AAOOOSC!: Gulls' Adventures!

Nighttime has fallen upon San Diego and so has game time. In the Valley View Casino Center, the energy of the hockey night is boiling: The fans are cheering, the music is playing, the announcers are speaking as they wait for the San Diego Gulls to come back on the ice for the game.

In the home tunnel, the Gulls are lined up in their breast cancer awareness jerseys that are white with pink and black accents.

Yet in the middle of the line, Brandon is sticking out like a sore thumb: Instead of the visor helmet he usually wears in games, he is wearing a fishbowl helmet; he is also wearing a throat protector, covering every inch of his skin.

From in front of Andrew O’Brien and Jaycob Megna, Bryan Moore pokes his head out to face the oddly-dressed skater. “What’s up with the helmet?”

“You asked me that for the thousandth time!” Brandon hisses back at him.

“YEAH, YOU ALREADY ASKED HIM THAT,” Jaycob replies loudly.

“Well, I never got an answer!”

Joseph peers behind him across Nick to see the small skater. “He’s wearing it because he doesn’t wanna ruin his beautiful face.”

Brandon glares at him. “Shut up.”

Bryan snickers as he turns his head away. “Keeping a beautiful face for the fans there, right, Monty Muffins?”

Brandon groans. “Why does Stu have to be the one up in the front?”

Then at the announcer’s booming signal, the Gulls speed out onto the ice through the fog as fans cheer and horns blare.

As Brandon skates toward the benches, a referee glides up to him.

“Injury?” he asks with a nod of his head toward Brandon’s fishbowl helmet.

Brandon nods his head. “Yeah. Big one.” He then steps into the benches. A really big one, he echoes in his mind. He sits down on the bench. I am so risking my dignity here.

Then his mind starts wondering about the possibilities of this situation as his eyes gaze aimlessly ahead. What if a part of my skin is exposed without me knowing? What if ice gets on me and it seeps through my sleeves and onto my wrist? What if I turn into a merman in the middle of the game in front of these people--?

“Montour, get out there!” Dallas Eakins, the head coach of the San Diego Gulls, barks at the defenceman.

Brandon immediately jumps to his skates, spotting the captain and defenceman, Joe Piskula, climbing in.

Bandon quickly scrambles over the boards and hops onto the ice, in search of the puck.

“You can do it! Go and defend!” he hears the captain exclaim bubbly from the benches.

Brandon skates over to the crowd of skaters that are ganging up on the Admirals’ goalie.

The puck bounces off of the goalie and over to an Admirals’ skater’s possession. The skater grabs hold of the puck and shoots it over to another one of his men, who takes it up into the neutral zone.

Immediately, Brandon glides in a curve with crossovers, transitioning his direction. He begins skating backward with Jaycob, his defence partner, drifting toward the right to be aligned with the Admiral.

He then juts his stick out toward the puck in an attempt to pokecheck. The Admiral reacts by pulling the puck closer to him then slingshotting it toward the net.

Brandon, being the closest to the puck, pursues in the chase for the puck against the Admiral: He pushes past him and speeds over into the trapezoid area, where the puck is nestled next to the kickplate of the boards.

Before Brandon can take the puck away from the boards, he is immediately smashed against the boards himself.

“OOF!” He shoves the checker away off from his back and peers down at the puck.

Many blades of sticks are popping up by his skates, striving to rake the puck over to its owner. Brandon slams his blade against the ice and begins digging toward the puck that is now lodged between the boards and the barricade of blades.

Then, Brandon feels a skater come from behind him and jab his stick into the clump of other sticks, locking his arm around the arm Brandon has possession of his stick in to get a good reach toward the puck.

Naturally, Brandon yanks his arm out of the lock to continue in the race of getting the puck. Yet when he frees his arm, he feels the cold air of the ice rink hit his hand and his stick no longer in his grasp.

He lifts his hand up to his eye level; his eyes fly wide open.

