“About?”
“Us being useless wastes of space?”
I pondered the idea and then brushed it aside. “Absolutely not. We’re far too good looking.” I said, hoping like hell that being beautiful counted. “We just need to find our gifts. Poseidon said we had some. And if that green haired bastard said we have gifts then we have fucking gifts. While I have no clue what in the Seven Seas he was talking about, I find comfort that the fashion challenged God of the Sea believes in us.”
“Mom said he was drunk when he told her that,” Kurt pointed out unhelpfully.
“Your point?” I asked not following.
“Umm, no point, just an observation. Do you want me to punch you in the head?” my brother offered politely.
Normally a good left hook to my cranium woke me up and got me going. But…
“Thank you, but no,” I said, surprising both of us. “Something is very wrong here.”
“Ya think?” Kurt asked, on the verge of a panic attack. “I don’t even want to hit you. That’s never been the case in three hundred years. What would Aquaman do in this situation?”
“Which one?” I asked. “The Super Friends, Marvel, Smallville, Justice League or Jason Momoa Aquaman?”
Kurt shook his head and stared at me. “You watch entirely too much television.”
“It’s a legitimate question,” I countered with an eye roll. Aquaman was our go to guy when we couldn’t figure shit out. However, the advice we gleaned from our hero rarely worked out which was why I started compiling the vast knowledge of all the Aquamen. “There are at least fifty.”
“Fine,” Kurt said. “Umm… Jason Momoa. What would he do?”
“He has a mate. That sexy Lisa Bonet who I bet does his laundry and knows where to find fishy bags of food,” I shouted as the realization of our dire situation really sank in. Maybe getting a mate was the answer. Well shite, that wasn’t an option at the moment. The only one I’d ever really wanted didn’t want me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine why.
“We’re screwed,” Kurt said.
“Son of a fucking seahorse, we’re going to have go to Sven the insane Crab Pirate,” I told my brother with a shudder. “No choice here. If we starve to death no one will find us because we were deserted by our parents—who are supposed to love and protect their children.”
“Umm… we’re not exactly children,” Kurt said.
He had me there… However, I had an answer for everything with absolutely no regard to making sense.
“But we’re clearly helpless,” I shot back in triumph. “Look at the mess we made. Only helpless boner waffles could blow up a kitchen while using a microwave. Right?”
“Right!” Kurt agreed and then paused. “Wait, we kind of sound like idiots.”
I paced and mulled over his observation. “Correct. We’ll keep that intel confidential. Won’t help us with the ladies. However, we still have to go to Sven.”
“He wants to kill us,” Kurt reminded me.
“This is true. However, we’re extremely difficult to kill. Case in point, we were in the kitchen when it blew up and we’re fine for the most part. I mean, you’re missing some hair on the left side of your head and my eyebrows have taken a brief holiday from my face, but we’re still here.”
“You’re right,” Kurt said, feeling proud. “Let’s get ready to go beg the Crab for help and possibly an invite to dinner. Should we change clothes?” he asked looking down at his singed beachwear.
“Nope, don’t have any clean ones. I have a better idea. Insult me,” I insisted. “That will make both of us feel better and get us ready to take on the undead crustacean.”
Kurt’s brow wrinkled in concentration as he thought. It was impressive.
“Pompous butt hammer,” he shouted.
“Wonderful,” I shouted back at him and then went for it. “Pie eating bitch clown.”
“Yessssss,” Kurt bellowed, giving me a high five. “Dumbass shart hound.”
“You da man,” I yelled, grinning at my disgusting brother. “Dickface butt socket.”
“Let’s go see Sven!” Kurt screamed, sprinting out of the house pumped up on insults like a body builder on steroids.
“Right behind you!”
We were going to be just fine.
Or else our parents would eventually find our starving, pathetic Selkie carcasses in shallow graves on Sven’s property…
* * *
“Yarr rapscallions are trespassing. Yarr better take yarr pegged legged salty nards off me land or ye will be dancin’ the hempen jig,” Sven roared standing in the doorway of his remarkably attractive bungalow.
“What the hell did he just say?” Kurt whispered.
