Chapter Text
Amphoreus Aquarium was a sumptuous building. Formerly a museum, its halls were lined with decadent wallpapers and pillars of ancient times past. Every patron who entered its sacred walls would always gasp and gawk, marvelling at the intricate details. But the moment of awe always passed. No one comes to an aquarium to admire the architecture. No one comes to this aquarium for any other reason but one:
The mermaids.
It was the only aquarium in the world to have an exhibition of real live mermaids. Not just one, but two. People flew from all over the world just to catch a glimpse of their sparkling scales. Their exhibition stood proudly in the center of the building. That was how the Amphoreus Aquarium maintained its prestigious grounds, not a speck of dust in sight. Without the mermaids, the company would crumble under the weight of its hefty bills. They were undeniably the stars of the show.
Phainon didn’t care much for them. No, perhaps that wasn’t the best way to word it. Despite working at Amphoreus Aquarium for almost a year now, he had yet to actually see the famed mermaids. He worked solely in the jellyfish exhibit, safely tucked away in the right wing under a blanket of darkness. There was no reason for Phainon to ever pass by the mermaids. So it wasn’t that he didn’t care, only that he never had the opportunity to have a proper look. Until today, that is.
“Phainon, it’s not that bad—” Castorice, his closest friend and now former boss, attempts to reassure him.
“—It is that bad,” Phainon all but whines.
He knows it’s a little childish to complain about a promotion of all things, but he likes it in the jellyfish exhibit. It’s dark and cosy, with hardly any visitors (and yet it still took two people to maintain. Phainon didn’t mind, it had given him ample opportunities to spend time with Castorice). Being promoted to primary researcher and caretaker of the mermaids would force him into the spotlight. Extra hours and extra prying eyes, all for a handsome pay rise. They’re lucky he needs the cash.
“This’ll be a great opportunity,” Castorice reasons, ever supportive of his endeavours, “You get to research mermaids. How many people can say the same?”
None. Mermaids are famously elusive. Seldom are they ever caught, and even seldomer are they ever consistently held in captivity. Most grow violent, insane even, lashing out at anyone who dares draw near. All documented cases have resulted in suicide. There’s a reason Amphoreus Aquarium is the only aquarium to have them. No other mermaids have ever made it past their first year of captivity.
At Phainon’s lack of answer, Castorice persists, “This is what we trained for, why we spent years learning from our professor. Not to hide in a corner, but to research. To learn new things and to contribute to the world’s knowledge.”
And she’s right. Professor Anaxa (“Anaxagoras, not Anaxa,”) didn’t lecture Phainon for a five years straight only for him to end up cleaning jellyfish enclosures. Oh, he’d be in for the scolding of a lifetime if their professor could see him now. At least Castorice is head of the deep sea exhibition team. She does more than watch the jellyfish swim by. She has purpose and ambition, a quiet drive. Hell, she’s even gotten to name her very own species. What does he have to show for his degree?
“I know,” Phainon concedes, “But I like it here, I’ll miss this.”
I’ll miss you.
“This isn’t going anywhere,” Castorice points out gently, “You can always come visit in your lunch breaks. The jellyfish won’t even notice you’re gone.”
The notion isn’t as reassuring as it was meant to be, that the creatures he cared for won’t miss him in turn. But Phainon understands her point. This fragment of his life isn’t passing, only moving to the backseat to make space for greater things. It’s all onwards and upwards from here. And maybe, just maybe, the thought does excite him a little. He’s always had an avid interest in all things underwater (so did Cyrene…). That’s why Phainon acquired his degree in marine biology in the first place. It’s about time he puts it to use.
“You’re right,” Phainon concedes with a small nod, “I’ll do it.”
Castorice smiles, that determined little smile of a well-earned victory, “Good luck.”
And as he signs the contract later that day, Phainon wonders if deals with the devil are always this easy.
— — —
By the time his first official day in the new position rolls around, Phainon has a decent grasp on what the job entails. All he has to do look after the mermaids. Feed them, clean their enclosure, and generally just ensure no harm comes to them. In his spare time on the job, he is to take notes on the day’s findings. Mermaids are something of a a biological mystery. Because of that, anything and everything is to be documented. His new boss even bought a notebook for him with pages of stone paper, waterproof in case of any accidents.
The caretaking part he can handle. Twice a day, Phainon is to toss a handful of dead fish into the underwater enclosure. A little gross, yes, but he’d make a shitty aquarium worker if it truly bothered him. And besides, it’s not all that dissimilar from caring for the jellyfish with Castorice. Cleaning an aquarium of such great size might be a challenge, but Phainon only has to do so quarterly. Mermaids are a fairly clean species, it seems. Nothing he couldn’t handle.
It’s the note taking part that proves to be difficult. Because no matter when or how many fish he throws into the water, not a single mermaid makes themself known. Hidden away in the rock caves, presumably. The fish sink to the base of the tank. Phainon’s notebook remains empty.
