for @displacerghost
Megamind/Roxanne, T rating.
vintage mermaid AU.
chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3
Roxanne is a small town librarian who dreams of being a reporter. When she comes into the possession of something that appears to be directions to the hidden treasure of Great Lakes pirate Dan Seavey, she entertains wild hopes of finding enough money to fund her own newspaper. What she actually finds is a blue merperson. And trouble. A lot of trouble.
Roxanne went very still.
Syx, still lying on his divan, looked at her steadily. He had not shifted position in any way, and yet Roxanne was suddenly conscious of the powerful coils of his tail, the sharpness of his teeth—conscious, as she had not been but a moment ago, of a sense of menace.
“…it’s very nice of you to ask me to stay longer,” she said slowly, deliberately interpreting his words as she would have interpreted the words of a human—someone she’d called on urging her politely to lengthen her visit.
Syx frowned, and Roxanne’s heartbeat picked up rather painfully. He shifted, pushing himself upright on one hand, his tail moving slightly.
Like a cobra, Roxanne thought, as she had thought before. Like a cobra, and this was how it felt to be prey.
The cave opening was behind her; could she make it there before he caught her?
“You—misunderstand me, Miss Ritchi,” Syx said, still with that careful, precise politeness of his. “I’m—I’m afraid I’m really going to have to insist that you not leave.”
Roxanne swallowed.
Without warning, she leapt to her feet and bolted for the cave opening.
She managed to take three paces before Syx reared up in front of her with all the suddenness of the striking cobra she’d compared him to. Roxanne stumbled back instinctively, but his tail twined around her ankles and she fell back onto the cushioned divan. Syx was on her before she could even try to rise, his hands catching her wrists and his tail lying heavy over her hips and legs, trapping her there.
“Please,” he said, a distressed expression on his inhuman face, “please don’t do that.”
Roxanne twisted wildly in his grasp, but found herself unable to get free.
“Are you going to kill me?” she snarled.
Syx jerked back from her, his neck frill drawing in.
“What?” he said, sounding appalled. “No, I—of course I’m not going to kill you!”
“Oh?” Roxanne said, baring her teeth at him. “Isn’t that what things like you do to people like me?”
Syx jerked back again, even more sharply than before, his eyes going wide and horrified and wounded.
His grip on her wrists slackened slightly and Roxanne twisted again, trying to throw him off of her. It did her no good, though; Syx made a frustrated noise and tightened his grip again. Roxanne fought for another few moments, then went still and glared up at him.
“What are you planning to do to me, then?” Roxanne asked.
“Wh—nothing!” Syx said, “nothing; I’m not going to do anything to you; I just—you just have to stay!”
“So you’re going to keep me prisoner here?” Roxanne asked, voice rising. “You can’t do that to me!”
Syx made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his neck frill moving in an agitated, fluttering way.
“Please,” he said, “please, Miss Ritchi; can’t you be reasonable?”
“Isn’t it reasonable to want to not be taken prisoner?” Roxanne said.
He grimaced, showing sharp teeth, and Roxanne couldn’t stop her instinctive flinch at the sight of them, couldn’t stop the small, choked noise of fear that rose up in the back of her throat.
Syx’s eyes went wide when she flinched, and for a long moment he stayed very still, looking down at her.
“I—I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Anger rose up in Roxanne on the heels of her fear—anger not just at him, but at herself, too, for that moment of weakness, for showing her fear.
“You’re going to have to hurt me,” she said deliberately, “if you’re going to make me stay.”
Syx made a soft noise—not unlike Roxanne’s noise of fear. He looked down at her, his wide, green eyes near to her own. And then—
He let her go.
Syx released her wrists and pushed himself up and away from her.
“I won’t,” he said, turning his face away and curling up on the far edge of the divan, one of his arms wrapped around his own chest. “I won’t hurt you.”
Roxanne sat up slowly, warily.
He didn’t look at her, just tightened his arm around his own chest, his neck frill drawn in.
She was keenly away that she should run now, that she should run away as fast as she could, run away and not look back.
“—Syx?” she said, and, instead of running, she reached out with a hesitant hand and touched his shoulder.
He took a sharp breath, a sound almost like a reaction to pain, and Roxanne drew her hand back automatically as he turned to look at her, his neck frill flaring.
