Ariel’s Antics

by Robyn Peterman

  “Of course I have,” Kate replied with a laugh. “It’s a classic, along with Waiting for Guffman, Spinal Tap, Talledega Nights and Napoleon Dynamite.”

  Again, I was struck speechless. Kate was awesome. How did she produce such a dork of a son?

  “Do you like Sharknado?” I asked, testing her.

  Her eyes shot to mine in delighted surprise and a slow and satisfied smile pulled at her lips.

  “I watch all those movies with my boys,” she said, waiting for my reaction. “Keith loves Sharknado.”

  I schooled my expression. I didn’t care that Keith had great taste in movies. I really I didn’t know much about the butthole, other than his unparalleled bedroom skills… and I wasn’t going to share that with his mother. I did know he couldn’t cook or do laundry, which made him a sexist loser. Time to change the subject.

  “Poseidon is wooing Wally,” I said, searching for anything to get Kate’s mind off mating off her son. I considered going back into my useless knowledge of groups of sea creatures, but Kate wasn’t as easily distracted as my sisters. “After we kicked the Kraken’s ass a few months ago, Wally kneed the God of the Sea in the nuts.”

  “Did he deserve it?” Kate inquired.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then good for her,” she said with a grin. “Do they live on the Mystical Isle as well?”

  “Gods no,” I shouted and then tamped it back. I was very aware it wasn’t good form to insult the Sea God even if he was an odd, green haired, egotistical lover of rum. “They just visit occasionally—and cause tons of destruction.”

  “I see.”

  We strolled in awkward silence. The sun was setting on the water and a few early stars popped out in the darkening sky. Twilight was my favorite time of the day and honestly I wanted to be alone to think. Sharing it with the mother of a dumbass I wanted to think about was messing with my chi, but I needed information and I needed it now.

  I could tell Kate wanted to wax poetic about her idiot son. All I wanted to know was where he was so I could drag his sorry Selkie butt back to Mystical Isle and save the day. The Krakens weren’t going to wait for us to get back up. Three days. I had three days.

  “So are you going to tell me how to find your spawn?” I asked, avoiding his name in fear I might get my look.

  I hated getting my look. My sisters were merciless when I got my look. It was a cross between a smile, a smirk and a dreamy expression of longing. It was a dead giveaway that I was interested or fond of something and I had no freakin’ control over it. Getting my look about a douche who didn’t know how to wash his own clothes wasn’t on my agenda for the evening. Finding him was.

  “I’ll have to take you most of the way there,” Kate replied. “Paradise is a very difficult place to find—practically impossible. It’s not marked on any map.”

  “You lived on Paradise Island?” I asked, surprised. I’d heard of it, but had always thought it was a myth.

  “Indeed I did,” she said. “It’s quite beautiful, but it was time for a change.”

  “Why?”

  She paused and looked out over the ocean. I could tell she was considering how much to share. Interesting.

  “It was time for Keith and Kurt to grow up. With me and their father there, they weren’t exactly doing that,” she said, carefully.

  “So you were still doing his laundry and cooking for him?” I asked.

  “Umm… well… My boys are rather…”

  “Lazy, spoiled and immature?” I offered.

  Kate’s laugh was delightful and it made me like her even more.

  “When you put it that way, they sound awful. Let’s just say they needed a good kick in the ass. I love them and I love them enough to let them fend for themselves so they can become the Selkies they’re supposed to be.”

  “So when do we leave?” I asked, avoiding any more loving talk about her sons. “The Krakens are supposed to hit our shores in three days. The sooner the better.”

  “The earliest we can go is in the morning. The tide at night around Paradise is incredibly dangerous.”

  “Fine,” I said, disappointed but willing to go with her plan. Getting torn apart in a violent undertow wasn’t my idea of a good time. “I’ll see you at sun up.”

  “Although…” Kate began and then stopped herself.

  “What?”

  “Well, there is a Selkie legend that could get you there sooner, but it’s silly.”

  “At this point nothing is silly,” I told her.

