A/N: To Guest: As always, love your reviews! I'm so happy to hear this story is your top fan fiction and you love the interactions between 'Mo' and Joy. It's clear that our fish-boi never had anyone interested in him. In the game, he did grovel to Ethan as a ploy to entrap him within the mines. But in spite of that, Moreau was still truthful about what he knew. It was probably the first time he'd ever gotten to open up before being killed. Fortunately, his encounter with Ethan was all but a nightmare...
Chapter Seven: Alone
Joy brought their bowls and cups to the off-grid sink to wash them and returned the porcelain to the cupboard after toweling. She had insisted because Moreau had done the role of heating their dinner. She also cleaned the open cans and asked where they should go. Moreau suggested letting them stay on the stovetop for now and he would put the tins out later.
When Moreau exited the kitchen, he found Joy standing in the combined living and sleeping chamber of the cabin, appearing quite befuddled.
"Is, is something... wrong, Joy?"
The fish-man's inquiry was weak, in fear that the young woman was having second thoughts about staying with him. She lowered two fingers from her bottom lip and smiled, much to his relief.
"Nothing's wrong, Mo. Ummm... but are ya sure I saw da whole house- I mean da lodge?"
Moreau's countenance lightened, not just because she had learned a word from him but also referred to him by his nickname. The fish-man's grin grew. He truly was given a nickname...
"Yes, yes, I have showeded Joy all inside the lodge."
Both Joy's head and eyes scanned around the quarters. "But... where's da bathroom?"
Moreau gestured to the curtains in the far right corner and Joy made a terse nod.
"Right. Da wittle bathtub. But... I didn't see a um... toilet."
"Yes, I know," said Moreau as he discerned the anxious woman twiddling in place. She most definitely needed some privacy time.
With closed eyes, he emitted a throaty gruff of air and moved crabwise to the coffee table.
"I... I didn't show you a toilet because there, there isn't one in here."
"Ya don't have a potty?!" squeaked Joy, stilling her legs with widened sights. "But- But where do you... go?"
"Oh... Well... there is a... potty." Moreau specified while concluding her last word was outsider for a lavatory. "But to go, you need to go..." He picked up the lit lantern. "...outside..."
Baffled, the amiable woman collected her sunny-yellow coat and shadowed the waddling fish-man to the backdoor. After she pulled up the zipper and dipped her hands into her mittens, Moreau offered the lamp. At first, Joy hesitated and stared at the glass-protected flame. However, when she saw the comforting smile from her cohort, she cautiously took its handle.
Moreau unbarred the heavy door, and with a grunt, began to pull its latch partway. A scud of frosty wind whipped the pair's faces which prompted them to adjust the ties and twines of their flailing hoods. Hence, another reason for the fish-man's auxiliary ropes: a headband to keep his head... hidden.
Moreau shuddered and blew snowflakes from his nostrils with a discontented snort.
"Are you sure Joy really needs to go?"
Squinting, his cold companion bobbed her head curtly. "Yeah, really, really! I did have a lotta soup and water."
Moreau's spiky nail pointed to a timber construction that was about twenty yards from the cabin: an outhouse. And with all the snowfall, Joy had perceived it as just a mound of piled ice when she had first discovered the lodge.
"Don't worry, the outside bathroom has a very big trench," Moreau mentioned. "It's not like the can bins."
He and Joy looked to a pair of wooden sealed cylinders on the far opposite side of the rain barrels.
"They hold the empty cans and foods boxes," he added. "I clean them and keep the bin closed so it doesn't attract rats."
Previously, after numerous attempts at his old shack, the fish-man had figured out that, unlike Joy, rats made bad company. They bit his toes when the furry little sneak thieves weren't pilfering his cheese.
"Dat's good ta keep empty stuff clean," stated the woman. "It's better for da recycling center."
Moreau nodded but as in the past, he had no clue what in the world a recycling center was.
They finally stepped out into the rising snow, and Moreau closed the door and fronted Joy.
"Have you used one of these to go, before?"
"Yeah. I used a porta-potty when me and Mom went on picnics."
Despite the frigid air and the hoarfrost clinging to his hoary leather attire, the fish-man's mouth-line raised wistfully. He'd seen families having picnics on his video box, but he didn't know that actual mothers shared meals with their children on sunny days.
"Must've... must've been nice."
Joy bowed her hooded head. "Uh-huh. Welp, da porta-potties weren't, but it's always nice when Mom and me do stuff together..."
Moreau noticed that the young woman's face had frozen. And something in his core told him that it was not from the cold...
"J-Joy?"
"Hmmm?"
"Do... do you-you still need-need to g-go?"
The stammering wasn't just from the juddering fish-man's nerves.
"Oh! Right! I really gotta go!"
She started treading as snow clung to her kneecaps but paused and peeked over her shoulder.
"Mo?"
"Y-y-yes?"
"Umm... even with dis lamp, it's-it's kinda spooky out here. ...Can ya go with me?"
Wide, milky white sights blinked profoundly.
"Wh-wh-what? Go with-with you-?"
"Oh, no-no-no! I mean could'ju wait by da porta-potty? I won't be long, I promise."