His hand is bare: no glove, no stick, out in the cold, vulnerable for the touch of water.

With his eyes glued to his hand, Brandon immediately skates to the back of the net, away from the crowd to avoid being pushed over. My hand, my hand, my hand... Where’s my glove? My stick?

His eyes dart down to the ice, quickly spotting the spewed equipment on the ice next to the net.

Brandon sucks in a deep breath as his mind starts scrambling for ideas. Okay, what is the best way to pick up my gloves and stick without touching the ice? I should first pick up my glove, but there’d be bits and pieces of ice on it and what if I touch the--?

SLAM!!!

Brandon immediately goes airborne as a skater from the dispersing clutter of skaters collides into him. With his arms extended in front of him, he crashes against the ice on his stomach as chunks of ice spew from him.

Brandon stays in place for a moment, waiting for any pain rush up. Instead, he feels his hand covered a cold, smooth liquid. He pulls himself up to his knees and peers down at his hand. His hand is soaked with pieces of ice.

Brandon’s eyes widen at the ice: Ohhh nooo…

He immediately scrambles to his skates, snatches his glove and stick, and bolts to the other corner of the rink, where the home tunnel entrance is located. He bangs on the glass desperately, like as if someone threw him on the ice unwillingly.

“Open up!” Brandon begins to feel the sensation creeping up from inside him. “Please open up!” He slams his hands multiple times against the wobbly boards, making them shake.

On the other side of the boards, Matt Hackett is perched on his stool, surrounded by security men. He is in his goalie equipment, minus his gloves, stick, and helmet; in place of his helmet is a black Gulls cap.

He immediately perks up from his styrofoam cup of sunflower seeds, spotting the hectic skater pounding at the glass.

Matt gasps at the sight. “Monty!” He hops down from the stool, places his cup on the boards by the glass, and waddles over to where the boards open up.

One of the security guards, the one with tan skin and short, spiked black hair, gawks at the goalie. “What are you doing?”

“He wants to get out.” Matt lifts the metal handle and pulls one of the boards open. “Here you go, Monty.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!” Brandon immediately darts down the tunnel and follows the carpeted trail to the other side of the backstage of the arena.

He makes a right turn into the marked off area where the interviews are held, then turns left into the opening of the wall. Inside, he clambers through the zigzagging hallway before exploding into the locker room to his left and tumbling down.

Down below, now laying on the carpeted floor of the Gulls’ locker room is Brandon the merman.

He lets out a devastating groan and stuffs his face into his bare, tattooed arms. “Uggghhh…” He then lifts his head up and huffs. “Lovely.” He flaps his blue-coloured tail. “Just what I needed.”

“Monty…?” a familiar voice calls out.

He then senses someone stepping into the room behind him. He dares not to move a muscle with his eyes widen.

“Whoa!” the same voice exclaims, this time much closer. The person shuffles around the merman, casting a shadow on him for a moment.

Then the person halts in front of him, coming into his view. It is Matt in his goalie gear.

Matt is gawking at him. “You’re a mermaid?”

"Merman.”

"You're a merman?" Matt repeats in the same tone.

Brandon holds out his palm at him. "Don't mention it."

He tilts his head to his right with concern. "How did you become a merman?"

Brandon lets out a sigh. "I have no idea."

Matt gently lowers himself, kneeling on one of the sides of his black leg pads with the other leg propped on the blade of his goalie skate. He gazes at him intently. "Is it only you who’s a merman?"

"Yeah. That's why I had the fishbowl helmet and throat protector.” Brandon extends his hand out from behind him. “But my hands got exposed and I touched the ice."

"I saw that.” He casts his eyes down for a moment before lifting them back up to him when another question pops into his mind. “What's so bad about touching the ice, though?"

"I can't touch water or else I'd become a merman.” He peers behind him to get a good view of his fantastical addition. “As you can see."

"Oh…” Matt frowns with genuine pity. “I'm sorry. How long has this been going on for?"

