Archive of Our Own

Pâté is actually the one who notices the girl first, although he doesn’t tell Laudna this until later. She’s ashamed to admit it, but she’s distracted: there’s some sort of strange skin discarded on the sand, white with stripes in different colors and some sort of plug at the top. It’s been punctured by something, and through the wound Laudna can see a distinct lack of internal organs…so it must have been a tool of some sort. What were the land-people using it for? A bag? But it isn’t holding anything, and it doesn’t have a strap. Maybe they sort of – threw it around – but then why would they—

A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision – she looks – and she sees the girl, the girl who would later be Imogen. Right now she isn’t Imogen; she’s barely even a girl. She’s just a small shape on the top of a cliff, barely visible in the dark. Lingering on the edge.

“Is she going to fall?” Laudna says. No response. She irritably flicks her tail; she grabs for her hair, combs impatiently through the tangles and the seaweed and the mites and the small, dying fish until she finds Pâté’s skull and can wiggle it.

“Oy,” he says, “I was sleeping.”

“Shut up. Look at her. The land-girl up there. Do you think she’s going to fall?”

“I’unno,” Pâté says. “Land-people do that. They fall from there. For fun.”

“Not at night.”

“Too many of ‘em during the day, probably.”

“But why would she do it alone?”

“Maybe she’s weird,” Pâté says. “And no one wants to be close to her. Like us.”

But the land-people aren’t like us, they are never like us – they are strange chunks of sounds spit out from dull teeth, they are limbs that push them up the shore and away. That’s why Laudna had to start coming here at night. Because when she came at night, there was no one who would flee from her.

As she’s thinking this, the land-girl proves Pâté’s point: she falls off the edge of the cliff.

“See,” Pâté says. “Toldja.”

“She’s going to hit the rocks,” Laudna says.

“No she—”

“She’s going to hit the rocks,” Laudna says, and she thrashes back into the water and swims, desperately, for the cliff.

There’s really no reason for her to do it. It’s not like the land-people have ever been happy to see her – she went to go see them fall off the cliff once, because they were all barking so happily and she had thought that – like the seals – they want might company.

But they didn’t.

And this girl won’t either. She will shriek when she sees Laudna’s face; she will attack Laudna with her soft hands, her strange flippers. She will escape back to the land and get those big crustaceans with the light-lures and the wailing sounds, who will—

And they’ll—

And it’s stupid, and she knows better, and when she reaches the tooth-sharp rocks at the bottom of the cliff she launches herself up, up, and she meets the girl perfectly in her falling, and Laudna catches her. So when they hit the water, Laudna hits it first.

Then they’re under. The two of them, in the cold safe dark of the water. Falling.

The land-girl is warm and very soft in Laudna’s arms. Softer than a seal – like a jellyfish, only there are bones and other things stuck inside of her. Her hair is really the only jellyfish-thing about her: it’s a light purple color, it plumes into the water like a sweet drop of blood diluting. It doesn’t seem to be for anything, except to be lovely.

Her face is lovely. That soft mouth, pink lips hiding dull teeth. Lovely eyes, too, even though they’re spasming; some combination of hitting the water and the water itself, stinging. 

“Her eyelids don’t work,” Laudna tells Pâté; Pâté, who is sulking, does not answer. But the girl shocks, flares her eyes wide, and looks at Laudna.

And in Laudna’s head, she hears a voice say: You.

“Aaa!” Laudna says, and she drops the land-girl immediately. (It isn’t her finest moment.) The girl flails, grabs blindly for Laudna with those small pink hands – scraping her palm along the scales of Laudna’s tail, grabbing a wrist and losing it, touching a gill (bad!) and then thrashing all her flippers around wildly to start paddling towards the surface. Probably for the best. She’ll get back to the land easily enough, and maybe she won’t get those crustaceans, and Laudna can come back tomorrow night, and the colorful skin will still be there. And she’ll realize what it was for, and that’ll be good. Laudna watches the girl swim upwards, and she sinks downwards, and she isn’t upset, because there’s nothing to be upset about. That whole thing went well – the girl barely even tried to hit her. She only hit Laudna a little bit. She didn’t bite. So it was good. So all of this was good.

But as she sinks, she’s still sorry. And it still hurts. And she watches the shape of the girl, far away at the bright sea-surface, and she wants—

Of course, the skin is gone the next night.

It isn’t surprising: the land-people take their treasures back quickly, they come and scoop them and carry them away back onto the land where Laudna can’t reach them. But she’d thought that they would leave the skin. It’s frustrating. Instead there’s only more scraps of their writing: ROASTED PEANUTS, CORN STARCH, EMULSIFIERS (471, 476, SOYBEAN and another shell of COCA-COLA. Emulsifiers is a lovely name, she’ll have to name something after that. Maybe an eel. It’s an eel-y sort of name.

She puts these treasures carefully in her bag, one by one; the above-light drips down through the dark onto the ocean, onto the sand, onto Laudna awkwardly lolling between them. She keeps catching herself looking up at the cliff, even though she knows there won’t be anyone there.

But she keeps looking at the cliff, so she’s startled when the voice says: Wait!

Because she is startled, she doesn’t wait; she goes scrambling back into the ocean, panicked, flinching before anything has even hit her (stupid!), desperately trying to get back into the safety of the water, even though the voice isn’t getting quieter: Please wait, I’m sorry, I’m not here to hurt you, I just wanted to say thank you, you saved my life! Please!

Laudna stops rolling. She presses herself flat to the sand, so that the waves cover her up completely. What is that! The voice! Whales talk to each other from waves and waves away, but Laudna isn’t a whale (that she knows of) and whales can’t make it this shallow without dying. She’d remember saving a dying whale. She only saved—

You caught me, the voice says. I was falling, you – you saved me, you saved me. Please.

The girl.

Laudna carefully peeks just the top of her head above the water, and there she is: the land-girl, tail-deep in the water. It’s unmistakably her. Her hair is flatter when she isn’t underwater. But she’s dry, mostly. Only her eyes are wet.

I’m not gonna hurt you, the girl says. I promise. I promise. You don’t have to be scared. I just wanted to – to say hi, and thank you. And I guess…I’ve never met anyone like you before. But that’s not – I don’t know what I’m sayin’. Sorry. Thanks.

