Chapter Text
“You—! Let go of me!”
Manju rubs his face again, eyes narrowed at the sight before him.
Is this really happening? A mermaid on his ship? Why?
Daifuku — poor sweet summer soul, the mate that helped Nerikiri earlier, sent here by her — is looking at him, pleading for instructions, not unlike a lost puppy. Manju sighs; he doesn't need to look behind him to know the one crying is Mochi, Dorayaki hiccuping so loud that it's grating, Kohi Jelly banging their head against the floorboards – are they even bowing at this point?
His blood boils.
Can he go back to manning the ship and have Nerikiri switch places with him?
The mermaid thrashes, teeth bared, growling.
Manju rubs his temple as Daifuku splashes sea water on the cookie fish, myth, thing—the mermaid’s claws digging into the thickened, sturdy licorice rope net. They snarl at Daifuku, hissing, instinctively curling up. “Y-You…!”
Daifuku freezes, muffled apologies in his mouth, clutching onto the bucket like a lifetime, his fox ears drooping, “I-I was worried you'd dry out…!”
Manju doesn't need to see their face to know that they're pissed beyond words. He clicks his tongue as he contemplates issuing a command.
“I- I'll get the first aid kits!” Daifuku stammered, rushing off, quickly followed by the two idiots behind him…
Huh. Thank you.
“Stop.”
The silence that followed rang, the waves quieting, his crew nearby freezing in their spot at his word. The three look back with fear in their eyes; the mermaid, cautious, while nearby bystanders hesitantly get back to their work.
…Why the first aid kits?
Manju sighs. Nevermind.
“Who said you two could go?”
Mochi and Dorayaki shiver – it doesn't take a genius to figure out that their captain is talking to them specifically – dragging their feet back behind him, joining a horrified Kohi Jelly, as Daifuku slinks back to get the first aid kits, not unlike a skittish kid.
The half-cookie, half-fish scrutinises Daifuku's disappearing silhouette, their face scrunched in confusion, pearlescent eyes — beautiful as the moon, mind you — glaring back at him. Now biting at the–
“Stop biting the rope,” Manju hisses. “It’s caramel thickened licorice.”
“Fuck you!”
…Oh. He’ll just ignore that.
“Let me out!”
Manju smiles at them, charmingly he hopes, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
On one hand, having a mercookie falling directly into his hands without any real effort—excluding the horrifying life or death situation that chased the Red Knot in the storm caused by mercookies retaliating at his ship’s passage; throwing spears, arrows and stones, even the sea against him as they made their narrow escape—is absolutely fantastic.
Quick and easy hard coin for this… — Manju tilts his head, assessing the poor cookie who went from glaring daggers deep into him to the rope, hands twisting, prying the salted rope off of their wounds — ...undoubtedly beautiful mermaid.
One he's sure he can sell for an absurd amount of money.
Just look at them, scales glittering and shimmering in the light like opals – pearls, to be sea appropriate; one measly damaged scale will already reach hundreds of thousands of coins.
Under different circumstances, he might've whistled from how much hypothetical coin he could make with them, as he'd become the only reliable supplier for this mermaid, he could genuinely turn ‘absurd amounts’ look small.
Manju isn't exactly a saint, after all. His life motto is something along the lines of whatever gets more coin into his pocket; the more there is, the better. It doesn't matter if his clientele wants to do something… shady, as long as he's not directly involved. His job is to procure goods and deliver. Whatever happens next is out of his control. He can't be blamed for that, but he won't deny that with certain clients… he's providing fuel for a wildfire.
The mermaid snarls, forcing him back to the present, watching them wrestle with the rope around their tail and his jaw clenching, ugly curses toppling down from his mind, realising that Daifuku had meant this — the rope digging into open wounds on their tail, her jam mixed in with his and his crew's in the air, faintly salty.
Ah, crumbs.
Manju's tail thumps hard against the planks, fox ears ruffling in frustration. “Don’t move,” he mutters, approaching closer to the mermaid — the half fish-cookie bristles, fin-like ears twitching as they growl, “How about ya try being in my place?” — moving to untie the licorice digging into their skin, keeping them bound. He'd rather not get rid of the rope that prevents her from lounging at him, but the jam staining his floorboards? No. Unforgivable. He doesn't need to raise his costs for repairs and maintenance once they land.
He sighs as he pushes his sleeves back.
“Stop thrashing. You'll only make your injuries worse,” Manju grumbles, carefully pulling the rope apart as the mermaid hurries to yank it off.
“Shut it, you crummy land cookie!”
“I have a name,” Manju clicks his tongue, shifting to get in the way of the mermaid, blocking off the sea cookie's access before she could properly drag the rope off her injured tail… Much to her fury and discomfort.
And much to his arm's dismay, her claws finding themselves home into his exposed dough.
