Chapter Text
In the vibrancy of the shoal, Penelope felt she was a dull mar.
She was quite used to being the sort to blend in with her environment, both literally and socially. She was a flower of the sea, but the sort to blend with the countless other blossoms that bloomed in the darker, more out-of-the-way depths.
Like sea grass.
Milling about the reef floor, a mess of merfolk merge in the open floor, set for playful dances, meant to provoke others to join in. It is a celebration, though for what reason than to simply have one, Penelope cannot say.
The reefs are stunning in their ornate pinks and purples, their softer blues and greens. They reflect the risen sun above the subtle waves, light ripples making the light cast above move with the music of the waves.
And among the splendor, Penelope stays tucked away, as she always has.
She’s not the up-front sort. The sort to get in the midst of things, calling any attention to herself or, heavens forbid, go and start a tiff. She keeps away, where the waters are calmer and she may watch the scenery before her.
Most don’t say much of it, if anything at all. She is little more than another pair of eyes, another tail in the fray. What would there be to say of her? What is there to admire?
A merfolks tail was a very important part of their status, as much as manners, mind and skill had theirs. A tail was a sign of lineage, of health, of survival. It was common for men to have darker, more solid colors, with strong fins and skin, traits to show a breed built for both fight and flight. Women were expected to have frailer form, longer tails and brighter, bolder hues. They were to have vibrancy, signs of fertility and salubrity for keeping well in their dens. They were to be beautiful, bright and charming in ever way.
When Penelope was a child, children had called her colors like grass. They had said it fit her, to be so plain and dull. Eloise, her friend even then, would snap at them, threatening to claw out their own tails to be little more than stubs. It was worth a scolding later, to see her friend smile as if it was really worth defending her. Envelope couldn’t help but feel warm for it.
Still, the talks hadn’t stopped. They had simply lessened, lost to the idle chatter in the sea breeze as one would mention the weather. The sky is blue, the tide changes, and Penelope Feathering isn’t beautiful.
It was funny, in a way that wasn’t funny at all. How her tail could be so plain, far more masculine without the muscle for it, yet her hair was the brightest part of her. A stark contrast to her dark tail and pale skin, she has the color of red algae, long ringlets that splay out wildly. So, her mother had made her pin them back, barely letting more than a lock loose. The whole look was only hindered by the added pieces of coral, plant-life and ornaments set in her mess of hair.
It was another of her mothers attempts to make her ‘mating material’. The Featheringtons were never held in especially high esteem, but with her youngest daughter’s shy manner and plain colors, she was made to make up for it like this.
‘This’ being the uncomfortably constraining attire she was made to wear. Penelope couldn’t help but grunt, subtly adjusting her floating form to have the too-small shells at her chest not pinch at her skin. The shape of them were too small, the purpose to give her a ‘shapely figure, but not the wrong shape’ as her mother told. It just made Penelope, ache, terribly aware of her shape and how ‘inelegant’ it was in others eyes. The overly bright, clashing yellow wraps on her only make her more aware of herself, and not in the way any lady would like.
She could only pray that she’d catch some good gossip today to make the outing worth it.
Her eyes sweep over the open reef, picking and prodding at various clusters of merfolk, what they’re doing, how they’re moving, how they look. She finds pods of women, tittering at the men who swish within reach, skin flushed and tails swishing back in greeting. She sees some seated on the higher reefs, looking down and either quietly laid in rest or conversing with others. She sees the center, where blurs of tails and arms jerk and jive to a wavering tune sung just out of sight.
So many people, and so little happening. Penelope leans back, letting her focus fade for a moment.
“Pen!”
At the call, she snaps back up, finding her friend Eloise swimming over. She’s done up well, soft hues over her slighter form, tail a seafoam teal with complimentary blues and white laid over her front. It makes her match the rest of the Bridgertons, all fine shades of blue, a fitting color for ones of their status.
Penelope is reminded of fine China when she sees them, blues and white painted over the most prized pieces of man-made makings.
“Thank heavens I found you,” Eloise says as ways of greeting, about the same as any other time they meet. Penelope, off to the side, and Eloise, ready to run away at first notice. What a pair indeed.
“Are you avoiding another conversation?” Penelope teases, wondering what sort of mishap her friends may have mixed herself in. It’s hard to feel sympathy for her woes when it’s always the same thing: small talk.
“Naturally,” Eloise agrees, saddling up beside her as naturally as the waves greet the shore. “It was a positive bore, and it was no help of mother. She would sooner set me with a mer as plain and course as sand than have me on my lonesome.”
“Well, an Eloise on her lonesome is one that tends towards trouble.”
“Not you too,” Eloise whines, bumping her hip playfully against hers. Penelope cannot stop her smile if she tried.
“Regardless, I’d like to spend this waste of water with my friend, someone who won’t bore me with talks of- of… ugh, it’s so boring I already forgot what was said to me.”
Penelope giggles, hiding her laugh away with her hand. She listens to Eloise prattle on, putting her on two cents in now and again. It’s nice to have this with her; the two of them of a kind, preferring their own company than others. It’s nice. This is nice.
At some point, Penelope’s eyes drift over the crowd, and she flushes ever-so lightly the distant vision of the one mer to have her heart, even if he’ll never know.
Colin, much like his family, is a fine shade of blue. He adopts the darker hue of cobalt, with darker, almost amber-brown shades at his fins root. They reflect like bronze in the right light, giving a rich warm look to the usually cool colors of him and the others Bridgertons. He has wealthy wraps of brown, bronze bands and dark hair slicked back. With his well-fit wardrobe and boyish smile, he looks utterly charming.
Penelope has the urge to swim over and… do something. Talk, maybe? But oh, she could never. And besides, he seems plenty busy with others, who hover in a loose ring around him, the woman chittering and tittering in interest and the men hooting a laugh at some story or another.
He looks happy. Penelope doesn’t want to interrupt that.
“Penelope?” her name gets Penelope to jerk, humming nonsensically to Eloise who stares, confused. “Were you daydreaming on me?”
“Ah, yes,” Penelope says softly, looking over Colin and his many admirers, not a simple shape where someone like Penelope would fit into. “Just daydreaming.”
Always daydreaming.