“Nobody has ever thanked me before,” Laudna says. “Besides Pâté.”

The girl doesn’t respond. She has pushed her body closer, into the water; Laudna can see her seeing Laudna. Not making those wailing, horrible sounds. Just looking.

“You weren’t doing it for fun?” Laudna says. “Falling? I thought you all did it for fun. Then why were you doing it?”

Can you hear me? the girl says. You can…you can talk back, if you want. Just sort of, um, just think at me. And I can understand you.

Oh! Laudna says. Really?

The girl startles so hard that her flippers slip, knocking her hard down to the sand. She hits with a thud. The waves mercifully cover her up and then mercilessly retreat again, leaving her sprawled out where only the shallowest waves pet at her half-heartedly.

She’s at Laudna’s level now; Laudna ducks under the water, looks at her. And because she can’t help herself – because she can’t ever help herself – she pulls herself a little bit closer. And a little bit closer. And a little more. Until she’s only a tail-length away from the girl, whose body shifts to lift her head above the water. Laudna follows her.

The girl startles again, slaps her hands over her mouth, and says: Oh my – hi. Hi. You got closer.

Hi, Laudna says. Are you going to attack me?

No, the girl says. No. I’m not. Holy shit. You really can understand me.

I didn’t know you all could speak! I mean, obviously I knew – you could speak to each other, like whales and seals and things, but I didn’t know you could talk to me. Oh, I have so many questions. So many questions. Are you alright?

I, the girl says. Yeah. And I – yeah.

Why were you falling off the cliff? Was it an accident? You seem rather clumsy. Is that rude to say? It’s only that I’ve seen you fall twice.

The girl’s eyes squeeze shut; the skin of her face goes red. I am, she says. Yeah. I’m really clumsy. It was just an accident.

You could have hit the rocks, Laudna says.

But I didn’t, the girl says. One of her eyes sneaks open; it’s just as purple as her hair, bright as a coral reef. You caught me.

Yes, Laudna says, and then everything clogs up her throat: the wanting and the loneliness and the bright colors of the treasures the land-people leave, and the way she had thought they were leaving them for her – like they had wanted her to see something bright, and beautiful – like they had wanted to share it with her – and the wounds and the scars and the way the sky had looked during the day, that color that Laudna has almost forgotten, and how strange it is to talk to someone who isn’t a fish skeleton and doesn’t live in her hair, and the fringe of little purple hairs around the girl’s eyes, and how the girl had looked when she was falling towards Laudna and the water—

There was a time Laudna breached the surface at night and one of the distant lure-lights above the water had unstuck, somehow, and had plummeted down towards the sea. It was as small and bright as a scale, and it had left a smear of light behind it; she had wanted it so much that the wanting had stuck in her throat like a bone. But she’d combed the sea for days and nights and days, and she’d never found that light. She can’t help thinking that this is her second chance.

All of these things crash through her at once, a savage and merciless riptide, and all that emerges is: I like your hair.

Oh, the girl says. Really? Thank, thank you. I like your hair.

Laudna squirms delightedly. Thank you, she says. I have snacks in it. And Pâté. Are you hungry? You can’t eat Pâté, but you can eat the rest. I have fish. And little crabs. And mollusks, although I don’t know if you can crack them – you don’t have claws. And your teeth are so dull! What do you eat?

Uh. A lot of peanut butter.

How fun! Laudna says. That doesn’t mean anything!

The girl is looking behind Laudna, now, to where her tail has coiled in delight and the tip of it emerges above the water. Laudna tries to take care of her scales, but the constant change from deep to shallow to above-water has left them scraggly and dull; embarrassed, she slaps her tail down back into the water.

You don’t have to—the girl says. Is that your tail?

Yes. 

It’s beautiful, the girl says, and what’s strange is that she sounds like she means it. Probably because she only saw it quickly, and in the dark – where you could pretend that it’s the right color, that perfect black that makes Laudna invisible in the dark dark darkest depths. Not the way it is now – black, white, patchy, hideous.

You’re very kind, Laudna says. Why?

Why? the girl says. Her eyelids flap around on her eyes for a bit. Because I… she says. You’re lovely, and sweet, and you saved me, and I…I mean, I meant it. You’re beautiful. Do you…I mean, is it rude if I ask for your name?

It isn’t rude, Laudna says. She fidgets her claws through the sand. No one’s ever asked. It’s Laudna.

Laudna, the girl says. That’s a really pretty name. I’m Imogen.

Imogen, Laudna says, and she watches little bits of the girl – no, Imogen – twitch. It suits you. I’m glad you have that name. I probably would have named you Emulsifiers.

Imogen makes a loud sound – one of those seal barks – and then covers her mouth again. Sorry, she says, sorry, that was – wow, that’s a great name. Pretty. I like the sound of it.

Do you?

Yeah.

I found it on – oh, look. Laudna pulls her bag around, scrabbles through it nervously, produces the bit of writing – already going all mushy and useless from the water, but the memory of it lingers. This! It said Roasted Peanuts, Corn Starch, Emulsifiers. 

Can I…Imogen says, and then suddenly her short stubby fingers are right next to Laudna’s fingers. Her whole hand. Warm and soft. No scales, no armor – like a crab once you’ve cracked it open. Only Laudna didn’t even need to crack Imogen open. Her soft self is right there for the taking.

One of Pâté’s rib bones jabs into Laudna’s scalp. “Ow!” she says, and also Yes, of course, here, take it. She puts the writing, very carefully, into Imogen’s hand. She doesn’t break skin with her claws.

Is it okay? Imogen says. You sort of, um…and then she (charmingly) reproduces the noise Laudna had made, a grating wail.

Oh, yes, Laudna says. That was Pâté, reminding me to be polite. 

Pâté lives in your hair, right?

Yes. He probably won’t want to speak to you, though, he’s quite shy.

“I’m not shy,” Pâté says. “D’you see all that fat on her chest? I’d sink my teeth into—”

Imogen says, You aren’t…I can’t understand you when you sing like that, Laudna.

“Rude,” says Pâté. “She can’t even tell our voices apart.”