There was a sheen of tears to his eyes and Roxanne’s heart twisted. She reached out again without thinking and touched the back of his hand.
“I really will come back, you know,” she said.
Syx jerked his hand away.
“And bring people with spears and nets and cages,” he said. “Yes, I know.”
Roxanne took a sharp, shocked breath.
“I would never do that,” she said.
“Oh?” Syx said. He gave a bitter laugh. “Isn’t that what people like you do to things like me?”
Roxanne winced and Syx gave her a small, twisted smile.
“—I’m sorry,” she said. “I—shouldn’t have called you that. You’re not a thing.”
She read in his expression that he didn’t believe her apology.
“Is that why you tried to make me stay?” she asked. “Because you were afraid I’d lead people here and let them hurt you?”
“Yes, of course,” Syx said, glaring at her. “What other reason would I have?”
“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Roxanne said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “How would I know if you didn’t tell me? One moment we’re having a normal conversation, and the next moment you’re telling me I’m a prisoner completely out of the blue!”
“You’re not a prisoner,” Syx said, his mouth going flat. “You’re free to leave, Miss Ritchi.”
Roxanne narrowed her eyes at him.
“You still think I’m going to do it,” she said, “don’t you? You still don’t trust me.”
Syx looked away from her and gestured, a quick, sharp gesture, and the webbing between his fingers caught the light.
“Well,” Roxanne said after a long moment, “then I suppose I’ll have to stay.”
Syx’s head whipped around.
“What?” he said.
Roxanne leaned back on one hand and waved the other.
“I said I suppose I’ll have to stay,” she repeated.
“What?” Syx said again, voice sharper. “What do you mean, stay?”
“Stay,” Roxanne said, “here. I’ll have to stay here. I’m not leaving,” she added, since he still looked bewildered.
“You can’t!”
Roxanne raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t stay!” Syx said, voice rising. “You don’t want to! That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Of course it does,” Roxanne said. “You still don’t trust me not to tell people about you. If I leave now, you’re going to disappear, aren’t you? I’ll come back to see you and you’ll be gone.”
Syx gave a mirthless laugh.
“Oh, I won’t be gone,” he said.
Roxanne shook her head.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You won’t feel safe enough to stay here, and I’ll probably never see you again.”
“It’s not a question of my feeling safe or not,” Syx said. “I’m not—”
He cut himself off, shaking his head, looking away from her.
“You’re not what?” Roxanne asked after a long moment of silence.
Syx’s tail coiled a little tighter. He took a sharp breath through his nose, neck frill flaring.
He looked at her.
“Able to leave,” he said.
Roxanne blinked.
“You’re not able to leave?” she asked.
There was another moment of silence. Then Syx gestured, a two-handed, fluttering gesture, almost theatrical. He laughed, a forced, light laugh.
“It’s really rather amusing, isn’t it?” he said. “We’ve been arguing about you being able to leave—but you’re not the one trapped here, Miss Ritchi. I am.”
“Trapped here?“ she asked. “But—the lake isn’t that far away.”
“Yes, I know,” Syx said bitterly.
“But—there have to be underground springs, leading to the lake,” Roxanne said.
“The openings are too small,” he said. “I can’t fit through.”
“What about the tunnel, then?” Roxanne said. “You’ve been out of the water this entire time; moving on land can’t be a problem for you.”
“These,” Syx said, waving a hand at the rugs on the ground. “I can move on these. But the rocks—I tried, before.” He gestured at his lower body, making an unhappy face. “My skin is—when it dries out, it gets too delicate. It—tore and bled; it was very—unpleasant. I fainted. Father found me later and carried me back.”
“…carried you back,” Roxanne repeated slowly. “He carried you back here. Instead of to the lake.”
Syx nodded, quick and sharp.
“That’s why you said you call him ‘Warden’,” Roxanne said as understanding dawned. “That’s why you call him that sometimes; because he’s keeping you imprisoned, here.”
Syx looked down, mouth twisting unhappily.
“He says it’s not like that,” he said. “It makes him upset when I call him Warden. That’s what we argued about.”
“He’s keeping you prisoner,” Roxanne said.
Syx tightened his hands into fists in his lap and looked down at them.
