Chapter Text
The tide recedes, the sandpipers rushed forward, and the oysters that lined the beach opened their shells in anticipation.
The perfumer ran through the sand in a wild sprint, damning her heels as they sunk into the shore as she bolted. She'd run out of Euphoria, her only tool, and was on the brink of collapsing as her lungs burned with exhaustion and salt laced air. She couldn't give up, though, because the last time she checked the only other person still in the game was that useless little postman and she was certain that he'd been eliminated, remembering the echoing shriek that sounded off in the distance not too long ago. The idea of being the only one to escape, to have bragging rights as the sole winner, and to have everyone come to her side and tell her she did her best when she apologised for her poor performance in game brought the slightest smile to her face as she dashed towards the dungeon.
Her heart started pounding harder than before, and she dashed to a stop to look around for either one of the hunters who had made her their prey. When she saw nothing, she continued, only about five metres from the open hatch. Suddenly, she heard a faint rumble and a stone statue rose to life from the earth, cutting through the sand like an ancient creature awakening from a slumber she had disturbed with her footsteps. She staggered back, finding herself pressed up against another statue, and before she could react with even so much as a scream the statue before her crashed into the statue behind, crushing her in between and knocking her to the ground. Their purpose fulfilled, the statues retreated and Vera cried out in pain as she attempted to move and felt damage on her ribs and left leg. Her ribcage simply felt heavily bruised, miraculously, but her leg had been perfectly crushed in between the two statues in the collision. She began to drag herself along the ground, grabbing fistfuls of it as she went, pulling herself towards the dungeon. She reached out her hand to her escape, but shrieked in surprise as a harpoon hit right where her hand would have been had she not recoiled. The owner of the weapon rushed towards her as if she was cutting through an ocean, suspended in the air by some spiritual force. Calmly, the Naiad picked up her harpoon, dusted it off and then swooped down to grab Vera by her injured leg and effortlessly tie a collection of balloons to her fresh catches waste.
"You-" Vera was about to say something unspeakable to the hunter before she stopped herself in an attempt to keep her composure. Then she realised no one else was actually around to hear her, and she began again. "You bastard! Get your clammy, webbed hands off of me!" She yelled, struggling as best she could. It didn't matter, though. She was promptly strapped down to a rocket chair, and yelled something most definitely obscene in what sounded like French as she was shot up into the air.
Grace's fin-like ears perked up at the sound of wheels grinding against the earth. "A total wipeout, that's impressive." Galatea remarked. "We make a pretty good team, I'd say." She shot her fellow huntress a toothy grin. Grace did not reciprocate.
★
There was a one sided silence as Galatea and Grace both returned to the hunter's wing of the manor. Galatea was mostly talking about her favourite moments of the match with some occasional praise for Grace's performance sprinkled in. Grace didn't verbally reply at any point, but kept her gaze fixed on Galatea as she rambled. Grace harboured a contempt for all humans and it was rather remarkable that she was tolerating this one as well as she was. She could even say she was intrigued by Galatea to a degree. The way she talked and carried herself wasn't like any other humans Grace had encountered in a long time; there was a malice that sat inside this one, a malice acquired by being wronged. An animosity grown from being treated as an inhuman object. It rested at her core like a sentient creature, patient and spiteful, calculating like a predatory animal, all wrapped up in a straitjacket like the bow on a birthday present.
Grace tapped the sculptor on her shoulder. 'Then what?' she signed with a tilt of her head. She wasn't too confident that Galatea would be able to understand her in the first place, and that confidence faded evermore as Galatea stared at her with a calculating look in her eyes. "Two of them tried to distract me at once for a rescue, but I used my statues to slam them together and knock them both out. You should've seen the look the girl on the chair was giving them." She finally responded. Grace raised her eyebrows in surprise, not expecting Galatea to know sign language. The sculptor seemed happy that she was no longer just talking to herself.