“You’re embarrassing me,” Laudna hisses at him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – he’s being rude.

No, I don’t mind—

But Laudna minds. Imogen’s hand is so soft, and Imogen’s face is so soft – her lips – and she’s holding Laudna’s treasure so carefully in her hand, like she really thinks it’s treasure, like it’s not garbage. Even Laudna knows it’s garbage. She just pretends otherwise. She can’t bear the truth of it – the knowing – that the land-people look at the ocean as a place to throw all their ugly things, so they never have to look at them again. She wants so much to believe that it’s treasure. Usually she can convince herself, but not right now. Not right here. Not with Imogen looking at her like that.

I’m sorry, she says again, and she flips over and throws herself, like all other garbage, back into the sea.

“Wow,” says Pâté.

“Shut up.”

“You really messed that one up. Awful to watch.”

“I messed – you were the one who wouldn’t shut up about her fat deposits!”

Slyly, Pâté says: “Can you blame me?”

“Yes! I can!” Laudna swims deeper, deeper – to where the pressure begins to settle comfortingly on her shoulders, clinging tightly to her bones. Around her, the sea goes black; chunks of Laudna’s hair sift free from each other, and the white bits start to glow. Haloed in her own light, she goes down deep-deeper. “But it’s good,” she whispers to Pâté. “It’s good that you ruined everything for me. We aren’t supposed to talk to land-people, remember? Why didn’t you warn me earlier?”

Pâté doesn’t say anything. Overwhelmed by panic, Laudna snatches up a nearby fish before it can flee far enough; she sinks her teeth into it, devours it in three bites. “We don’t do that,” she mumbles, through a mouthful of soft flesh. “It’s bad. She was going to get those big lobster things. And they’d tangle us up again, Pâté.”

“Nobody’s ever tangled me up ‘cept you,” Pâté says proudly.

“Right,” Laudna says, “that was before your time. I forgot. Isn’t it funny that we used to not know each other?” There: the mouth of her cave. She tucks her elbows in so she’s slim enough to slip right through the jagged entrance, and then she’s safe. Finally safe. Safe safe safe safe safe. Everything is exactly where she left it – all around her is a reef’s worth of treasure, tucked between rocks and leaned up against walls and piled on top of itself, surrounding her with bright colors and land-words that have gone blurry this deep down. The algae she has coaxed to grow on the walls is glowing softly, reflecting her light back to her. This is her home. Why does she ever leave?

She fumbles her bag around, opens it – hardly anything this time, only the COCA-COLA shell and one of those small flat things that the land-people sometimes wear on their flippers. She puts that one carefully with the others, reaches back into her bag for—

“Oh no,” she says. “Oh no. Imogen took the words.”

“Nah,” Pâté says, “it’s fine, I got ‘em. Emulsifiers. Soybean.”

“There were more of the other ones. The…you know. With the angles.” Pâté obviously has no idea, so Laudna sighs and propels herself across the cave, over to her collection of words. All her friends: RIPTIDE WARNING and MISSING DOG and CAUGHT IN A COMPROMISING POSITION WITH HER MAID! and the rest. She finds the one she wanted, points to the 15% in GET 15% OFF WITH THIS COUPON!

“Like,” she says, “what is that?”

“’t’s when you get, you know, off,” Pâté says.

“Imogen would know what it is. Right? Because she’s—”

“We aren’t supposed to talk to land-people,” Pâté says dutifully.

“Right,” Laudna says. “Right. Because they’ll tangle me up again.”

“‘zactly.”

“You’re so smart, Pâté,” Laudna says, and she abruptly wants him – wants to see him – so she rummages through her hair until she can gently pull him free. So she can hold him in her hands.

She was starving, when she finally fought her way out of the tangle. When she managed to leap out of that horrible thing, and go splashing back into the ocean. It took everything she had to get to the dark-dark. And she was so dry – her hair was all clumpy, it couldn’t catch anything. She couldn’t catch anything. Too weak, too slow, too wounded, too terrified.

But he swam into her hair, and he stayed there. Like he wanted her to eat him. And when she ate him, she was careful: she ate around the bones, so she could put him back into the safety of her hair. And he was happy there. He told her he was happy there, with her. It’s been such a relief to have him. The world has been much less scary when she isn’t alone.

In her palms he’s quite small and very still. Despite her care and her precision, despite how hard she had fought her hunger, some of his bones are splintered from her teeth.

(Imogen would—)

“We should sleep,” Laudna says. “Long night. Exhausting!” Pâté must already be fatigued: he doesn’t answer. Laudna carefully nestles him into his silver shell, the one that gave him his name; she strokes his head with one finger, and then she goes to wedge herself into her little nook in the back of the cave. Slowly, all of her lights go out. She sleeps.

She doesn’t go back to the land the next night. She’s very busy. Hunting. Eating. Finding more algae. She has a lot of things to do! She has a life to live! This is where she’s meant to be, at the bottom of the ocean, where the dark hides her, where it feels like hands that touch her everywhere.

It takes her a few tries to get the eel. Her body works splendidly as a tool to tear things apart and devour them, but the precision work is always a little difficult – she breaks a lot of eel-bones, and then she has to go out and find a new eel, kill it, gut it, blah blah blah. It takes days and nights and days of catching an eel, killing it, bringing it back to the cave, carefully picking off the skin, getting the chunks of meat from between all those stupid little bones—

“Pâté,” she says, as she’s carefully wriggling a claw between two impossibly delicate ribs. “What do you think about Eel-mulsifier. Cute? Or way too obvious?”

“Lacks a certain subtlety,” Pâté says from his shell. “Is she going in your hair too? Ooh, I’ll bet she spawns like a salmon. Been a while since I’ve gotten to show off my—”

“Pâté. She can’t even lay eggs, she’s dead.”

“More’s the pity,” Pâté says mournfully. He lapses into a dreary melancholy as Laudna nibbles some meat out from under her talon. At least, she thinks it’s a dreary melancholy. Until Pâté says: “Bet Imogen’s got loads of eggs.”

Laudna’s hands spasm; all the little bones in the eel break. She lets the body go, but it’s too late: it’s all little broken lines of white, and dented flesh from where her hands gripped too tightly. Ruined. Another thing ruined. Another thing ruined, by Laudna, again.

