This Week's Special:
Tropical climes, but the
ocean wind is cool on Nathan's pale,
heavily sun-screened chest. Most jet-skis run on unleaded but this jet-ski runs
on Queensland Diesel aka Bundaberg Rum. This is not necessarily efficient -
Bundy leaks into ocean, per jet-ski's design, leaving a hungover yellow slick
trailing behind him.
Nathan cuts engine and
waits, bobbing on waves. Soon enough: five heads emerge from
Bundy-and-Saltwater, watching him. They all have red mullets and are, of
course, white.
One says: 'Give us a fish,
ya' cunt.'
Mermaids have a diverse
society - some are vegans and their bogans like to kill things. Bogan mermaids
are attracted to blood and trophy prey. There is traces of polar bear blood in
Bundy, hence the arctic symbol on tropical product.
Nathan responds: 'I have
fish. I will give you a fish each, if you each give me one of your scales.'
Nathan has an esky of fish.
He also has a flash-bang, a frag grenade, a SIG Sauer and two depth charges.
The bogan mermaids barter upwards to ten fish for eight scales.
Bogan Mermaid Scales have
two main applications. The first is bagging it with photo and name of migrant,
then sending this package to ocean. This pays mermaids to pluck said immigrant
when they poop into sewage complex, then swim them to their 'home' country. The
second application: five bogan mermaid scales, in a pile, will become a carton
of XXXX.
Nathan sets out to find that
Venn diagram sweet spot of buyer and seller. Meaning: someone who wants what
Nathan gots and gots goods that Nathan wants.
Behold the suburban country
fair. A tractor pulls trailer, kid'lins on hay bales, around oval's perimeter.
Food trucks, stalls, the local postman belting out a few tunes from the stage.
Knick-knacks, candles, lots of wine. A toy stall hangs a sign: This Is Not Lego.
Shane
says: 'Hello Nathan. Haven't seen you in ages.'
'Uh, yeah.' Nathan, he remembers me? 'I've, my hours
changed. Could I get a session ale?'
Nathan sits cross-legged on
platform fronting scoreboards and eats seafood paella, a (perched) birds-eye
view of the festival. The metalworking displays attracts customers to its
corner. The real estate agent watches people pass by, arms crossed. Nathan
cannot quite make out the cute lady-bums from this distance.
Nathan pockets a mussel
shell and descends back into the throng. There are a lot of cute buts down
here. He walks trying to not seem too
pervy. One but catches his attention, holds it reasons he does not understand, nostalgia? The but turns, as does the
rest of her body and Nathan is obliged to raise eyes to her face. He doffs his
hat.
'Hello Nathan.' Erin's tail lops
right and butchers a cactus. 'Follow me to the bathroom?'
Uh huh. There are
porta-potties near the change rooms but Erin leads Nathan to the toilets
adjacent to the bar.* Erin checks her pockets for a
title of deed on the backway from
lady's to gent's, past cafeteria's rear. He follows her pause before the
bathroom door, she sink grip into his upper arm and she drives in, pulling him.
Nathan lands on tiles, which
is technically not as painful as cement. It is more painful. This is not a
rusty, dusty country oval toilet. This is a heavily graffitied handicap/family
toilets of a mid-tier suburban shopping centre.
Magdalene
has cushioned the toilet seat and rests forearms on students table, hands clasped: 'And look what Tom's
dragged in. How've you been, Nathan?'
'I thought I was gonna' get
some, then I hit the floor.' He gets to his feet and doffs his hat. 'But now
you're here, so it's evened out.'
'Ever the charmer.' Elbows
still on table, hands still clasped but forearms vertical. 'But I've been here
for a while. Where is here?'
'I turned right where I
should have gone straight. Then I was weaving through the hills. This was the
first safe u-turn.' Erin lights dart off tail-tip and shrugs, opens the window.
'But where does the smoke go?'
Magdalene ignores her: 'So.
I have potions to sell. Have to empty space from my shelves. I have a flask.'
Nathan, curious: ' As in, a
flask that contains two or more doses? Or a flask that refills with potion,
every now and then?'
'The latter. Once a day, you
may drink from the Flask of Acute Nicotine Withdrawal.'
'Interesting. I could give
you a Bogan Mermaid Scale. I don't know what they do, but I'm sure you could
crush 'em up and distil 'em for something.'
Surprised: 'Just. One? You
don't want that hell-bent thrill that comes after six hours? That mania that
says, feels, I can do this?'
'Nah, that always made me
break lamps.'
Erin butts out half-dart and
throws it out window: 'Fair enough.'
'What I want,' Nathan
tangents, 'is a potion to stop a specific habit of mine. I believe you can do
custom brews.'
Erin: 'For a price.'
'When I was younger, I would
cop inappropriate perv and thumb my nose. It was a bad habit and I grew out of
it.'
'So, uh.'
'You want to be pervy
again?'
'Now, whenever I meet eyes
with a cute woman, I doff my hat. It is a bad habit and it is cringe.'
Magdalene winces: 'It is,
and I feel you. But this is not a charity. This is a non-profit.'
Nathan smiles near chuckle:
'So you'll take three Bogan Mermaid Scales for my potion.'
'No. There's no use for
those.'
'Yet you'd take one for a
Flask of Broken Lamps?'
Erin mutters: 'Knew that was
a bad opener.'
Magdalene acknowledges her
without addressing her: 'Four.'
Nathan bows forward, hands
clasped behind back and face raised, like an anime girl: 'Three.'
'Four.'
'Three.'
'Four. For fuck's sake.
Spontaneous Four-Ex is not worth that much.'
Nathan points to open
window: 'I could go out there and find a buyer. A racist who wants to deport a
moossie. Or a legal resident looking to visit family but who can't be fucked with
flying. You know. Fares. Cancellations. The extra fee to book your seat of
choice.'
*There is animosity between
the oval committee and the football club.
