A long and drawn-out yawn followed by an equally held stretch were her first actions. Perhaps it wasn’t as good of an idea to attempt getting some sleep beforehand, as she now found herself stumbling ever so slightly. Then again, wasn’t that normal? 


A moment passed soon after her uniform was safely secured on her person. Fancy wasn’t a proper word she could use to describe it. Hell, she couldn’t even begin to think of a word glamorous enough to describe it! Forget the cost, she’d never even seen something of this quality before! She lowered her head, a silent prayer for the first time in her life to thank every single ancient for giving her the foresight to at least shower before coming here. Then she thanked her toothbrush for being so good at doing its job. Especially after seeing the mask she’d be wearing. 


While all their uniforms were the same, and by that same extension the masks, there were slight deviations for their face coverings. Hers in particular covered the entire face, albeit with beaked portion over the nose and mouth with several nearly unidentifiable mesh vents for air. Large enough to do their job, not large enough to save her from the smell of her own breath. There had to be some human somewhere she could thank for the minty toothpaste she enjoyed as well as her collection of flavored mouth rinses. 




Something about this… she just knew it would be fun! The prior seriousness, if anyone could call it that, melted away as she looked down at herself and did her own little twirl. She’d never get to wear anything like this again with her luck, so she’d take every opportunity to enjoy it! That was about the same time she noticed the other individual dressed just like her looking in her direction. Their face was covered, but she could tell immediately that she was being looked at like some sort of standard goof. That did not last long, however, as they were soon both led to different places by someone… she was reluctant to remember if even pay attention to. 


Perhaps it would have been smart to heed their instructions, but smarts were overrated! Not to mention how easy this would surely be! Something about a raven and a crown? She could have sworn they called her a cinnabar boobook at one point, possibly an insult. Then again, they did seem upset since she wasn’t… particularly… paying attention. 


~


I will repeat it one more time. Do not leave your net unless called. Only assist the screamers in your area. Do not approach the hedges. Do not interact with the other owls. Defend yourself if the situation calls for it. If the crow is in danger, you will blow your whistle. A diadem will quickly arrive. 


“Okay! Got it! But what about the snacks?” 


You have provisions for the clients along with the aid in the kit you were given. 


“Okay… but can I eat those snacks?” 


There are no snacks. 


“Mhmm, but how many snacks does the crow get?” 


Wha… what? 


“Okay okay. Keep your secrets.” 


Just go to the net and be silent! 


~


She was almost definitely certain they were holding out on some snacks. Maybe she should have eaten before choosing to show up, but then she’d have just been late! Normally it wouldn’t have really mattered, but when she saw how much she was going to be paid she immediately quit her job. Being smart is one thing, working for NASA was another, but this trumped that by miles in terms of pay with far less stress. Especially when her previous boss got mad at her for using the simulation equipment, in his own words, 'as if it were a toy'. Well... that and smoking on the job. Something about not lighting fires where fuel is stored. 




The net itself was more comfortable than she had anticipated. She had wondered to some point what she was listening out for, but the several screams occurring over what felt like a short time reminded her of what exactly she was supposed to be doing. Waiting, listening, being prepared to spring into action at any moment! It felt almost like superhero work from the cartoons she so often binges when there was nothing else to do over her vacations and weekends. 


She had been assigned a particularly comfortable place. What seemed like a city outside of a city. Or a city within a city? Maybe a city apart from a city? Honestly, she had no idea. It was just a city in her eyes, and it was fun to look down on. The experience felt familiar, almost as if a reminder of a typical day. Like her first time rising above the atmosphere and looking down on the earth. It was almost enough to make her miss her old job… almost. 


She crossed her legs and rubbed her ankles. They were covered, but the scarring underneath was just as bothersome and itchy as ever. It also gave her time to examine the fancy little shoes covering her feet. She wasn’t one for heels, but these were just so adorable and comfortable! It’d be too presumptuous to assume she’d get to take the outfit with her, but it was nice to think about it… it’d be nice to think about anything! She had quickly lost track of what exactly the hourglass in her net was meant to represent, but if it was the actual time then it was too far gone. All she could do was fiddle with the net itself and play around with the clothing on her back… or rummage through the provided provisions. 


Then it finally happened. The long-awaited scream. Just close enough to be considered her area of investigation! She leapt from the net as if diving into the ocean with outstretched arms and slowly hovered down to the source of the sound. It was such a quick choice of action she hadn’t even considered looking to identify the situation first. However, she could clearly see the panicked individual who had fallen on their behind right in front of an open door to a building. 


