SCYLO ◊ dread the day when dreaming ends

It was one of those days where you wish you had stayed in bed. The morning alarm not doing its job, bed-head hair on a tired face rushing to brush your teeth while trying to get dressed, no time for breakfast or coffee, running out of the house and forgetting your keys, running back inside to feed the dog, running back out, the car powering up with the needle on a solid E, getting out trying to find some change for the bus and receiving a nice stinky gift on the shoulder by a grey feathered friend. A long sigh comes out of the unlucky bastard’s lips. Yes, you’re Milo, and you sure wish you would have stayed in bed.
The pigeon looked down from its branch with dumb googly eyes, cooing innocently at him. Milo shook his head. It could have been any other day and he wouldn’t have mind that much, after all he was used to being a bit clumsy, but this was not the right time. After months of submitting countless ideas of supernatural-related initiatives in Edgewood, he finally saw the government move towards something interesting: a supernatural shelter in Washington, better even, in his own neighborhood. He doubted he had any direct credit in this decision, but clearly, showing there was interest from the Washington supernatural community had not been for nothing. Today’s date was long circled in his calendar since the ministry had announced the fundraiser, and here he was. Late, with a ruined jacket and no car.
“You’re far from the city roofs, my friend”, the zouwu said in a sigh while getting back inside once more to get changed. The pigeon ruffled its feathers and cooed some more before flying back where it came from, the loud flapping of its wings filling the cold morning air.

Once inside he tossed the stained jacket into the washing machine and grabbed another one: a clean second-hand wool coat that he thought made him look fashionable. A bit less the style he liked to go with when working outside, but a city bird seemingly decided otherwise. His signature red scarf tied around his neck, he was finally ready to go. How he wished he could just roam around freely in other forms than human; they were such fragile creatures, always chilly even in the warm winter of the district. He would give anything to strolls the icy streets as a big furry wolf, comfortable and fluffy, but even the most tolerant residents had mixed feelings when it came to huge supernatural animals in public spaces. The thought made him smile. That was something Milo had in him: even on the worst days, he could always find a reason to smile. Speaking of wolves and happy things, his dog Marius came at him, his big goofy head pushing his hands for pets, and the zouwu decided to bring him along. Why not, he figured. The event was bound to be outside anyways; fundraisers didn’t meet their purpose between four administrative walls. So, they were off, the young zouwu and his tall dog walking together, both alike with their bed-head hair and their soft, curious gaze.

Half an hour later, they finally reached the spot marked by the ministry, the place already filled up with volunteers and some bureaucratic people shivering in their coats. Marius padded gently besides him, politely sniffing the people passing by, his nostrils flaring up at the scent of the hot chocolate someone was distributing. Milo looked at some of the folding tables arranged, some covered with paperwork and forms of all sorts, as he tried to find who was in charge. He was pretty well known in the community service world, so organizers were confident to leave him with greater responsibilities, so the young man was eager to see what he could do to help, bubbling with ideas. Because he knew most of the regulars here, he wasn’t surprised when someone called him out.  “Of course you’re here”. The tone was not quite what he expected. Turning his head toward the voice, he soon recognized one of his neighbors, Scylla Van Seabrook, who also happened to work for the Supernatural Ministry. The ironic remark couldn’t help but make the young man smile a little. He wasn’t exactly friend with her, but their relation was respectful and amiable, though he suspected he was often reaching her limits with his constant presence in her suggestion box and some previous… accidents involving Marius. “I assume you came here with a lot of thoughts on how this should be done?” she added, eyebrows raised. The smile didn’t fade from his lips, his dark eyes sparkling with gentle amusement. “Where else would I be?” he said in a witty way, shrugging, while his Irish wolfhound walked towards the woman as he recognized her. Truth be told, Milo was more surprised to see her outside amongst the volunteers, as she always seemed more of a businesswoman to him. “I actually submitted ideas regarding this fundraiser already, but I won’t be insulted if you didn’t read them, since there was indeed a lot. I take it you’re in charge of the event?”. The tone wasn’t sarcastic or bitter; he simply wanted to know more, if there was already a plan regarding how it would be done, and more importantly, how he could plug there and there some of his knowledge and insight.