Moreau utterly hated the cold. However, when his pleading, precious person distended a left arm...
"Please, Mo? We can hold hands so we don't fall-"
"Okay I'll go with Joy!" he blurted out, hurriedly clasping the fuzzy yellow mitten.
Moreau's shivering lip calmed as it curved upwards. Human contact. He would never tire of real human contact.
With locked palms and interdigitate thumbs, the short duo plodded their way in the elevating frost to the outhouse. Moreau was thankful he had not yet taken off his boots. The gusts were brutal; swinging the lantern and making the short destination seem so distant. Yet with perseverance, they clambered through it while supporting one another if the other felt off balance. Now, Moreau rightly understood what teamwork meant.
When they reached the lofty structure, Moreau's freed hand tugged at the door. But with all of the piling snow, it wouldn't budge. Just when he was going to edgily propose if Joy could go behind it and he would cover his eyes, she extended the lamp.
"Please, Mo, lemme try?"
"Uh... all-all right."
He slowly released her gentle grip and retook their little beacon and Joy grabbed onto the small doorknob. With sharp, steamy breaths, she towed it ajar and used both of her hands to finish prying the rest of the tall board completely open. And all the gawping fish-man could do was blink at the shoveled amassed snow.
Oh, Joy was right! She really needs to go!
The young woman let out a bushed respire and peered inside. As expected, it was similar to the outhouses she had visited. It wasn't made of molded plastic nor had toilet paper, but it contained a wooden bench seat with a hollow center for the latrine and a stocked shelf of clean lavatory linen. Still basic, nonetheless, it'd surely do.
"Thank you, Mo!"
With a small smile, Joy's mitten clung to the handle of the presented lantern; Moreau knew it would be pitch-black inside when the door closed.
"I'll be right out!"
Moreau nodded his twitching head. "All-All- rr-right."
The door was hastily shut and the freezing fish-man wobbly turned until his dripping nose was fronting the back of his warm and dry wooden castle. He strained with tugging his stitched and tattered trench-coat over a frosted, distended abdomen to no avail. Yes, indeed, he despised everything that made damned winter... winter.
But oddly enough, as Moreau observed the vast, shadowy clouds, he found that he didn't mind waiting. For so very long, he had understood the woman's request for him to be her escort...
The former, forsaken Lord of the Reservoir never liked sitting alone in the dark, either.
Inside the lodge, Joy rehung her wintery apparel on the coatrack and clasped her shoulders with a quiver.
"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, fluttering her lashes clear of snowdrops. "Brrr! Dare's so much snow out dare!"
After shaking off the remaining frost and replacing the lantern on the coffee table, the huffing fish-man unceremoniously plopped himself in the dense groove of the couch.
"Yes... yes... so... much... snow... Ughhh..."
Brushing deep red bangs from her smooth brow, Joy walked toward him, but stopped midway, swerving her head twice in the direction of the fireplace.
"Awh!" she softly whined in disappointment. "Mo? What happened ta your cool seafoam hill? ...It... it was just here before we went ta da porta-potty!"
Moreau was sitting up the best he was able while vertically dragging the heel of his right boot. He gave a glance at the minuscule remnants of enzyme in the fine lines amid the floorboards.
"Oh... in time... it goes... poof," he explained with grunts.
The young woman tilted her head. "Poof?"
"Yes. From... heat. It everates... evoper- ...Uhhh..."
Joy's eyes enlarged. "Oh! The seafoam evaporates."
Moreau took a breather from his current task and nodded.
"Yes. ...Tricky word."
"Tee-hee! Thank you!"
The woman hummed briefly. "So... if ya want da shiny seafoam somewhere else, ya can just poof it and make another one?"
Moreau shook his head up and down and Joy beamed in amazement.
"Wow! Dat makes it even cooler."
"Uh, the fire makes it hotter?"
Joy giggled. "Yeah. And dat makes it super-duper neat."
With a proud smile, the fish-man resumed tending to his footwear. After the trip to the exterior lavatory and collecting some firewood from the porch, he was more than ready to warm his feet by the freshly fed flames. However, even with the bothersome boots being so big, this time around, they weren't coming off so easily. Moreau groaned inwardly. The damn horrid hoarfrost had probably clogged his ankles into them.
Snow is... stupid!
Joy saw the tip of his tongue emerge from his broad mouth-line. She was familiarized with that look all too well. She'd often found herself with the same, frustrated expression when she was having difficulty with something.
"Can I help?"
Moreau halted as his pupils flicked to the open hands. After a gulp, he slowly nodded and precariously held up a thin calf. He watched in implausible wonder as the kneeling woman gently yet firmly wiggled the sole of the boot until it released its grip. Then, she repeated the motion on the other; smiling because she didn't expect her companion's feet to be half the size of the large footwear.
"Dare!" Shuffling on her shins, Joy put the damp, black boots next to the little oval rug and sat in its center. "Is dat better?"
After a moment from absorbing that he was given more physical support, the fish-man garbled a few stutters.
"...Y-yes. Th-Thank you, Joy."
The young woman was still beaming.
