Chapter Text
The phone rings, jolting him from the terrible novel he’s been trying to hate-read for the past hour.
“M-Mr. Wriothesley, sir?” he hears the moment he picks up. “We just got a call from a lady who thinks a gopher drowned in her pool.”
He grimaces but pushes his book aside. Ah, it’s their new employee. He’s a good egg if not a touch twitchy around him, so he makes sure to gentle his voice when he answers: “If it’s a gopher, it shouldn’t pose a health risk. The chlorine in her pool should take care of whatever germs it was carrying. Tell her to wear gloves, remove the animal, double-bag it, and dispose of it.”
“I t-tried to tell her that already,” the newbie says. “The lady is in hysterics and is demanding Wildlife to come down. Apparently, the gopher ‘looks weird’ and she’s terrified that it might carry some sort of weird disease.”
“Weird-looking? How weird?”
“It…apparently has blue stripes?”
Silence. After a few seconds, he sighs. “Would you happen to know who the caller is? Is it Mrs. Lawrence?”
“Um. How did you know?”
Because Mrs. Lawrence calls Wildlife once a week to get Wriothesley to visit ever since she caught sight of him a month ago, trying to free a cygnet caught in a chain link fence. Because on that day when Mrs. Lawrence met Wriothesley, it was also hot as the devil’s asshole outside, and Wriothesley had been sweating like a pig, so his (unfortunately thin white) shirt had turned translucent real fast. And, because Wriothesley takes care of himself, that shirt was clinging to every divot and every swell of his (admittedly sizeable) chest muscles and abs to the point of making Wriothesley look positively obscene.
Mrs. Lawrence is a lonely widow who clearly enjoyed what she saw. She has since made it her personal mission to see more of it.
Apparently, she’s starting to resort to making ludicrous claims like a “weird-looking gopher with blue stripes drowning in her pool” now.
Still, he can’t just dismiss a call from the public even if he really, really wants to. (He has to write a report on the incident in case there really is some sort of a virus spreading among gophers). With another heavy sigh, he gets up, gives his terrible book one last longing look before grabbing the car keys.
“I’ll take it from here. Tell Mrs. Lawrence that I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”
“O-okay! Thank you, sir!”
Great. There goes his quiet afternoon.
He pulls up to a familiar two-storied red-bricked house with white windows, white door, and a white little picket fence lining the property. Mrs. Lawrence is standing by the gate and she lights up when she spots him getting out of his car.
“Oh, Mr. Wriothesley! I’m so glad you could make it!”
She’s also wearing a short wrap dress with a plunging neckline and as she flounces towards him, the skirt would flutter, showing off entirely too much flesh than Wriothesley cares to see. So he doesn’t; he ignores her in favour of grabbing his gloves and bags from his trunk.
She remains undeterred though.
“I was getting so worried that nobody was willing to come down here to solve this gopher issue! I was calling and calling and calling but the rescues weren’t picking up, and when I finally got an answer, I was told that I could ‘dispose of it myself’ since ‘it wouldn’t be harmful to swimmers’! It looks like only your foundation took me seriously even though I’m embarrassed that I managed to get Wildlife’s CEO himself to show up for little ol’ me—”
“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Lawrence,” he interrupts, doing his best to sound professional though his bland tone of voice and equally bland smile. “Do you mind if I take a look at this gopher in your pool?”
She giggles and bats her eyes at him. “Always so professional! Yes, of course, this way please!”
She leads him to the back of the house, chattering the entire time about what a fright her discovery gave her and how she was practically frozen in fear but the thought that someone as responsible and professional and strong as Wriothesley would help her ease her worries. Also, would Wriothesley like something cold to drink? Or maybe, he’d like to step inside the house for a bit to get out of this blasted heat? He must be feeling so uncomfortable in his thick t-shirt and long pants. He’s always welcomed to make himself more comfortable by shedding off some layers.
Wriothesley ducks and dodges her attempts like a professional dodgeball player. His bland smile probably looks more like a pained grimace by the time he gets to the backyard, though.
“No, thank you, ma’am. It’s Wildlife’s policy to stay in uniform and as the CEO, I hold myself to a higher standard than others to set an example. Ah, is that the pool? Perfect, let me take a closer…look…”
His voice trails off when he finally sees the gopher. A couple of things come to mind then and there.