There were not many things to bring as much fire into Milo’s heart as using his own hands to help his community. The crisp morning air, the fallen leaves and the grass frozen over night crushing under his feet, the energetic chatter of the volunteers hurrying between stands like worker bees in search of their next task, thin swirls of vapor from coffee and hot chocolate filling the air with a sweet aroma… he couldn’t be more in his element. That was his rhythm, his answer to every question as he marched to the beat of the drums in his chest. He was even more thrilled to see that Scylla was here, in person; he knew that she couldn’t always make it to events, being usually very busy with important business of other sorts. Having her here felt right – after all, she was the one who brought up the whole project -, and even if they were very different in nature and in upbringing, they completed each other when they had the chance to work together. Milo’s mind was always bubbling with hundreds of ideas, running left and right where he could be useful, imploding with endless energy that often made him just as a spark: bright, luminous, intense, but prone to burn out as he never knew when to stop. The mermaid provided a calm, severe supervising that perfectly matched his character, harnessing the spark just enough to make it useful and concentrated where it should. Together, they were efficient and energetic, getting things done (and done well). “Who else would it be?”, the princess snapped back at him. He smiled once more. She was fierce, and he didn’t doubt that even without her guards – they were always around, these ones. He wished they could just have a normal conversation without having eyes watching him from a distance -, her piercing gaze would be enough to discourage any ill-meaning minds. Of course she was in charge. Not a lot of people in the ministry could lead such a project as well as her. Noticing a small flinch when Marius approached her, he whistled gently and the dog came back at him, slowly wagging his tail. “Sorry about the dog. I think he likes you”, he apologized while patting the shaggy head of his companion. The mermaid continued with a small sigh: “I didn’t have the time or the courage to read them before coming here, to be honest. Besides yours, the suggestions we receive are usually pretty unhelpful or farfetched. Sometimes plain rude. So I thought I’d get more out of the people who would actually show up and do the work”. The zouwu knew her enough to know courage didn’t have a single thing to do with it, and he felt the tingle of amusement finding its way in his chest. He couldn’t blame her, after all, there were more important things to do at the ministry than sit and read thousands of suggestions. The important part was that she was there, with him and all the others truly interested in the project. Truth be told, he didn’t mind going over his most important ideas once again. He also took a little pride in the hidden compliment she gave him, but he didn’t show it. He’d use the feeling later to get more things done.

Scylla took a moment to look around. More people were still arriving, and Milo thought that the event began to look more and more real as other willing hands were added to the count. Even if he liked talking about the specifics, he was fidgeting in place a little, impatient to get to work. In a quieter voice, she added: “I’m glad you’re here, but don’t hijack the whole thing okay? I really care about this one”. He chuckled a bit, shaking his head in approval. It was true he had a tendency to get all over the place in events like these, and he’d do his best to contain himself to the essential. At least he’d try. “Don’t worry… I won’t do more than you want me to, or… I’ll try. It’s your day.” He had to admit, it hurt a little bit to say these words, but it really wasn’t his place to take the lead today. There would be plenty of other occasions to do so. Dancing a bit on both his legs as he tried to fight the cold, he looked in the upper corner of his eyes, as if trying to remember something. “So… To begin, I thought that we would need to be visible, but not too obnoxious. The last thing we want is to make Edgewood residents feel like they might be tossed aside, even more so because it’s a shelter for… people like us.” They always had to be extra careful when conducting projects like these. It was a sad truth, but not less of a real one, and they had to take it into account. He lowered a slightly concerned gaze to the mermaid. “Shelters don’t always carry a good image, and people might be worried that it would disturb the neighboorhood's peace to have addicted and homeless supernaturals around.  We have to focus on all the good it would bring, and what advantages the residents have to make place for it in their streets. I’m not even sure I’d call it a shelter per say; its image will be really, really important, we can’t mess this up”. The way they would present it could entirely change the outcome of their success, and he had been in enough fundraisers to know that. People often think with their eyes, and a project is only as good as its public image. At least he had one thing nobody could ever resist: a cute dog. Doesn’t everyone love dogs? Marius was already popular with the volunteers, padding softly between everyone who was willing to give him pets. Maybe they could use him later.

