Chapter Text
The beach is secluded, the cape behind it providing ample protection from prying eyes. The sand slopes gently down towards the water, and the water spreads as far as the eye can see, fading into the horizon, folding into the sky. Salt weighs heavily in the air, thinned only by the sea breeze whipping his hair across his face.
Nature has done his job for him. The beach is already secure.
But Oda Sakunosuke is nothing if not thorough. He patrols the dunes in shoes not meant for walking on sand, picking his way along the beach and managing not to stumble. The sun paints the sky in soft colors that diffuse like blood in dark water, spreading out and faintly illuminating his steps.
He pauses to appreciate the view. The Execs won't be here for another few hours anyway.
This would be a nice place to write his novel, maybe in a house atop the cliffside, overlooking the sea. The salt scent wouldn't be as strong up there, and the wooden walls would stand longer against the elements. It could be built on solid rock and not shift with the fickle sands.
Maybe one day.
He rounds a large rock, and that's when he sees it: a tangle of hair on the sand and a pale human arm no doubt extending from the body the hair is attached to. Someone who washed up from the sea? Someone who jumped down from the cliffside above? There was news not long ago of a famous author and his mistress who jumped from this very cape. Maybe this is a fan?
He approaches with caution, searching the body for any sign of life. Instead, he finds that it has a fish tail for legs.
He stops where he stands and stares.
It could be some other organization’s execution method. Sew a man’s legs into the mouth of a tuna and see how well he swims. It would certainly be a memorable execution, and watching someone flounder in desperation from a death that could take anywhere from minutes to hours would send a powerful message. Maybe they have a pirate theme, and this man refused to walk the plank.
Or maybe none of those things are right, because then the fish tail moves, and the man is alive.
“Are you alright?” Oda asks, keeping a safe distance away.
The young man jolts up, startled. His chocolate brown eyes are blown wide and surprised, but they somehow aren't as wide as his ears. His ears are as wide as sails, flowing fins like that of a betta or a koi fish. They match his silvery blue tail, the translucent webbing between his fingers, the fins on his forearms that the previous angle had hidden from Oda’s view. The gill slits along his rib cage flare in what Oda can only assume is a sharp intake of breath.
So the tail isn't sewn on. He's just a mermaid.
Oda holds up his hands, for some reason, hoping it's a universal sign of non-aggression.
“I'm not gonna hurt you. I have to secure this beach for an Executive meeting. I can help you back into the water.”
The young mermaid—merman?—clicks and whistles at him like the dolphins in documentaries.
“I'm sorry. I only speak Japanese.”
Another rapid shot of clicks and something like a whale song.
This is going to be difficult.
Closing the distance between them, Oda continues to keep his palms open but tries to gesture his intention. He waves his hands like a hula dancer to simulate a tail, hopefully symbolizing the creature in front of him, then makes a scooping motion to indicate ‘pick up’, and finally tosses air into the water. That should do the trick.
The mermaid scoots away from him but doesn't get far. The weight of his tail on land anchors him to the sand.
Light brightens the sky as the sun climbs farther up the horizon. It reveals how cracked and dried the scales on his brilliant blue tail are, how the fins on his arms and ears droop with exposure to air. Surely he’s suffering.
Oda can’t afford to waste time being a mime. He approaches slowly, keeping his voice low and gentle as he says, “I just want to help.”
The mermaid uses all of his strength to raise his massive tail, and it whips back, a few hundred kilos of raw muscle coiled up until it’s set loose all at once—a mass of sashimi drawn taut like a rubber band and released at top speed, colliding with Oda’s body, sending him flying across the sand, his neck snapped from the impact.
And he dies.
Or he would have if Flawless hadn’t shown him what was coming. Instead, he rolls out of the way, kicking up sand and getting it all over his tan coat.
He meets the mermaid's gaze. “That was close. I'm sorry if I scared you.”