“D-don’t… don’t come any closer!” 


No questions, no warning, just a slow descent right in front of the client’s field of view… albeit upside down. She didn’t even bother stopping before her head softly connected with the ground. 


“Hi! I’m a bird! Do you need anything?” No response; she looked them over while gyroscopically rotating around them. “You don’t seeeeeeem injured and you look fine. What’d you scream for?” Still no response. 


It was at this point the annoyance began to set in. Had she truly been sitting on the net for this long only to be met with someone who wouldn’t even talk to her? They weren’t even looking at her! Instead, they were looking at something else, or someone else given the way they refused to take their sight off the open door. It was then that she chose to simply do the same; then she also realized what the fuss was about. Emerging from the darkness inside was none other than one of the diadems she had seen skulking about, but this one wasn’t at all like the ones she had seen previously. As far as things went, they mainly seemed to just roam in some mismanaged order, or maybe an order she just wasn’t understanding. This one hadn’t been in this area at all. Possibly visiting from some other place past the hedges? Did they do that? 


First the diadem’s head, covered with a filigreed veil, was first to move forward before rising upward to show how they had to duck beneath the doorframe itself just to pass through. The veil concealed all, naught but a silhouette visible underneath and the robe covering their body was of the exact same design. Their hands clutched a thurible which hummed with a rather pleasant incense and rang like a wind chime. It’d be beautiful if it weren’t dripping so eloquently with the vital blood some body was clearly lacking. 


“Help?” The client’s voice finally reached her. Finally, having chosen to speak with her. However, her response was unexpected. 


“So you can talk!” The words, as she had so casually ignored with her prior speech, were nothing more than the hoots of an owl. 


Although it wasn’t entirely on purpose, most likely due to the now complete lack of seriousness from the situation; the client found themself with red cheeks holding in a laugh as the cinnabar boobook began to repeat the same mindless act of performing a solitary “hoot”, before chuckling like a child in elementary school… this would repeat several times, each with intensifying laughter and the nonstop spinning through the air… it only finally ended when the diadem spoke. Like a whispered whistle for the client. 


“Return to your net, little boobook. The client is fine, only spooked.” 


“Hoot. Ha! Hahah!” 


“GO!” 


The client jumped with the diadem’s final warning, the sound more like a high-pitched frequency compared to its previous counterpart. The owl, however, turned to them and reached for their kit. There was confusion when they were handed a pack of half-eaten dry graham crackers and a bottle of water, followed by one hand on their shoulder and a thumbs up. But all that confusion was gone just as quickly as she lifted into the air and returned to their net. The diadem waited until she was entirely out of sight behind the buildings before moving on. 




Time felt as if it were going as slow as ever, and she was only able to sustain herself with the entertainment of her own owlish voice for so long before the boredom caught up. She had anticipated more action, more trouble, more suspense! But she hadn’t even heard a single whistle get blown… but there was a high chance she might have not been paying attention. 


She yawned while watching over the city. Clients and diadems wandering the streets, every so often an owl descending in the distance or the crow making its rounds. She thought about going to explore for a moment, but that sounded like a terrible idea even to her. She returned to looking over her uniform and taking note of every single detail of her person from the locations of tools to the parts of the clothing she could play with in her spare time, but that didn’t distract her for nearly as long as she had hoped. It almost made her glad she chose to sleep before coming or she would have certainly fallen asleep in the net. 


Thankfully, with enough time, she soon bore witness to the encroaching night and the time in which she could finally leave. 


With her uniform returned to its rightful place she was supplied with clothes to make the journey home. She half anticipated they’d all just be going home in the same nothing they had arrived in, something she found entertaining to say the very least, but apparently that wouldn’t be necessary. Yellow sneakers, black leggings, a white sundress with a blue and orange flowery design, complete with a green cardigan… she couldn’t exactly be angry, and especially not with a head of pink hair. It was all the exact same quality as their uniforms, but if she was given these to leave, she could keep them! 




It was jarring, personally. The way they entered and exited made her stomach turn. The only difference now being that she was unable to keep her turning stomach from upheaving into the nearest bush. Thankfully, in all her vast knowledge, she had expected to return to this same place again! So, the rancid scent and taste of vomit was quickly destroyed by the minty stash of antiseptic mouthwash she had placed nearby. Not that it truly mattered seeing as to how it was accompanied by the exact same cause for her upset stomach to begin with… a full bottle of Pendleton Director’s Reserve whiskey; accompanied by a small bag containing homemade cheese Danishes, a pack of cigars, and a small phone covered in bunnies and ducklings. 