“He says he’s keeping me safe,” he said wretchedly.
“Safe?” Roxanne said, incredulous and feeling really angry now. “Safe from what?”
Syx looked up at her and she read the answer in his eyes.
“From humans?” she said. “Is he the one who told you that people wanted to kill you and take your skin? Because that sounds as if he’s trying to scare you so that you don’t—”
“No,” Syx said, shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t—it wasn’t him who told me that. Not just him.”
“Not just him? Does someone else come down here?”
Syx grimaced and shook his head.
“—is someone else here?” Roxanne asked, glancing into the darkness, at the lake. “Someone—someone like you?”
“No,” he said. “No, there’s—there’s no one else like me—here or—or anywhere.”
“Not anywhere?” Roxanne asked. “Are you sure?”
Syx nodded.
“How do you know?” she asked.
Syx looked away and did not answer.
Roxanne bit her lip in frustration.
Did he really know? Was it something this ‘warden’ had told him? Or was this another thing that he simply refused to explain to Roxanne?
“What about the rugs?” she asked, changing the subject.
Syx looked at her, blinking in puzzlement.
“The rugs?”
“To get you out,” Roxanne said. “We can use two of them—that long one, and we can cut a thin strip from another of these others. We’ll lay them down one at a time, then switch as you move down the tunnel. That way you won’t ever have to go across the rocks at all.”
“I thought of that,” Syx said, with a slightly sad smile. “My fin is too big to fit through the narrow part of the tunnel.” He flicked the end of his tail illustratively.
“Damn,” Roxanne said, and then, at Syx’s wide-eyed expression, added, “—I mean—ah—excuse me; that…wasn’t very polite…”
Syx tilted his head. Then a slow smile began to spread over his face.
“Damn,” he said, with what appeared to be great relish.
Roxanne laughed.
“What a very satisfying word!” Syx said, grinning. “Helps to relieve one’s feelings. When you go, do you think you could look for my father?” he added, without pausing.
“—oh,” Roxanne said, the sudden change of subject catching her off balance. “I—suppose I can, yes.” She hesitated for just a moment. “Are you sure you really want him found, though?” she couldn’t help asking.
Syx frowned, tilting his head at her inquiringly.
“He sounds awful; don’t you think you’re better off without him?” Roxanne said, realizing a moment too late how unsympathetic that sounded.
An expression of distress flickered over Syx’s face, his neck frill shivering.
“No,” he said, “I—he isn’t—that—”
He stopped and swallowed visibly. Again the distress flickered in his face. For a long moment, he hesitated.
“I want him to be all right,” he said finally, with a kind of intense, artless sincerity.
He looked at her with big, unhappy green eyes.
“—all right,” Roxanne forced herself to say. “I’ll look for him. Why don’t you describe him to me?”
Syx’s face lit up.
“I’ll make you a sketch!” he said, and moved from the divan to the floor and across to the shelf.
He opened something that looked a bit like an incredibly complex music box and drew out a sheaf of paper and a piece of charcoal. Then he placed the paper on the low table and curled up on the floor before it.
Roxanne, still seated on the divan, watched Syx as he began to sketch.
Again she was conscious of a desire to try to persuade him, to make him see—but no.
There was no saying she’d even be able to find this ‘warden’ of Syx’s; probably the man really was dead. Would that kind of controlling man have stayed away so long by choice? Roxanne doubted it.
And if she did happen to find the man?
Roxanne compressed her lips.
Syx’s webbed fingers manipulated the piece of charcoal with swift, sure strokes. Roxanne stared at him, fascinated, her eyes following the graceful, inhuman lines of him.
How strange.
She wasn’t—
She wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
She had been afraid of him, still, when he’d been showing her his mechanical toys. Even before he’d told her she couldn’t leave, even before he’d grabbed her—she’d still been afraid, really. The fear had been suppressed, but it had still been there, beneath the surface.
It was gone, now.
When she’d told him that he’d have to hurt her to keep her there, he’d released her immediately. He’d let her go and turned away and refused to hurt her.
And so she couldn’t be afraid of him, now.
Syx bit his lip in concentration, catching it between sharp teeth, and Roxanne relaxed back onto the cushions of the divan, watching him.
…to be continued.
setepenre-set 