A/N: I truly apologize for the delay of this chapter! I was on a small hiatus due to a bad cold that lingered for over two weeks, then I was focusing on my pets and the holidays. FYI: This story will be completed less I'm struck by lightning. All the summaries/very rough drafts are finished to help stop writer's block when I work on each chapter. So I know exactly how Moreau's tale plays out. ;)

Guest: I'm glad you liked the last cliff hanger. There will be more of those in the future.

Chapter Four: Strangers

In the shadowy lodge, two silhouettes shuddered underneath the pair of frozen beings from the vigorous hearth. Neither said a word for which seemed like perpetuity. But when the young woman's small jaw dropped, the frantic fish-man hobbled about-face; his eyelids constricting like he had fused them with his own enzyme.

"D-don't look at me that way!" Moreau groveled, covering his vision by pulling the rope on his trench-coat's hood downwards with trembling hands.

"...In-in wh-what way?" peeped a shaky voice. "I'm-I'm not looking at-at anybody..."

"Huh?"

Worriedly, Moreau turned slightly around. Descending his thin hands partway, he saw that the woman was huddled to the wooden flooring. She had also drawn her coat's hood and was sheltering her eyes with clamped petite palms.

Within a few seconds, the woman blindly moved her head in Moreau's direction, triggering him to resume having his bulbous back, fronting her.

Both beings remained cowering and quivering. When one shuffled, the other gasped or squeaked while shielding their sights even tighter. As if they thought that the other could not see them, because they couldn't see. The fish-man hadn't felt more entombed since getting lost down in the old mines... many times. But at least then, he managed to always find his way back to the shack.

But now, in his current and enriched home, Moreau was at a loss for what to do! Even if he wanted, he couldn't make the woman immobile with enzyme without looking at her. And trapping her inside with him would only make him feel even more trapped.

Moreau's deformed ears deciphered heaving breaths, causing his lack of self-worth to creep tenfold. Was she going to cry because she saw him?

No! I don't want that!

"What, what, what are you doing here?!" the fish-man blurted out. "Who are you?!"

He was still sightlessly facing the other way. He waited for an answer, however, the only detected sounds were his own heavy respires, expelling through his short, bent nose.

"Who are y-you?!" Moreau reiterated.

"I'm sorry..." was the weak and meek reply. "I can't talk. ...You're a stranger."

Slowly, Moreau rotated his clumsy self. This answer had confused him greatly. As he peered his fingers away, he found that the woman also had the very same notion...

Beauty was witnessing the grotesque.

"NO!"

After the distressed yelp, a tall and expansive wall of mucus-colored mass, susurrated and bubbled from the floorboards, separating both frenzied hearts.

"You, you came into MY home!" Moreau stated, glowering and pointing at the unseen figure behind the rising, dense ooze. "Into MY territory! I'm not the stranger. You are!"

There was no response nor retort. Only hefty breathing and sniffing...

...Lots of sniffing.

The fish-man's angered agitation ghosted.

Oh, no!

Collecting his bearings, Moreau rolled his tongue over dry lips. "I'm, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to yell! D-Don't cr-cry... P-Please?"

He then perceived the sounds of scuffling. He wobbled to the right end of the idle barrier and glimpsed the soles of white sneakers, slipping under the bedframe. His juddering bottom lip puckered.

"Oh, why does everyone run away from me?"

Sniveling, Moreau slumped more so. And as he lifted an arm to rub his salty sights...

"...I didn't run."

Moreau paused, then looked to the small bed.

"Wh-what?"

"I didn't run. ...I crawled."

Still snuffling, the teary-eyed fish-man blinked deeply. "Then... you crawled away from me!"

No words left the hidden woman's lips. Moreau huffed out a sullen whine.

"Did-did you hear me?"

Eventually, hands and knees were heard shifting in place.

"Yes... Sorry... But I'm not supposed ta talk ta strangers."

Now, the fish-man's retrospect was even more baffled. This young woman feared him just because she didn't know him?

"But... wh-why are you talk-ing to me-me now?" he stammered with a hoarse hiccup.

"'Cause... 'Cause I don't like it when people cry," she squeaked with another sniffle.

"Oh..," Moreau gasped quietly while staring incredulously at nothing in particular.

She was seeing him as a person?