She didn’t waste any time before lifting her body up high into the air and popping open the alcohol, the first thing she wanted to get a taste of. You’d almost think nothing else could compare to the glee she’d experienced by the smile which followed her first few sips as she soared through the dark sky in as carefree a manner as she could. At least her shift ended at night which made worrying about anyone seeing her float about less of an issue. However, she did make a small detour to land when her phone started to emit the sound of a cat meowing in a particular catchy tune. 


“Hello! I didn’t expect a call from you this late.” 


“Don’t give me that! Where have you been?!” The male voice demanded. “I’ve been trying to contact you for almost a week straight!” 


“What? It hasn’t even been a full day, calm down.” 


“No, you said to cover for you at work for a day. Then you didn’t show up for a week! I know you already handed in your two-weeks-notice, but that doesn’t mean you just stop coming in jackass!” 


“What are you talking about I was only,” she paused as she looked at her phone screen for a second. The date clear as day. A full week having truly passed since she entered Anchor Point as well as several alerts for missed calls and messages. “Oh fuck… oh shit!” 


“Did you just realize a week has passed?! Our boss has been losing his shit! You told him you’d be test piloting a new plane prototype four days ago!” 


“My Danishes!” 


“Your… what?” 


“I used all my weed in butter and put it in the Danishes! If they’re stale, I’m gonna need a doctor. how am I not floating away?” 


“What are you talking about? Look, I don’t know how I managed to work with you all these years, Diogorah. Just come in and explain yourself. I’m not saving you this time!” 




Little did he know she would find another calling card upon reaching her apartment. Apparently, she had done a good job, and that meant she was able to return for another shift. She didn’t much care to look at the when or where as much as she was worried about saving her snacks. That being said, she almost immediately bolted out of the building after contacting her dealer. If she’d survive another day like that, she’d need to be more prepared. Not just for Anchor Point itself, but for the pregame and postgame snack prep. 


Maybe next time I’ll just make some gummies.

From which we undo. We become. To devour. You conquer. For all is one and one is none.




Are the words engraved in stone where a single tenacious wall sconce displays itself. It should not be there. Yet… 


Anchor Point is an idea. A concept. A mere childish folly. A ridiculous mischievous notion. One so easily scoffed at. 


A whisper. A sliver. Part of the insurmountable mountain made of rumours, rundown with blood and loss. It is something wholly obscene and yet so utterly obscure. All desire to enter under the sconce, to find the door which leads to everywhere and nowhere. 


Recite the words into the vacuum of time and space. Let it sink in. Welcome to Anchor Point.


The Diadem will see you now.
——— VISITOR POLICY ———


You come. Because you are called. Nothing led you here and everything is yours to lose. Should you deem yourself above the following policies. 


1. You come when you are called. You will know. Any other thought or invocation is false and will not be tolerated. 
2. You gaze upon the diadem at your own discretion. But never longer than the seconds it takes to spell your name. Never reveal your name. Nor any inkling of whom you are outside. 
3. Leave when asked. Speak not of what you witness here. Avert from speaking to others. 
4. Only the keys you obtain here within work. There is no exit otherwise. No path marked. 
5. Violence is permitted. Listen for the crow. 
6. Do not inquire or enquire anything of the Diadem. All information will come in time. 
7. Leave no mess. No trace of yourself. One would not be wise to dwell where they do not belong. 
8. Should you require help. Scream loud. The owls will be with you presently. 


Any deviation will result in your swift and gruesome demise. You are responsible for yourself and only yourself. How you experience Anchor point relies entirely on your own self determination and worth.


The Diadem will see you now.

When Amphitrite answered the call to join a job with only the stipulation that she not speak and only intervened at the sound of a scream. She took the job and its incredible pay package and benefits with a grain of abyss salt. 




She received her first shift on a day where she really ought to be hibernating. Rubbing her exposed arms, she inspected the uniform. It was classy, and she suspected incredibly expensive. It was confirmed when she saw the barely perceptible stitches belonging to the brand ABON. It would have taken not just her whole life’s salary but possibly every cell in her body in order to afford this uniform. A half-cloak that would hang from her right side. A flared skirt, followed by tights. Pockets and places for knives, needles, other small trinkets. All of it was there. Gloves that exposed her index fingers, those protected by artificial talons. 