Deep black sadness rises up in her throat. She had just wanted a friend. She had just wanted to have a second friend, because – oh, she loves Pâté, she does, he saved her life – but just – and maybe it would be different, with another woman. Maybe during the day, when Laudna was floating in her nook, she would come over and press the whole length of her body against Laudna’s and they would be tethered there, together, so they couldn’t float away—

—not that Emulsifier could do that, obviously, because she’s an eel. Was an eel. Now she’s just a corpse that leers vacantly in Laudna’s direction, until she snags it out of the water and shoves the whole thing into her mouth. It’s gone in seconds. That’s what she’s made for, after all. Ripping and tearing.

“I wish you hadn’t brought her up,” Laudna says, and her voice is very small.

Pâté’s silence is pointed. He leaves just enough space for Laudna to remember that he isn’t the one who brought Imogen up, because Pâté can’t bring anything up, because, well, and then he says, “Sorry. D’you want to go get another one?”

“What? What? No, I can’t – I’m not going to steal a land-person, can you imagine?!”

Pâté says, “I meant the eel.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Did I not?”

“Arguing with you is so irritating,” Laudna says. “Let’s just be friends again, alright?”

“Alright.”

“And fine, maybe I do want to go back up there and…not that Imogen would even come back. She just wanted to thank me. Why would she come back?”

“‘cause she thinks you’re beautiful.”

Laudna’s tail churns the water into a froth. “I’m not—” she says. “Agh. I would like – I mean – I’m curious, I’m just, those things with the angles. And the lights up there, and the – Imogen would know all those things, she would know. And she didn’t make those loud sounds at us when she saw us, and she didn’t – I just—”

“Don’t have to tell me,” Pâté says. “I think we go up there. And I’m always right.”

“You are so stupid,” Laudna hisses, “and so wrong! I shouldn’t have listened to you!”

Pâté’s silence is bashful and humbled. Laudna crawls along the edge of the water, scrabbling irritably through the sand – there isn’t even anything here tonight, just shells. She would love more words to read, she would croon in delight if she found a washed-up jellyfish to love. One of those thin shells that the land-people wear. Another COCA-COLA. Anything.

And yes, she’s sad that Imogen isn’t here! But she knew Imogen wouldn’t be here! Because why would Imogen come back! Laudna has only seen Imogen twice, and she has seen treasure on this beach countless times, and its absence upsets her, she came all the way here to—

Laudna?

Laudna feels that word everywhere: it shivers in her gills, lodges in her throat, strokes all the way down the itching length of her tail. She says, helplessly: Imogen. And then she looks up, and Imogen is there. Silver in that above-light. All the soft curves of her, all the strange angles: lovely.

Hi, Imogen says, the word like a starfish’s stomach – wobbling and exposed, left out on the rocks to starve. You’re back. I didn’t know…

Sorry, Laudna says, not that there’s any reason to be sorry – I was busy. Trying to get an eel skeleton. Absolutely terrible work, I don’t recommend it.

Oh yeah? Imogen says. She comes closer, approaching slowly. (She thinks she’s going to scare Laudna off.) (That Laudna’s going to swim away from her again.) (And she doesn’t want Laudna to swim away.) You know, I haven’t even seen an eel before. I know they’re, y’know, long. Her face moves around a lot. That was really stupid to say, sorry. Of course they’re long. I’m sorry. I’m just…it’s good to see you. I thought, you know, that first time, I thought maybe I dreamed you, just because I really, really wanted…but she doesn’t say what she really, really wanted. She just rests there. 

I can bring you an eel, Laudna says stupidly. I’ve sort of cleared them out around my cave, but I’ll find you one. Do you want it alive? They’re very…bitey. And annoying.

You don’t need to – not if it’s too much trouble. I don’t want you to get bitten.

Laudna hears her tail thrashing around in the water. It’s no trouble, she says, because suddenly it’s important – vital, essential – that Imogen see an eel, because she’s never seen one before. And Laudna sees them all the time. And she could bring one here, and she could be useful, and she could. And she could. And Imogen could. And she.

I mean, Imogen says, if it’s no trouble. She’s closer now. Up to her belly in the water; it carries her up, it sets her down again. Can she swim? Oh, Laudna wants to ask Pâté. But if she gets him started he’s going to talk about Imogen’s fat again, and Laudna already knows; her teeth are already aching.

No trouble, Laudna says, and she moves a little closer. Can you swim?

Yeah, I can swim.

Oh good. You people can’t breathe underwater, right?

No, we can’t. I’m – I’m sorry that I hit you, when you were carrying, um, holding…me…it’s just, I had to breathe.

That makes sense, Laudna says. I also need to breathe. Only, water. Obviously.

It’s a very stupid thing to say, but Imogen smiles when Laudna says it; her round teeth shine like a mouthful of pearls. Laudna is close enough to see each one of Imogen’s teeth, to see the little dark speckles all over her – like dustings of little scales, maybe, or like the dark marks on a blowfish. No, no, like grains of sand scattering. Tiny dark grains of sand.

Oh, Imogen says. I got…this is stupid, but, you know. She has a bag hooked over two shoulders; she pulls it around, begins to rummage, but a wave comes and wobbles her to the point where she could fall again, she keeps falling—

—only she can’t fall this time, because Laudna reaches out and catches hold of her arms. Again. She really shouldn’t. Land-people hate it when she touches them. When Imogen feels the touch of Laudna’s fingers, cold and stiff and sharp and briny, she’ll make one of those yipping wails and she’ll splash back to the shore and then Laudna won’t ever know what Imogen brought (for her!) (she brought something! for Laudna!), and then, and then…

And Laudna keeps waiting patiently for Imogen to flee, but Imogen doesn’t flee. She stays where she is; her eyes are wide enough for Laudna to see all the white edges of them. Her arms are so very soft, so very warm. It seems impossible for Laudna to not wrap her whole body around Imogen, coil her up and hold her and keep her. Just to let the warmth of her seep into Laudna, who is always – always – so, so cold.