Moreau dried his dribbling nostrils with a rumpled, stained sleeve. "Well... I, I don't like it when peoples cry, either. ...So, I won't cry, if, if you won't cry. ...Okay?"

He waited.

"O-Okay?"

"Okay," peeped the small being, also clearing her own airway.

This happenstance was completely unorthodox for the usually detested recluse. And it was absolutely titillating!

He mulled over how to go by this. He moved toward the coffee table and turned the minuscule knob on an oil lantern to enlighten the dark and jarring atmosphere. Although Moreau was mostly cloaked in his tattered, leather apparel, his nauseating deformity would still be more prominent from the lamp casting its light. Nevertheless, for the first time in the fish-man's insufferable life, he was willing to risk it.

Steeling his nerves, he slowly crept to the bed. He stopped when its bottom guest hastily shifted.

"Wait, wait, wait! Please, please! Don't run- uh, crawl!"

Taking in air and sighing gruffly, Moreau cleared his mutated larynx to gain some equanimity.

"My, my name is... Salvatore Moreau. ...I live-live in this lodge and... I, I like boats and pu-puppies."

He didn't say he was the Lord of the Lodge, for he didn't want that declaration to make the petite person feel smaller. Moreau nervously awaited her to engage...

"I'm... Joyce Holidaye. Spelled with an 'e', but da 'e's silent."

"Huh?" The fish-man creased his aged brow further. "Why have an 'e' if it doesn't make a sound?"

"I dunno. ...'Cause it's spelled dat way?"

Moreau hummed. "Yes, that makes sense."

He noticed that the woman sounded a little calmer and her voice was becoming more pronounced.

"And... I like boats and puppies, too," she added.

The thrilled fish-man whirled his lean limbs from the progress.

"See, see! We aren't strangers anymore! We, we don't have to be scared of each other!" He folded his fingers. "So, could you co-come out? ...Please?"

A minute passed, and Moreau placed his knuckles to his extended, lumpy chin.

"Please? ...Joyce Holidaye with an 'e'?"

Another sixty impatient seconds ended. However, Moreau's incoming whimper was extinguished before it had the chance to resonate throughout the cabin... The woman gingerly revealed herself. And after getting onto petite feet, the quiet being removed her hood to stroke her bangs away, and brushed off the clingy coating of particles from her blue jeans.

"Kah-doh!" Joyce wiped her nose. "Sorry, it was kinda dusty under dare."

Moreau had to remember to keep his jaw locked. Here he was, standing with someone just two meters away without cringing or grimacing. And his arcuate posture wasn't causing any interaction issues, because the woman's stature was no more than five feet; she was at his eye level.

Suddenly, it seemed that the fish-man's expectations were raised too high, for the woman's eyes were welling up again.

"S-Sorry," he mumbled, recollecting his gross appearance. He began to sluggishly sway around...

"Wait! Please don't go!"

Moreau jerked in place and fronted her once more.

"Don't... g-go..?" he parroted.

Joyce nodded curtly after dabbing her squinting sights with a yellow, puffy sleeve.

"I need'jur help."

Moreau quickly blinked half a dozen times. Someone was freely asking for his aide? He put a twitching hand to his thrumming, flat chest.

"You need... my help?"

The sadness in the woman seemed to grow and her eyes went to her sneakers.

"I'm sorry..." She held a right, lowered wrist. "I can try ta- to speak better?"

Franticly, Moreau waved both of his palms. "No, no, no! You speak just fine!"

Then, something unprecedented happened... The young woman raised her head and small lips, and the fish-man couldn't help but mirror the one gesture of which he never thought he would receive nor ever give back...

A genuine smile.

Unfortunately, the light faded on the woman's countenance, with Moreau's following suit. He saw her staring widely over towards the enzyme barrier; its top had neared the cabin's angular ceiling.

It's, it's all right!" he assured while quickly gesticulating a hand dismissively. "It can't move, and it can't hurt you."

The woman nodded and her posture eased. However, her returned focus on Moreau was still dismal.

"I'm... sorry," she apologized once more. "I know I said dat I wouldn't cry."

"It's... it's all right." Moreau repeated. He wanted to approach but didn't want to jinx such rare positivity. "If you really need to cry... you-you can... It's not good to have tears trapped inside."