Crumbs.
“I didn't ask–!”
He stares at their tail, carefully shifting the rope around with his free hand, frowning as he makes contact with their spilled jam, the mercookie stilling. Their breath hitches as his fingers brush against their scales, too scared to see the damage for herself. Their claws dig deeper into his dough, Manju hissing as his jam begins to spill. The sting makes it difficult for him to assess the extent of her injuries.
…Still, they look too sharp, too precise for rope burns.
Maybe they got caught in the crossfire earlier.
“...Crummy pirate,” they hissed.
“It’s Manju,” he corrects easily.
“...Shut it.”
He's tired of this. He still needs to scold the three behind him, get his proper medical team on their case, maybe leave Nerikiri or Wagashi in charge while he rests.
No. He needs a smoke. As soon as possible, actually.
The mercookie stays relatively still for the remainder of the time as Manju undid the rope — “Let go of my arm,” he grumbles out, left unheard. If anything, the mermaid's grip grew stronger, even then Manju knew it was less malice and more to ground themselves amidst the pain, — ultimately opting to cut it with his sword, growing frustrated with each passing second.
Don't get him wrong, it's absolutely fantastic to experience first-hand just how sturdy and amazing his own product is. Right now though? With getting this cookie out of the ropes without tearing it apart, his arm apart? Manju would sooner return to manning the wheel and navigating his crew out of a terribly soggy situation.
…
He blinks.
On second thought, he's already had his fill of that too.
Can this day fucking end sooner?
With a suffering sigh, his arm finally, finally freed from the mermaid’s grasp — Manju stares blankly at the stinging red streaks lining it; nothing too difficult that he can't numb nor fix, but… ugh, such a hassle nonetheless — the mercookie shifting uncomfortably, trying to shrink back against the railing and away from him. Unshed tears line their downcast pearlescent eyes, the sea cookie biting their lip as they muster courage to inspect their own tail.
…
Manju takes a step back, ears twitching at the frantic steps of Daifuku, and only under his discretion and the injured’s permission was he allowed to administer first aid.
…Because the moment Manju tried to leave Daifuku alone with her to finally scold the fools behind him? The mercookie lunged at him, clearly holding some grudge over him pouring salt water into her fresh wounds.
It's safe to say that Daifuku is growing his own set of red streaks, but hey, at least he's alive, right?
Turning his back from this… debacle, Manju leaves Wagashi —mostly to scold the three idiots, supervise Daifuku and take care of the mermaid— and Nerikiri —to man his ship safely across the Licorice Sea until they can dock at Pearl Choco Harbor for repairs and respite— in charge, opting to rest inside his most peaceful office while he figures out on whether to sell that piece of dessert or throw them back into the sea. Or just maybe throw his crew overboard.
Dragging his legs over to his closet, the drip, drip, dripping of his drenched clothing onto his floor was deafening in his too quiet room; claws fidgeting with his belt, his kimono heavy, feeling simultaneously too hot and too cold beneath his sarashi, each individual bandage scraping against his dough.
His wet clothes drop with a wet plop onto the ground, his sarashi following as a sorry pile, sighing a breath of relief as he grabs the nearest towel to dry himself off, changing into a simple, fresh kimono. He makes sure to cover himself up, shivering from the remaining chill on his skin, even if it feels too warm.
“Thank the witches,” he murmurs.
Glancing down at his jammed arm… Manju clicks his tongue, grabbing the nearest first aid kit onto his desk, carelessly tossing himself into his seat. He begins to quietly work on disinfecting his arm, hissing at the amplified sting, taking solace in the fact that he's not the only one.
He brings out the bandages, beginning to roll it around his injuries, peeved that helping her out got him into this.
And more exasperated that he did in the first place. Why did he? It's illogical, foolish. Manju is anything but that.
Securing the wrapping of bandages on his arm, Manju leans back on his chair, brushing his hair out of his face. He closes his eyes and sighs softly.
The injuries on her tail…
She must've gotten caught in the crossfire of the attack earlier, but it doesn't explain the extent of her injuries. It's as if... His brows furrow in disbelief as he thinks, as if they wanted them – that mermaid on his ship – dead alongside him.
It's unthinkable, but not impossible.
…Aren't mercookies supposed to be united in their hatred for land cookies? Why didn't they just get rid of his ship first, then each other? Had the mercookie done something against them so offensive that their life was the same priority as his ship's?
Manju shakes his head, whatever it was — it's no longer his business, even if curiosity bugged him like a parasite — focusing instead on profiting off the mermaid. First things first, he supposes, is to nurse them to near perfect health, keep them under wraps, and eventually seal the deal.
…
When he opens his eyes, his gaze drifts to his door. His finger taps rhythmically against the wood of his desk.
Now, how exactly should he keep his crew quiet?
He grins.
This will be fun.