You don’t need to be this deep, Laudna says. I need to, because, well, breathing, we’ve been over this, but you’re…

Yeah, Imogen says faintly, and then she blinks and her whole face turns red again. Sorry, she says. I didn’t mean – you keep saving me, huh?

I don’t know if I’d say that, Laudna says. There aren’t any rocks here, you’d only pop underwater for a moment or two. But still. I’m sorry, I’ll let go. Yes. I’ll let go. You know, you’re so…squishy.

(Laudna! What!)

(Why would you say that! Laudna!)

(Laudna! Why—)

(Oh, she knows.)

Um, Imogen says, thanks?

I’m so sorry, Laudna says, and she lets go, and she twists her fingers together nervously. I’m so – it was a compliment. I’m not great at this. I told you, I haven’t really spoken to any of you before. I like that you’re all very soft. It seems nice. I won’t touch you again, I promise, you don’t need to – I won’t–

It’s okay! Imogen says. It’s okay, I like – I’d also be curious. I mean, I am – I just, you can touch me if you want to. Whenever you want. If you want to. Oh my god. You know, I’m also not used to talking to…well, anyone? So, um, anyways, here’s this. And from her bag she hands Laudna a big sealed shell with words on it that say CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER. NET WT. 16 OZ (1 LB) 453G.

You said you didn’t know what it was, Imogen says. I’m sorry, I don’t even know if you can eat that.

I can eat anything, Laudna says; she turns the shell over in her hands. You brought this for me? Really? For me to eat?

For you. Yes.

Why?

As a thank you, Imogen says. And ‘cause it seems like you think this stuff is interesting. So.

I do! Laudna says. I do think it’s interesting. The shell is interesting – she loves it, she already loves it – she loves NET WT. and 16 and 1 and 453 and she loves that the shell was dry, when Imogen gave it to her, because it came from the land. She loves the fact that there is food inside of it (she is always so hungry). Laudna begins tapping on the shell gently, trying to find a weak point – but the whole thing is weak, it seems, so she just digs her claws in and neatly splits it in half.

There’s a lid? Imogen says.

A what?

Nothing, Imogen says. Nothing.

The inside of the peanut butter is thick, like the contents of a stomach; it’s about the same color. It doesn’t look like there’s anything sharp in there, or poisonous – Imogen eats this all the time – so Laudna just buries her face in and laps it up.

It tastes like thick water – like the ocean condensed, solidified, but only the best parts of it: the salt, the sweet. Laudna hears her own rattling trill of pleasure as she licks the inside of the shell clean. Peanut butter! she says. Peanut butter. I love this. This is all you eat? That makes sense, I wouldn’t eat anything else. It’s sweet. When half of the shell is clean, she lets her tongue roam around her mouth to hunt down any remains; she offers the other half of the shell back to Imogen.

Oh, Imogen says. No, no, it’s for you!

It can’t all be for me—

I bought it for you, Imogen says. It’s fine. I have more at home. 

But it’s sweet. 

She doesn’t know how to explain that in a way that would make Imogen take it – and maybe Imogen is used to things that are sweet, the same way she’s used to people being soft. So it’s nothing to her. But it isn’t – it isn’t nothing. It’s sweet.

She keeps holding that half-shell out, desperate and wanting; after a moment, Imogen reaches out and takes it from Laudna’s offering hand. You’re really nice, she says. I told you, I don’t need it.

I don’t mind sharing with you, Laudna says. Also, what’s bought?

Bought?

You said you bought it. What’s bought?

Uhhh, Imogen says. It’s – hm. Like when – well. Um. I can show you?

Oh good. That would be very helpful.

I mean, Imogen says, I can show you. She gestures the fingers of her free hand towards her head. I can put it in your head.

That’s incredible! You’re very special.

Imogen’s face does more things. You don’t mind?

Why would I mind? I can’t exactly go see it myself, can I?

I guess you can’t, Imogen says, and her eyelids slap shut over her eyes—

Wait, Laudna says, and Imogen’s eyes open again.

Yeah, she says wryly, it freaks most people out. I thought you’d change your mi—

What? Laudna says. No, not that. I was going to ask if I should hold onto you. If you’re going to close your eyes.

Oh, Imogen says. Really?

Really.

Yeah, Imogen says. That’d be great. Thanks.

Really?

Imogen smiles again: a flash of those charming teeth. Really really.

This time Laudna closes her hands over Imogen’s hips: the place were her belly would meet her tail, if she were – if she were. She hears Imogen make a little sound, but she doesn’t tell Laudna to stop. She just lets Laudna hold her there.

Thanks, Imogen says, and she closes her eyes again. And then

they’re inside a cave, only the cave is all angles, and there are things everywhere. Some of them Laudna recognizes – bright skins and shells she has picked up and stowed away, only here they are on land with all their guts inside. Schools and schools of them. Reefs of them, everywhere. And Imogen – oh, she’s Imogen! – in front of a rock, a strange rock, and on the other side of the rock is another land-person, and Laudna recognizes the look on their face. She needs to warn Imogen, she needs to tell her: that means they’re going to tangle you up, catch you and drag you out of the ocean, they’re going to, they’re, and you’ll just be hanging there, up above the, and the, scream but no one will. Because they never. Like another gill opening. And the horrible way when. The no-water, it doesn’t dilute, it just falls, red, “That’ll be six ninety-nine.”

“Okay,” Imogen says, in the world she is showing to Laudna in their minds. She hands a scale over the rock, and the other land-person takes the scale, and slides it through – oh, Laudna doesn’t even know what to call it. Another rock. (She knows it isn’t a rock.) And then the land-person hands Imogen the peanut butter and the scale and they say, “Look, I’m not gonna stop you from buying some damn peanut butter, but can you just stop coming in when other people are

It goes away, and Laudna opens her eyes – she is back in the sea (wonderful!) and Imogen is there (spectacular!) and it’s dark and no one is trying to hurt either of them and she is holding onto Imogen, so Imogen doesn’t float away. 

Did that help? Imogen says.

Not at all, Laudna says, but I liked seeing it. Thank you for sharing it with me.

Sorry, Imogen says, about that part at the end.

Which part?

Imogen’s mouth opens and closes and opens and closes, like she’s a fish washed up on the sand.