  “Well, Keith would have to be your true love to make this work.”

  “He’s not. He’s a nardhole,” I said as my stomach started feeling a bit queasy.

  “Yes, well… then I suppose it wouldn’t work. Never mind,” Kate said and began to walk away.

  I watched her back as she made her way to her new home on our island.

  “Just for shits and giggles, what is it?” I called out and then wanted to belt myself in the head.

  Kate stopped and turned. Her smile lit her face and her blue eyes sparkled. She looked so much like Keith with boobs, I had to stare at the sand.

  “First, promise me that you won’t tell the boys where their father and I are.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Kate paused just a fraction too long… I knew that method. She was about to lie or tell a half truth.

  “I want it to be a surprise for them when they get here,” she said, not quite making eye contact.

  “And?” I pressed.

  She sighed and chuckled. “My boys will never grow up if they have their father and me to lean on.”

  “Or mooch off of?” I asked with a grin.

  “That too,” she said with a laugh. “You must promise.”

  “I promise,” I said.

  “Very well then… If you cry seven teardrops into the sea while thinking about a specific Selkie, you will be taken to your Selkie true love. Silly isn’t it?” she said with a sad but sweet smile.

  “Totally,” I replied with a forced laugh. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “That you will. Sleep well, Mermaid Ariel.”

  And with that she was gone. I was alone on the beach. Looking out over the ocean, I felt incredibly small. The crashing of the waves calmed my soul, but made me sad at the same time. Walking out into the shallow waters, I sat down and let my tail come out. A good hard swim in the ocean would take my mind off all of the crazy things that were floating around in my brain.

  The stars were winking at me as if they knew a secret. I suppose they did. They’d been around much longer than I had. Keith the idiot was not my true love. He couldn’t be… Could he? How could someone that couldn’t do his own laundry be my true love? Impossible. Maybe I didn’t have a true love. The thought was depressing and the tears came unbidden.

  I watched as they hit the cool salty water.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  Seven.

  And then I died. Or at least I think I did. The waves became vicious and swallowed me up whole. The last thing I remember is screaming out my sisters’ names.

  What in the ever loving Chicken of the Sea? How the heck could a Mermaid die by drowning?

  10

  Keith

  “I think we should wait until Kurt gets back,” I told Pirate Sven as we both stared at Don Guido.

  I was not going to touch his balls. I wasn’t even sure where a lobster kept his balls. My plan was to make Kurt touch the balls. However, if my brother wasn’t here he couldn’t touch the balls. Shite.

  The lobster was still in the sink. He was cursing up a storm in Italian. At least it sounded like Italian. I had no clue the crustacean was bilingual, but he’d watched so many mob movies I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “What’s he saying?” Pirate Sven asked.

  “Umm… not sure. Sounds like he swearing in Italian.”

  “I spe
ak Italian. I can translate for ye. Might be important. Repeat what the lobster is saying since I can’t hear the little fella,” Pirate Sven suggested.

  “Okay… Vaffanculo. Incazzato. A fanabla. Mangia merde e morte. Che palle! Stronzo.”

  “Ye got a cusser on yer hands. But me guess is he only knows the bad words,” the Crab said with a chuckle.

  “Is it Italian?”

  “Aye, the runt said, go fuck yerself. He’s pissed. Go to hell. Eat shite and die. What balls! And arsehole. That’s quite a mouth on that puny crustacean. But I suppose if I lost me nards I’d be cussin’ too.”

  “How can we be sure he even lost his balls?” I asked trying to buy some time for Kurt to get his sorry sphincter back. “Maybe they’re just crushed. I didn’t see any balls floating in the bucket.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever seen lobster balls,” Pirate Sven said, scratching his head. “I could search the bucket and it I find em, we could glue em back on.”

  “Glued on balls are not going to work,” I said with an eye roll. “Besides, Don Guido lives in the ocean. I’m gonna guess that glue won’t hold in salt water for very long.”

  “Ye got a better idea, Tar Stain?” the Crab grunted, clearly insulted that I wasn’t going with his ridiculous plan.

