#the snake-tail looks awfully unhappy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aethelar · 4 years

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*bursts through ur front door* nEWT RESCUING MERMAN!GRAVES FROM POACHERS

Newt is five the first time he goes to the circus. He trots behind Theseus, his hand securely held by his older brother to stop him slipping away and getting lost in the crowd. Not that Newt would intentionally wander off, but there was so much to see, so many sights and sounds and colours - over there, giant kites hovered in mid air, the one a flame-coloured goldfish with trailing red-yellow-orange ribbons, the other a glittering butterfly with reflective silver spots sewn over blue-green wings. There a man on stilts picks his precarious way through the thronged people below, his twelve foot trouser legs patterned in contrasting neon stripes. There, a lady selling candy floss, great sugar clouds of pink and blue on sticks and hanging in bags from the edge of her cart.

And there, ahead, rising above the mayhem like a gleaming castle, the big top.

Newt pulls Theseus ahead. “C’mon,” he says impatiently, tugging at Theseus’ hand. “C’mon, we’re going to miss it!”

“Calm down,” Theseus laughs, leaning back and moving at a deliberately slow meander. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Theseus,” Newt whines. “What if all the good spots are gone and we can’t see?”

Theseus stoops down and picks Newt up, lifting him in one smooth movement to sit on his shoulders. Newt squeaks, his muddy shoes leaving black marks on Theseus’ coat and his fingers tangling in his brother’s hair for balance.

“There,” Theseus says, holding Newt’s feet in place. “Now you can see everything. Right?”

“You can’t pick me up,” Newt retorts. “I’m too old to be picked up.”

“Well, if you don’t want to be able to see…”

“No! I’m fine. I’ll let you carry me. Can we get sweets?”

Theseus changes course and heads for the candy floss lady. “And here I thought you were worrying about being late,” he says teasingly.

“Yes,” Newt explains with all the patience of a child having to state the obvious, “but that was when I was short and now you’re carrying me so I’m not. So, sweets.”

Honestly, big brothers were useful things, but they weren’t half slow sometimes.

In the tent itself Newt’s attention is torn between keeping himself and his oversized pink monstrosity of a candy floss stick balanced and laughing in delight at the show. He tries, he honestly does try to keep Theseus sugar free, but there’s distinct wisps of pastel in his dark hair by the time the first act finishes (not to mention the ones in Newt’s eyebrows, behind his ears, inching up his shirt sleeves and lodged under his collar). Theseus manfully ignores it and focuses on making sure Newt isn’t blocking the view for anyone behind them. The circus itself isn’t quite his cup of tea - the performers are brightly coloured, but their acrobatics are nothing special, really. He’s seen Newt do better trying to reach the cake jar on the top shelf.

It’s not the acrobatics though that are the star of this particular circus and the crowd falls into a hushed silence when the ringmaster comes out to announce, with great aplomb, the “Moment you’ve all been waiting for, the mystery and the magic, the magnificent and the magical; ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for MACUSA’s Marvellous Menagerie!”

The heavy velvet curtain behind him draws back and Newt gasps in anticipation, leaning forwards with wide eyed delight.

“A many gerry, Theseus,” he breathes. “Do you think they’ll have a tiger?”

Theseus ducks left to give Newt a better view. “They might,” he says. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

Newt’s protest about wanting to know now is drowned out by the roar from the crowd as the first creature, a long-necked camel bedecked with a gold and red tasselled head dress, is led out and paraded in front of the crowd. It walks with a strange, rolling gate and has two humps on its back, one of which stands straight and one of which flops over, and there’s bells tied to its feet that jingle with every step. It’s everything Newt could ask for, everything that should have delighted and amazed him -

But his attention is caught by something else. There, just there behind the edge of the curtain, he can see the narrow end of a glass tank. It isn’t very big; the end that Newt can see is maybe a metre square, the bottom resting on a dark wood trolley with a great hook at the front for a harness to attach to and top covered by an ornate gold lid. The light from the tent glints off the surface, playing tricks with Newt’s vision, but inside he sees - that is, he thinks he sees -

The camel is replaced by a lady with very little in the way of clothes, draped in the coils and folds of an enormous green snake, its scales dotted with small white flecks and its eyes staring unblinking at the crowd. The lady dips, holding out her arms to force the snake out of its tightly balled shape; it raises its head and hisses, much to the crowd’s delight.

She’s blocking his view and Newt cranes his neck to look past her.

“You see alright up there?” Theseus asks, shifting to the left to give him a better angle. Newt makes a distracted sound in answer, still straining to see the tank. The snake holder dances and twirls off the stage and Newt’s breath catches in his throat.

There’s someone in the tank.

There’s someone in the tank, and they’re looking at him.