Oh! Laudna says. You were speaking! You were making sounds, in the – I understood you! Oh, that’s amazing. You have so many little pauses and crunches in your words. Like you’re chewing on them. It’s interesting, but it seems…effortful. Why don’t you all just talk like this?

Imogen doesn’t say anything; she looks away from Laudna, out towards the ocean. Does she want – but she can’t, she can't breathe water. And she wouldn’t – nothing can make it from up here to down there, to where Laudna lives. Nothing except Laudna. Everything else gets crushed into wet pieces. And she doesn’t want Imogen to get crushed; she wants her to stay here, being soft and touched by Laudna.

After a moment, Imogen says: I’m the only one who can talk like this. So people don’t really like it. They don’t want me in their head.

Why not?

Imogen’s eyes become small oceans, dripping salt water slowly. I don’t know, she says. They just don’t.

Well, Laudna says, I like it. I like talking to you. I’m glad it was you, who could talk like this. If it was someone else I doubt they would have been as generous, or as kind.

Imogen’s face is red; her eyes are still leaking. Thanks, she says. Yeah. Thanks. I’m gonna – I actually have to go?

Oh! Laudna says. She lets Imogen go, flicks her tail to send herself backwards. I said something wrong. I’m sorry. 

No! Imogen says. No, no, you’re amazing. I really do just have to go. I have to eat this, right? And she holds up her half of the peanut butter, gives Laudna another one of those lovely smiles. Laudna smiles back – remembers her teeth – closes her mouth, tries to smile again. 

Laudna? Imogen says.

Imogen.

Is it alright if I…touch you back?

The thought of it thrills Laudna, makes her shiver. If you want to… she says. Not the gills, please, they’re sensitive.

Of course, Imogen says. I just…and she swims a little bit closer, and she holds out her arms towards Laudna and then bends them around Laudna’s body so she’s surrounding Laudna, in a way, like an otter holding a rock. An Imogen holding a Laudna.

What is this? Laudna asks.

Imogen doesn’t say anything, for a moment, and then she says: It’s a hug. It’s just…you do it with other people, ‘cause you like them. You hold onto each other.

So I hold you back?

Only if you want to—

She does, she wants to; she tangles her arms around Imogen, she holds onto her. Like an otter holding a rock. Like Laudna holding onto a squid, biting and chewing and swallowing and biting and chewing and swallowing and biting and biting and biting until it stopped moving, and wasn’t alive anymore, and was just food for Laudna to eat and want more of. So soft. Her face pressed to Imogen’s hair, which isn’t at all like Laudna’s hair – Laudna wants to make a nest of it, she wants to fill up her cave with it. She would sleep so well and so deeply, if this was all around her. She could make a home of Imogen. If she was willing to tear Imogen apart for it.

I think, Laudna says, we should stop the hug now.

Right, Imogen says, and lets go. But I’ll…I’ll see you again? Will you be here tomorrow?

She misses touching Imogen. Yes, she says. Yes. Yes. Yes! I can be here tomorrow. Absolutely. Yes.

It’s a date, Imogen says, and then: You don’t know what that is, do you.

I don’t.

It’s nothing, Imogen says. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Laudna.

Bye, Laudna says, and she keeps herself in place – she watches Imogen paddle back to the edge of the water, get back onto the land and go away. She stops once she has both her flippers on the ground; she turns around, she looks at Laudna. When she sees that Laudna’s still there she smiles, and lifts a hand, and flaps it around. Then she walks away.

The water is a froth of blood and flecks of internal organs; Laudna is surrounded by the bodies, which stare at her with eyes as reflective and empty as pools of still water. Judging her. Watching her. Blaming her, for everything she’s done.

She reaches out to touch one of them, pulls her hand back. Another – but she can’t bring herself to do it. She can’t reach out and touch them.

“Pâté,” she says, “What do I do?”

Horribly, he doesn’t answer her; she sucks in new red water through her gills, tries again. “Pâté?” she says. “Pâté?”

“Wow,” Pâté says. “You remembered me, huh?”

“Oh,” Laudna sighs in relief, “you are here. I didn’t hear you, I thought – of course I remember you! How could I forget you, Pâté?”

“You haven’t talked to me all night and all day. Just been ignoring me.”

Laudna hurts with the idea of his heart, she is ruinously lonely at the concept of his loneliness. She fumbles for him through the lengths of her hair, her bloody fingers smearing the strands. She brushes a knuckle against the top of his head. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry. I love you, Pâté. You’re my very dearest friend. I shouldn’t have silenced you. What did you want to say?”

Pâté nudges his little head against her hand, or at least she can pretend he does. “Aw, don’t be sad, Laudna. I’m not mad at you. I’d never be mad at you.”

“You’re allowed to be mad at me. I haven’t spoken to you all day.”

“You were busy killin’ eels.”

“I was busy killing eels,” Laudna says, and she gloomily confronts them: eels upon eels upon eels, their bodies limp in the water of her cave. Striped eels and speckled ones, plain ones and vividly-colored ones, coiled lengths of eels and ones as wide around as a throat. She says: “I think I killed too many.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say so.”

“But she’s never seen one before.”

“Do the striped one,” Pâté says. “It’s black ’n white, and she liked that about you.”

“Did she?” Laudna says. Her tail churns the water, sends the dead eels bumping vaguely around her cave. “Do you think so? Really? It was dark, she probably couldn’t tell.”

“I think so,” Pâté says. “And you’re gonna save one of the little ones for me, right? ‘cause you promised.”

“I did, I did.” Laudna twists her fingers together. “I won’t break it this time. Her. I won’t break her this time. Not even a little bit. And I’ll put you two close together, so you can do a hug if you want. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“I ain’t got arms.”

“Boo, Pâté, learn to improvise.”

“Why?” he says. “I’m perfect as I am.”

“True, true, you really are.” Laudna reaches out and catches the striped eel – almost as long as her tail, its white broken up by occasional irregular stripes of black, the black broken again by flecks of white. Pâté was right: of all the (too) many eels she has hunted in the last day, this one feels like her the most. She hooks her fingers in its jaw and wiggles it. “Hi!” says the eel. “I like your cave!”

