptying the cauldron into the two-thirds full basin. "Thanks for ya help, Mo. My arms were getting kinda tired."

Moreau picked up the much lighter kettle. "Joy… is most welcome,"

The woman peered down at the gray smudges on her blue shaded apparel. "I think I need ta wash my clothes, too… But I don't got anything else ta wear…"

Almost letting go of the cauldron's handle, Moreau's milky while sights enlarged.

"Wh-Wh-What?"

"Other clothes dat I packed for da trip are in a suitcase, back in da hotel." Joy scanned the nearby large dresser and rubbed the nape of her petite neck. "Would… would it be alright if I borrowed some clothes, Mo? …Just ta sleep in and so I can wash my musty dusty clothes?"

The fish-man nodded many times. "Y-Yes, yes, yes! Joy mus- can wear anything!"

"Oh, thank you, Mo! Umm… Do ya wanna pick out some things for me? I don't wanna be a snoopy snoop-"

"No, no, no! Help yourself to the big dresser, please!" Moreau interjected while toddling through the parted ceiling curtains.

"Where're ya going, Mo?" Joy asked quizzically.

"To put the cauldron away and to get Joy soap!"

"Aw, Mo's so helpful! Soap'll make me squeaky clean!"

"Yes, yes…" Moreau shuffled through the corridor. "…squeaky and clean!"

His impatience wasn't because he was only divided from the nearby dresser mirror by mere, thin drapes. The ruffled fish-man just needed to move as quickly as his overwrought legs could carry his weighty, awry body. His slow yet rushed mind didn't need to weigh on the woman's outsider term. His precious person did squeak a lot, and she would be cleaner, soon enough.

When Moreau returned to the living area, Joy was already standing outside the curtains with pleated clothing. Whatever they were, was unbeknownst to Moreau. He had never opened any of the drawers of the pine bureau. In which contained the attire that once cladded someone else…

Moreau handed the bar of soap to Joy, and she beamed gratefully.

"Thank you so much for da help. Mo's a very good friend."

The nervous fish-man reflected her smile. As uncomfortable as he was, hearing that endearment was always… comforting.

"Joy's a very good friend, too."

With a curt bob of the head, the young woman turned and pulled one of the drapes and looked to Moreau… who was already heading towards the further right entrance of the eatery.

"Mo?"

Moreau halted, almost tripping on his own feet.

"Y-Yes?"

"Don't worry, I'm gonna be super-personal in my birthday suit! I'll keep da curtains closed for my whole bath-time."

Gradually, Moreau swayed around. Birthday suit?

Was that another outsider word? Did Joy have a super-secret uniform under her clothes?

Just when the befuddled fish-man was going to inquire on how Joy managed to fit two different ensembles, he recalled one family meetup when his big brassy brother poked fun at their big bossy sister, after her expensive dress got torn terribly from a rebellious nail. Moreau's hairy, expletive sibling yelled to go put on new rags before they went blind from seeing her wear nothing but a big old birthday suit. Big bossy sister was not happy with being called old.

Moreau gaped. Birthday suit didn't refer to an actual suit but wearing nothing.

Nothing but skin…

"Mo?" Joy tilted her head. "Is dare something ya wanna-?"

"HAPPY BATH-TIME, JOY!"

"Eep!" peeped the woman with a hop from the heavily exuberant exclamation.

The grinning, waving fish-man turned to fulfil his desire to be in the kitchen. Joy stood in the living quarters with much risen eyebrows, fluttering her eyes widely.

"Um… thank you… Mo?"

In the second room, the Lord of the Lodge could not sit nor stand still. He wobbly strode around the little square table, over and over. Yes, the young woman would be behind the curtains and he was presently in the kitchen, however, the unseen activity was still transpiring...

…in their territory. In their lodge…

My friend is just having a bath! consoled Moreau's consciousness. Bath-time… just bath-time… Which… which means Joy is… is… naa…ke-

"E'cuse, me, Mo?"

"Ow!"

The startled fish-man almost bit his pale tongue from walking straight into one of the kitchen chairs.

Damn-! Dang! He rubbed his sensitive abdomen. "Uh… y-yes, Joy?!"

"I'm sorry for bothering ya," Joy softly shouted, "but could'ju get me one'a da big towels, please? I forgot ta get one."