Most curious of all was the mask, beaked it would cover most of her face. Except it would leave her bottom lip and one eye exposed to view. One of her coworkers, another owl. Had a similar mask and uniform - except their mask had exposed their nose only. No beak. Though the nose of the person was hooked to a certain angle. 

She slipped into the satin. Having been instructed by a beige calling card to come in naught but a black jacket - also supplied by the establishment she found herself now in. They had been very clear she should not bring anything but herself to work. No shoes either. So she had reluctantly kissed Loic farewell before putting on the jacket, knowing full well if the wind blew too harshly: someone would see she was completely nude. 





Even getting there had been a journey in itself. She shuddered at the mere thought of having to ever sip the supplied tonic - something to alter her voice, so all that would come out were hoots; or at least that’s the only thing that the clients would hear. Her co-workers would understand her, so would her higher ups. Diadems. She had spotted one at work, the jaunty crown on their head. Unique, all of these crowns. Made of fine metal and jewels. 




As she picked up the mask, she looked at herself in the mirror. She had the colouring of a small barn owl. Her coworker had looked like a harpy eagle. She wondered about the significance about the different owl types. The mask itself was weightless, it didn’t even feel like she was wearing one. The boots were snug and heeled - but she could tell they were made to be able to bolt at full speed at. 




This whole establishment was a sight to behold. The staff areas, in which she was now being led through, were bland and white. She was handed a kit, inside were simple implements for healing field injuries and providing simple food and drink to their clients. More specific aids could be summoned quickly with the bracelet she was given. 




Her first night was about to begin. Starting first and foremost in a space known merely as the orchard. Rows upon rows of trees, all of them ripe with delectable fruits and blossoming blooms. The sky above clear, not a cloud in sight. She could not see if there was anything beyond, save the hedges at the very end which she had been warned against touching. Told to sit in one of the many nets above the top of the trees. She would wait for the scream. 




Your task is to listen for a scream. Each space has four owls. One crow. Each owl is in its net until called on. You will only assist the screamer if they are in your area of the space. You will not go near the hedges. Nor will you interact with the other owls. Not unless the situation is dire. If you fear for your life. You will defend yourself If you fear for the sanctity of your crow. You will  blow your whistle. A diadem will be along presently.

Those were the instructions she had been given before being assigned her space. 



“What do the diadem do?”




They follow. They observe. They decide. We are here to ensure all is well and they are not disturbed.




How would she know if her job was done? The other owl had said the Diadem would call for her by her owl type. Then she would be replaced by another owl of the same kind. 

The small hour glass stitched into the net was only just about an eighth spilt when an ear-splitting scream ripped through the sweetly scented air. Her eyes roamed over, but there was no movement besides the diadem who seemed to stalk through the trees in a zig-zag manner. This one crowned with a three-pronged horned mess. It looked heavy and the diadem wearing it seemed to hop and skip. Their weapon - used for decisions. Was a curved sickle shaped blade. Which they tossed and swung around like a rag doll. 





The diadem didn’t seem all that bothered by the scream. Going out of sight only to be replaced by another diadem wearing their crown as a collar rather than atop their head. Amphitrite blanched. They were covered in blood. Gleeful murder screaming from their pores. She decided she didn’t want to come across them.




This time the scream came from below her. She only saw the briefest of movements. Someone running. Unceremoniously throwing herself out of the net. She landed feet first just as the individual seemed to trip on the deep roots of an orange tree. 




“Ow! Fuck! My ankle! Fuck!” 




She waited till the person had a chance to assess the damage before approaching. 




“Do you need something?”




It came out as one long hoot. Right. No words to the clients. This was going to be hard. 




The person, was terrified of looking at her. In fact they were trying very hard to look everywhere beside her. Which was funny, because there was nothing against the clients looking at owls. It was the diadem they should avoid looking at. 




Reaching into one of many pockets, this one with small grey-silver pills. Painkillers. If the artificial appearance was anything to go by. Placing two of them as well as a small bottle of water on the ground. Amphitrite sorely wish she could examine the ankle. But something told her, that this client would not welcome it.




Taking their non-movements as an indication that there was nothing left to do. Amphitrite started on her trek back towards where her net was. 