Dark eyes set in a pale face, a halo of drifting hair around them; they catch Newt’s gaze and the rest of the tent seems to fade away. They twist, their face drifting upside down and right side up, and their hands come forwards to press against the glass. They come closer - he, perhaps, they’re a man, or something that looks like one. He comes closer, and mouths something, some words Newt can’t hear and doesn’t understand. At his blank stare the man repeats them, slower, mouth opening wide to exaggerate the movements and are those his teeth -

Theseus jostles him, shaking him out of the strange moment and Newt looks down automatically.

“So?” Theseus asks. “What did you think? You were awfully quiet up there.”

“I was looking,” Newt protests. He glances back up but the ringmaster’s back on the stage, his voice booming out something about a private showing and exclusive, never before seen creatures for those willing to pay the trifling price and step backstage.

The man in his glass tank is gone, blocked from view behind the curtain.

“Yeah?” Theseus asks. “Which one was your favourite then? I think I liked the parrots best. Weren’t they bright and colourful?”

Newt gives an irritated huff. He doesn’t want parrots, he wants to know about the man in the tank. Theseus is already turning though, moving with the flow of people back to the stalls outside.

“The camel,” he says, picking the first animal because it’s the only one he really remembers seeing. “But Theseus, we have to go back. There’s someone trapped there, he needs our help.”

“Trapped? Newt, you can’t go rescuing all the animals because you think they’re unhappy. They belong to the circus - that’s stealing.”

Newt tugs on Theseus’ hair in frustration. “Not the animals, the person. He was underwater. What if he drowns?”

There’s a steady stream of people curving round the back of the stage, going to where the ringmaster is waiting to welcome them to the private exhibition, and Newt’s mind whirrs.

“I don’t think -” Theseus starts hesitantly, but Newt has a better plan.

“Let me down,” he says. “I’m all numb, and I don’t need to see anymore.”

Theseus makes a dubious noise, but lifts Newt over his head and down to the floor all the same. “Ok little brother, whatever you say. But stick close and - Newt! Newt!”

Newt squirms out of his brother’s grip, ducking between people’s legs and scrambling under the raised seating areas at the back. Theseus curses as he chases but Newt slides under the striped canvas of the tent wall and makes a mad dash through the mud for the back. The back entrance is marked exit only and guarded by a bored looking girl in a faded circus uniform; she frowns as Newt careens into her.

“Hey, kid,” she starts, but Newt cuts her off.

“My brother’s in there, I got lost but he’ll be mad if I don’t go in,” he babbles. She tries to take his hand but Newt’s more mud than person by this stage and he slips free while she’s trying to find something to hold onto that won’t leave stains on her uniform.

“Kid, wait!”

Newt ignores her. The inside of the tent is dimly lit and smells of a heavy, foreign smoke. It’s hung with low coloured-glass lamps and swathes of brightly patterned silk, and decorated with assorted urns and jewel encrusted masks chosen more for their cost than any cohesive design..

Newt hurries past the lavish opulence with barely a glance. Real or fake, the effect is lost on him and the perfumed smoke only serves to irritate his lungs. He fights the urge to cough and creeps past a china pot that claims to hold a faerie inside - in any other circumstance he’d’ve stopped to look inside, but he’s too focused on his goal to stop. If he’s worked things out right, then the tank should be just to one side of the stage curtains which would put it… There.

In the low light, he can only make out the outline of the tank, straight sided glass walls and an overly decorated iron lid. It’s not until he’s standing right by it that he can see the man inside and he barely manages to stifle a gasp because the man isn’t a man at all.

No, that’s not quite right; he has a head, two arms, broad shoulders and a muscled torso - those things look like a man. But he also has a ridged fin running down his back, trails of dark, glittering scales wrapping down over his ribs, and in place of his legs there’s a sinuous, curving tail.

“You’re a mermaid,” Newt breathes. He hears a quiet rap and jerks his gaze up; the mermaid is frowning at him, one fist raised where he’d knocked on the glass. Newt flushes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” he says.

The mermaid lifts an eyebrow and studies him for a moment before his frown morphs into a satisfied smile. With an encouraging trill he lifts his arms and stretches out as much as he can, turning slowly in the water. He twists his head round as he does so to keep his eyes on Newt and make sure his audience appreciates him showing off.

“Wow,” is all Newt can say, and amends his earlier statement: “You’re a beautiful mermaid.”. He comes closer, both hands pressing against the glass. Now that the mermaid is moving he can see that the tank’s too small; his tail is coiling back on itself just to fit in and the sharp-edged fins at the end of it are crushed awkwardly against the sides.

The mermaid knocks again, and when he has Newt’s attention he gestures pointedly to his bare chest.

“I don’t understand,” Newt says, confused. The mermaid rolls his eyes and makes a vaguely obscene curving gesture over his front, then shakes his head and goes back to running his hands down his chest again.

