All in All, the World’s Just Bricks in the Wall

[The Gourmand]

March 30th, Night

. . .

The silt and mud clouded the dusky depths of the abyssal plain. The furious whooshes of water from the bloodthirsty thing’s tentacles behind him had come to a sudden stop. Rusty iron chain rose high in the water over the spot where his pursuer had been. The young merperson didn’t look back toward where the anchor had dropped on top of the monster -- the monster he made the mistake to dare call “dad” -- for he knew he was certainly dead.

The unnamed merperson kept swimming along, rhythmically undulating the tendrils of his lower body to keep up a good speed. He came to a stop in a kelp forest where the sunshine dappled through from above. He felt heavy; his throat thick and tense. He was just a child and could not keep his emotions to himself for long. He’d narrowly escaped death at the hands of a father who would never love him. Purple tendrils curled around his light blue form in some approximation of a hug.

The boy sobbed as quietly as he could until his eyelids had swelled painfully and his diaphragm ached from repeated gasping. Red eyes opened a slit, hearing a coo nearby. He looked around and spotted a small serpentine form sliding through the kelp. The animal soon emerged, swimming up in front of the boy. It almost looked like a sort of shark, with large frill-like gills, three long fins atop its head like a crest and a wide snakelike mouth that always looked to be grinning. The animal smelled sweet, like it was newly hatched.

The young merperson didn’t know how to respond until the fish came up to him and began to run its body along him, emitting a clicking purr. The boy swallowed a shutter and grinned, running his hand along the fish’s back. His new friend cooed and pressed against his hand, elated by the touch. Reaching forward, he took the fish in both arms and held it against him, where it responded by curling up contently.

Feeling comforted, now that he was no longer alone, he swam out of the shelter of the kelp forest. Once he emerged, he saw in the clear water ahead a towering golden castle.

. . .

They named the boy “Brutus”. The boy named his pet “Jim”.

Brutus didn’t look like most of the other merfolk and it was generally assumed his development was stunted due to his nonexistent parenting. Brutus never was taken in by a family proper. He was merely given work. They assigned the orphan to the mines, to dig up metal ore and gems to don the merfolk of the royal court. Jim was nary far from Brutus’s side, frequently preached upon his shoulder.

Brutus and Jim discovered something one day. It was big, bright and round. It reeked of power, so much so that he found being around it too long made him sick. This must have been magic. The merfolk of Atlantica warned him that magic was only to be used by the ruling class. It was dangerous he was told. But Brutus didn’t see why some were allowed to have something and others were not. That was a common conundrum that plagued the strong young merman’s mind. But this time, Brutus had something Triton had and no one knew about it.

He made Jim promise not to tell anyone of their find. He would put it to good use one day.

. . .

His seashell armor glistened white under the arches of the golden palace gates. Brutus earned his keep among the Royal Guard with his strength and cunning. A black nailed hand stroked the serpentine creature swimming around him. Jim cooed. Jim rounded and swam beneath his best friend’s chin, purring joyfully. The creature rounded again, his ever-grinning face turning to Brutus. But Brutus still seemed sad. Jim’s fins slowly drooped in confusion.

Brutus spent decades working hard to prove his worth. He’d been recognized and removed from the mines to begin his training as a royal guard. He spent hours a day rigorously pushing himself. Over the decades, he rose through the ranks until he was frequently at the side of the king himself. He believed if he worked hard enough, it would all pay off. He could earn his place as Captain of the Guard -- the merman best fit for the job.

But no.  There was a wall.

His work ultimately didn’t matter. Because he looked like a monster. He looked like the Sea Witch. No matter how hard he worked, he would never get any higher in the court. He would never hope to have the same lot in life as the king. No one in Atlantica could. For ruling was an exclusive rite. Or so they said.

They were being used. Something needed to be done.

. . .

The abyss was dark and cold. His tendrils were horribly crippled. He could not swim. Brutus, rechristened the Gourmand, sat on a hard barnacle-encrusted stone. The only light came from the small ventilation cracks in the containment vessel that held his pearl. Not even the power of his pearl stood a chance against the Trident. The coup had failed. And he had rotted away in misery and exile for years.

The Gourmand felt something nudge the side of his face. Loyal Jim, perched on his shoulder, began to rub against him. His long scaly body pushed gently upon his face and the serpentine creature clicked at him frettingly. This had to have been the millionth time he tried to get his friend to react to him, but he would never give up.

Finally, after so long, a thick hand lifted, throwing off the white marine snow. Jim felt a familiar touch on his back. The Gourmand petted his companion. When an old smile appeared on the merman’s lips, Jim squealed in glee. His friend was back! His friend was back! The Gourmand took Jim in both hands and pressed his nose against his. Jim nuzzled and swam right into the Gourmand’s face, barely able to contain himself.

