Palettepainter101

But even now, nearly an hour after your induction, everything about her exudes a pot threatening to boil over as she prowls ahead of you up the sandy stretch of beach running adjacent to a north-facing precipice.

She's angry, whether at you or the situation, you're too worried about keeping this job to ask why.

The Four Corners Research and Conservation Institute is the first place that actually responded to your application without including a template rejection in the bulk of their email, though you're under no illusions that it's only thanks to your cousin being a high-ranking member on the Board that your CV was given a second glance at all.

When the bills are due and the fridge is bare, nepotism stops looking so much like an unprincipled decision.

Besides, it eases your conscience to know that you haven't been handed a high-skill position over someone more qualified.

When you applied, you thought you'd be given the role of a cleaner at their public-facing aquarium.

Instead...

‘Litter-picker.’ Not immediately a glamourous title, but it's vital work, a fact impressed upon you by your new Boss, Mr Stevensmith when he told you you'd be clearing the beach and habitat of one of their largest exhibits.

“No end of detritus washes up along that beach,” he’d told you with no small air of disdain, “Being caught in a bay doesn’t help. The current carries it all down from that new resort up the coast. So, it’s your job to make sure War’s habitat stays pristine… Can’t have our sponsors thinking we don’t take care of their investments, now can we?”

War… An apt name for the largest - and scariest - merfolk ever recorded. You, like most of the public, barely know a thing about him beyond what you’d heard on the News nearly ten years ago, save that he’s the last of his kind. Crab-merfolk are uncommon enough, but a king crab?

Abby has driven you deep into his habitat, where magnificent stone cliffs plunge nearly a thousand feet down into the wind-trap of a bay.

The old truck you'd arrived in is parked right up against the wall of rock a hundred yards behind you on the sand, marking the start of your new job, and your only ride in or out of this vast stretch of territory.

Just being here, hemmed in on one side by a sweeping wall of rock and on the other by a tempestuous ocean, you can’t help but feel daunted by the work laid out ahead of you.

Abby, for her part, seems more than content to let you pick up her slack, stomping past the majority of the litter and only pausing long enough to stab her picker into an empty bottle or two, leaving most of it behind her for you to collect.

The rain has been pelting you relentlessly since you hopped out of the jeep, drenching you from head to toe within mere minutes despite the waterproof parka buffeting around you in the howling wind.

You keep your head bowed, eyes squinted and your lashes dripping wet as you scan across the sand for anything manmade, keeping your footprints more or less pointed in the same direction that Abby is wandering.

You're almost relieved when you happen to raise your head for a spell and find that she's leading you directly to the colossal mouth of a cave that's sunk deep inside the cliffs.

At the back of your mind, you catch yourself wondering if you'll see any glimpses of War while you're here. He may be enormous, that much is a given, but you've also heard how reclusive he is.

As if she's sensed that your gaze has lifted, Abby twists around to peer over a shoulder and points at the cave, shouting back to you, barely audible above the wind, "Head in there and see what the damage is! I'll scope out the beach further along and find you in a minute!"

You’re surprised, if pleased, that she’s at least addressing you now.

Acknowledging her with a hearty thumbs-up, you veer away from her boot prints and stagger unevenly for shelter, blown to and fro by the gale. It's certainly a novel environment to work in, but you'll take this maelstrom a thousand times over before you ever sidle back behind that office desk and pick up the phone to deal with customer complaints.

Cold, wet, but ultimately buoyed, you pick up your feet and trot beneath the cave’s yawning overhang, letting your tight shoulders unfurl as the rain stops beating down on the back of your skull.

Almost instantly, you're hit by the nose-curling stench of salt and fish.

And it doesn't take more than a moment to figure out where it's coming from.

Just inside the entrance, you trail to a stop, blinking rivulets of rainwater from your eyes and breathing out a long, trembling exhale steeped in unabashed awe.

There, towering monolithically against the furthest wall, is the largest Mer that’s ever walked the Earth and all of its oceans.