"You're very welcome, Mo."
Moreau wriggled his thawing, pointy toes in delight and Joy felt the fireplace aerating the bottom of her blue jeans with soothing heat. Shortly after, Joy's half-lidded eyes made a gradual blink.
"I think dat nap I took when I got here wasn't very long 'cause I'm super sleepy." She arose to her feet and briefly covered her open mouth. "I think it's time I go ta bed."
Moreau glanced through the dark windowpanes. "Yes, it looks like it's the end of the day."
"Okay... so... where may I sleep, please?"
Moreau lifted his arm and jerked a right thumb over his shoulder to the pine pallet that held the mattress and its furnishings.
"Why... the bed, of course!"
Worriedly, the woman shook her revealed palms in protest.
"Oh, Mo, I can't sleep dare! Dat's your bed!"
"No, no, no..!" The fish-man smiled, dismissing a webbed hand. "I insist! You are mine- my guest! Huh-ha. And the guest goes sleep-sleep in the bed!"
"But... where will you sleep?"
"Right here." Moreau's resting hand patted the brown armrest of the couch. "Don't worry, Joy. It's very soft and comfy, remember?"
In truth, Moreau's furniture of choice for repose in the cabin had always been sleeping upright on the small sofa; not once did he rest in the aforementioned bed. Granted, the single-sized bed still had enough space for his widespread frame, but because the fish-man was overly arched and heavy-bodied, he would inevitability sink into the mattress. Therefore, it would be very strenuous riding himself up if he attempted to lie on his side, much less putting pressure on his sensitive, raw back.
Moreau spied Joy yearningly staring at the bed's pillow while rubbing her lower lip with concerned contemplation. His grin expanded for reassurance.
"Please, go sleep-sleep in the bed, Joy." He folded spindly digits in hopes of approval. "It, it would make me happy."
Green orbs that were a tad less bright, trailed back to Moreau. Then, a sleepy smile was returned.
"Alright. ...If it makes ya happy..."
"He-hee!" Moreau giggled, clapping his hands. "Yes, yes, it does!"
"Okay... Um... is dare a blanket? I didn't see one on da bed."
The fish-man jerked in his cushion. "Oh, y-yes, yes, there is." With reluctance, he pointed over his shoulder again. "On, on-on the big desk."
Joy scrunched her rosy lips. She couldn't recollect being shown a desk during the tour. However, as her weary sights raked the back wall of the cabin, she spied a cover swathed over an erect, flat item atop the big bureau.
"Oh, I didn't notice it was on da dresser ta keep da dust bunnies away. Thank you, Mo."
Still smiling, Moreau droned with a nod, though not sure how rabbits were made of dirt. But as soon as the woman went to retrieve it, his lips flattened for the real reason the blanket was hung was not for dust...
It was protection from his reflection.
Under the cover was a mirror. And a very big mirror at that. The fish-man feared catching sight of himself. He swore that the disgusting doppelganger would sneer at him right before he blinked. Moreau hated mirrors even more than the cold. Nevertheless, he could not have his cohort chilled. So from now on, Moreau would never have to look at it or just tightly screw his eyelids whenever he was remotely near that damn dresser...
And remember to pray to Almighty Miranda to not ever forget about the presence of the hurtful, truthful glass.
After a light shake and producing a small and unheard squeaky sneeze, Joy draped the beige blanket on top of the matching fitted sheet and returned to the sitting fish-man.
"Welp..." The woman yawned once more and rubbed her closed eyes. "...g'night, Mo."
Moreau was about to happily give a bedtime parting right then and there, but then, he thought of her gesture of gratitude after he had offered her food from the pantry.
With trembling hands, he elevated his gangly coated limbs and spread them apart as Joy had done when they had first become companions.
"N-N-Night-night... Joy?"
In the face of being so sleepy, the young woman beamed brightly and she moved in; leaning forward and holding onto the smitten fish-man.
"Oh!"
"Night-night, Mo," she softly echoed in his concealed ear.
Feeling the surrounding tender tightness, Moreau closed his damp lids. And this time, he clung to her upper back, repaying the embrace.
Lightly laced with a whimper, he hummed in utmost awe. The feel of Joy's soft cheek pressed into his hood was... indescribable.
Eventually, the woman shifted, and Moreau, stilling a sniff, gingerly shuffled back to allow her to retire for the evening. He could hear sneakers bopping to the floor then the bedstead slightly creaking while the small being settled herself in.
Feeling so leaden from beckoning sleep yet high enough to pet the snowy clouds, the Lord of the Lodge reclined into his soft and cozy throne. And after granting his peripheral vision one more glimpse of his resting, precious person, the yawning fish-man regarded the dancing embers of the hearth, dwelling on the outcome of this secretly sunny day.
"Mo's... the best..," he murmured dozily. "And Mo's... not alone..."
A/N: To view a portrait of our sweet little protagonist done by a wonderful friend of mine, it's on DeviantArt under PURE JOY: Joyce Holidaye.
While writing this chapter, I came across this song: "Not Alone" by Opia0 [feat. Marks] and damn, call it a happy coincidence.