Fandom 12: Gerry Anderson's Stingray
[Title] Mermaids
[Fandom] Gerry Anderson's Stingray
[Rating] G
[Pairing] Slight implied Atlanta/Troy and Troy/Marina.
[Notes/Summary] Atlanta and Troy talk about nightmares.
The night air smelt of the sea.
"When I was little, I was actually scared of it." Atlanta ran a finger over the edge of the balcony rail. It was slightly sticky with salt. "The sea, I mean."
"Surely not." Troy laughed.
"I know, it's ridiculous, isn't it?" Atlanta laughed. "Actually, to be honest, it was all my father's fault."
"Oh, I should have guessed. Did he throw you in to teach you to swim?"
"Don't be unkind." Atlanta stared out at the horizon, at the sunset spilling over the water. "He just thought the original version of The Little Mermaid was suitable reading for a four-year-old."
"Well, it is a fairy tale."
"You do know she doesn't get the prince in the end, right?"
"Ah. Okay, I can see that might've upset you."
Atlanta rolled her eyes a little. "I just had this dream about it, that's all. I think... I think in the dream, they all thought I was a mermaid, but I wasn't. And I couldn't explain because I couldn't talk... I suppose that's from the fairy tale. And so they pushed me into the water and I couldn't float back up. I was just in the sea and the water was filling my mouth and I couldn't breathe."
"That's a pretty twisted dream, for a four-year-old kid," Troy said. "I never had nightmares like that."
"I bet you did. You just don't want to admit to them."
The breeze flicked at their hair; for a few seconds, there was only the sound of seagulls.
"It's funny, actually, isn't it?" Troy said. "That Andersen wrote that story about a mermaid who couldn't talk, and then we find Marina. Wouldn't it be strange if he'd met some of her people? Long ago, I mean?"
Back to Marina, again. Atlanta shrugged, stared out at the glistening water. The sun had almost set.
She wanted Troy to ask if she was ever still afraid of the sea. Then she'd explain that she wasn't. Not really. Not of the oceans that they tracked and plumbed and studied and rose victorious from every day. Not of the tides and currents mapped and recorded and governed by gravity and meteorology. And not of the shimmering fresh-smelling backdrop that lapped at her feet if she chose to go for a dip in the early morning.
But of the dark depths that no one knew about because the pressure crushed anyone who tried to venture there; of the cruel figures who had customs and laws and beliefs she couldn't imagine; of the silent girl who'd followed them out of the ocean and fascinated them so much -
Perhaps she was afraid, after all.
But Troy didn't ask her, and so she didn't say.
[Fandom] Gerry Anderson's Stingray
[Rating] G
[Pairing] Slight implied Atlanta/Troy and Troy/Marina.
[Notes/Summary] Atlanta and Troy talk about nightmares.
The night air smelt of the sea.
"When I was little, I was actually scared of it." Atlanta ran a finger over the edge of the balcony rail. It was slightly sticky with salt. "The sea, I mean."
"Surely not." Troy laughed.
"I know, it's ridiculous, isn't it?" Atlanta laughed. "Actually, to be honest, it was all my father's fault."
"Oh, I should have guessed. Did he throw you in to teach you to swim?"
"Don't be unkind." Atlanta stared out at the horizon, at the sunset spilling over the water. "He just thought the original version of The Little Mermaid was suitable reading for a four-year-old."
"Well, it is a fairy tale."
"You do know she doesn't get the prince in the end, right?"
"Ah. Okay, I can see that might've upset you."
Atlanta rolled her eyes a little. "I just had this dream about it, that's all. I think... I think in the dream, they all thought I was a mermaid, but I wasn't. And I couldn't explain because I couldn't talk... I suppose that's from the fairy tale. And so they pushed me into the water and I couldn't float back up. I was just in the sea and the water was filling my mouth and I couldn't breathe."
"That's a pretty twisted dream, for a four-year-old kid," Troy said. "I never had nightmares like that."
"I bet you did. You just don't want to admit to them."
The breeze flicked at their hair; for a few seconds, there was only the sound of seagulls.
"It's funny, actually, isn't it?" Troy said. "That Andersen wrote that story about a mermaid who couldn't talk, and then we find Marina. Wouldn't it be strange if he'd met some of her people? Long ago, I mean?"
Back to Marina, again. Atlanta shrugged, stared out at the glistening water. The sun had almost set.
She wanted Troy to ask if she was ever still afraid of the sea. Then she'd explain that she wasn't. Not really. Not of the oceans that they tracked and plumbed and studied and rose victorious from every day. Not of the tides and currents mapped and recorded and governed by gravity and meteorology. And not of the shimmering fresh-smelling backdrop that lapped at her feet if she chose to go for a dip in the early morning.
But of the dark depths that no one knew about because the pressure crushed anyone who tried to venture there; of the cruel figures who had customs and laws and beliefs she couldn't imagine; of the silent girl who'd followed them out of the ocean and fascinated them so much -
Perhaps she was afraid, after all.
But Troy didn't ask her, and so she didn't say.