Milo was prepared to detect some irritation radiating from the mermaid as he spoke. If he had a tendency to be quiet in other social situations, generally preferring to listen rather than to speak, this was a whole other matter: if he had any chance to help with a cause he held dear, he instantly became a tornado of speech and ideas that not everyone could bear with. However, as he explained in length a small portion of what he had in mind – and even then, he made a considerate effort to keep it short – Scylla was simply listening. Reflecting his smile as he promised to let her lead, she let him approach the public image problematic, her eyes shining with intelligence. No distinct negative emotions emanated from her, which was certainly a win for Milo: he was not annoying her… yet. He was used to be an annoyance, and sometimes it’s what it took to make things change for good, but for now, he felt it was better not to challenge his luck. Maintaining a good relationship with someone as powerful as her was very useful, but past that, he began to take a liking to the sea princess; had they not lived such different lives, they could even had become friends. It occurred to him that she probably didn’t know he was a zouwu: she, herself was a bit of a celebrity in the supernatural world, but they didn’t broach the subject of their origins in detail and he thought that it might even bore her; so he had just brushed off the issue without further thought. Maybe he feared that knowing would belittle him in her mind, change the way she perceived him, and for now, he was simply happy with the little pride her consideration for his ideas provided him. It was best not to change that.

As he finished to expose his worries about the neighborhood’s reaction to the shelter in the making, Scylla nodded and looked around for a bit.  It was his turn to listen. “We’re going to have to work around the fact that they will consider the youth coming to this shelter, or whatever we end up calling it, problematic. There’s going to be a lot of myth-debunking involved, but I guess that won’t happen overnight”. Myths and stereotypes were indeed a very hard thing to tear off from people’s minds, and he knew it way too well. It was hard enough being supernatural in a world that wasn’t made for them or want them: add that to the American disgust for the poor and people in need, and it was really the worst of every situation. He already had some ideas to help with the issue, at least to try and sensitize the people from around here. If it was possible in New-Orleans, why not here? Biting the inside of his cheeks to refrain from talking yet, he nodded as the mermaid spoke. “Your point about image is interesting though. That’s what I do for a living so we’re lucky there. I can persuade the high Washington society to see it as a good cause, worthy of their time and money.” A spark lit in his eye as he heard those words. He wouldn’t dare say it in front of her but sucking the resources from way too rich people to help those in need were one of his (not so) guilty pleasures. Scylla was perfect for the persuasion role: where he could be blunt and too honest for bourgeois manners, she had influence and knew her way around these parts of society. As if she read his mind, she continued: “Where I need help though, is with the actual people. The residents. You look… closer to them than I am. So your input would be very much appreciated.” Hearing the hesitation in her tone, he smiled once again while looking down for a second. It was funny to see the little differences in the way they saw things, in the words they chose. Where she seemed to choose her words carefully, as to not offend, Milo simply didn’t mind. He was who he was, and there was no shame in that, but he could see how that could’ve put off some people from her own social circles. His tone was not as hesitant, but there was a touch of amusement in his voice. “Yes, that would be best. No offense, but people from around here might see you as quite… impressive”. As middle-class were often weary of poorer folks, they might also be reluctant to concede their precious green neighborhood to who they thought were business sharks. “As you must guess, I have some ideas about what we could do with that issue, but since we agreed it’s your project…” he sighed softly. It was hard for him to give up the commands or harness his energy for a bit, but he knew there was no way around it. “… tell me first if you had anything specific in mind to get us started”.