A spark appeared in the massive merman’s eyes. Jim, his beloved pet, still so loyal. Crawling from his haze, the Gourmand saw when he laid his eyes upon his best friend that he owed it to him to keep going on.

Jim spun around before curling up on the Gourmand’s belly. The Gourmand brought a hand up to gently stroke his dorsal fin, slowly and soothingly. Jim’s excitement calmed and he began to sink further. Just before he nodded off, he turned his smiling face around.

<sub>Big, scarlet eyes stared back; happy, trusting and unconditionally loving.

J i m   l e t   o u t   a   s q u e a k .</sub>

. . .

. . .

<sub>. . .

T h e  w a t e r  w a s  m u r k y  a n d  d a r k  a f t e r  t h e  l i g h t .

W h i t e  a s h  f l u t t e r e d  t o w a r d  t h e  s e a  f l o o r .</sub>

.  .  .

In the dead of night, the massive form at the back of the barn gradually became more active. In his sleep, his breathing changed from even and controlled to more rapid, and more rapid, and more rapid still. Something was wrong. The worrying sound of hyperventilation cut off suddenly with a lurch in his breath.

Red eyes illuminated the area all around. The Gourmand noticed a cold wetness around his cheeks. He leaned up suddenly, his shadowy figure becoming all the more conspicuous, and began shivering as he spotted the white snow fluttering from one of the windows. Purple tendrils curled around his light blue form in some approximation of a hug.

[Huela]

“...ir? Sir, are you okay? Boss, wake up.”

The back of the barn was colder than the area around the fire, but Huela wouldn’t have it. Sure, she was mammalian, but she was small. Small enough that her body often couldn’t keep up with the cold, especially in such a damaged state.

But still, the busted, vintage radio stayed at his side, occasionally giving soft noises as the little alien worked inside.

Now, the radio lay silent, broken form on the edge of the crate it sat on. Golden eyes watched carefully. Wide, trusting, full of concern. It’s obvious she’s weighing her options, trying to figure out how to proceed. On one hand, The Gourmand was obviously upset and hurt, and she wanted to help alleviate and strain that she could.

On the other, he was a warlord. How would he take to her seeing him like this...? It was common knowledge to Geck: Walk with caution. Though you trust your keepers, they’re still larger and stronger.

“... It’s alright, Boss. You’re safe.”

[The Gourmand]

The sea beast’s pupils were opened so wide that they had become circular. Lids were pulled so far back the white of sclera was visible just at the corners of his eyes.

The snow fell outside the window.

. . . 

The ash fell on top of him. He couldn’t bring himself to move, only shake. His throat felt tense and heavy.

A furious orange glow permeated his vision. The three pointed ends of the Trident were aimed at the center of his head. The water was scalding from the heat. As the Gourmand’s focus moved back, he saw the immovable chiseled shape of the Sea King looming over him as the small white bits continued to rain down.

. . .

Breathing continued rapidly through his open mouth. As his eyes began to sting from the buildup of wet over them, he forced himself to blink. Large drops began to flow down his face.

. . .

The Trident was pulled away. Its shining golden form and the dark shape of the other merman retreated into the murk, leaving him alone. Just him, and the ash.

. . .

The snow fell outside the window.

The Gourmand’s eyes were unmoved from the sight of the white flurry. An ear rotated. His pupils began to shrink back to their normal size. His mouth closed and upper teeth appeared in a snarl.

It sounded like he tried to say something, but it only came out as an indistinguishable broken mumble.

[Huela]

Golden gaze follows crimson, to the window allowing in the midnight light. The little creature shifted lightly, as if thinking. They didn’t have this back on Osuba or in The Strand, but she’d heard about it from some of the soldiers.

“It’s snow, Sir... like rain, but frozen. Do you... want me to close the shutters for you?”

Huela shifts uneasily, gaze rolling back to the Predator is distress. If he struck out, it might be enough to just kill her in this state. But... she trusted him. With her life, even. She’d do what she could to help him.

Even if it meant endangering herself.

[The Gourmand]

. . .

The beast was pulled suddenly from his haze, feeling a webbed claw brushing his lower arm. Blinking the hot salty liquid away from his eyes, he slowly brought his attention to one side. A diminutive shape of white. His son, Slugsworth.

The other’s wide red eyes matched his own as he slowly brought his gaze up to meet his father. The Gourmand felt a pat at his thick arm by his son’s weak claw. Slugsworth’s ears were pinned back and he parted his beak silently for a few moments before uttering:

“D--dad. I’m sorry.”

Dad? The boy hadn’t called him that since he was a baby. The Gourmand could only respond by staring.

Flat teeth glinted as his lips pulled away and his brows pulled together. He turned in the direction of the murk. Something hurt his throat, like snapping: breaking: parting: but somehow it felt right. Like a seam being opened, he felt cold water rush into his second mouth for the first time. Fully erupted teeth separated. Slugsworth, bearing witness to the sudden mutation, moved backwards but fought the urge to completely bolt as a gaping hole lined with fangs appeared before him.