Even though the woman's eyes were tinged pink from briny moisture, they still matched the brief, small beam on her mouth-line.

"Dat's very true."

As the woman blotted her face, the once, snubbed fish-man tried to remember to only let his eager heart grin broadly. Someone had just agreed with him!

"Why are you so sad?" he questioned with wriggling, elevated fingers.

Joyce sighed, rubbing her arm. "I'm sad 'cause I don't know where I am."

"Oohh..," Moreau drawled with hindsight. "You mean you got losteded."

The woman slowly bowed her head.

"Uh-huh... I wanted ta show my mom dat I could do stuff on my own." She indicated to a bright blue backpack, sloped under one of the windows. "Mom was super-tired today, so I decided ta go ta da shops by myself and get trinkets ta take back ta L.A."

Moreau's cheek-lines deepened from a baffled pout.

"L..? A..?"

"Where I live," Joyce clarified.

Moreau allowed a short nod. "Oh. I see..."

Despite his reaction, the fish-man had not a single conception of where 'L.A.' was, nor what those letters actually represented.

Closing her eyes, the woman granted herself another long exhalation before resuming.

"I took a bus, but I fell asleep and missed where I wanted ta go. When I woke up, someone had stolen all my money, and da bus driver made me leave da bus."

Moreau narrowed his sights to the floor, clenching his fists before crossing his limbs. He imagined if this transporter would have been a viable subject...

"That bus driver was very cruel!"

The sad woman shrugged her little, slumped shoulders. "She was only doing her job... But I sure wish she'd just lemme pay for my trip later."

Moreau droned flatly to himself while wondering how one person could not be angry at such cruelty. He watched Joyce glance at the frost-filled windowpanes.

"I had no idea where dis bus stop was, and dare were no people around ta ask. And my phone didn't work right, 'cause it lost its connection..."

Suddenly, her eyes widened with a big, singular flitter of lashes.

"Oh! Do ya have a phone I could borrow?! I promise I'll give it right back!"

The fish-man unfolded his arms and heavily rocked his head. The woman shared his small frown.

"It's alright. I don't think it'd work here anyways... I saw all da hills between da trees, and I've learned dat getting higher, helps phones signal."

"Phones signal?" asked Moreau.

"It's how phones wave ta each other," the woman simplified, waggling small, ten fingers in unison.

Moreau nodded again. He could only assume that was logical, on the account that he had never experienced those cordless, ringing rectangles. Mother must've known that he just wasn't smart enough to have a smartphone.

"But the hills didn't help. And da snow was getting heavier, and I was getting colder," Joyce went on as she clung to her upper arms. "So I kept moving. ... I had ta keep putting my phone in my pocket 'cause my hands were cold, and I couldn't work my phone with my mittens on..."

She took out the aforementioned mittens for a moment to help visualize her story and returned the yellow cottony pair to her coat pockets.

"...I slipped a buncha times 'cause I shoulda worn my new snow boots. But I like my sneakers 'cause boots always pinch my toes..."

The listening fish-man idly rocked on his heels. Heavy winter boots were rather uncomfortable.

"...I saw dis house and I didn't think anyone lived here 'cause I didn't see anybody. I thought it was one'a dose vacation houses dat people rent. And da backdoor was moving from da wind."

Moreau blinked in rare understanding. So that was how she had gotten inside his home: he'd forgotten to bar the backdoor.

Just like the previous dweller...

"I was just so cold, so I went in," the woman continued. "After I got warmed up, I saw dat my phone was gone... I musta lost it during a trip..." She paused her speaking for a few seconds. "I mean, from one'a da times dat I fell after I took da trip here from da United States."

The fish-man's mouth slightly opened. Now, that place sounded familiar. So, Joyce really was an outsider. Like that snappy blonde man whom Mother Miranda was so invested in for some reason... Maybe he should have dyed his hair yellow...

He was brought out of his limited musing from raspy, short breaths. Moreau looked at the bright green orbs of the young woman; they were shimmering vastly. Instantly, she squatted to the floorboards, embracing her knees as she pressed her forehead inwards.

"I-I was... so stupid for going off-off on my own!" muffled her hitched voice into scuffed jeans. "But I guess dat's what stu-stupid Down's people like me... do!"