Your heart leaps into your throat so violently that you almost choke on the damn thing, gaping like a guppy as your eyes roll up the underside of a pale carapace, over two colossal claws as red as freshly-spilled blood, and finally land on the face of what could pass for a man were he sixty-three feet shorter… and walked on two legs instead of six…

War; a merfolk with the lower half of an Alaskan king crab and the upper half of a brawny, mountainous man, sans his left arm. There’s a vast, empty space where the limb used to be, cut raggedly just below the shoulder, and long-since healed to leave a swathe of lumpy, white scar tissue in the place of muscle and meat.

He’s an absolute juggernaut of a beast, standing nearly seventy feet tall and as wide as a manor house.

His skin is almost translucent in its paleness, though what colour it does retain is mostly due to the contrast it plays against the incredible lengths of stark-white hair that cascade like twin waterfalls from the crown of his head down to a tremendous chest riddled with a myriad of scars.

‘Skin as white as leprosy…,’ you marvel.

The waves crashing furiously against the shore as the wind picks up outside seems the perfect allusion to Coleridge’s lengthiest work.

All of a sudden, it occurs to you that for the whole time you’ve been gawping up at him, he in turn has been glowering back down at you, the deep crevasse between his ice-white brows growing deeper and deeper by the second.

It’s the realisation that you’re being decidedly rude that wrenches you from your stupor.

 “I-I’m sorry!” you blurt out, raising your voice so he might actually hear you, “I didn’t realise you were in here! I thought you’d be-“ Pausing to cast a quick glance over your shoulder, you peer out at the dark, grey ocean roaring ever closer to the cave. The tide, gradual as it is, continues to eat its way up the beach.

Turning back to the Mer, you raise a thumb and knock it awkwardly at the sea behind you. “I thought you’d be in there…”

War... doesn’t react.

He barely even blinks those cold, blue eyes at you, just glares hotly in your direction, though he’s so vast and his eyes are so devoid of human features like an iris or pupil, he could very well be glaring at something else entirely.

You don’t venture any further inside, hovering restlessly at the threshold where the dull light still falls on you from above, and the shadow from the cave’s overhang stays just a few inches in front of the toes of your boots.

“I’m Y/n,” you call up to War instead, figuring it’s best to get introductions out of the way while you’re at it, “I’m new to the team. Beach clean-up, though I’m sure you could already tell!” Holding your picker out in front of you, you give the handle several squeezes, clacking the ‘claws’ together a few times demonstratively.

All at once, the colossal Mer's head tilts sideways at the display, his brows easing apart inch by inch until his face is set more by surprise than agitation.

Alhough it's difficult to tell where those pupilless eyes are peering, you think he's studying your litter-picker, and with a bemused smile, you keep it suspended in mid-air, letting a smile bloom across your face when his own claws flex open and shut several times over, producing dull, thumping clacks that resonate off the high walls of the cave.

He's copying you.

You presume that’s a good sign.

“May I come in?” you ask, gesturing loosely at the cave in front of you.

Somehow, the colossal crustacean manages to portray an even more potent expression of surprise, his snowy-white brows launch up his forehead and his lips part just enough to offer you the barest glimpse of huge, flat teeth sitting inside his maw.

You're busy parsing why he might be taken aback by such an innocuous question when there's a sharp voice in your ear.

"What are you doing?"

Your ensuing yelp blasts through the cave and bounces off its damp, glistening walls.

In response, War reacts with a growl loud as a thunderclap, stamping his front legs firmly against the sand as his scowl falls right back into place, aimed over your head.

Whirling around, you come face to face with a very disgruntled, very sodden Abby, who's glaring at you from under her sharply arched brows.

Floundering for a second, you struggle to find your tongue as you shoot a fleeting glance back at War. "I'm... asking him if I can come in?"

Pushing out a rough exhale, Abby rolls her eyes so hard you're surprised they don't end up behind her skull. Tutting loudly, she brushes past you, striding right into the cavern and missing the way your jaw falls open to gape after her, alarmed.

You haven't known a great many merfolk, but those you have met operate no differently than humans for the most part, in that they'd prefer strangers not invite themselves into their homes.

Then, of course, you remember that unlike you, she's been doing this job for some time now, and it would stand to reason that she and War have a rapport, of sorts, though a quick glance up at the Mer's face contradicts your reasoning almost immediately.

For as unnerving as his glare was when it was aimed at you, now that Abby is in the firing line, the mer looks downright ferocious.