ThE GoUrMaAd’S lUnGs FiLlEd AnD hE  r E a R e D--

--Suddenly, he was snapped out of the past. He flinched and shook his head, his snarl rippling as he growled. He struggled to focus on what was in front of him, unable to recognize what it was, before fully turning his attention back to the window.

“Snow?” he asked thickly.

The Gourmand seemed confused, like he had no idea where he was. Widened red eyes shifted this way and that. Both ears and crest fin laid completely flat: a fear reflex. Tentacles continued to writhe and curl up closer to his body, jittering slightly as they did so.

“He took everything from me.”

[Huela]

"Yeah, Boss. Snow. It just means it's cold outside, I hear it's nothing to be--"

“He took everything from me.”

Huela hesitates as she reaches for the shutters, glancing back at The Gourmand curiously. Hands gently press the window closed as she turns to face him, little sharp teeth worrying her lip. Her voice is soft and gentle, as if attempting to soothe the larger's duress, while also ensuring that she doesn't upset him further. Though, curiosity is still a damning trait...

".. He? Who's he?"

[Mulan]

  Mulan felt a pang of guilt, loathe to admit that she hadn't acknowledged the rapid breathing at first.

  Many of the survivors of the Freedom Fighters were their cadets - their children. The nightmares within the barn had been rampant, and keeping up with them had been... difficult. Which was nothing to say of the nightmares that plagued the adults, which for the most part had gone unattended. So when she heard the heavy breaths of a man caught by night terrors, Mulan had first disregarded it. She had watch to maintain, and while she felt a great sympathy, it was not the first soldier that would have to be left to his own devices.

  However, rather than the sounds eventually dying in the dark and stillness of the night, they only grew more desparate, joined quickly enough by the concerned murmurings of a softer voice that was frantically trying to soothe the former. Mulan's brows furrowed, and she gently nudged the guard posted to her left to hold the post while she went to investigate. A wayward thought had posed the possibility of a medical emergency, and that, alongside her pangs of sympathy, was enough to move her from her watch.

  "Is everything all right back here?" Mulan called quietly into the dark as she approached. Eyes adjusting from the bloom of snow, she could make out the blurry silhouette of the Gourmand, with something small skittering nearby - that must have been Huela. The additional figure had remained undisturbed in the hushed commotion; the new alien that Huela had been eager to introduce as her literal big sister was still sound asleep near the old gutted radio.

[The Gourmand]

The fin atop his head crest slowly returned to a resting position, suggesting that he’d fallen out of complete fight-or-flight mode. His eyes seemed to recover some of their spark as he lowered his head and gaze from the closed blinds.

The -- ash? Was gone? The -- snow.

The Gourmand began to take in what was in front of him. He seemed to be having an uncharacteristically hard time formulating thoughts, judging by the look of processing on his face. Both his arms lifted and his palms patted against the wooden wall behind him, attempting to find some purchase on what he thought was the real world. He needed something real to cling to and pull out of his panic attack.

“Where am--?” he struggled.

Blinking, the words spoken toward him seemed to register. The Gourmand focused on the first voice and then the other. The figures weren’t close enough that he was sure they were there, but he knew for a fact he heard the voices.

His frown deepened. It wasn’t a particularly friendly expression, but at least it was something that resembled him in his normal state of mind.

“Triton,” he thundered, “The Sea King. Corrupt, exploitative bastards. Your flawed system. You -- took advantage of me. You -- took everything from me -- when I -- dare question -- revolutionize. ... Where is your divine right now? Who will judge you? I will judge you.”

[Huela]

“Triton? I don’t— h-hey, Boss, it’s okay!” Huela chattered nervously, “That Triton guy’s not here, I promise. It’s just Huela and Mulan. You’re safe. Not exactly warm, but you’re safe from... what, The Sea King?”

A frown pressed into Huela’s face as she turns towards the woman that’s joined them. She seems a bit worried, as if she’s not positive what’s happening.

[Mulan]

  Mulan's brows furrowed. The Gourmand had told them little, if anything, about his past life before she had found him in a puddle in the Serengeti. She knew nothing of what sort of world lay below the sea, only that the Gourmand had come from it. The names were foreign, but the mentions of a 'King' and a 'corruption' were discernible enough. It wasn't Africa that haunted him, but a memory much older.

  "Gourmand, easy." Mulan lifted her hand in a pacifying gesture. She kept her voice calm and focused, trying to guide the large merman back to the waking world. "There is no Sea King here. You're here. You're among friends now."

  Mulan took quiet, measured steps towards the Gourmand, partially to not wake any of the others, and partially not to further perturb his sleep-addled mind.