“Thank you so much,” she croons. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah! Really nice! I’m so glad you brought me down here, Laudna. I like talking to you a lot.”

“Oh, you’re too sweet. Maybe I should keep you, what do you think?”

“But I want to meet Imogen!” 

“Well, if you want to meet Imogen, I suppose I’ll have to take you up to the surface! Should I maybe do something about…you know…”

“About what?”

Laudna looks at the mess of wounds on the eel, the places where she’d torn it open and ruined its lovely colors. “Hm,” she says. “You’re just sort of…ragged. I really chewed you up. Oh, I should choose a different—”

“But this way she can see what a good hunter you are! She’ll be impressed. I thought it was amazing, how quickly and brutally you killed me.”

“Oh, stop.”

“And she hunted that peanut butter for you—” The immersion breaks; the eel was obviously nowhere near that conversation, and Laudna hasn’t mentioned it at all, so there’s no way that could be plausible. She growls and pushes the carcass away; then she lunges after it, to grab it again. To hold it in her hands. To fit her fingers perfectly into its wounds: a hug. No, no, not a hug. When you’re hugging someone, it isn’t because you hurt them. There shouldn’t be blood involved. Surely. Imogen would know.

Laudna catches one of the other eels, bites its head off; she chews through the muscle and the meat and the bone, she pops its eyes with her teeth. She chews all the way down it until she’s slurping up the last of its tail and it’s gone. Then she considers: is she still hungry?

Yes. Yes, she’s still hungry.

“Alright,” Laudna sighs, and she eats the next eel, and the next, and the next, and the next—

When Laudna surfaces, Imogen is all folded up on the land; she has her flippers stuffed underneath the sand, and she’s looking up at the lights. As soon as Laudna breaks the surface, Imogen’s eyes turn away from the lights and find Laudna. And Imogen smiles.

Hi, she says.

Hi, Laudna says. I brought an eel. She slowly raises the eel’s head above the water, waggles it around, realizes that’s stupid, pulls it under the water again.

Was that it, just now? Imogen says. I can’t see, sorry – actually, do you mind…I found a cave, over there, (she flaps a hand towards the cliff) would you?

I would love to see your cave!

Imogen unfolds herself, grabs her things. I mean, she says, it isn’t really my cave. I don’t know if it’s anyone’s cave.

If there’s no one living in it, Laudna says, and no one comes to kill you for staying there, that means it’s your cave.

Then I guess this is our cave, Imogen says, and she begins to move along the sand.

The amount of feelings inside of Laudna is painful; she lets herself duck under the water completely, where she can coil up and gnaw on her hair and feel too much. All these things, like a row of teeth biting into her one by one: Imogen came, she came back, she’s here, but she doesn’t want to come into the water (which makes sense! she needs to breathe!), she doesn’t want Laudna to hold her up she doesn’t think Laudna can do it, and Laudna gets to see Imogen’s cave, which is her home, and she’s never been in anyone’s cave before, and then after all of that Imogen had said our. Nothing in the entire ocean is our, and certainly nothing on land is either. But this is. It could be. Laudna’s and Imogen’s. Ours ours ours.

Imogen’s voice pecks timidly at the edge of her mind: Are you still there? Sorry, that was—

No, Laudna says, I mean, yes, I’m still here – I’d like that. If it was our cave. I can grow algae there, I’m good at growing algae. Oh, I could put the eel there! The meat will all fall off of it after a few days, and the bones—

—and the words all spill out of her, like blood out of a bite-wound. We could, we could, I could, you could. All of these sounds trail behind Laudna in the water, dark and painful and irresistible to any hungry thing – she may as well scream it into the water, I’m weak, I’m only good for killing. But when Laudna surfaces, overwhelmed and stinging with emotion, Imogen is still there. Picking her way over the rocks. Not killing Laudna. Not even wanting to.

Be careful? Laudna says. I can’t reach you.

Imogen steadies herself on the rocks, looks out into the water – she always finds Laudna instantly, she knows just where to look to see her. (And she wants to see Laudna.) (She doesn’t want to look away.) When she meets Laudna’s eyes, she smiles. She says: I will. Thank you.

Laudna pushes herself forward, finds the little break in the rocks where the tide rushes through; she follows the ocean into the cave. It’s bigger than Laudna’s cave, but they both have the same amount of water – the water is deep here, enough for Laudna to stretch her tail out fully and not reach the bottom, but most of the cave is empty. Some of it is rock and some of it is something like land. Some of it is Imogen, because Imogen has followed at her own slow pace after Laudna; she crawls over the rocks until she is on the little-land, she folds her body up on the land again.

Tah-dah, she says. Oh, wait, shit, I gotta—and she sifts through her bag until she finds something, and she pulls it out and touches it and – suddenly, blindingly – it becomes light. With her hands, she makes the light.

Okay, Imogen says. Tah-dah. She shifts, drops her flippers in the water. She has weird little hands on the ends, which Laudna didn’t realize before, because Imogen always had – can she grab things with those? it doesn’t seem like—

Oh! Laudna says. She swims closer, close enough to reach out and pull Imogen into the water. (Not that she would.) Sorry! she says. Right! What’s tah-dah.

It’s…Imogen says, but she stops talking; she looks at Laudna, her eyelids close over her eyes a few times. She says, You have blood, sort of…and she touches the corner of her own mouth, drags her fingers over her soft face. Laudna watches Imogen’s hands; she watches Imogen’s fingers; she watches Imogen, and forgets what Imogen was talking about, and her teeth ache. 

Laudna? Imogen says.

Imogen? Laudna says, and then her mind catches up to her: Oh! Blood. Yes. The eel. Right. Here, I’ll—and she heaves the dead eel up onto the land so she can duck underwater and rub her face clean. Then she stays underwater for another moment or two, because she is suddenly shy – afraid that Imogen won’t like what Laudna hunted for her, terrified that Imogen will make one of those rough sounds and flee the cave. The teeth will be too much; the eel will be too much, and after all Imogen only saw the flash of Laudna’s tail for a moment—

This thing is huge, Imogen says. You…that’s not your blood, on your face, is it?