His lips have been peeled back to expose teeth and gums alike, and a pair of canines flash menacingly as he snaps them at her, a throaty rumble slowly bubbling to life from somewhere deep inside his chest and spilling out into the cave.

At once, you heed the unspoken warning and stumble backwards a few, respectful steps, sending your co-worker a nervous shout.

"Um, Abby?"

However, you're struck dumb when she not only ignores you, but is apparently content to disregard the titanic mer who's taking very clear umbrage to her presence.

Before you can call out to her again though, you catch her exasperated sigh from all the way back at the entrance.

"You're gonna find out pretty quickly that this guy isn't like other mers you've met," she tells you waspishly as she spins on a heel to face you, kicking up the sand under her boots.

Her expression darkens when she realises you haven't followed her. "Oh my god, will you get over here?!"

The demand sends a jolt right through you and notches War's grumbling up another few decibels. "You're never gonna last at this job if you don't have a backbone!"

... Honestly you think your trepidation has less to do with a lack of spine and more to do with acknowledging that War clearly doesn't want either of you in here.

Biting your lip, you wonder if the earful you're bound to get for questioning her authority will be worth it to voice your concerns.

"I-it just seems like he really doesn't want us here," you dare to gamble, inadvertently drawing War's attention. You have no idea if it's a good or bad sign that his growl falls silent the moment you finish speaking.

"I mean," you falter as Abby crosses her arms over her chest, "This is his territory. Shouldn't we leave if he tells us to? Maybe we could come back after we've cleaned the beach?"

Letting out a sharp, derisive scoff, she mocks, "Tells us?' War can't tell us anything. He doesn't speak."

Taken aback, you blink at her, eventually asking, "What, like he can't talk?"

"Uh. He never has?" she mimics your baffled tone right back at you, condescending.

You suppose it isn't altogether unsurprising that War can't speak. Plenty of humans can't either.

"Besides," she adds impatiently, "Ironically, he's all bark, no bite. He'll growl at you, sure, but he won't do anything."

Your brows furrow in a flash. You're not worried that he'll do something, he's a mer, not a monster. You'd just rather not upset The Four Corner's most lauded person any further than you already have.

"Honestly," Abby says whilst you reluctantly traipse towards her, keeping your head low in deference to the titan staring you down, "He's dumb as a rock. All brawn, no brain. Doesn't understand a word we say. Even Mister Stevensmith says he's more like an animal than a mer anyway. So it's not like it matters what we do."

"Jeez, Abby," you chuckle uncomfortably, hoping you're doing a good enough job of hiding the objection in your tone, "He's right here."

Which is, evidently, the wrong thing to say. Abby's demeanour shifts on a dime, her chin thrusting forwards and her eyes growing hard and cold.

"I'm sorry," she bristles, "Who's been working here the longest?"

Your mouth snaps shut at once, and you're too busy staring at her to notice the snarl twitching back onto War's face as he glowers at her.

Clearing your throat, you tentatively reply, "You, but-"

"-That's right," she cuts you off smoothly, her mouth twisting into a disdainful grin, "And, um, who's the nepo-hire who just started today?"

Alright, you swallow thickly, score one for Abby... Just like the good old days, you suppose.

While you don't appreciate being patronised, the nerve she's just flicked is still relatively raw, and you know all too well that throwing your weight around and bickering with your co-workers won't do you any favours in the long run.

You would quite like to be happy working here...

The hit to your pride might sting, but you're old enough to let it roll off your back, giving her a patient response. "That'd be me."

"Cool. So, are you gonna stop questioning me and actually learn what your job here is, or...?"

This time, you force a smile, letting it stretch awkwardly wide to suit a begrudging compliance. "If you'd be so kind...."

"Right, now that you're done slacking off..."

Somewhere overhead, War pushes a rough exhale through his nostrils, though he once again goes ignored by his keeper.

"Clean up any trash the tide's brought in here, don't forget that corner-" Here, she jerks a thumb at the very corner that's currently occupied by a prickling mer.

Gulping, you nod, dragging your gaze off War and quirking a brow at your co-worker. "Got it... Anything else?"

Fishing her mobile from one of her pockets, she busies herself with peering blankly at the screen for a moment, making a good show of disregarding your question before she heaves a put-upon sigh and thrusts the phone back into her jacket.