'I didn't know you spoke sign language.' Grace admitted. Galatea nodded in confirmation. "I'm not the best at it, but I learnt some during my stay at the asylum. There were people there who could only speak in sign language, so we all gradually learnt to communicate better."
Grace tapped her index finger against one of the hard, fish-like scales on her forearm. 'Well, that certainly makes it easier for us to talk.' She seemed to hesitate before she began communicating once again. 'I don't really get along with humans. I think that there is an inherent evil to them that most are not willing to address or combat. On their own, they can be harmless, but if they become swept up in hysteria, they assemble like a tidal wave and destroy everything in their path. You seem different. I think that I enjoy your company.'
Galatea grinned, tilting her head a bit at the confession. It was certainly a very bold thing to admit to someone you had essentially just met, but Galatea assumed that Grace simply didn't care what Galatea would think of her. "I'm glad that I'm the exception." She came to a halt when she reached her room. "This is my room. We should hang out sometime and get to know each other further."
Grace nodded and smiled, revealing a mouth full of broad, sharp teeth. She was, as her name suggested, graceful, but the longer you looked at her the more you could tell she was something that was created to hunt, and to rip, and to kill.
Galatea entered her room and shut the door, and Grace floated off after hovering in one spot for a beat, processing the conversation she had just had.
What an interesting woman.
★
"I met someone new yesterday." Galatea confessed. The Will Brothers, her conversation partners, almost immediately became silent, the sound bickering and of them talking over each other trickling to a stop. "Oh? Do tell, Galatea." Ridicule, the topmost brother, leaned forward in interest as he walked. This action nearly toppled the whole tower, and Pessimistic, the brother in the middle, cursed his older brother as Ridicule grabbed onto him to stabilise himself.
"Y'know the Naiad? That one huntress?" Galatea responded. The Will Brothers all went silent once more. Ridicule chuckled. "Well, she speaks sign language, as do I, and she's a very interesting person to talk to." The four were wandering around the manor as they chatted with no specific destination in mind.
Pessimistic chimed in this time. "I never thought about approaching that woman. I've heard she's rather shy, if not outright hostile. It never seemed worth the time."
"Remember that time that the Ripper tried to strike up a conversation with her and she sent him to the infirmary with a slash along his chest? I couldn't stop laughing, the whole interaction was like a comedy sketch." Ridicule giggled, wiping the eyes of his mask as if to mime brushing away tears of laughter.
Reticent, the brother at the bottom, finally spoke for the first time in a little while. "She's not to be trifled with," Was all he said.
"She doesn't like the company of humans in any capacity, but she said she likes me. That makes me the exception." That was an outright brag on Galatea's part. "I suppose I'm just that sweet of a person."
Ridicule let out a howl of laughter at that comment, leading Galatea to look up at him with narrowed eyes. She was about to strike up a retort when the four noticed they had come to the large door that led out to the manor's courtyard. Communicated wordlessly and only through shared glances, the group decided to venture outside. The Will Brothers held the door out for Galatea, an action that quelled her rage for the time being. Once the group entered the courtyard, Galatea was met with the sight of three people in a group; Andrew Kreiss, Victor Grantz, and Helena Adams, who perked up at the sound of her wheelchair rattling onto the cobblestone. Despite the fact she noticed Helena first, her gaze seemed to lock with Andrew's almost immediately. Warm-grey, shaky eyes dart across her figure in an action that cannot be charged by anything but judgement. Judgement that this man surely believes is divine and justified. She cannot stand people like him, people who have something rotten at their core that they attempt to disguise from everyone, including themselves, with upkept appearances or a holy demeanour, like flowers at a funeral. Apparently, he could not stand her either, because his judgmental look quickly turned to abject disgust.
"Helena, let's go to the library. The sun is bothering me out here." Andrew offered, dawning a wobbly smile that Helena could not see. However, she still smiled back.
"I'll meet you guys there. I'd like to chat a bit with Gala, if you don't mind."