The first day passes. Phainon’s initial hope begins to wane. Still no mermaids. They were eating the fish, at least, but only in the hours between his shifts. They’re onto him. They know Phainon isn’t their previous caretaker. Maybe that would be a good thing, his previous counterpart must’ve filed a hasty resignation for a reason, but it certainly isn’t benefiting him in the short term. All the notes he’s missing out on, the research! That was the only reason Phainon took the job. Well, that and the extra zero on his pay check. He’s a simple man.
The second day passes uneventfully. Phainon requests to see the previous caretaker’s notes, just to see what he might be dealing with. Who knows, maybe they would tell him how to coax the merfolk out of their rocky dwellings? He’s denied. They don’t exist, apparently. Taken with the previous caretaker when he resigned. Bullshit. Only three days into his job and Phainon knows a coverup when he sees one. Another day passes.
“Maybe they’re just shy,” Castorice suggests on his lunch break, “You are a stranger, after all.”
Yeah, a stranger that’s been feeding them twice the amount he should be. A little gratitude would go a long way. The fourth day passes.
Phainon doesn’t expect the mermaids to love him. He doesn’t expect them to come near him, he doesn’t even expect them to look at him. He does however expect them to at least make an appearance. Exercise is important for any creature. Phainon might not be able to start his research, but even he can surmise as much. For all of their sakes, it’d be best if they make an appearance. Woefully mermaid-less, the fifth day passes.
On the sixth day, Phainon decides to properly familiarise himself with the enclosure’s set-up. A layer of sand and false sea grass covers the floor of the enclosure. The rocks are tall and dark, forming man-made caves and the only chance of privacy for the mermaids. He tries to throw the fish in their direction. A couple land on top, but most fall pitifully to the bedding of sand. Once more, no mermaids make themselves known. Phainon continues to stare.
The seventh day marks a week gone by in his new position as primary caretaker. An unsuccessful week, that is. The only thing he’s been caring for are buckets of dead fish. What a joke. Even the jellyfish were more exciting than this. To pass the time, Phainon takes up his notebook. There might be nothing to write about, but he can at least do something (he considers reaching for his phone, but the thought of accidentally dropping it into the water is unpleasant enough to put that thought to bed). That something just happens to be drawing. Phainon is by no means an artist, especially when it comes to portraits, but he’s decent enough to sketch a landscape.
In rich black ink (his own pen, Amphoreus Aquarium could never), he plots the slopes of the caves and the gentle sway of the seagrass. Under dutiful flicks of his wrist, the scenery before him comes to life on the page of stone. With nothing but the gentle lapping of water as his soundtrack, he allows himself to get lost in his artistry. It’s the most fun Phainon has had in days. So much so that he continues through his lunch break… And the rest of his shift. What? It’s not like there’s much else to do. His job is simple, boring, and it doesn’t require his full atten—
—A flash of red darts through the enclosure. The water ripples. Phainon barely captures the movement out the corner of his eye, barely has any time to react before it comes barreling towards him. Embarrassingly enough, Phainon yelps, scrambling away from the ledge on pure instinct. His pen and notebook are swiftly forgotten, slipping into the tank as a mop of blonde hair breaches the surface of the water. A mermaid. Great Titans, an actual mermaid!
The mermaid- er, merman- dips back under the water. Not even a moment later, he remerges, tossing the fallen notebook back onto the ledge of the aquarium. Phainon doesn’t dare ask for the pen as well. He only stares. Even through the shifting haze of the water, Phainon can tell the merman is well-built. Sharp scarlet markings decorate his muscles, his tail a similar shade and no less powerful. And those eyes, oh those eyes. A golden dawn, shimmering treasure, all things bright and beautiful gaze blankly up at him. Expectantly, even. Nothing beneath those eyes emerge above the water’s surface. Phainon couldn’t care less. After seven days, he’s done it. He’s finally coaxed one out. So what does he do now?
“Uh, hi. I’m Phainon,” Phainon introduces himself, albeit a little awkwardly. It’s pointless, the merman probably can’t understand him anyway. Even so, Phainon feels like he owes the merman an introduction. They’ll be seeing a lot of each other if his career is to last, “You must be…”
Shit. What were their names again? Phainon scrambles through the pages of his notebook (it’s true, the stone paper really is waterproof). He had written them down somewhere, one of the very few things he was actually able to write about the merfolk in his care. The names make themselves known on the second page, his very first entry:
February 4th, Entry #1
The following entries will be written by Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, primary caretaker of the merfolk exhibition. That’s me. Maybe I shouldn’t put my address down here... Anyway, the merfolk in my care are called Mydeimos and Tribbie, or so the signs tell me. I haven’t actually seen them.
Alright… Which one was he?
“Tribbie?” The merman makes a small noise of what seems to be disagreement, water bubbling with the motion. Not Tribbie. Definitely not Tribbie, “Mydeimos then, sorry. I’m new to this, in case you haven’t noticed. Well, not new here per se but new to you guys, I guess.”