The crisp crack of aluminum paper filled the short silence between them as Milo took out a packet of gum from his coat, waiting for an answer. He popped the white candy in his hands and quickly shoved it in his mouth, letting his nostrils filling up with ice-cold air as the menthol took its effect. Chewing helped him to think, he believed. A repetitive motion to keep his head from jumping everywhere, concentrated on the pressure of his teeth together, on the aggressive taste of peppermint on his tongue. In a relaxed gesture, he offered some to the princess, as if he was chatting with any other regular pal, any other friendly face while waiting for the city bus. He was really just like that. Even if he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to act any different in the presence of royalty than in the presence of a plain Edgewood citizen. Why bother? To him, people were just people, regardless of their title, of their money, of their power. He wasn’t daft, and roughly knew what was appropriate or not as to not offend and keep some good favors to him, but he really disliked the way some people bent themselves in weird ways to seem pleasing to a supposedly superior eye. At the end, Scylla and he were both supernatural, were both Edgewood residents, and even if a whole world composed of deep-sea kingdoms and sparkling zouwu revolutions stood between them, they both wanted the same thing: do good for their community. He respected that in her, truly. He liked the tranquility of their neighborhood, the smell of the leaves in the rain, the bubbling of the water in the spring, and most of all, he loved its people. The child, the elderly, the human and the supernatural, the fortunate and the unfortunate. He hoped she saw it in him. He hoped she saw the will to do good, rooted deep in his heart, more than she saw the annoyance of a thousand notes in a suggestion box. “You can tell me if you think that’s a crap idea. It’s my project, but it doesn’t mean I don’t need help”. The rough formulation took him aback for a moment, and he had to think especially hard about the aspartame-y taste on his gums to refrain from chuckling. No wonder why he liked her so much, the aristocrat from the ocean castle; she wasn’t quite as any other self-sufficient rich girl with manners so perfect it could stun a queen. She was simply true, bold. Hearing her speak, you could almost think she was one of the people. He appreciated that she conceded him some liberty, and he decided to take it seriously. They had no time to waste with some formalities or polite arguing about what he could or could not say; still, he remembered to leave her some space. A fair compromise, in the circumstances. Maybe they could both learn from it.

The mermaid continued, joining her hands, and lowering her voice as if she was afraid to be heard. Milo unconsciously tilted his head forward to hear her better, but also as a non-verbal openness to confidence. Marius the dog pivoted his gray ears towards them as if he wished to be included too. “I was thinking, you know, we agree on the fact that people are afraid of what they don’t know. But what if the potential residents of the shelter weren’t unknown? What if they had faces and names to put next to the project?” Milo smiled faintly as he listened. This was definitely a day full of smiles. He hoped it would stay that way for a bit longer if he managed not to annoy the hell out of anyone right away. He had an idea of where she was going with this, and decided not to comment yet, simply nodding in understanding. “It might be dangerous because we don’t know who’s a lunatic in the lot and I don’t want to put any supernatural life at risk – but it might be a good think to do portraits, maybe partner with a local newspaper and feature a few of the future residents, so they can tell their story, their struggles… It might even make some people want to help”. He couldn’t stop a small flinch of the brow as she pronounced the word “lunatic”, regaining the pose he had before by moving his head backwards. He couldn’t be mad at her for that misconception, after all they didn’t all had the chance to actually work in the streets as he had done weekly for the past years. She didn’t know, she couldn’t know. Lunatics didn’t end up in shelters. The country wasn’t so kind as to offer them that chance; most of the time, the ones perceived as too dangerous were quickly sent to jail or met their ends under the zealous intolerance of murderers in blue. No, the people they found in shelters were there because they wanted help. Youngsters evicted of their home, without families, single mothers without hope, elderly supernaturals without anyone to take care of them. They were just people. Not lunatics. He bit his tongue a little bit, thinking about what to say. “What do you reckon?” He decided not to pick up on her word choice, it was best this way and they weren’t there to have an argument about their views of the world but to get the work done. But he certainly had some things to say. “It’s risky to do it like that, but it might be very efficient if we do it properly. We have to understand that these people are not circus freaks, some of them will not want to get their faces out there. To them, it’s a shame enough to even have to go to a shelter. And if we go down that road, we can’t cherry pick who’s gonna get shown. If you want them to be your publicity, you’ll have the ugly amongst the pretty, and it might be scary to some residents, but at least it will be the truth”. He took some time to inhale, exhale. He really, really hoped she wouldn’t mind what he had to say; they couldn’t get around the truth about this kind of subject, and he truly did his best to stay as diplomat as possible. “On the other hand, it’s a good opportunity to humanize them in the eyes of the city. To show to the weary that they really are just people like you an I. Rather than going through the trouble of finding the very few future shelter users that will want to get out there and speak to papers, we could organize some kind of community get-together. An evening meal with the residents and the users. Nothing like food and music to get to know your neighbors and to gather money for a cause. I’m sure Edgewood churches would be happy to help and welcome us in their hall.” And if security was an issue, he was sure Scylla knew some people that would be glad to join in and assure the smoothness of the whole thing.