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CHAPTER FOUR cherry bomb
warning: this chapter contains sexual harassment.
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
THE FISH SWAM in circles around the bucket as Nadine heaved it out of the water. It was a Harlequin Tuskfish—scientific name Choerodon fasciatus—and its species was native to the western Pacific Ocean. It was a beautiful and fascinating creature, with pumpkin orange bands wrapped around a white body, and four sharp teeth protruding from its mouth. Its yellow, fan-like fins cut through the saltwater of its bucket as it explored the constraints of its temporary home—which took about five seconds. The bucket only served to transfer the fish from its old tank to its new one—a process that was certainly outdated, back in 2019—but Nadine could tell that even if this period of confinement would be brief, it was likely still suffocating.
Pitying the small creature, Nadine set the bucket down on the bench by its tank and drew a container of worms from her pocket (if she were anywhere else, it would've been strange to carry this around; here, it was completely normal). Sinking her gloved fingers into the grooves, she popped off the container's lid and fished out a particularly fat worm from the wriggling mass inside. When she dropped the fish's food into the bucket, it could only manage to flail slightly before the Harlequin Tuskfish was upon it, sharp teeth cutting into its meal.
Seeing the fish so ravenously devour its meal sent another twinge of guilt into Nadine, and she resolved to pick up the pace in her transference. A new gallery had recently opened in another wing of the aquarium, and Mr. Flannigan had requested that some of the saltwater fish be transferred over. Fortunately, it would be a slightly larger tank, giving them a little more room to swim around in. They just needed to make it through the relocation process.
It wasn't like this bigger tank was out of the kindness of Mr. Flannigan's heart, though. Nearly every Ichthyologist Nadine had spoken to had made it clear that they saw the fish they worked with as nothing more than things to be diagrammed, charted, dissected. This was likely the mindset of most non-Ichthyologists—to most people, Nadine knew, fish weren't exactly ethereal—but for people who'd dedicated their lives to researching and documenting the creatures, it was ridiculous that they weren't appreciated more. It was just yet another reason why Nadine needed to work her way upwards.
"Bon travail, André," she whispered now, watching as the Harlequin Tuskfish finished its meal. She named all of the fish she worked with, ensuring that they wouldn't be forgotten by her. She spoke to them too, and always in French. At this point, after two years of being in Texas, they were the only reason she hadn't completely forgotten her native language. "Attendez encore un peu et vous serez dans votre nouvelle maison." Good job, André. Just hold on a little while longer and you'll be at your new home.
Allowing herself a brief rest—and only brief, as André didn't deserve to be in the bucket for long—Nadine sunk down on the bench beside the fish, wiping sweat off of her brow. A sigh broke from her lips. Mr. Flannigan was such a dreadful hypocrite—he couldn't give her a position as an Ichthyologist because she was a woman, but he had no qualms about giving her the sort of gruelling assignments seen as unladylike regardless. Nadine couldn't count the number of times one of her coworkers had offered to carry a ladder for her, or scrub the outsides of the larger tanks, all while shooting her a look that plainly said she shouldn't be doing this kind of work in the first place. Never mind that she could probably bench-press at least three of them with one arm—to them, woman was a word synonymous with weak.