Then, with a hiss of footsteps over sand, you abruptly find yourself staring at the back of her head as she makes her way towards the entrance.

"I'm gonna go clean up the rest of the beach," she tells you dismissively, "You stay and finish up in here... Oh, and just ignore War. He'll definitely be ignoring you."

It isn't as if you'd been expecting something more encouraging... or informative... but Abby simply takes her leave without any further prompt, disappearing through the cave's mouth and venturing out to brave the howling wind.

You might have been slightly more put out if it hadn't just occurred to you that she's out there, battling through the rain and cold, while you're in here where the wind can't reach you, and icy water won't encroach upon your work.

You can't help but wonder if she did that on purpose...

Suddenly, your opinion of her shifts on its axis, and a small, grateful smile worms its way across your face.

Seems there's a chance she isn't the same girl you knew all those years ago after all, despite the frosty reception.

Shaking off the guilt of assuming the worst of your new co-worker, you draw in a deep, steadying breath and pivot around to your audience of one, offering the Mer a sheepish grin and a wave, both of which go unreturned.

Abby's instruction to ignore him flies out the proverbial window. The barest common courtesy you can afford is to acknowledge him in his own house.

"Right then, War," you begin pleasantly, bending to hoist your half-full trash bag off the ground, "I guess I’ll make a start. If you need anything... Well, I mean I'm pretty sure you can figure out how to get my attention."

With an amenable chuckle, you nod deliberately at the claws hanging from his carapace.

War follows your gaze, blinking down at his own appendages while you amble over to the wall nearest the entrance, deigning to work anti-clockwise as you go and clean the cave section by section.

It's menial work. Satisfying. The space grows cleaner with every piece of litter you grab and stash in the bag.

You find yourself paying no mind to War, trusting that the mer will let you know if he wants or doesn't want you to do something. Next time, you muse, you'll have to bring some headphones.

You manage to clear all of five metres from your starting point when the ground beneath you gives a sudden lurch, as if something heavy just crashed to the earth behind you, staggering you slightly on your boots.

"What the-?!" Startled, you wheel about to see what happened, only to find one of War's pointed legs buried in the sand just a foot away from you.

Staring at in in astonishment, you eventually tear your gaze off it and peer up the vast length of a crab's body until you get to War's face, half obscured by his silvery, cascading hair. His eyes are just as wide as yours must be, watching you with his lips downturned.

"Er," you swallow uncertainly, "You okay...? Need something?"

But the titan just keeps his eyes locked on you for several beats of your thumping heart, his entire body stiff and unmoving.

... Alright then...

Bemused, you let out a soft snort and turn back to the task at hand, zeroing in on another piece of litter laying a few metres ahead.

Just as you reach it, you feel the ground quake behind you once more, though this time, the vibration is followed quickly by five moresolid thuds.

You're being followed, it seems... By something with six legs that are as tall as houses...

Frankly, you don't know whether to be amused or intimidated. He must be exceptionally cautious about letting a stranger have free rein in his territory.

Shoulders jumping with a well-meaning huff, you shake your head and carry on, smiling softly to yourself.

Time and again though, as soon as you venture past a certain, unseen threshold, War becomes intent on closing the distance, sticking to you like a limpet yet never once making a sound or trying to get your attention.

You could have sworn Abby said he'd ignore you...

"Making sure I'm doing a thorough job, huh?" you joke breezily after a few minutes of being shadowed, straining your neck back to flash him a sidelong wink, "Well, not to worry. I'm sure you'll let me know if I miss a spot...Then I’ll be out of your shell in a jiffy."

You're swivelling away from him too quickly to catch the curious tip of his head.

"Although come to think of it," you murmur aloud to yourself, frowning at the vast scatterings of rubbish coating the cave and piling up against the walls, "For a place that's cleaned bi-weekly, this cave has a lot of stuff built-up..."

The brows on your forehead scurry together as you ponder, "Maybe someone ought to have a word with that resort if they're letting this much crap come off their beaches..."

Whilst you're busy contemplating, War lifts his massive head and starts to move again.

The moment he does, you immediately fall still, eyeing him warily as he ambles past you like a massive glacier rolling over the landscape. Each step he takes is slow and measured, sidling around you to bustle further into his cave.