“No fucking clue, but I’m pretty sure he’s not inviting us in,” I muttered under my breath.
“Yarr picaroons put arse paper in me yard before a monsoon. It’s still stuck in me trees, ye eejits,” Sven bellowed.
The man was huge and pissed. The Crab Shifter Pirate stood about six foot five and had pinchers instead of hands. His hair was a grizzled iron grey and there wasn’t a speck of fat on the mean old bastard.
“About that,” I said, stepping out in front of my brother. “Kurt would like to apologize for toilet papering your yard. He was drunk.”
“What?” Kurt hissed, punching me in the back of the head and sending me flying across the lawn. “You’re blaming me, you arrogant ass whacker? It was your idea.”
“Dude, I’m trying to save our lives here. You’re being a jack nard,” I shouted.
“Whose life?” Kurt demanded. “Yours? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’re not saving mine, you lame ass badonkadonk sniffer.”
“All right that’s it,” I grunted as I tackled my ungrateful sibling and nailed him with a solid right hook.
“Is that all you got, tap dancing wedgie puffer?” Kurt snarled as he put me in a chokehold and yanked my boxer briefs up my crack.
“Low blow, chunky tool stump,” I screeched as I tried to twist out of his hold.
It was a smack down free for all and neither of us was winning. However, neither of us was losing either.
“Enough,” Sven roared and separated us, picking us up with his pinchers and tossing us to opposite sides of the yard. “Yarr are getting on me last nerve. Yarr sound like twelve year old human boys. It’s no wonder yarr are single—no lassie would have an eejit like ye. I don’t have time for this shite. I was right in the middle of me program.”
“What were you watching, Mr. Pirate Sven?” Kurt asked.
Sven grinned and I inwardly cursed my brother’s good manners… again.
“Waterworld,” Sven replied. “Finest cinema ever made.”
“That movie sucks,” I muttered and then shut my pie hole as Sven growled.
“Don’t ye be badmouthin’ Waterworld, ye puke bellied rope burn,” Sven said.
“I liked Waterworld,” the kiss ass Kurt volunteered.
“Still say it sucked,” I announced. I had to stand up for what was right. “You should watch Sharknado or Avalanche Shark. Now those are movies.”
Sven’s eyes narrowed dangerously and I swallowed the damning knowledge of the box office receipts of Waterworld. There was no way in Poseidon’s Seven Seas we’d be invited to dinner if I shared those dismal facts. I wasn’t sure we’d be invited to dinner regardless, but no reason to piss the Crab off even more.
“State yarr business and then get yarr arses off me property,” Sven grunted, folding his arms over his massive chest and eyeing us with distrust.
“Umm, okay,” I said, wondering what Aquaman would do in this situation. I knew our business had to be good—really good. Sven wasn’t exactly fond of us. “We’re being chased by evil government-backed, underwater, genetically enhanced water buffalo. It’s a crises of epic proportions and we’re out of sustenance at the moment. We were curious if you had any cereal or possibly some ice cream to spare.”
“Are ye daft?” Sven snapped with an eye roll
. “That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard in all me years. Try again.”
Glancing over at Kurt, I realized he was going to be useless in this exercise. He simply didn’t watch enough television to come up with a semi plausible scenario. Fine. I was on my own here.
Not a problem.
“The Loch Ness Monster is in menopause and wants to eat Puerto Rico and we have to stop her, but we’re out of Lucky Charms,” I said, making direct eye contact so my story could possibly be construed as truth.
Sven shook his head in disgust and waited for another one.
“Okay… umm … Fishermen are catching Mermaids and shrinking them to miniature sizes to put them into cans of tuna as prizes. This is horrifying and a waste of some really hot chicks. In order to save the innocent sex pots from this dastardly fate, we’ll be needing some pizza and cake,” I tried again.
“Clearly ye was dropped on yerr head as a child—more than once,” Sven muttered. “Get ye gone. Yerr idiocy is making me gassy.”
Kurt slapped the back of my head and hissed in my ear. “We gotta tell him the truth.”
“Says who?” I asked.
“It’s what Aquaman would do.”
