Chapter Three: Sea Change

When she was on land—and a little more alive, apparently—Malia had never attempted to change into wet clothes while in a bouncy house, but she figured she knew the pain now. Thankfully, she could hide in her cave-like room as she struggled into the tangled shirt while floating haphazardly into the furniture; she had given up on standing straight long ago.

At this point, the wrinkled rag bore little resemblance to the thin button-down blouse that Beatrice wore, and at least one cream-colored button was now lost somewhere on the rocky floor. Malia's lack of motor control and the water's unfamiliar buoyancy complicated the task even more, and more than once, she found herself either sprawled on the floor or pressed against the ceiling.

"Aha!" Malia exclaimed when she managed to fit both of her arms into the sleeves.

Her proud grin quickly faded when she realized her shirt was both inside-out and upside-down.

It wasn't long before her frustration took over, and when there was a knock on her door, Malia froze with her shirt covering her eyes and her body stuck in the upper corner of the room like a loose balloon.

"Malia?" Beatrice's voice sounded muffled through both the door and Malia's arms pressed against her ears. "Are you in there?"

For a few seconds, Malia seriously contemplated staying quiet and hoping Beatrice would give up. But after tugging her arms against her tangled shirt and feeling nothing but firm resistance, Malia knew she would have to be the first to give.

"Come in," she mumbled, her words partially getting caught in the cloth with her limbs.

Belatedly, Malia realized she should have mentioned something about her state of disarray, but she was more self-conscious about her lack of coordination than her lack of clothes. Given the circumstances, she could be forgiven for forgetting that her shirt was mostly off than on, and her bra was basically a bikini top. Plus, at least she had pants on.

Apparently, that wasn't enough for Beatrice if her startled "oh my" and awkward coughs were anything to go by.

"If you're going to laugh, at least do it later," Malia grumbled. "Preferably when I'm clothed and back on the ground."

It was a moment before Beatrice spoke, and Malia felt her cheeks grow warmer against her arms at the thought of the woman struggling to hold her laughter.

"Right," Beatrice said, her voice tight and high-pitched. "Sorry."

A moment later, Malia felt the rough ceiling leave her back, and her feet touched the floor soon after.

Beatrice cleared her throat again. "I—I'm going to... you know... Just... tell me if I'm hurting you."

Malia grunted in response, not trusting herself to form words through her embarrassment.

Unfortunately, even Beatrice seemed to struggle with the mess Malia made, and it wasn't long before she too was viciously tugging the fabric, along with Malia's defenseless limbs.

Malia yelped when the shirt was caught on her nose. "Ouch! Be gentle!"

Beatrice sighed. "You have to relax! This will be much easier for both of us once you do."

"I am relaxed! You're the one that's being rough with me."

For a moment, Beatrice went still and silent before clearing her throat again. "Sorry. I suppose I was a bit... Nevermind. Just... stay still, alright?"

It wasn't like Malia could do much else in her state, but she kept her comments to herself and tried to relax as much as she could as Beatrice continued to work on freeing her, thankfully with less aggressiveness than before.When Malia's head and limbs were finally free and her shirt was in its proper place, albeit looking like it went through the wringer, she nodded awkwardly.

"Thanks for the assist," Malia said.

Beatrice tucked her hair behind her ear as her gaze wandered across the floor. "You're welcome."

Malia followed her line of sight, then panicked at the sight of her old wardrobe scattered around the room.

"Sorry about—"

Her apology was cut off when she took a step and immediately fell over.

"I swear, I'm much more coordinated on land," Malia said as she felt the water pick her up again, likely under Beatrice's control.

"I don't doubt it."

Something about Beatrice tone—maybe it was her accent—made Malia think the woman was only humoring her. But Malia didn't pursue the matter, instead using Beatrice's support to clean the remains of the war against her wardrobe.

Her old clothes were almost unrecognizable. As she turned her gray polo shirt over in her hands, her fingers snagged on the ripped fabric, each framed with dark, reddish brown splotches. She vaguely recalled the moment she plucked it from the pile of clean laundry on her bed, not caring that it was a bit wrinkled.

And then there were those bib pants... If she had known she would die in those clothes, would she have tried to wear something a little nicer?

"Did you... want me to take those?" Beatrice asked.

"No," Malia answered a little too quickly, then made a point to haphazardly bundle the fabric into a tight ball. "I'll take care of it."

After ensuring that her emotions were clear from her face, Malia chanced a glance at Beatrice. Thankfully, the woman didn't seem to notice anything was amiss, and she merely nodded before glancing towards Malia's nightstand.

"I brought... refreshments, if you'd like."

The "refreshments" were two canned goods, one with peaches and the other green beans, and a jar of pickles.

"Um..." Before Malia could muster an enthusiastic thanks, her curiosity came to the rescue. "How do you eat underwater?"

"We usually don't. We acquire most of the energy we need from the water; the rest we recuperate from sleep." Beatrice nodded at the preserves. "Those are items we've found in lost cargo, and we keep them to help new spirits adjust, or to aid the occasional stranded seafarer."

"So when someone is stuck out at sea on a raft, you toss them a jar of pickles?"

"That, and we guide their craft towards land." Beatrice shrugged. "Mortals tend to think they're hallucinating when a water spirit or two suddenly comes to their rescue."

"Yeah, you guys are legendary." Malia glanced at Beatrice's baggy pants, then her own. "I guess these could look like fish tails."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." Malia took a tentative step towards the food, then another when she didn't immediately fall over. "I guess I'll give this a shot."

Her first surprise was that the containers were surprisingly easy to open; the pull tabs were an added relief, and she likely would have struggled with a can opener. Her second surprise was that she could smell the food, mainly the peaches and pickles, almost as strongly as she did on land. It made sense—sharks could smell blood underwater.

"I feel like I'm in my undergrad years again," Malia muttered as she fished a green bean out with a plastic fork—Beatrice wouldn't say if the utensil was clean or not. "But that was more cups of ramen than expired canned goods."

"I'm told the expiry date is just a recommendation," Beatrice said. "Besides, sickness doesn't affect us like it does those on land. You'll be fine."

Malia held the can out to Beatrice. "Want to take that chance with me?"

Beatrice's lips dipped into a slight frown, but that was the most emotion she revealed before turning her firm gaze back on Malia. "I don't need it. But you... You're going to need all the help you can get."

Malia couldn't help but freeze mid-chew at Beatrice's ominous words. "Help?"

"Your training starts tomorrow." Beatrice glanced at the can in Malia's hands. "Better eat up."

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