First, that thing in the water is not a gopher. A gopher is a small land-burrowing rodent that’s between five to fourteen inches long, weighing a couple of pounds at most. The thing in the pool is significantly bigger, like, easily ten times heavier and a hell of a lot longer.
Second, that thing in the water has…extremely weird colouring. It has two light blue stripes that runs from its forehead down to its back, plus two darker stripes from the base of its ears to the base of its neck. It’s also got a fluffy snow white head, a pale grey-blue set of front paws, and an azure blue body, hind paws and, tail that…almost shimmer in the water like pearl dust.
Third—“Mrs. Lawrence, that creature is not dead!”
In fact, that creature is swimming around leisurely in the pool. Occasionally, it would splash the water with its tail before making sweet chirping sounds and then diving deeper under the water. No, not only is the creature not dead, it is clearly enjoying itself, playing, and that’s very sweet and all, but seriously, just what the hell is that thing?
“Oh, you’re right. I guess it’s not dead,” Mrs. Lawrence replies, siding beside him and sounding completely unperturbed. It’s a far cry from the panicked picture she was attempting to paint for him a minute ago. “Anyway, would you care for some lemonade? Or maybe a nice slice of cake and some biscuits—”
“I need to get a net and a cage. I’ll be right back!”
He rushes back to his car, grabs what he needs, and hurries back. Whatever the fuck the creature is, it’s still probably best to get it out of the pool, capture it, and then figure out if it’s hurt or diseased or something. He’s thinking it’s the latter but what bacteria, virus or genetic mutation would make an animal look like that?
When he arrives to the pool, he sees the creature still casually swimming though it’s now floating on its back without a care in the world. It’s got a white stomach with a blue patch that looks like an upside down flower and there is no way a mere genetic mutation could produce a creature as weird and otherworldly as that. What the hell is he looking at then? A fairy? Some sort of forest spirit? Because the only thing that makes sense is if this animal is a mystical, paranormal thing, which is a strange place for his mind to go to considering that Wriothesley prides himself to be a calm, collected and rational man.
“Mr. Wriothesley! Something’s not quite right with that creature!”
Wriothesley barely refrains from answering with “Yeah, no shit lady!” when his eyes catch the animal’s movements.
Huh. It’s still floating but now that he’s observing closer, the way that it swims seems…funny. It’s zigzagging unsteadily and it almost crashes into the side of the pool but manages to twist away at the last second. Even so, the animal looks like it’s scrambling for control.
Those clumsy movements…is the creature dazed? Maybe it suffered a head injury.
Wriothesley steels himself and slowly approaches the pool with the long net. He can figure out what this creature is later. He has a more important priority which is saving that poor injured animal.
He takes one step, then another, then another.
The creature continues to swim.
Finally, he gets to the edge of the pool and slowly dips his net into the water.
The animal does not change its behaviour. In fact, it’s almost as if it doesn’t even notice him or that it doesn’t care that he’s there.
Yup, something is definitely wrong. Any healthy wild creature would have either gone completely still or would have attempted to flee by now. At least it makes guiding the animal into the net easier. Very slowly, he moves the net so that it sits under creature and then just as carefully, he lifts it up and up and up.
The creature blinks. It’s now lying on its back, its four little paws sticking up. The net is fully around him.
“I’m not here to hurt you, little buddy,” Wriothesley murmurs as he pulls the net and the creature towards him. “That’s right. You stay nice and still, okay? I just want to make sure you’re not hurt is all.”
The creature blinks at him again and lets out a series of chirps. It stops abruptly and looks a little cross-eyed almost as if it’s surprised by its own voice.
Wriothesley chuckles. Okay, mythical creature or not, it’s pretty darn cute especially since it’s not thrashing about. He manages to lift the net up and out of the pool, then slowly, carefully, he lowers it to the ground. The creature merely flops on the grass, dazed, even as Wriothesley reaches one hand to grab the animal by its nape so that he can check it for injuries.
That’s when the peaceful spell breaks. With an alarmed hiss, the creature wriggles in his hold, its tail whipping around violently.
“Sorry, sorry! I need to make sure you’re doing alright,” he says, keeping his voice low and gentle like how he was with the new easily-spooked employee. He does his best to ignore the animal’s angry protests and inspects the creature carefully, making sure to turn its furry body slowly despite its best attempts to claw the shit out of him.