The mermaid doesn't click or whistle. Maybe that means he's listening; maybe that means he has no idea what's going on. Either way, there's a slight tremble in his shoulders that's remarkably human, and Oda can't blame him for attacking.
Of course, that doesn't mean Oda will give up. He lets his eyes fall on the dried scales of the mermaid's fin, so that hopefully the mermaid will follow his gaze this time. “That looks painful. Please let me help you back into the water.”
Oda approaches again but gives him a wide berth. Lots of space, no sudden movements.
Brown attentive eyes track his every move but otherwise the mermaid stays still.
“My bosses will be here soon, and I don't know what mafia policy is when it comes to dealing with mermaids. They might kill you or sell you. They'd probably sell you. Ango would know for sure.”
He walks to the water’s edge and cups his hands, carrying what little water he scoops up back to where the mermaid sits, and this time, he gets closer than ever before. The mermaid slowly cranes his neck back so he can keep watching Oda’s expression.
What is he looking for? Does he find it? Is that why he's letting him draw as close as he is?
Oda kneels at the mermaid’s side and slowly pours the salt water onto his tail. “See? I want to help.”
The mermaid reaches to the wet spot on his tail, touches the water droplets slowly running down his flaking scales, and runs his hand along his fin, spreading the water. Oda wonders if it feels like lotion to him, like salve on a burn. It's strange to think of salt water as lotion, but it seems apt for a sea creature.
He stands up, heads back to the water, and repeats the motion. This time, after he's poured out his peace offering, he reaches out to spread the water on the mermaid’s tail—slowly, tentatively, ready to respond at any moment if Flawless warns him to.
The mermaid doesn't scoot away, doesn't flinch, doesn't attack. He just watches with wide eyes and a growing look of curiosity.
The scales feel strange. Smooth, despite their dryness. Like a tortoise shell sculpture that's been badly maintained and left to dry.
“Help,” Oda says. Maybe one word at a time will make things easier.
The mermaid puts one webbed hand on Oda’s hand and smiles.
“Dazai Osamu!”
Oda blinks. “What?”
The mermaid takes Oda’s hand off his tail and does his best to roll around in the sand. It's not very effective.
“You can speak Japanese?” Oda tries to ask, but the mermaid ignores him in favor of planting himself face first into the nearest sand dune. “Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself.” He reaches for the mermaid’s shoulder and pulls his face out of the sand.
“Dazai Osamu!” the mermaid whines. He tries again to roll in the sand as though it's not enough that he's beached—he wants to be as sandy and as buried as possible.
Dazai Osamu... no, the mermaid can't speak Japanese. He only knows one thing: the name of the author who attempted suicide here not long ago.
Oda was right. Sometimes one word at a time makes things easier.
When he reaches for the mermaid's shoulder this time, it's not to try to make him do anything he doesn't want to do. It's just to keep him from rolling or wiggling or otherwise further ruining his scales. Oda holds the mermaid's beautiful gaze and asks, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“Dazai Osamu.”
“That's no good. I can't let you die here when the brass are going to have a meeting.”
“Dazai Osamu.”
“Please consider my situation. I have a job to do.”
“Dazai Osamu.”
“If I help you back into the water, you can reschedule to a time when the Port Mafia Execs aren't convening.”
“Dazai Osamu.”
“No good, huh? So even if I do somehow get you back into the water, you might just beach yourself again?”
“Dazai Osamu.”
Oda pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hits speed dial. With every Dazai Osamu, the time of the meeting creeps closer. There might still be a lot of time to creep by, but he can't afford to waste it.
The line connects.
“Ango. I need your help. Can you send a pickup truck and a bucket over to the shore?”
“A pickup truck and a bucket. When they said ‘clean up the beach’, I'm pretty sure they didn't mean for you to perform community service.”
“There's a mermaid out here trying to kill himself.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I toss him back into the ocean, he might find a way to beach himself again. We've got to relocate him for now.”
Ango sighs heavily.
Oda imagines him rubbing his temples.
“Give me thirty minutes.”