nautical

[aetheling]

Cymbeline doesn't really like boats, but they're the only way to get anywhere in a reasonable period of time, especially when "anywhere" isn't on the mainland. Today he is sailing to Vectis, to oversee the change of governorship; his father the king is needed for courtly matters back home and his mother the queen, despite being the source of his royal blood, declines to involve herself in affairs of state when she can avoid it. Zoyah takes more after Ranae than after Charles in this department. So, it falls to Cymbeline.

Walking on a boat is even more difficult than walking on land, and Cymbeline is no great shakes at the latter to begin with. Unfortunately, neither he nor Kerem, the court magician and Cymbeline's confidante, have been able to figure out how to apply the principles of practicable magic to alleviating princely clumsiness. So Cymbeline is clinging to the railing of the boat, watching the waves, trying to avoid having to walk anywhere.

Comments

[treasuresuntold]

"I like my voice," Ariel points out. But she doesn't point it out very hard.

[alicornucopia]

"But my dear," says the witch, "so do I."

[treasuresuntold]

Ariel snorts.

"Whatever, then."

[alicornucopia]

"Now," says the witch, "you are absolutely welcome to keep the set of legs indefinitely. However, my personal skills run more towards the encapsulation and the transference, not so much to the sticking. They have ludicrous numbers of practical magicians on land, I'm sure you won't have any trouble getting someone to attach them permanently if you like them. If you can't, they'll come off and you'll have a tail again, but I can reattach them for another try, no extra charge." She plucks the glass containing the legs off its coral shelf. "Do we have a deal, my dear?"

[treasuresuntold]

She tosses her head; her hair flows out behind her.

"Yeah."

[alicornucopia]

"Excellent," the witch grins, "this may sting even before you walk on them, be a dear and don't move," and she reaches for Ariel's throat; her grip is firm, but not painful.

The transfer takes about five minutes of humming concentration, and the moving shape in the glass changes, and Ariel's tail is sliced right through the middle and changed.

[treasuresuntold]

She only wriggles a little bit. (It tickles.)

[alicornucopia]

"All done," says the witch, grinning from ear to ear, "you have fun!"

[treasuresuntold]

Ariel opens her mouth to say 'thank you'.

She makes a face, then shrugs.

Swimming with feet is hard - she misses her flukes already - but she gets the hang of it after a few false starts, and she leaves the witch's reef, and she heads for the surface.

[agnatic]

The beach where Zoyah's brother washed up isn't too far from the palace. Zoyah is poking around idly, looking for any signs of a speaking seal or a dolphin with hands or (Kerem's outlandish notion) a mermaid. So far she hasn't found much.

[treasuresuntold]

A woman with green hair and bluish-greenish skin pops her head up out of the water and climbs awkwardly onto the shore.

[agnatic]

Zoyah stares at her.

"Uh, hi," she says, "do you want to borrow my overskirt?" She poises her hands over the buttons.

[treasuresuntold]

She smiles cheerfully and doesn't answer.

[agnatic]

"I think you had better borrow my overskirt," says Zoyah. She unbuttons it - she's got three layers on under it; it's a chilly day. "Here. What happened to you? Did you almost drown like Cymbeline? He washed up here the other day, saw funny tracks in the sand, but I don't see anything weirder than you around. Speaking of which, where did you get those colors transferred from? Who did the magic on them? They're a good look on you."

[treasuresuntold]

The stranger takes the skirt and holds it up questioningly over her unclothed crotch. She doesn't speak.

Then she makes a face, and takes a deep breath, and water flushes out of long green streaks along her ribs. She bundles the skirt into one hand and uses the other to brush sand away from her gills.

[agnatic]

"Youuuu have gills," observes Zoyah. "...Um, the skirt, you wear, it, you step into it and then button it up."

[treasuresuntold]

When she exhales, her gills flutter a little and then settle back into place, just faint unobtrusive stripes along her sides.

She fiddles with the skirt a little, manages to get one foot into it, manages the other, pulls it up around her knees. It is upside-down and covered in damp sand. She is still sitting down.

[agnatic]

"Other way around," says Zoyah of the skirt, gesturing, "And you have to stand up, to get it on right, and you've got sand all over it, don't they have skirts where you're from?"

[treasuresuntold]

The stranger gives Zoyah a look, then throws up her hands.

[agnatic]

"Do you even speak Loegrian?" asks Zoyah. "Um, wave your hand if you understand me?"

[treasuresuntold]

No hands are waved. She fusses with the skirt a little more, managing to drag it up over her hips without standing up, and then she gets it aligned the same way it was on Zoyah, albeit inside-out, unbuttoned, and full of sand.

With the buttons undone, it neglects to cover the crucial area. The stranger does not appear to notice this deficiency. She's wearing a halter top of some kind of grey leather, so she does know how clothes work, but lower-body coverings don't seem to be her area of expertise.

[agnatic]

"Parlis Aquitaniais?" tries Zoyah. "Latinitas?" (She is a well-educated princess.)

[treasuresuntold]

Uncomprehending blankness.

[agnatic]

Zoyah holds up her hands in a nonthreatening gesture and moves to button the skirt for the strange green person.

[treasuresuntold]

The strange green person watches her approach, then shrugs and allows this.