She could hear them limping, the opening of the bottle of water being opened. The pills being swallowed. A series of hard inhales. She turned to look over her shoulder. 




“Where am I! Please! There has to be a way out. Help me!”




She wished she could. But she did not want to lose this job. She swallowed down her sympathies as the original horned diadem emerged. She ducked her head in reverence and forced herself to keep moving.  




It was later when she was once more forced to roam the rows and spotted a child. That she realised that the diadem who had killed someone was the least of her worries. The child, was crouched over something. Rabid noises of flesh being torn. It was only because of the colouring - snow owl. That Amphitrite realised what she had stumbled upon. She took one step closer. But was frozen in place by the crow of the space. Two fingers on their lips. The child continued to feast. 




She did not hesitate to blow the whistle. 




When she did. Not one. Not two. But seven different diadems, including the horned and gleeful murder one emerged. This stopped the child. The child cackled. Standing up and hissing over the snow owl corpse. Amphitrite had to covered her own mouth to stop herself from being sick. Now she could see. The child had been feasting upon the innards of the claimant who had been one of her nameless coworkers. They seemed to move as one. Because the next thing Amphitrite’s nerves detected was the none to pleasant sensation of blood splattering. Except none of it got on her. Rather the trees, which had been so pretty were now barren and the child - still alive, still frothing at the mouth with gore; yowled and kicked with fury. 




“Go back to your net barn owl. Your presence is no longer needed.”




The one who wore their diadem as a collar ordered. It came out as a hiss. Something the  child couldn’t have understood. She didn’t bother to wait for the order to be repeated. She ran.

Perhaps she should have asked more questions, especially in regards to the policy of a staff abandoning their post and resigning. Except there was no policy and no one allowed her to return her mask or her uniform and never return. Perhaps it would have been wise to have done some research before she ever accepted the role and the stipulations it carried.




Amphitrite could not get the sight of the cannibal child out of her mind. The grotesque laughter, the spittle, the torn apart individual that was at their bare feet. 




She wondered if she might take up another role. Again, she was told she was too new. She would have to get used to being an owl and then maybe she would be considered for another role. One that might not even exist yet. 



At the end of the night, her mask and uniform were returned to the mannequin, and rather than walking out in naught but a jacket. She was given clothes, a simple black turtleneck, an oversized sun hat, a caramel brown leather bag, dark forest green slacks and a pair of sneakers. Again all of it screaming ABON. 




She left the way she came, unlike the entrance to Anchor Point which the client’s saw, the staff were greeted instead by the following words carved into stone, a single out of place metal lantern with a barely perceptible lick of light inside. 




We watch. We wait. We soar. We plummet. We hold no answers. Our questions untouched. We are all, the helm of stability. Our responsibility is not to ourselves but the greater scheme. We pay no price, we gain no reward. We are who we must be. Nothing more.

It turned out, when she finally fell atop the mattress inside the place she called home, that she had been inside of Anchor point for an entire week. Enough time had passed that Loic who had told her he was off to hunt had come and gone. How that had been managed? She could have sworn the clocks and other time implements inside the place were accurate. It hadn’t felt like a week. 



She received another beige calling card. They were pleased with her efforts. Her next shift would be in two days. Her arrival time would be just as the sun began its descent into the vastness of space. She would not see the likes of the orchards again; for she had been given another room. This one labelled: the cliff.

Save the gale that seemed to rip through and echo off the cement pillars and exposed steel piping. A large grotesque mess of clockwork, wires, chips and other miscellaneous electrical equipment. The smell of rancid patrol, mixed in with what one could only hope was rotting food rather than flesh. Turned over drums, charred black from attempts to start fires. One could generally  presume that the scape was meant to be a rendering of the world’s end. 




Therefore, those who were called to task inside of the dilapidated buildings were no doubt confused as to why it’d been dubbed ‘the office’. This was no suitable workplace, not somewhere to be proud of. 




Yet, there were souls to be examined, persecuted and sorted. The job description had been simple. 




Follow. Observe. Sort. End. 




That had been after spending a good six month as a type of bird, in a net, dangling and bored to hell. Occasionally assisting mortals and claimants alike who had pissed themselves. All of them confused, unnamed and completely unremarkable. 




So to be given a promotion and those four simple words. Why it was like winning the lottery or discovering the location of Extius. 




In whichever order. So one could realistically start by culling the individual and then follow through with the heinous task of paperwork. 