Shite. He was correct. We were fucked and lies were bad. My lies were particularly bad.
“Fine,” I said. “Our parents deserted us. I have no clue why. It was very irresponsible of them, but they seemed very keen on doing it. Kurt blew up the kitchen and we ate fifty boxes of cereal and twelve frozen casseroles.”
“Go on,” Sven said as he made himself comfortable on a wooden bench on his front porch.
“The green haired, jackwad of the sea told our mother—who clearly doesn’t love us anymore—that we had gifts.”
“Who in the hell are ye talking about, boy?” Sven asked.
“Poseidon,” Kurt volunteered, helping me out. “The drunken, green haired, fashion impaired God of the Sea.”
“Aye.” Sven nodded in understanding and waited for more.
“So our dad, for lack of a better word, told us to talk to you if we had any trouble after their unwarranted desertion. We were hoping you might know our gifts… or want some dinner guests,” I finished lamely.
The Crab clacked his pinchers together and observed us. Rolling his eyes and muttering in disgust, he clearly wasn’t impressed with what he saw or heard. Kurt immediately began doing his big eyed look that he always gave our mom after he’d demolished part of the house. It was a smart move—usually worked. I joined him.
“What’s wrong with ye dumbarses? Yarr got sand in yarr eyes?” Sven questioned in confusion. “Ye look weird.”
“Shite,” I mumbled. “We’re out of tricks.”
Kurt gave me a pathetic look. I could tell he was starving or maybe he had gas from the casseroles. No matter. It was time to find my inner fucking Jason Momoa and save the day.
“We’re fucked. We need your help. Apparently it’s time for us to grow up according to our turncoat parents. I’m looking for a Lisa Bonet type to do my laundry, cook and boink—preferably a Mermaid… fairly violent, with blue hair and a tremendous rack, hypothetically speaking. I figure I should find out what my gift is so I can expedite this venture. I was wondering if you might have a clue as to what this gift might be.”
“Ditto,” Kurt said, with a thumbs up to me. “Except I’ll take anything with a great rack.”
“Are ye both brain damaged?”
“Not as far as we know,” I supplied as Kurt nodded his agreement.
The Pirate just stared and if I wasn’t mistaken, tried not to laugh. What the seahorse? Our plight was tragic, not funny.
“Aye, I might know,” Sven grumbled.
“You know our gift?” I asked, shocked. Maybe today wasn’t going down as the worst day in the history of our lives…
“Aye, I know yarr gift, but yarr gonna have to clean the arse paper up before I decide if I’m gonna tell ye. Get to work, ye tar stains. Yarr wasting daylight,” he said with a belly laugh as he went back into his bungalow and slammed the door.
“You heard the Crab,” I told Kurt. “Start cleaning up the arse paper.”
“I distinctly heard the word yarr—meaning both of us, you skidmark,” Kurt snapped. “If I’m gonna do it, you are too.”
“Or?” I challenged with a grin.
“Or I’ll tie your sorry ass to a chair and make you watch Waterworld for a month,” he threatened.
“You’re a hard man and a complete gaping douche canoe,” I replied with a laugh as I began to remove the wads of wet paper from the bushes and trees.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome,” I said.
If I was going to have to spend the next six hours touching soggy arse paper, there was no one in the world I’d rather do it with. Kurt was a complete and total jackhole and the best brother a Selkie could have.
5
Ariel
I adored Pirate Doug’s ship. I didn’t love how disgustingly messy it was and I would totally redecorate it in all shades of blue to match my hair if it was mine, but it gave me a real feeling of inner peace. The thought of gliding across the salty water with the wind in my hair and without a care in the world was thrilling. Adventures and far off places called to my soul. Sometimes I felt my painfully long life was passing me by while I was running a tourist trap with my siblings on the Mystical Isle.
Whatever. I was fine. I had sisters who adored me and a lovely home on the ocean. Longing for Prince Charming and risky exploits on the open waters was a waste of time. Prince Charming didn’t exist—or at least he didn’t exist for me. Sadly, I was attracted to idiots and tourist traps didn’t run themselves.