"Of course not." Andrew replied through lightly grit teeth. He linked arms with the postman, who was largely ignored up until now. "Me and Victor will see you there." Victor nodded. It appeared that, in the presence of two formidable hunters, the timid man also wanted to leave the courtyard. The two walked away and when Andrew looked back at the group one last time, Galatea sent him off with a mocking wave, the sight of which made Ridicule chuckle.
Helena clapped her hands together, dragging Galatea out of her thoughts. "It's so nice of you to come and see me," She said sweetly, knowing full well Galatea had no idea she would be here. She turned her head in the general direction of the Will Brothers. "Hello, you three. It's been a while since we last saw each other!"
Pessimistic ignored her greeting, instead turning to the door that Andrew and Victor had retreated through. "They must really not like us." He didn't particularly care, and the comment came off as if he was simply thinking out loud. Ridicule giggled. "Well, we put them in their places so often they must just be embarrassed to be in our presence! Perhaps they hold grudges and are planning their revenge as we speak." Reticent knew that wasn't the reason, but stayed silent.
Helena frowned. "I'm sure they like you. They're not ones to judge quickly," Galatea and Ridicule exchanged a glance. "And I'm sure that Victor holds no grudges. He's just skittish around new people, and especially around four of them."
Ridicule had sufficiently exhausted this topic, evident by the silence that followed afterwards. He shifted around as if the lack of conversation made him physically uncomfortable. Galatea opened her mouth to speak, but Ridicule cut her off almost instantly. "Oh, have you heard the news about Galatea's fish woman?" The silence had returned, but this time the reason was confusion. Reticent spoke low and quiet, "He means the Naiad. The huntress." To clarify.
Galatea took the helm of the conversation once again before it could become any stranger in a direction she wasn't comfortable with. "She's not my fish woman, she's a fish woman. And I don't even know the correct term for what she is," she sighed. "Anyways, I've started talking to her."
Helena's surprise was visible on her face. "Oh, wow. That's pretty impressive, actually. One time I tried to talk to her after a match, we had gotten a tie, and she didn't respond at all and just looked at me. Well, I assume she was. All I know for a fact was she simply… Lingered."
Galatea laughed at that. It wasn't funny to Helena, but with the context Galatea held, it had become comical. She decided to enlighten her friend. "Helena, she only speaks in sign language. She can't talk. It's actually pretty miraculous that she stuck around at all."
Helena looked confused for only a second before she shrunk into herself and raised her shoulders in embarrassment. "Oh. That certainly makes a lot of sense. One time that happened with Victor. I just assumed he was ignoring me too." Her voice was small, not a whisper, but it's clear she felt a little humiliated, even though it was a very easy mistake to make.
Ridicule offered no sympathy, failing to hold back his laughter which in any scenario held a mocking tone. Despite this, Helena's smile was still soft and she quickly recovered from her embarrassment, wearing an amused expression instead. "I'd love to know how it goes with her. I assume you're going to try and befriend her further? I can see you two getting along well in my mind," she remarked, pressing her pointer finger to her chin. "It's weird, but you too have very similar hunting styles. You both specialise in confinement, and you're both very ruthless in your pursuit. Then again, I've only gone up against her a few times…"
Ridicule seemed to take interest in this comment. "Oh, oh! Tell us about our hunting style. Do you have a notebook about all the hunters or something silly like that?" It was a joke, but Helena indeed did have a notebook on counter strategies and behaviours of different opponents. "Hm, let's see…" She began. "Well, you're very hard to keep up with, and…"
Despite the fact the conversation seemed interesting, Galatea's mind drifted elsewhere, like a leaf bobbing along the surface of a pond. She couldn't stop thinking about spending more time with Grace. She decided when she got back to her room, she'd write her a letter inviting her out on a date of sorts. The feeling in her stomach wasn't butterflies, but instead was more similar to a whirlpool. It felt like a merciless vortex that by all accounts Galatea had been sucked into.