Moreau dropped his sad sights to the downtrodden, weeping woman. He couldn't comprehend what she exactly meant by 'Down's'. Nonetheless, her psyche pain was akin to an overflowing flood that never wavered in his head. And in spite of how distraught Joyce was, she kept her sobs discreet... It was like she still didn't wish to upset him.

She... doesn't want me to cry...

Warily, Moreau advanced until he was standing less than a foot away. Gulping his parched throat, he anxiously neared a jolting hand to the woman's back, as if tangible contact would burn him.

Or vice versa.

She lifted her head in Moreau's direction, which prompted him to take a few paces away, pulling his hovering hand in. He droned, dissipating his throat once more.

"You're... not stupid. You, you were smart to find my super-secret special place!" The fish-man grimaced at the blizzard outside. "Stupid peoples would've frozen into peop-sickles."

He heard light giggling and blinked at Joyce.

"What's funny?"

She removed a hand from her lips. "Tee-hee... Peop-sickles!"

Hearing the tittering, elicited Moreau to chuckle, and his reversed frown only grew because the woman wasn't troubled by his misaligned, serrated teeth. Not only was someone sincerely content in his unsightly presence, but she was laughing with him!

Moreau observed her round, feminine face. "It's good that your eyes are smiling."

Canting her head, the sniffing woman's lashes fluttered in surprise. "Really? Eyes can smile?"

The fish-man nodded with rare conviction. "Yes, really! Eyeballs can say lots more than mouths can. Of all the peoples I have seen, I can tell that you aren't uh... a Downer." He vertically pointed a spindly index finger. "You're an Upper!"

The woman's beam brightened more so, and so did Moreau's. He couldn't remember his lips ever curving so much in such a short amount of time. And when she stood back up, he didn't flinch.

After drying her face in the crook of a curved, coated arm, Joyce cupped her palms over her chest.

"Do..? Do ya think ya can stop me from being lost?"

Moreau's pupils shifted to and fro as if he was contemplating. He then looked to the hopeful, benevolent being.

"Well... I got losteded lots and lots of times. And last time, it was on purpose! So I know all about being lost!"

With twinkling admiration, the encouraged woman elicited a gasp. "Really?"

Moreau made a second, proud bob of his big head. "Really, really! Once the sun melts all the snow... I can get you unlosteded."

Joyce bounced in place. "Yay! Ya promise?"

The fish-man discerned the motivated person in front of him, and he made yet another, confident, short nod.

"I... promise. ...All right? Joyce Holidaye with an 'e'?"

The woman kept her sneakers to the floorboards but clapped in appeased approval.

"Alright! Thank you- um, Sal... Sally-? Salvatore! ...Did I say your name right?"

"...Yeess. But it's Moreau."

"Oh, right! Ya like being, um, formal!"

The fish-man craned his head. "No..? I'm being Moreau..."

The woman started chuckling and Moreau joined in as well, though not sure why. Regardless of the reason, he didn't care. Her effervescent, squeaky giggles were inspiriting, and laughing with someone was so much better than wailing after being harried by someone.

Joyce put a small fist to her mouth. "A'hem, my family calls me Joy. And 'cause we're no longer strangers, ya can call me Joy, too."

Moreau's eyes widened. Family calls her Joy?

He couldn't believe this was actually happening, and he mentally beseeched to Mother that this wasn't some sort of hallucination, created from the drifting pollen of his spooky little sister's flowers.

The fish-man's bemusing thoughts were tossed away when the appreciative woman approached, raising little outspread arms. Disconcerted, he hobbled a bit backward. Joy stopped, also appearing confused. She then smiled and put out a hand. All Moreau could do was gape at the open gesture.

"What's wrong, Moreau?" She brought her hand to her nose. "Do I stink..? I just took a bath dis mornin-"

"No, no, no!" he quickly interjected, putting out an open palm. "Joy doesn't stink at all!"

The woman lowered her limb again and this time, Moreau eagerly accepted the token of agreement, and their arms gently shook in sync.

"Thank you, Moreau."

The speechless fish-man responded with an ear-to-ear grin. His warped skin along his bottom lids crinkled; making his eyes, as he had said, smile. The physical contact was so warm and so inviting.

Was this how it always was to interact with others who didn't hate him?