No, it’s not mine, I didn’t get – they’re really very easy to kill. You just sort of lure them out and then, you know, break them. Laudna slowly lets her eyes rise above the surface of the water, watches – Imogen isn’t fleeing, isn’t wailing, isn’t making a tangle-face. She’s just looking down at the eel. Her face is actually soft – well, it’s always soft, but it’s – it’s different. The way she looks at the food Laudna brought for her. Her own light shining in her eyes.

Do you like it? Laudna says.

Imogen smiles: guts spilling out of a wound, soft and pink and tender. I love it, Laudna, she says. Thank you so much. I can’t believe I just got you peanut butter, I’m really gonna have to step up my game.

I liked the peanut butter, Laudna says; she comes closer, drawn helplessly towards the lure-light. You can keep the eel. I don’t think you can bite through it right now, but once it starts falling apart you can eat it and it’s soft.

I’m not sure that’ll work for me, Imogen says. No offense. I’m not as tough as you.

Good. Laudna is so close now; so much of her is above the water, so close to Imogen, and Imogen could, if she wanted to: red. And Laudna, red. And Laudna, saying, I like that you’re soft.

Imogen makes a soft noise; she looks at Laudna, she looks right at Laudna. Her eyes wide, her face: red. She licks her lips. She says, You still have a little bit of blood on your mouth.

Oh, Laudna says, do I? She rubs at her mouth with the back of her hand, feels nothing.

I can get it, Imogen says. She leans forward, towards the open water; she touches her thumb to Laudna’s mouth.

A shiver grabs Laudna in its teeth and shakes her; she is frozen, helpless, caught again in a tangle she can’t escape from. Her teeth ache, her scales ache. Her eyes go wide. Warmth rolls over her in waves. She flickers her eyelids again and again and again but the light doesn’t go away – it’s scarred there, permanent, Imogen’s light and Imogen’s finger touching her and changing her and leaving a mark. And when they’d first come for her, hanging there in that tangle, she had really thought they were going to touch her. Just like this. She had thought they were going to be gentle.

Is this okay? Imogen says. 

Yes, Laudna says; she can hear the hunger in her voice, the way it is as black and heavy as the deep-deepest water. She tries again: Of course. I don’t want any blood on my face.

I think I got it, Imogen says. She’s moving her thumb again and again over Laudna’s mouth. She says: Should I stop?

No, Laudna says, I don’t want you to stop. What she wants: to grab onto Imogen and take her away, down to the deep black pit of Laudna’s heart. She wants to tuck Imogen away in a cave with all her other treasures, she wants Imogen to be home in Laudna’s home, she wants Imogen – soft Imogen, sweet Imogen – to be safe with her. 

Imogen’s other fingers touch Laudna’s face; they stroke carefully past Laudna’s nostrils until Imogen’s hand is holding Laudna’s cheek. And Laudna wants to curl up around her and feel her warm heart beating in the cold water. And Laudna wants to eat her, so much, so terribly. And Laudna wants Imogen to give up her eggs on the floor of their cave, our cave, Imogen and Laudna’s cave, and Laudna would fertilize them, and when all the babies hatched Imogen and Laudna would eat them and then they wouldn’t be hungry anymore. They would never be hungry again – Imogen would never be hungry again. Laudna would feed her, Laudna would take care of her. Laudna would steal all the colors from the land, and all the peanut butter and all the light, and she would bring it back to Imogen, and Imogen wouldn’t ever be lonely.

Laudna, Imogen says. Her eyes are full of water. God. Laudna. I want that too.

Did I say that out loud? Laudna says, and sure enough when she listens she can hear herself singing: “Come down with me, swim down with me, tangle yourself with me. I can make you feel good. Come here, come be close to me. Press your body to mine. I don’t care which one of us bites down.”

Imogen leans closer, over the water. Her eyes are blinding light and crushing dark; her mouth is a little bit open. She says, Can I kiss you? Laudna?

I don’t know what that means, Laudna says.

It’s…Imogen says, and then her words dissolve into a current of feeling: longing and hunger and loneliness and hunger and tenderness, hunger, and Laudna’s mouth – its rows of thin translucent teeth, its black and bloody lips – and the way Imogen sees that mouth: lovely. 

Oh, Laudna says, yes, and Imogen presses her mouth to Laudna’s mouth and kisses her.

It feels, at first, like Imogen can’t commit to it: she can’t make herself brave enough to start biting, ripping and tearing, chewing and swallowing. Laudna doesn’t mind waiting for her; she keeps her mouth just where it is, open, for Imogen to do as she’d like with it. Both of Imogen’s hands are on Laudna’s face now, which feels wonderful. Imogen’s mouth feels wonderful too – pink and sweet, full of water. Like a heart.

And then Imogen leans back and breathes. Was that okay? she says.

Oh! That was the kiss!

Imogen’s entire body turns red, like she’s an octopus and Laudna’s gotten too close. Yeah, she says, that was the…yep.

Laudna considers it. Imogen’s mouth, toothless against her mouth; Imogen’s hands, gentle and un-sharp against her face. She feels stupid once it all comes together – everything Imogen has done has been the same thing. Telling Laudna: I could bite you, but I won’t bite you. I could kill you, but I won’t kill you. I could hurt you, but I won’t hurt you – I don’t want to hurt you – I just want to be close to you, as close as I can be. I can make you feel good. Tangle yourself with me.

I get it, Laudna says. Can we do it again? I do understand it, this time, I think. And I think I can do better than that.

Imogen makes a loud, happy sound; her face crushes into a smile, like the pressure is holding her gently instead of breaking her. Wow, she says. Yeah, show me.

Laudna shows her. She puts her hands on the rock on either side of Imogen, pushes herself up and up and up until Imogen can see her, really see her: her teeth, her scales, her gills, her scars, the dead and dying things all tangled in her hair. Later Laudna will name all of her prey with Imogen, and give Imogen whatever she wants to keep – except Pâté, obviously – and if Imogen wants any of the mollusks Laudna will break them open for her with her hands. They can trade catches and kills and stories and secrets, they can touch each other, they can fill up their matching lonelinesses, they can satiate each other’s hungers.

But all of that comes later. For now, Laudna just leans down and touches her mouth to Imogen’s mouth. She shows her exactly how soft she can be.