Splatter

1. The Interpreter 3451

Weirdly, Dean noticed the interpreter before anyone else in the room. There was plenty of to look at. Benny, for instance, was as wide-eyed as he'd never been in his twenty years as a part of the Cali police force. They were in the middle of a demonstration about how any Mer could be picked up upon entry across the coastal boarders by their department but Dean kept finding himself going back to staring at the man in the back corner of the room. He looked pretty drab next to the VIPs in their luminescent finery, with their faces painted neon shades. This guy was about Dean's age, maybe a few years older, in a plain black suit and white shirt. His leather shoes were scuffed, showing plenty of wear on the heels. The only colourful thing on him was his cobalt blue tie but it wasn't even a catchy shade of blue. At least not in comparison with his eyes. Those damned eyes were mesmerising though and Dean could throw a lot of adjectives at them but when it came down to it the only word that fits is 'ocean'. The guy wasn't translating at the moment, so he was just standing there with his arms folded.

Apparently a visit to the M.A.P.S. checkpoint was a last minute agenda switch for the Mer dignitaries and Bobby had looked like he'd swallowed a mouthful of puffer fish when he found out. They were already short staffed with the current influx, there wasn't any time for 'kissing fins' as Bobby termed it. It was probably not a politically correct statement for the joint chief of the terrestrial and marine police department to make, but it was indicative of Bobby's general disregard for diplomacy. So here they were, showing off the new Marine Affliliated Police Squad security gates to the Mer, which was ironic because the gates were designed to exclude them from the city. Or at least the ones without diplomatic passports.

"They are solar powered and continuously spray sea water. Anyone who comes through gets wet." Bobby explained ineffectively. The contraption had been designed by the university's science team and was far more sophisticated than Bobby's quick summary.

A vividly pale female with aquamarine eyes and glossy dark hair moved her hands around then inclined her head towards the interpreter.

"It's a turnstile with hoses attached?"

Dean was sure there was the faintest smirk at the corner of the interpreter's mouth. Dean bristled, his brother Sam had been on the Stanford University design team, however reluctantly.

Bobby cleared his throat, a faint blush on his cheeks and gave Dean the signal to open the seawall.

Dean and Benny keyed their security codes into the computer. Garth at the control console waited for the computer authorisation and proceeded to open the gate.

"At least two senior officers need to personally authorise every opening. These are our most capable, experienced and well trained officers. Benny Lafitte has been a part of the police force for twenty years, working narcotics and organised crime. Dean Winchester is our detection specialist, he's the best we got."

Dean watched with interest as Blue Eyes went to work, moving his arms and hands around with surprising elegance as he signed Bobby's words for the high ranking diplomats in attendance. Dean found himself distracted by the flicks of strong wrists and the most perfectly tapered fingertips he had ever encountered. Then Dean watched aghast as the interpreter pointed towards him with those gorgeous fingers and mouthed aloud "dick-tection", smiling coyly as he put on the strange little accent for the benefit of his listeners. Dean was all worked up already and they had not even exchanged words.

The humming of the gates opening in the recurved seawall sobered Dean's thoughts. This was a part of his job that he found difficult. First there was overwhelmingly bright sunlight. Dean put on his aviators and let his eyes adjust slowly. On the other side of the wall, the ground stretched out in soft white sand and beyond that was the blindingly sunny sea, dotted by passenger ships. The waves were only moderate, swelling into loose white caps far off in the horizon. Dean hated the sight of the ocean, he'd never done well near bodies of water and couldn't swim to save his own life, which he gets is kind of ironic given the little Marine insignia on his leather jacket. After a moment the new arrivals stepped out of the shadow of the wall and began to trickle through the open gate. There was about fifty, some of them looking smaller than the others, though Dean knew it was unlikely that there would be any juveniles. As each arrival proceeded through the gate they were soaked in sea water. Some instantly turned, plowing forward gracelessly as their legs morphed into tails. The wet polished concrete allowed them to slide into the waiting pool. Those who didn't change queued up in the customs line.