The outfit was far more appropriate. Though the hat-crown-diadem thing was a little comedic. That was alas what she was. A diadem. An arbiter and senior member of Anchor Point. Still, no semblance of information confirmed or denied whomever owned the business. No purpose either. But one could not complain about the pay check. It had been ample even as the lowest paid birds. 




Now, well it really was like being treated to an audience with Echowix for how much the funds meant. None of the others had had a clue about how to use it. All material goods and desires seemed pointless now. 




A grunt of pain, awoke her. The throne she’d designated her own protested as she stood. An pain-inducing wretched noise produced by the prosthetics unlike any other. Needle-point. That was her name here.






Ahh, yes. I’d forgotten. See. Besides my diadem that designates my identity. The rest of my outfit, unique with it’s syringes and other sharp implements sticking out but not jabbing my flesh. All of them filled or covered in a viscous substance; scentless but seemingly corrosive if touched by a client. I found that out after one tried to - and I mean the attempt was… interesting, to decapitate me. Only to lose their arms and then be snuffed out by my left leg. 




The paperwork had been embarrassingly long, and honestly I was reprimanded for causing such a mess. How was I supposed to know we were only supposed to end the life of whoever we encountered once we’d determined if they had a use. Or if in fact they were merely another meal for the void. Oh well; decided after being told off that I’d go onto to continue to execute my orders in reverse order. 




I think it’s fairly egregious that I wasn’t even given the trial of being one of those black cloaked birdies who incite violence. I was told I’m above that caliber. Whatever that meant. Those stupid fucking crows or ravens or some-such. All of them, cowards. Lazy. 




Then there had been the warning that I was spending too much time in one biome. To which I argued that consistency was what Anchor Point needed urgently. So they designated me the one that smells like vulture’s ass. 




Another grunt of pain. Augh. Whoever was behind them. So slow. So ineffective. A waste of my time. 




In hindsight: I probably should have held my tongue. 




Though a hybrid, and one not much loved by the houses of Dimea and Testua. I’d never really come across a member of either house. Least not for very long; mostly for my self preservation and their totally abhorrent failure. 




I must have looked quite a sight, to the…the newborn. What the actual fuck was a child of that age, of the house of Dimea doing here? Furthermore, why were they scenting the air with Testua blood. Besides the filth and grotesque nausea I felt, I barely managed to spy the still attached cord. Ahh, pregnant mother - presumably dead. Birthed their child here. So was the mother innocent and the child guilty or was it the child who had doomed their mother by existing? 




The newborn, like all claimant children. Resilient, seemingly aware of the situation and the dangers it was going to face. I presumed it’d only made it so far because it slid on the quickly drying crimson. The life fluid of a wrench. 




Had there been any policy on newborns? Tilting my head, I considered the small being, who grunted, sputtered, wailed. The list goes on and on. 




Recalling what had happened to the quote unquote cannibal child roaming the orchard. Three dead owls. Still alive. Still being judged. Perhaps I could leave this child to their own devices. No love, no warmth and certainly no kindness from me. This was purgatory; not some free pass, some walk in the park. 






Do you have anything to report? 




Six words. Repeated by the escort who assisted in the slow removal of my uniform. Olive green calling cards, all empty. Waiting for my observations. All of them would not be returning to where their filled siblings laid. A large cabinet with no end, but seemingly always empty when one tried to look through past instances. Shame. 




Do you have anything to report?




Could they not come up with a better question? I shrugged on the rich coffee brown overalls. The red beret, mother of pearl earrings and soft fur slippers - the kind only Russian Princesses in fairytales wore. 




Another shift. Another lapse of time. Complete. The baby I saw was someone else’s problem.

Another night, another shift, another turnover for Anchor Point. How had two days pass by so quickly? Amphitrite wasn’t sure. Was another week going to fly-by whilst she was inside? Did she want to spend that long inside? 




“I promise to try to let you know how long I’ll be. But no one ever answers my questions. Were you going on another hunt?” 




She’d only partially made her way through the absolute treasure trove of fish from Loic’s previous task. Supposedly he was going to go on another hunt soon. Amphitrite partially worried that these exhibitions were deadly, that people or creatures were losing their lives. It had been as much as a surprise of spending a week at work - as realising you could eat realmic beasts. 




“I’ll be safe. I wish I could tell you more.”