“No signs of blood at least,” he mutters. With his free hand, he reaches into his pant pocket and pulls out a flashlight. He flicks it on and shines it into the creature’s eyes, tightening his hold when the animal tries to jerk away with a terrifying growl-hiss. “I know, I know, you don’t like this but hoo boy. Very dilated pupils. Probably a concussion. We’re going to try to make you feel better, okay, little one?” He turns to Mrs. Lawrence, who’s paying rapt attention to everything. “Ma’am, would you mind bringing me that cage? Yup, that’s it. Now please stand it up so that the opening is facing towards the sky—perfect. Open the latch please.”
The animal must have sensed that something is wrong because it thrashes even more violently, this time accompanied by unholy growls like a particularly furious cat. It tries to break free but Wriothesley is a seasoned pro. He keeps his grip tight, picks the animal up and lowers it into the cage in record time. With deft hands, he closes the door before the animal can clamber out, leaving it to continue to growl and whack its tail against the plastic cage walls.
The angry sounds and rattling get slightly muffled by the large towel he throws over the cage. There. Hopefully that will make the animal feel less stressed, but he needs to get moving. He can’t have the creature hurt itself.
“Now that you’re done, you can sit down and have cool bev—”
“Sorry, Mrs. Lawrence, I can’t stay. I need to head back right away to make sure this animal will be alright. I think its concussed,” he says, sternness creeping into his voice. He takes the cage by the handle in one hand and the net with the other. Then, he heads out of the backyard.
“O-oh. Of course,” she calls after him but follows him to his car. She lingers around as he stashes the net and secures the cage on the back seat. “I wouldn’t want to hold you up when the creature is injured. Another time, then.”
God. He hopes not.
He dips his head and gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you for calling us. Have a good rest of your day, ma’am.”
Trapping the creature is part of the challenge. The other part is to get it out of the cage without having chunks of his arms ripped out.
“Here, little guy, shhh, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
The door behind him swings open. “Oh, hey Wriothesley! Got a new patient for me?”
“Yup,” he grunts. “Found this little guy in a pool and noticed that he was moving weird. He’s got dilated pupils that aren’t reacting to light. I think he’s concu—alright, alright! Stop swiping at me! I’ll back off!”
Dr. Morrison has worked with them for the last five years, having been trained by their lead vet Sigewinne as a young professional, so she’s extraordinarily capable. To see her peer at the cage and do a double take is…not something Wriothesley wants to witness.
“Wriothesley, what on God’s green earth is that thing?”
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me, doctor!” He draws back with a sigh. “Be careful. Whatever it is, it is not too friendly. Nearly clawed right through my gloves!”
He holds out his arm to show off the impressive slashes gauged deep in the elbow-length leather gear.
Dr. Morrison winces. “Yikes. Okay, let’s call for more people to help.”
It takes a village to raise a child as the saying goes. Apparently, it similarly takes a village to get one angry blue-striped not-gopher out of its cage because it is not leaving the enclosed space without a fight. It hissed, growled, clawed, thrashed and bit a lot of people, probably traumatizing the new employee too, but after twenty-five stressful minutes, the team managed to get it out and secured on the examination table, bundled in several thick blankets to make the world’s angriest burrito.
Dr. Morrison works quickly.
“No blood, no open wounds, not seeing any bruising or inflammation either,” she says. “I don’t think it’s a concussion but we’ll get some bloodwork and scans done.”
“So….is our new friend a mister or a miss? Also, what kind of creature is it?”
Dr. Morrison pauses writing her notes on her clipboard. “It’s a ‘he’ and my best guess is that he’s an otter. He’s got the body structure of one. I’m not sure what kind though; he’s a little smaller than your usual river otters but he looks very healthy! He’s not skinny like he’s starving. That’s good.”
The creature is the size of a very large cat and is already giving them this much hell. Wriothesley can’t imagine the chaos an even bigger otter can do if that’s the case.
“Why does he look like that though?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet but his colouring and everything is natural. He really is…blue. And stripey.”
“A genetic mutation then?”
“Or a deliberate attempt at genetic modification. You’ve heard of the new ‘design your own exotic pet’ trend, right? If that’s the case we might have accidentally rescued someone’s incredibly expensive investment.”
The mood darkens in the room. Wriothesley understands why; the illegal ownership of exotic pets is slowly increasing with the commercial success of gene editing technology. Rich people have taken to playing god by creating “custom-ordered” animals, only to grow bored and abandon them in the wild. Those animals live an incredibly sad life being treated as a plaything before being discarded on a whim. More often than not, they don’t survive in the wild, dying horribly from malnutrition or as a snack for the local wildlife.