“Let’s get this shitshow on the road,” Misty said. “We’ve left the human guests unattended on the island. Some of them are having PTSD due to Upton swallowing his nuts this morning.”
“Word,” I said with a giggle and a small gag.
My sisters and I carefully seated ourselves on the only semi clean lawn chairs on the deck. I was fairly sure they’d been stolen by the sticky fingered Pirates somewhere along the way. Tallulah was working with Pirate Doug on his pilfering habit. He was now only allowed to steal from corrupt politicians and criminals every other Tuesday. So far so good—there were plenty of corrupt politicians.
The air suddenly changed and the wind picked up making the waves dance and crash against the ship. The clouds floated over the sun and made the afternoon sky appear ominous. I glanced over at Tallulah in alarm, but she just shook her head and popped a clothespin onto her nose.
Awesome… the Hags were close.
I was unclear why we needed the Sea Hags, but according to Pirate Doug the problem we were about to face was large.
“Do we know why in the ever loving seashells we’re here?” Bony Velma Dustface inquired as she arrived on the deck of the ship in a cloud of stinky green mist. “I was in the middle of a Price is Right marathon when my questionably intelligent brother demanded my presence on his frigate. Bob Barker was on a roll today.”
“Bob’s a hot piece of ass,” Rickety Shelia Clotlegs grunted and made herself comfortable on a filthy chaise lounge.
The waft of stank Rickety Sheila emitted made me ecstatic that I’d remembered a clothespin to plug my nose. While it was nice being friendly with the Sea Hags, their utter disregard to hygiene was still gag inducing.
Bony Velma—as usual—had shown up with her smelly Sea Hag sidekick, Rickety Shelia Clotlegs. Up until six months ago they were our deadly immortal enemies. Now they were our extremely odiferous and abstractly related allies. Since Tallulah had mated with Pirate Doug and Bony Velma was his sister it had been decided that we were all distantly bonded. Thankfully they lived in a cave about five miles from our island and the stench didn’t carry that far.
“All right people—for lack of a better word,” Doug said eyeing all gathered on the deck as he raised his arms to the sky causing his embarrassingly dated puffy sleeved shirt to flutter in the wind. “We are g
athered here today to witness…”
“Oh my chicken of the sea,” I shouted. “Are you and Tallulah getting freakin’ married?”
“No, we’re not getting freakin’ married,” Tallulah said with an eye roll. “That’s a human ritual. We’re already mated.”
“Do you want to get freakin’ married?” Pirate Doug inquired of my sister.
“Do you?” Tallulah asked.
“Sure. How about after we solve the fucking problem we have.”
“Fine by me,” Tallulah agreed.
“I’ll make the wedding cake,” Bony Velma offered.
“No,” my sisters and I shouted in unison while trying not to hurl.
The Sea Hag’s eyes narrowed to slits and she began to glow a menacing puke green. Not a good sign…
“What we meant was that Upton makes all the cakes,” I said quickly before Bony Velma got her stink on and we all died from asphyxiation. Not that we could die easily, but we could definitely be wounded by her aroma or any cake she made. “Upton would be heartbroken if he couldn’t make the freakin’ wedding cake.”
“I can’t cook,” Upton announced unhelpfully.
“Shut your pie hole,” I hissed. “Earlier today I distinctly remember hearing how much you enjoyed baking seven layered wedding cakes.” I gave him a withering glare hoping he would play along.
Upton, lacking cells in the brain department, simply appeared confused.
“Was that when me nards were in me mouth?” he asked. “Ye might have misunderstood me.”
Head butting him wouldn’t be good form, so I nodded. “Yep—nards in mouth and nope I heard you loud and clear,” I said, wiggling my finger and sealing his idiot lips shut so he couldn’t speak anymore and screw up my lie. “So that’s the plan. Upton will make the freakin’ cake.”
“Upton can swallow his testicles?” Bony Velma asked, clearly impressed. “I’d bet Bob Barker can swallow his own nards as well. The man is a genius.”
That certainly left an awkward pause in the conversation as we were all now picturing Bob Barker licking his nuts.
Ariel’s Antics Page 3