  “As a matter of fact I do,” I snapped, reaching into the sink and touching Don Guido’s head.

  Without thinking, I let my magic flow through me and seep into the small miserable lobster. He was definitely missing his balls. I knew it the minute I touched him. Shite. It was painful. My own nards ached in sympathy. I was still unclear exactly where Don Guido’s testicles were located, but I realized I didn’t have to touch them at all to heal the idiot. All I needed to do was send energy through him and then hope he grew a new set.

  “Keith,” Don Guido said. “Didn’t mean to call youse an arsehole. I only know a few phrases.”

  “No worries, man. Have you ever lost your nuts before?” I asked on the outside chance that lobsters could regenerate sex organs.

  “No. I’ve had my balls for all my fifty years,” he said sadly. “I’m gonna miss dem round bouncy globes.”

  “Umm… how about this… You never ever refer to your nads as round bouncy globes again and I try to fix them.”

  “Youse can fix balls?” he asked, shocked.

  “I have no fucking idea,” I replied, wincing at the thought of what was about to go down. “Apparently I’m some kind of sea creature Whisperer. The Pirate says I can heal you. However, I think there’s a fine chance the Pirate is full of shite.”

  “All Pirates are full of shite,” Don Guido agreed. “But Pirate Sven ain’t all dat bad—a little too neat for my liking, but generally a good guy.”

  “He rakes his carpet,” I told Don Guido. “Who in Poseidon’s Seven Seas rakes their damned carpet?”

  “Are youse serious?”

  “No, you crunchy dung hose. I’m Keith—the guy who might be able to repair your nuts.”

  “Right. My bad,” Don Guido apologized. “I want to give you my first born son, Vito. He’s not so hot in the brains department, but he’s a good boy. Youse will love him.”

  “Umm, thanks but no thanks. First off, I haven’t fixed your nards yet.”

  “I know, but the fact that youse is going to try is enough for me. If youse don’t want Vito, youse gotta let me give youse the pearls that I’m gonna lift from the eel.”

  “You’re going to steal fenced pearls?”

  “Darn tootin. Dat bastard is askin’ too much. Youse can give dem to your lady.”

  “I don’t have a lady at the moment.”

  “Dat’s a damned shame. Youse is a fine catch.”

  “I know. Right?” I replied and thought about the one violently sexy Mermaid who still occupied my Johnson’s thoughts and mine too. She would look beautiful in a nice set of stolen pearls. However, the image of Ariel clad only in pearls with a sword poised over my Johnson was slightly disconcerting. Whatever. There were thousands of women to bed. It was the pillow talk I sucked at. And I certainly didn’t want someone who didn’t want me… Wait. Yes, I did. Whatever. I needed to focus on the nards.

  “Youse will find your lady and youse will give her the pearls.”

  I shook my head and chuckled. The lobster was nuts—pun intended.

  “Fine. You wanna give me the fenced and soon to be stolen pearls? I’ll take them, but only if I can get your balls back.”

  “Deal,” Don Guido said. “What should I do here?”

  “Again, no fucking clue. Where are your balls supposed to be?” I asked.

  “Between my legs where all balls are.”

  “You have a lot of fucking legs, dude. Wanna be more specific?”

  “Right. I got ya. It’s the last set of legs near my tail. And if I could make a request, I’d like large ones. My old sack was kind of saggy and jiggly. The left nut was bigger than the right. I’d like the nuts to be even and the size of Steve’s.”

  “Who the hell is Steve?”

  “He’s the fucking wise guy lobster dat strips every Saturday at the club. Very nice balls.”

  I stopped myself before I asked how a lobster stripped. That was information I could live forever without knowing.

  “I don’t know Steve and thankfully have never seen his fucking balls. You’re gonna get what you get and be happy. You feel me?”

  “I feel youse,” he replied. “Are youse gonna touch my nards?”

  “NO. I’m not going to touch your nards. I don’t even wanna see your nards,” I snapped.