Fortunately, those animals are almost non-existent in Fontaine. The illusive but hardworking Iudex Neuvillette was quick to enact strict legislation to ban those animals, including enacting punishment of up to 10 years in jail for those caught trafficking and owning such creatures.
Apparently, there are now a few bold idiots who are willing to gamble prison time just to own a “cool-looking pet”.
“We’re going to have to contact the authorities,” Wriothesley says. “Makes sure that whoever owns him gets caught.”
“Poor little guy,” one of the staff says. “He doesn’t deserve this.”
It seems the sombre atmosphere has a calming effect on the otter because throughout Dr. Morrison’s explanation, he stopped fighting back. He’s now taking to watching the people in the room quietly.
“What’s going to happen to him?” another staff asks.
“We’ll see what the authority says,” Wriothesley answers. “In the meantime, we’ll make sure to take good care of him and get him back to being in tip top shape.”
They move the otter to larger, clean cage with lots of blankets, fresh water, and food so that Dr. Morrison can complete her evaluation. One of the good news to come out of this is that the otter is not concussed, but the bad news is that Dr. Morrison now believes that he has eaten something to act so uncoordinated.
“No vomiting, no seizures, no breathing problems, drooling, or diarrhea,” the doctor summarizes from her notes an hour later. Only Wriothesley and a couple of volunteers are left in the room. The rest of the team have gone back to take care of the other animals in the rescue. “Bloodwork also looks clean but I’ll send a sample to an external lab for a more thorough check up. Whatever he’s eaten, at least it doesn’t seem as damaging as it could be.”
Wriothesley nods. Beside him in his cozy cage, the otter has made a little nest out of the blankets and has burrowed deep within the fluffy mound. His little face can be seen through the small opening, and he’s watching them with his dark beady eyes.
“No chips either?”
Dr. Morrison sighs. “None. Whoever owned him wasn’t stupid enough to leave a microchip. How was the call with the police, by the way?”
“They said they’ll investigate. They’ll come down to gather evidence but told us to also call the Ministry of Natural Resources on what to do with the little guy.”
“What a mess.” Dr. Morrison rubs the bridge of her nose. “Sigewinne is going to be so mad that she missed all the excitement.”
Wriothesley laughs. “She really will when she gets back from her sabbatical! At least she’s enjoying her year off!”
Dr. Sigewinne is their rock star vet who in addition to volunteering with Meropide Wildlife Rescue juggles her job teaching at Fontaine’s premier university. How she manages to get everything done while retaining such good spirit and energy is beyond Wriothesley, but without her, their rescue wouldn’t be half as successful. He’s just glad to see her take the time off she so deserves.
“Where is she anyway?” Dr. Morrison asks. “Last I heard, she managed to escape that terrible flood in Liyue Harbour. You heard the rumours about what caused that flood, right?”
Wriothesley shakes his head. “What, you mean that it was apparently caused by an evil god escaping its prison? I guess I’ll just have to see it to believe it ‘cause I find that story very hard to believe. I also heard that Liyue’s Archon retired or something. What? Don’t tell me you believe in Archons too?”
“Typical Fontainian response. Godless heathens the lot of you,” Dr. Morrison teases. “Just because your nation doesn’t have a god doesn’t mean Archons don’t exist! The legends of old have a kernel of truth to them after all!”
“You’re originally from Mondstadt! How can you say that to me with a straight face when nobody has even seen your god? Isn’t half of Mondstadt’s population convinced that Barbatos is nothing but a drunken hallucination?”
“And the other half believes he’s probably wandering around in disguise, getting drunk off his tits, yes, yes, laugh it up!” She gives him a fond look. “You know, you’ve been working hard for years. Have you thought about taking some time off to go travelling? Who knows, maybe you’ll run into something new.” Her smiles turn teasing. “Maybe you’ll even run into a god! That outta show you!”
Wriothesley grins. “Eh. No thanks. Happy to stay in Fontaine and keep working. Meropide Wildlife is trucking along nicely and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Especially now after ten years of operations, he’s got everything working seamlessly, leaving his days mostly free to drink tea and read awful novels. It’s not a bad gig at all.
He eyes the otter once more. The animal makes a quiet chirp then burrows deeper into his nest, shifting his body until his face is out of sight.
Yup. Wriothesley is looking forward to going back to his tea and reading schedule once this matter is resolved.