Newt’s face burns as he gets it. “Oh,” he says, and trips into apologies again. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t know - what do you call a boy mermaid?”

The mermaid who isn’t a mermaid mouths something, lips twitching up in humour but Newt still can’t make out the words. He hears a noise behind him - the ringmaster, leading his private tour. He squeaks in panic and drops to the floor; the tank sits on iron feet, like a fancy bathtub, and with some frantic crawling and squirming Newt just manages to get underneath. There’s barely enough space to fit; he tilts his head to the side and squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take shallow breaths.

The mermaid knocks on the glass above him.

“They can’t see me,” Newt whispers back as loudly as he dares. If he believes it hard enough, then it’ll be true; like keeping the nightmares away at night, like Theseus taught. He hears footsteps and the low murmur of the approaching crowd and repeats it to himself: they can’t see me, they can’t see me, until he feels it settle over him like a safety blanket.

“And here,” the ringmaster announces, pride and glee threading through his oily tone, “here we have it ladies and gentlemen, the mighty monster from the deep: MACUSA’s own mermaid, the only real one to be found in any circus, anywhere. A genuine treasure, ladies, genuine treasure.”

Newt holds still. His heart is too loud - why is his heart beating so loud?

“How can you prove,” someone drawls, “that this one is real? It could be one of your stage hands in a costume for all we know.”

“Monsieur, you are wiser than your years! Come, come -” the feet obligingly step closer and Newt shrinks smaller in terror - “See, there’s no air in this tank. See there? Ah, my friend, don’t turn away - it’s shy, forgive me - those, those marks on its neck? Those are gills. Could a man spend all his life underwater without drowning, I ask?”

There’s an impressed rumble of agreement, but the same voice points out, “You could have a pipe hidden in the corner. That lid’s certainly large enough to hide one, and all your man would need to do is breathe from the pipe when no one’s looking.”

“Truly, an observant gentleman!” the ringleader praises with faked delight. “I see then you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth, so watch, watch.” There’s a metallic groan as the lid is lifted open followed by an angry, distorted shriek that seems to sink into Newt’s bones and shake them apart. He presses back further under the tank and clamps his eyes closed, one step away from sobbing. The thud of the lid falling back into place cuts off the mermaid’s shrieking but Newt still can’t stop himself crying, muffling the sound in his sleeve.

“You see,” the ringleader says proudly. “You see now, do you see? Are you satisfied, my doubting friend?”

“I’m satisfied,” the other man agrees quietly. There’s something covetous in his harsh almost-whisper that the ringleader boldly ignores. They exchange more words, more boasting and more nodding at the right places and more making the right sounds of appreciation, but Newt stays pressed against the ground with his eyes closed until after they’ve shuffled off to marvel over the next thing in the tent.

The mermaid knocks on the glass.

“Go away,” Newt says. “I want my brother.”

He knocks again, more urgently this time.

“Go away!”

“Newt!”

Newt scrambles out, scraping his knee on the ground and banging his elbow against the tank but he doesn’t care because that’s Theseus.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stumbling over his feet as he flings himself at his brother. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Theseus soothes him, dropping to his knees to hug his brother. “It’s ok, I’m here now. You’re alright? You’re not hurt?”

Newt shakes his head. “I’m not but - but Theseus, we have to help him.” He turns to point urgently at the mermaid in his tank and falters in shock.

There’s a cut across the mermaid’s tail, just below where his hip would be if he were a man. It’s not a deep cut, but the water draws the blood out in a dark cloud and every movement of his tail makes the wound glisten an angry black.

“They hurt him,” Newt says in horror, pulling against Theseus to go to the glass.

“Newt,” Theseus says, stunned and still trying to get over it. “Newt, that’s a mermaid.”

Newt tugs sharply, annoyed by the delay. “He’s not,” he says crossly. “He’s a merboy and we need to help him.”

“Of course we do,” Theseus says faintly. The mermaid - merboy - scrapes his fingers against the lid, the clawed tips making a harsh scratching sound against the metal.

Newt darts in and pulls himself up on the tank’s feet, pushing futilely against the lid. “Theseus!” he says, jolting his brother into action.

“What do we do when we get the lid open?” Theseus asks, but he comes forward to help all the same. “He can’t swim out and we’ll get caught if we carry him - Newt, move - and mercy Lewis I’m asking a five year old for plans what am I doing with my life.”

“He’ll figure something out,” Newt says confidently. “He’s smart.”

In the tank, the mermaid darts a quick smirk in Newt’s direction.

The lid is heavy, heavier than it should be for how it looks and Theseus strains against it. It’s not until Newt joins in again and stubbornly puts his shoulder against the rim to help that it creaks its way open. They freeze, both of them darting nervous glances behind them to check that no one heard, but now that the lid is open a crack the mermaid gets impatient.