Cocking a brow, you regard him questioningly as he stops by a pile of trash and uses his claws to scoop sand, an empty bottle, an old shoe, and several scraps of plastic into an awkward hold, lifting them with far more dexterity than you thought he'd possess.

The expression on his face is determined, and once he deems his claw-ful secure, he scuttles right back over to you, bringing himself to a neat halt once he gets close enough, casting his gaze to the side.

Then, gradual as a big, red frigate lazing over the ocean, he extends his claws towards you, letting them hover at your height for a moment before he starts to slide them apart, letting sand hiss through the pincers until it's followed by solid 'plaps' and 'patters' of trash following suit.

The pile builds steadily just in front of you as you watch on, gobsmacked.

"Wh- Uh...!" Clearing your throat, you dart a quick look between War's face and the mini-heap, and ask, "What're you up to?"

As if in reply, he slips off again, returning moments later with another load of scrap, and this too, he drops to the ground at your feet.

You're almost too stunned to speak, working your tongue into a molar at the back of your mouth as you puzzle over his bizarre behaviour, wondering why he'd bring the trash closer to you if you're going to be cleaning it up anyw-...

And then it hits you.

"Wait." A charmed smile burrows into your cheeks as you thrust out a hip and shoot him a knowing look. "Are you...? Do you want to help?"

And then War - the Mer who is supposedly 'dumb as a rock, and doesn't understand a word you say' - tips his huge, square chin down before bringing it back up.

He repeats the motion once, then twice, and on the third, a lightbulb finally clicks on in your head.

"You do?" you press, eager to see if he'll do it again.

And he does.

He nods.

Oh, you knew it. You knew Abby was messing with you! A little hazing for the Newbie's first day... Well, you can't say you weren't somewhat expecting that.

Must have been why War was scowling at her so viciously when she called him dumb. He wasn't in on the joke.

The sudden about-face in his behaviour is staggering, though not at all unwelcome.

Something in the way you’ve been holding your shoulders loosens as you rest a hand at your side and sigh out a note of relief, letting one corner of your mouth crook up. "You know you don't have to, right?" you tell him, "I mean, I'm basically being paid to be your housekeeper right now."

In response, War just angles his head to one side, regarding you with a funny look before he raises the shoulder of his remaining arm in a recognisable shrug.

As he does, he plants a claw in the ground just behind the pile of trash, nudging it forwards so the heap is pushed soundly closer to your feet.

Well then.

"If you insist," you concede easily, shaking open your rubbish bag.

The Mer's permanant scowl eases a fraction as you begin picking things out of the pile and dropping them into the bag, and with a clack of his pincers, he's off again, casting his appendages out wide to scoop an even larger heap of detritus onto the flat edge of his claws.

You'll admit, having a giant Mer to ferry all the litter straight into one spot makes for much faster cleaning, and in just under an hour, you've already filled two binbags to the brim, and you're well on your way to stuffing a third all the way to the top.

Naturally, you're inclined to thank him after every delivery, and the way his chest puffs out each time bolsters your mood to even greater heights, leaving you delighted by the unexpected turn of events.

"Guess you must have wanted this place clean more than anyone, huh?" you ask him jovially, watching him from the corner of an eye as you pull the string tie on the last bag until it’s cinched tight.

For the last few minutes, War has been stomping to every nook and cranny in search of rubbish, grunting huffily under his breath when his search turns up empty. After a while, he wanders back to stand over you, staying in place as he twists his head this way and that, his eyes darting all over the cave in a futile search for something else to bring you.

"Uh, I think you got it all," you snort, giving the overflowing bags a pointed look, "Least, you got a Hell of a lot more done than I would have if I were on my own."

Craning your neck back, you let your expression soften as you dip a nod at the Mer, flicking a two-fingered salute off your forehead. "Much obliged, War. Maybe we should see about getting you on the payroll.”

The Mer’s nostrils widen around a brusque snort at that.

“Well, I’d better get out of your hair and get these to the truck,” you nod at the bags. Whilst they look heavy at a glance, you’re betting they’ll be easy enough to drag across the sand without too much trouble.