  “Dat sounds a little iffy. What if my balls end up on my head instead of with my Johnson?”

  I paused and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Fine point. Well made,” I conceded. “I will look. However, if I have to touch them, you’re going to remain nutless.”

  “I understand,” Don Guido said. “I wouldn’t want to cup your boys either.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “What are ye talking about?” Pirate Sven asked watching us with great interest.

  “Do you really want to know?” I shot back.

  “Aye.”

  “Well, Don Guido wants bigger balls than he previously had. He’s fond of some lobster named Steve’s balls. Steve strips at the club on Saturdays and apparently has very nice nards.”

  “How in the stripey-sweatered son of a sea snake does a lobster strip?” Pirate Sven asked, confused.

  “Don’t know. Didn’t ask. Don’t ever want to know,” I replied.

  “Aye. Good thinking, Tar Stain.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Welcome. So do ye have to touch ‘em?” Pirate Sven inquired with a slight wince.

  “I don’t think so,” I said with relief. “However, I’m not sure if this is going to get messy. Since you’re such a jackhole of a clean freak, do you want me to take this outside? It’s been a rough day and I don’t think I could stomach you beheading yourself over some guts on the wall.”

  The Pirate looked at me with genuine surprise and gratitude. It was all kinds of weird, but I felt strangely proud.

  “Was ye just considerate of me feelings?” he asked.

  “Umm… I don’t know. Was I?”

  I was unsure what the correct answer to that question was so I decided to play it vague. I did call him a jackhole neat freak after all. I was positive the old Crab could punch like a freight train and I had balls to repair. Plus I really didn’t want to see him behead himself if I accidentally blew up Don Guido and got lobster innards all over the kitchen. I would never admit it, but I kind of liked the Crab.

  “Ye was, Tar Stain. Ye might be salvageable yet,” he said and slapped me on the back so hard I thought the kale chips might come back up. I was fairly certain the slap was affectionate—painful, but affectionate.

  “You think I’m salvageable?” I asked. I wasn’t aware anything was wrong with me.

  Pirate Sven narrowed his eyes at me and I stared rig
ht back at him. His smile was slow and made me slightly uncomfortable, but I stood my ground. I knew I could tear him apart if I had to. I was a freakin’ Selkie. We were the most vicious species around when necessary. However, I was more of a live and let live kind of dude.

  “Aye. It’s time for ye and yer eejit brother to grow up. Ye have found yer calling in life and ye are now enrolled in the School of Sven.”

  “Umm… not so sure we can work that into our busy schedule,” I told him. I had no clue what the School of Sven entailed, but it didn’t sound good.

  This day had sucked more ass than any day I could remember in my three hundred years—not counting the day I’d screwed up and almost lost my own nards to the sexy Mermaid. I’d thought being deserted by our irresponsible parents and left to starve was bad, but now with the remote possibility of having to touch lobster balls and being taught by a Waterworld fanboy neat freak I was ready to throw in the towel. And where in the fuck was Kurt? How long did it take to gather dirty underpants?

  “What have ye got to do that’s so important?” the Crab asked, crossing his pinchers over his massive chest and eyeing me.

  “Stuff,” I replied. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t think a marathon of Aquaman movies was significant.

  “Nay, ye are going to become a man,” he informed me.

  “Last time I checked I was a man,” I said with an eye roll.

  “Nay, ye are a weenie. A real man can cry.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

  “Nay, I’m Pirate Sven, ye rotten fish stank,” he reminded me. “A real man can cook, clean, do the tango and boink at least ten times a night with his lady. And a real man does not clip shrubs into dongs.”

  “And you’re a real man?” I snapped, annoyed. Crap, I’d bet a real man didn’t draw a mustache and zits with a permanent marker on Kevin Costner either. Shite. I could only do one of those things. At least I was good at it. And I could go far more than ten times a night with a lady. I’d had no complaints about my boinking skills, it was the after-boink prowess that needed some work.

  “Aye.”

  “I don’t see a woman here,” I pointed out.