He slides a hand under the edge of the lid and, in one smooth movement, flings the whole thing off the tank to fall with a loud crash down the other side.

“Oh gods above,” Theseus moans. He makes a grab for Newt but Newt twists aside, hooking his fingers over the glass to watch as the mermaid lifts his torso out of the water. This close, Newt can see how very human his top half looks, but at the same time all the little things that so clearly mark him as different. His ears extend into points, long and low and dusted with dark blue scales. His eyes blink twice, the second, clear set of eyelids making them seem to glow in the dimly lit tent, and the eyes behind the eyelids are so dark they look like they lack a pupil. His teeth, showing in his open mouth as he pants for air, are curved down to sharp points. His gills flare with every shallow breath.

He mouths something, the words coming out as a soft croon.

“I don’t understand,” Newt says.

“Newt, we have to go,” Theseus urges.

The mermaid points at Newt, then at himself, then gestures at his legs, then finally back at Newt. He mouths the same word again but Newt shakes his head, frustration making him shout, “I don’t know what you want!”

There’s footsteps approaching, the sound of people coming to investigate the crash.

“Time’s up,” Theseus says, scooping a protesting Newt up in his arms and throwing the mermaid an apologetic look. With a growl the mermaid swipes his hand out, claws catching on Newt’s outstretched arm and leaving three bloody scratches in their wake.

Newt yelps and Theseus swears as he pulls out a handkerchief to wrap around the scratches. The mermaid ignores them in favour of licking the blood off each claw. He closes his eyes as though savouring the taste then takes a deep breath and hauls himself out of the tank, the glistening length of his tail unfolding behind him as he collapses over the side and falls to the floor -

And lands, rolls into a crouch, and stands up in one fluid movement.

“What the hell,” Theseus says, staring at him. His gills are gone, as are the long fins down his back and his tail, replaced by legs that are bare, muscled, and completely human. Theseus averts his eyes and covers Newt’s. Completely male human. The cut from his tail is now a wide gash over his left thigh, red blood clotting sluggishly around the edges.

“We need to go,” the man rasps, grabbing for Newt. Theseus backs away, keeping his brother out of reach.

“You think they’ll be lenient because he’s a child?” the man growls. “Come.” He stalks towards the curtain separating the back of the tent from the stage and disappears through it.

“Hey!” someone shouts behind them, and Theseus slings Newt into a piggyback and hurries out after the mermaid-turned-man. He pushes aside the heavy curtain and runs across the stage, praying that none of the staff were in there preparing for the next performance. The man is hovering by one of the side flaps, lifting it aside to peer out with an angry scowl.

He looks up when Theseus skids to a halt next to him.

“They won’t be far behind us,” Theseus pants. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan?” The man raises an eyebrow. “I go back to the sea. He comes with me.” He reaches for Newt again to lift him off Theseus’ back and Theseus spins to put himself between them.

“No.”

The man glowers. “I didn’t ask you.”

“He’s five,” Theseus spits, and grips Newt’s legs tight in warning when he makes a noise of protest. He doesn’t know what he’s doing - Theseus isn’t small by any means, but he hasn’t forgotten how the other man - mermaid - hell, whichever, how the other man casually threw the heavy metal lid it took both Theseus and Newt just to budge. If it comes to a fight then Theseus can’t hope to win, but Newt is his brother; Theseus can’t not defend him.

The sound of angry voices behind the curtain breaks their standstill.

“Fine,” the man snaps. “While he’s a child he’s yours. When he’s a man, bring him to the sea. I’ll find him.” He lifts the tent flap to go through and Theseus holds his tongue on pointing out his nakedness. Just before he goes he looks back over his shoulder and makes eye contact with Newt. “Oh, and before I forget,” he says, lips twitching into an amused smile. “My name is Graves, and I’m a merman if you don’t mind.”

“Yessir,” Newt squeaks, and Graves is gone.

“Do I have to go to the sea?” Newt asks in a small voice, gripping Theseus tighter.

Theseus glares at the empty space where the merman stood. “Not if you don’t want to,” he promises. “For now though, we have to go home before anyone sees us, so sit tight and keep quiet.” He pushes aside the tent flap with a foot, checks for passing naked mermen-given-legs, then slips out to join the crowd and hopes no one stops them to ask why Newt is quite so covered in mud, or why he has a makeshift bandage around his forearm.

He’s not yet sure how he’s going to keep his promise, but he will. If Newt doesn’t want to go to the sea then Theseus will make sure he doesn’t have to. He has thirteen years; he’ll find a way.

In the meantime, maybe he should look for a job further inland.

#gramander #newt scamander #theseus scamander #percival graves #mermaid!graves #according to the timestamp it took me three years to answer this #so uh #better late than never?#my writing #paintingraves

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