From between War’s parted lips comes a strange, resonant sound; a churlish grunt that could have been agreement, though the way his lips twist back into another frown and his brows follow suit as you heft the first bag over your shoulder leaves you to wonder…

Wrapping a fist around the handles of the other two bags, you pause to test the weight of them, satisfied when they seem to hold well enough.

High above you, War casts his eye out through the cave’s opening and fixes it on the lashing rain beyond, his chest thrumming softly as the line between his eyebrows etches even deeper into his forehead.

The storm that's been steadily sweeping in from the ocean has finally arrived to batter his bay, and as he lours at it, apparently lost in thought, you make your way outside, tossing a chipper "It was nice to meet you!" over your shoulder at the Mer.

A torrent of rain batters against your head as you pass beneath the threshold, and you duck further into the collar of your jacket, suddenly deaf to the heavy thumps that follow you all the way to the cave's exit, trundling slowly to a stop when it becomes clear you aren't turning back.

It's difficult to raise your head against the maelstrom, more difficult still because you don't have any hands free to shield your eyes from the prevailing wind and ocean spray.

One foot drags slowly after the other as you make your way up the beach towards the truck... On and on you trudge, hauling the spoils of your labour across the sand and leaving a pair of shallow trenches alongside your boot prints.

The mere five minutes it took for you to get from the truck to the cave passes you by, and it's only when those five minutes stretch into ten, and the tide has made noticeable progress swallowing up the beach that you're given pause, coming to a stop with a curl of apprehension in your stomach.

Squinting sharply through the rain, you scan the landscape ahead of you, blowing droplets of water off your lashes from the corner of your mouth.

The truck is nowhere to be seen. But you could have sworn it wasn't this far from the cave...

Baffled, you twist around to peer over your shoulder, eyes searching back up the bay, wondering if perhaps you'd just passed it without noticing.

And yet...

There's nothing.

No square, solid shape standing out amongst the towering cliffs and the brown sand.

An awful realisation sinks into your bones and drags your nerves down to the ground as it dawns on you...

You've been left behind.

An old discomfort starts to tighten around your throat. Had you turned the wrong way when you left the cave…? No. No, you remember admiring the headlands as you drove in from this angle, you can’t have been turned around.

Briefly, the very alarming thought occurs to you that the truck might have been swallowed by the sea. But you’re quick and vicious in dismissing it. Abby had parked it almost flush against the cliffs. You recall how you’d nearly asked her if she was worried about rocks falling onto it from above before thinking better of it and trusting her judgement.

With your breaths coming heavier and thicker as your pulse kicks into gear, you drop the bags of litter and take a few, stumbling strides towards the cliffface, raising a hand and shielding your eyes as you rake them up and down the sand.

It doesn’t take long for you to find what you’re searching for.

They’re already half obscured, pitted into near-oblivion by the hammering rain, but you can still make them out. A pair of tyre tracks, running alongside the cliff walls until they converge in the distance and your eyes can’t follow them any further…

Reason begins vying for control of a spiralling narrative, and you tell yourself she might have been called back to the centre for an emergency, or to gather more supplies, with every intention of returning any minute now…

But with the ocean looking to start gnawing your ankles, you can’t say with any confidence exactly how many minutes you might have left.

Dumbstruck, you suddenly come alive, slapping your palms over the pockets of your jacket, your trousers, everywhere until your frantic movements slow to a halt and you let your arms hang defeatedly at your sides.

You'd left your phone on the dashboard.... You can picture it now, sitting just above the air-con on the jeep's dash amongst a clutter of old receipts and wrappers. You didn't think you'd actually need it on the job...

What the Hell are you supposed to do now?

Fight the urge to let any tears mingle with the raindrops slipping down your cheeks, that's what. You're not about to cry for something so trivial. It was an honest mistake... probably. More to the point, getting panicked won't do you any favours.

Clenching your hands into fists, you press your lips together and inhale sharply through your nose.

You'll just have to hoof it, that's all. Hug the cliff walls and pray you can move quick enough to cover the same ground on foot that took the Jeep a good fifteen minutes... What is that... Three hours, max? That's if Abby doesn't come back for you.

One thing is for certain though. The longer you take to decide, the more time slips through your fingers, narrowing your window of opportunity. If you get caught against the cliffs when the ocean finally reaches you...?

"Shit," you mutter, more to expel a mote of tension than to say anything productive.