When his moist sights trailed to their hands, Moreau gasped but forced himself not to let go so he wouldn't offend the sole person who liked him. Her red eyebrows arose from worry as she also stared downwards.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Moreau. Im'a leftie. I can shake with my right hand?"

Utterly, stunned, the fish-man blinked disbelievingly. She thought being left-handed was what was troubling him? His cloudy gaze kept onto the luminous irises of the concerned woman.

"You... aren't afraid of me?"

Unlike the former Lord of the Reservoir's past exchange with someone else, this similar query was far from being rhetorical.

With a supportive smile, Joy shook her head. "Uh-uh."

Moreau stared. How could she be so certain? They were so incongruous by comparison. This young woman was wholly engaging, had shiny, thick locks, and spoke with a light and chipper timbre that accorded her sangfroid. While he was simply disgusting. And was as dull as his uneven, sparse strands, and slurry, throaty, monotone.

In doubt, the fish-man drooped his head and gloomily relooked at the cause of his uneasiness: their clasped hands. One was fair, supple, and adorned with yellow polish, whereas the other was ashen, callous, and webbed with spiked, unclean claws.

"You... sure? I'm, I'm so... diff-different," he said submissively.

"I'm different." Joy proclaimed softly. "Are ya afraida me?"

Moreau shook his head as firmly as he was able. She cupped his pleated digits so that both of her small hands had partially enveloped his.

"Welp, dat's my answer, too."

All the flabbergasted fish-man could do was... stare. Just... unblinkingly stare.

Joy patted his webbed hand and observed it closely. And before Moreau could apologize, she squeaked with a brief hop, still holding on.

"Oh my goodness! Are ya a merman?! Is dat giant wall sea foam?! Did'ju make it with'jur sea powers?!"

Moreau could see every pearly tooth in the excited woman's mouth. Not once, in his cursed existence, was anyone keen to learn about this special talent.

"Uhhh... I'm uh... part mer-merman?"

It was the only answer he could think of to say.

Joy finally released his hand, which he reluctantly reclaimed.

"Yes!" She hit the air upright with a fist. "I knew you guys were real! At first, I thought da lime jelly was alive and was gonna eat me. It's why I hid under da bed like a big baby."

Moreau was astounded, yet again. So, her initial reason for crawling under the bed wasn't him, after all!

Joy put her knitted fingers under her small chin. "May I see it? Can I touch it? Please?"

The fish-man swallowed and was tempted to pinch himself, but he repressed from doing so, just in case he woke up. By this time, the air would have made the enzyme lose its glutinous quality. But still... she asked.

"Yes? You... may?"

With a squeal, Joy bounced several times. "Yay! Thank you, Moreau!"

The young woman capered toward the organic wall until something reflective caught her attention. She changed course and bent down. Moreau hummed quizzically as she walked up to him.

"Here." She extended her left arm, turning something over to the puzzled fish-man. "Better not lose dis. Gotta lockup ta stay safe."

It was the key to the front door.

With his broad mouth slightly agape, Moreau nodded quietly, and with another bright beam, Joy went over to admire the glistening, green mass.

Moreau blinked at the key in his palms. He must have put it in one of his pants' holey pockets and it had fallen out after he went indoors.

As Joy gazed up at the enzyme, petting it with sheer curiosity and amazement, Moreau's own interest was increasing. As far as his cognizance could gather, no other stranger had ever viewed him as an equal, let alone touch him.

And she relinquished his key? Did she truly want to stay? Willingly? Everyone else saw a defaced monster. But the large, expressive, parted eyes of this petite person, did not.

Returning the key to his only good pocket, Moreau continued to ponder... Did Mother channel Joy to become lost for him to use her as a perfect vessel for her special child? However, Mother knew everything. Certainly, she would know that he no longer had any available cadou...

Unless... Unless...

Another optimistic grin revisited the fish-man's face from his illation...

This perfect and precious person was sent for him! A consolation gift from the ever-glorious, Mother Miranda!

While watching the woman regard the lofty enzyme wall, its creator chortled lowly, rubbing bony knuckles with utmost rapture.

Joy doesn't have to become unlosteded. She already is!

A/N: For updates on future chapters, I often update my journal in Deviant Art under the same name: GDeNofa