Every single time. Every instance of an attempt. Her throat closed up and she felt like a fish out of water. Anchor Point was keeping security and their policy on loose tongues tight. She wondered why she’d be chosen, or perhaps she’d been volunteered or selected by a figure like Eviax. But the idea that an ancient or a treasure would be in charge of such an absurd concept? Why it was even more implausible. There had to be rules, regulations… lines that could not be crossed. 




Well she’d never witness a cannibal. That was one more thing to cross off the veritable list of impossibilities.  She’d created the list shortly after she’d come to shore. When she hadn’t a clue about what life was like on dry land. When she had thought nothing overly bad could happen.




But it had been hard, not much helped by her hybrid status; claimant only firms turning her away. Stating she was a liability. Humans being discriminatory against her lack of education, experience and her hair of all things. Hell, she’d even tried to dye it once - the dye hadn’t even stuck and so wasted money she had no clue how to get back. 




To add to her troubles, none of the local fisheries wanted her. A freak of nature. Turns out, the Scottish humans only had fondness for nature and light claimants. She wanted to curse the damn closed-minded mortals. When the pay check had first shown up on her account - the bank had turned her away, not Loic who they had immediately crooned and begged to serve. He’d chewed them out for their behaviour, closed the accountant and moved their funds to another place, more secure anyhow. 




Amphitrite went from penniless and entirely dependent on Loic - after having spent the rest of the jewels, coins and other trinkets her parents had given to help her start her new on-shore life. To incredibly wealthy, with a job and a roof over her head. Though she supposed that most of what she had, was in part due to Loic. At least now she was able to share her load of expenses and try to pay back what he had done to get her started.

Welcome back. Are you ready?




Getting there, drinking the liquid, dressing and refilling her supplies from her previous stint inside Anchor Point, Amphitrite felt prepared for anything. She’d been told her previous was a trial, a sort of test. Now she was being given a permanent net, a room - space or biome. Diadems would become a little more regular and the expectation that she knew what was to be done; without being reminded or told again. When she asked how long she would be working for this time. No answer. Typical. 



She’d also realised, quite startlingly that her phone didn’t work. She’d put into her coat pocket, the same one she’d been dressed in on her first arrival. New clothes, same uniform. All her needs and wants taken care of. She had to wonder, just for a moment if anyone just stayed, never left and continued working. Hell, she’d not even been hungry, sleepy or anything until after she’d left. A week’s worth of missing meals and appetite had hit the moment she had woken up inside the apartment and raided the pantry for everything and anything remotely edible. 

Amphitrite settled into the cliff-side nook of a net, there was one above her, two below. All of them just able to poke their heads out and gaze down at the roaring ocean below. It felt good, to be so close to the ocean. Though, she had no intention of swimming down below where pointed and jagged rocks seemed to wait. Immediately, upon her arrival she’d noticed that most if not all of her clients were lost out at sea. Most of them swimming frantically, others - likely dead from over exertion floated limply atop the water. Some others had gotten creative, using their dead companions as rafts or floats. 





She’d never have to touch the water, in fact when she did try, something - or someone pulled her back into her net. The Diadems and the crow; more like an Orca, based off the fins and subtle high-pitched chittering which made up for its' lack of screaming. These Diadems followed a wholly aquatic theme, seaweed, starfish, oyster shell, pearl, coral, shark, seal. Why were there so many? Or was she just confusing them for each other? 



Most of the mortals wanted some kind of life preserver, something to cling to. Yet all she could offer them were useless bottles of water, immediately soaked bandages, a bar of granola. All of them just as terrified of her as the previous. At least there were no cannibals here. 

How she wished she could have helped them, comforted them. 


Then there had been the ones ballsy enough to attempt to scale the cliff face. Suppose it gave them something to do. Save the fact that the cliff where she and the other owls waited, was somewhat omnipresent. As soon as a client thought they were making headway, the uneven surface became smooth - they fell to their deaths, unable to grip onto anything. Impaled by the rocks they had tried to escape. Amphitrite did not wish this fate on anyone. 




The lull during her shift, provided her the chance to ask questions - no one answered, but at least she was able to speak aloud and express her thoughts, no choking. For instance, having determined that each of the spaces must have something to do with the eventual fate or consequence of the clients. The orchards seemed… tame in comparison to the wet and windy cliff.  She surmised that the orchard was what the mortals called a mirage. A spot of paradise seen on the horizon in the middle of a desert. The cliff must therefore cater to the clients who had done something that ate them up with guilt. Their attempts to climb and escape the water, their chance at redemption.