From the corner of an eye, you wince at the bags of rubbish laying where you'd dropped them...

... You can't just leave them here.

When the tide picks them up, they'll come undone and spill their contents straight back into the ocean, which means your work - and more importantly War's - will have been for nothing.

The cacophonous surge of the tide is unassailable in your ears, and the rain using your head like a percussion instrument leaves you deaf to the mountain rising up behind you, but you're not oblivious to the quaking thuds that rumble through the soles of your boots and resonate inside your chest.

The rain stops.

Just like that, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned off the sky, yet it's only your immediate vicinity that's spared from the watery onslaught. Hissing curtains of rain still mist the world beyond you, and for a moment, you're perturbed and mesmerised by the phenomenon, but a familiar sound from high over your head doesn't leave you wondering for long.

Tipping your neck back so fast that you feel something give a soft crunch, you blurt out a startled shout at the underside of a massive carapace.

"War!?" A spray of rain flies from your lips and you lift your hands to swipe furiously at your eyes, rubbing your lashes until they're no longer heavy with water. "What are you doing out here?!"

A rather inane question, you'll concede, given that he can go wherever he damn well wants to. Hell, he could probably fall asleep in this storm's eye and rest peacefully as a babe.

The Mer has parked the bulk of his body directly over you, as rudimentary yet effective a shelter as he can make.

You can't see his face above the lip of his shell, and when you try to venture forwards to peer up at him, he moves in tandem with you, keeping you underneath his sheltering mass with the barest shift of his legs.

War's gaze, hidden from you, blazes its own trail along the sand, following the lines of comparatively tiny tyre tracks narrowing to a point in the distance.

Bewildered by his sudden appearance, though no less glad to have the rain off you for a moment, however coincidental that may be, you lower your head once more and press your knuckles to the curve of a hip.

"Guess I missed my ride," you chuckle humourlessly below him, eyeing his claws with a despondent sigh as they clench shut in response to your voice.

You can’t fathom a guess as to what the old Mer must be thinking. Even less so when the titanic mass above you suddenly shifts down, and without warning, a vast, thickset hand comes reaching into the space beneath his carapace.

Instinctively, you kick your boots up and start to backpeddle in clumsy steps across the sand, away from fingers longer than you are tall as they nudge after you, swiftly and easily overtaking your retreat.

“Woah! What are you-? Oh! My God!?”

You jump out of your skin, spine colliding the curve of his fingertips first when they spring shut like a trap behind you, and then his thumb, broad and rough and chiseled with grooves, bunts into your stomach and scoops your straight into the cup of his palm.

The shock of it all turns your body rigid as you’re promptly extracted from the shelter of his body and raised several dozen feet off the ground, set upon by the lashing rainfall once again.

Sputtering through your daze, you crane your head back to squint up at the Mer whose own gaze has already landed upon you, his enormous face hanging ominously against the backdrop of an iron-grey sky.

Jesus, you must look no more dignified than a drowned, somewhat indignant rat in his palm. “I was gonna take the trash bags with me!” you bark, taking a stab as to why you’re being glowered at so severely.

But if War cares about the bags at all, he doesn’t let a single hint slip through his stony façade.

Instead, in a move that catches you wildly off guard, he brings his hand in close to the base of his throat, tucking you just above his collar bone as he bows his chin over you, and it’s only when the torrent of icy water stops running down the back of your neck and pounding at your skull that you realise what he’s doing. What he’d been doing when he followed you out here to loom over you.

He’s using himself to shield you from the rain.

You’ll have to remember to be touched by the gesture once you can speak past your chattering teeth.

The heat from his palm seeps right through the back of your jacket, as does the warmth radiating off his neck where you’re pressed flush against it.

For a second, you wonder if he’s just so keen to be rid of you that he’s picked you up with every intention of taking you back to the perimeter of his territory to drop you off himself. And you’d be lying if you said a ride wouldn’t be appreciated, given the circumstances.

But then, with slow, deliberate movements, the Mer pivots his body sideways and begins moving down the beach… back in the direction of his cave.

There’s no threat behind his actions, nothing discernible anyway, just a strangeness that glues your tongue to the roof of your mouth and leaves you draped stiffly in his remaining palm whilst he ferries you into his home.