After a minute of surrounding silence, the woman wondered if her plea had been perceived.

"Can ya hear me? Are ya still dare, Mo?"

"Yes, yes, yes! I hear and I can!"

With feet, not as eager as his words, Moreau hurried to the hallway's wall-cabinet. He pulled a white bath towel from one of the shelves before bumping into the small door… and knocking down the broom which clanked on the floorboards.

"Everything alright, Mo?"

"Everything is fine! He-he-hee! Just fine, Joy! Just fine!"

After his distorted larynx emitted more nervous snickers, Moreau shook out a hoarse breath and gingerly made his way through the small and narrow passageway, which seemed as long as a river. And when he neared the standalone washroom in the living quarters, Moreau froze stock-still.

The black sclera of his eyes was never so pronounced in his mutated life. The refreshed lantern on the big bureau was casting a glow through the white, cloth curtains, revealing the contours of the petite, stout, hourglass of his precious person, stepping into the elliptical shaped tub.

"Aahh~!" sighed the slowly descending feminine silhouette. "Da water's perfect. Thank you, Mo!"

The fish-man finally blinked his drying eyes.

"J-Joy is… most… welcome."

Moreau could hear the soft swooshes from the bathwater as the small form settled in place.

"I made sure dat da curtains are all closed up. All I see is Mo's shadow. …You… can't see me… right?"

"R-R-Right… Just, just Joy's sh-shadow."

This was sort of a fib. For under the rims of the drapes, he had seen the little fair feet before her bath had begun.

"Oh good!" discreetly remarked the moderately concealed woman. "May… I have da towel, please?"

The aforementioned cloth was amid the fish-man's hands like a limpet on a rock.

"Yes, of, of course…"

Joy took a moment, discerning the weak reply.

"You could just place it right below da curtains and I can pick it up. Dis way, I'm still all personal."

Moreau felt his eyelid twitch again. "All right. Okay. …All- All right."

Tentatively, he took small steps toward the awaiting shape. When he reached the center of the curtains, he dropped the scrunched bath towel to the floor. Unluckily though, it was not close enough for his bathing precious person. So quite slowly, Moreau lowered his heavy torso to move it closer…

Then, a rosy moist hand slipped through the drapes for the large towel with warm fingertips; the supple digits accidently touching the fish-man's clammy knuckles.

Moreau backed up. A broad gasp prickled in his bulbous throat, instigating half a dozen of erratic coughs.

"Oh, my goodness, are ya alright, Mo?!"

Moreau detected the rushing of water from the little shadow readying to stand up…

"Uh'hem-Uh'hem! I'm, I'm all right, Joy! I, I have to go!"

To his relief, Joy placed herself down again.

"Okay, Mo… Ummm… Go-?"

"POTTY! Yes, I have to go potty!"

"Oh, alright…. Would'ja like some help with opening da backdoor?"

The shaded arm began to lower towards the bath towel…

"No, no-no-no!" The fish-man flashed his palms. "No thank, thank you, Joy. It's good! My back's good! I'm good!"

"Okay!" Joy began rubbing the soap in her hands. "Maybe after we're both done, we could read a book before bedtime?"

"Yes! Yes! YES! Books! Read books!"

Moreau swerved around. He outstretched his arms for he had almost tilted over.

"My books are the best! Books… books…books… books…"

As fast as his misshapen form was able, the rambling fish-man waddled through the kitchen for the backdoor. And ignoring his objecting back, he removed the dense plank and let himself out.

Wow! Mo really can't wait ta read! thought the happy woman while lathering her knees. And he really needs ta go!

Standing in the passably shoveled path, a couple of meters from the closed lodge, Moreau felt the snow ebb away beneath his bare feet; his heavy boots were purposely left by the side of the couch. He stared at the countless puffs of cloudy air eventually slowing as he steadied heavy exhalations.

Moreau definitely needed to go, but not for the outhouse.

As far as he could recall, this was the first time that he yearned for personal space... And the first time that he'd soon forgotten about catching his reflection in a mirror.

Lifting spindly fingers, Moreau touched his beaded brow and flushed face, which was far from feeling tepid...

And this was the first time, ever, that the ice hating fish-man wanted exposure to the wintry cold of Eastern Europe.