"Just this morning. I found a fish, went pet shopping for it, and then next thing I know, I'm a merman in the middle of the alley!” Brandon shrugs. “How the heck did I get the ability to become a merman?"

Matt peers up in deep thought. "Maybe it's one of Icemare's curses." He turns back to face him.

His eyes widen ahead with sudden realization. "That's right!” He turns to him. “It could be! It CAN be!” He slams his fist against the soft ground. “It IS!” He throws his hand into the air. “What other explanation is there?"

"So you touched something that made you turn into a merman," Matt states, throwing his index finger from left to right.

Brandon tilts his head from side to side. "Yes, since that's how the curses go."

"And you're only a merman?"

He shrugs. "From what I know of, yeah."

With his eyes lost in deep thought, Matt says, "So what is something you touched that the others didn't touch before you turned into a merman?" He peers back down at him.

Brandon furrows his eyebrows as he rewinds his mental tape. "And we can narrow it down more with what is the last thing I touched after I got in the rain that the others didn't touch…,” he adds on. “It has to be at our house... I didn't get wet going to the pet store... Let's see: I touched the fish--"

"The fish!" Matt blurts out.

Brandon frowns at him. "No, but that wasn't there when Icemare's around."

Matt dips his head. "Oh yeah."

He continues on: "I touched the fish, and then I put it in the bathroom sink, I didn't touch the sink much, I grabbed a fishbowl, then grabbed an umbrella, my car keys, the door on both sides…"

Matt eyes him incredulously. "You guys have a fishbowl?"

Brandon gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah, for some reason. I found it in the closet. It was perfect for the fish."

"Did...anyone else touch the fishbowl?"

Brandon shakes his head. "Not that I know of."

Matt rubs his stubble-covered chin. "Maybe it’s the fishbowl…"

"Yeah… It can be…” He gazes around the room warily.

Matt’s eyes widen. “But wait: what if it is true that the fishbowl makes you a merman and you can’t get rid of that ability?"

Brandon fixes his eyes on the carpet with shock. "Ooooh…"

"We have to find what cures it,” Matt urges.

"Oh goodness…” Brandon runs his fingers through his damp hair. “...what can that be?"

He shrugs. "I don’t know."

Brandon groans and plops his hand back on the ground. He peers up at the goalie. "Um, can you hand me a towel? I want to get back playing."

"Really?” Matt stares at him like as if he is a mad man. “After what just happened?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay…" Matt gets up on his skates and lumbers over to the closest stall that has a towel. He takes the towel and trudges back to the merman.

He hands it to him. "Why do you need it?"

Brandon takes it and begins to dry himself off intensely. "Make me de-merman-ize," he answers through the towel’s movements.

Then the spiral of energy swirls around him, transforming him back to his human self along with his overprotected hockey equipment.

"Thanks!” Brandon climbs to his blades and hands Matt back the towel. “I can take it from here."

"Okay!" Matt takes the towel and faces the stall, tossing the towel back in its place. He then turns back around to the now empty locker room.

He waddles out of the room, across the backstage of the arena, and back to the opening of the tunnel. He takes his place on his stool, nestled between the boards and railings that line the audience’s arena.

The same security man approaches the goalie. “Hey, is Montour alright?”

Matt peers up at him with a soft expression. “Yeah. He just wasn’t feeling too well.”

“Ah.” With a nod of his head, he turns around and ambles away from him.

Matt turns back to face the game. He spots Brandon climbing out of the benches, looking like as if he was not just a merman moments ago.

How can Monty no longer turn into a merman? Matt wonders to himself mentally. This is definitely one of Icemare’s curse and his curses must have a cure. So what is the cure? What associates with the opposite of mermen? Matt lets out a whimper as his jaw slides onto the palms of his hands. Poor Monty, I really want to help him...

Notes

E.7 "Imma Merman"
Part 4/8
Episode 7/20