He’s rambling now. The merman continues to stare at him, and Phainon takes the hint to shut up. In the newfound silence, he’s suddenly struck with confusion. Why now? Why has Mydeimos chosen to see him now? What’s so different about today of all days? Is he finally warming up to him? Questions rapidly swim about Phainon’s head, multiplying like the heads of a hydra. He gets his answer fairly quickly.
The merman, Mydeimos (Mydei? Deimos? There’s got to be an abbreviation), gives a curt nod to the space beside him. Phainon follows his gaze. Ah, the fish bucket. That’s right! In all his sketching, he’d forgotten to feed the merfolk. They must’ve peered out of their hiding place when Phainon was supposed to be on his lunch break, only to find him still here and the fish dreadfully absent. Damnit. You had one job, Phainon.
“Oh- Oh, I’m so sorry.” Phainon turns for the bucket, grabbing it faster than he’s ever grabbed anything before, “I completely forgot. It won’t happen again, I swear.”
Why is he apologising to the merman so adamantly? Does he even understand? To an extent, perhaps. Merfolk share half of their physical characteristics with humans. It stands to reason they likely possess part of their intelligence, capable of identifying different tones of voice without properly understanding the meaning behind the words. Until proven otherwise, Phainon will stick to his theories. It’s all he has at the moment. But if this encounter goes smoothly, that could very well change.
Mydeimos makes a small noise, a mix between a trill and a growl. Impatient bastard. He doesn’t dare show his face for a week straight, but the moment his meal time is delayed ever so slightly he races over in an instant. Alright, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. The situation is a little annoying though, a fact he comes to realise as his shock slowly subsides. Phainon adjusts his grip on the bucket, shifting to the handle as he makes to toss the fish like usual. The merman repeats that strange little noise.
“It’s okay, I’m getting it now,” Phainon states, not quite understanding the source of the merman’s disapproval, “Just give me a second.”
He is not, in fact, given a second. Without warning, Mydeimos reaches for the bucket. Water splashes up at the sudden movement. Phainon resists the urge to recoil, every nerve in his body screaming to flee from the sudden perceived threat. He doesn’t. Phainon simply freezes in place. A mere week ago he had never even seen the famed merfolk of Amphoreus Aquarium, and now one lingers a few inches away. It’s close. A little too close for his liking, a jarring contrast to his entire week of solitude. Those webbed fingers sort deftly through the sample of fish; Phainon’s gaze hones in on the claws they hold.
Mydeimos withdraws his upper body to the water with an array of fish in his arms, half the amount Phainon has been tossing in. Oh… Do they not like the servings he’s been providing? Or do they see the heaped portions for what they are: a bribery? Phainon dismisses the thought from his mind. He’s getting paranoid. They’re just merfolk, it’s not like they’re scheming and judging his every move. Maybe Mydeimos just prefers a lighter portion. Maybe Tribbie (whoever they are) simply isn’t hungry. Regardless, he’s overthinking it.
“Or you could just do that, I guess...” Phainon supplies weakly, a little lost for words, “I get it, you’re hungry. That’s on me.”
Mydeimos doesn’t deny it. He simply holds the fish in his arms, tilted more towards Phainon than himself. It’s almost like he’s offering them… No, that can’t be right. There’s still an ample amount of fish left in the bucket, not that Phainon plans to eat them, so it wouldn’t make sense to offer him any. And besides, the merman personally selected the portion. He wouldn’t take more than he wants.
Not returning them then, but still holding them out expectantly. The merman’s expression is almost demanding. If Phainon didn’t know any better, he’d assume- oh. That cheeky little shit. He’s not trying to return them, he’s trying to show his human caretaker the preferred portion size. The merman thinks he’s trying to fatten them up. Phainon’s cheeks grow a little warm.
“That’s the amount of fish you like?” Phainon manages to query. Mydeimos lets out a chirp-like noise, the closest thing to approval he’ll get, “Okay, I’ll remember that.”
That seems to satiate the merman. With one final noise, Mydeimos disappears beneath the swaying waters. The sound is neither approval nor disapproval, but an unknown third option. ‘Goodbye’, Phainon’s mind decides to provide. Maybe even ‘thank you’. He watches on as the merman dart towards the underwater caves, retreating to the safety of their crooked walls. It’s both a relief and a disappointment to watch him leave.
Alone once more, Phainon is left to his thoughts. Wow… What an experience. Both new and exciting, yet strange and a little intimidating. A bundle of nerves and wonder, Phainon isn’t quite sure what to make of Mydeimos. He isn’t quite sure what to make of his new job as a whole. This could be his every day, attempts at communication and eyes of molten gold. The thought isn’t as daunting as it used to be a week prior. He can do it. Not just that, he will do it. Phainon can’t wait to write about this encounter, his renewed hope for his career and- ah, right. He dropped his pen.