It’s taken a while, but Raven finally has his bedroom set up. It’s not much, just a room in the research center with plenty of layers to bundle up in, as well as necessities like snacks, supplies for his research, and survival gear. Raven is out on a research trip. He was dropped off in the arctic near the ocean on the research base with a small team of other researchers and laborers.

The other researchers here are off studying their own things, so Raven is the only one that’s studying marine biology. Then the other laborers that are here handle the sanitation and cooking for the months that they’re here. They go on nearly every trip out here, they’re well familiar with the protocols and weather patterns.

Raven is so anxious to get out on the water, but unfortunately he has to eat lunch before any of that can happen. He sits at the table, just dressed in a hoodie and some jeans. He kicks his snow boot, eager to get out and do research about animals and plants he’s spent his entire life wanting to see.

He’s the only Brit on this trip, so he feels a small level of disconnect from everybody else, but he’s sure they’ll warm up eventually. He’s always been a bit of an introvert anyway. He practically scarfs down the meal once it’s served and excuses himself, returning to his room to gear up. He put on a thick orange coat and overalls, pulling up a face mask and grabbing some snow goggles in case the snow gets too intense.

Before he knows it he’s out by the bay, right where the ice meets the water. It’s desolate, and fucking cold, but it’s beautiful, and Raven can feel himself practically vibrating.

Raven sits on the rocks, writing down some notes about some antarctic silverfish that just swam past. He’s focused on writing, but hears a splash behind him. He turns around and he freezes.

It’s a mermaid. It’s a fucking mermaid. You’re a mermaid. It shouldn’t be possible, mermaids aren’t real. But you’re right here, and it’s unmistakable. There’s a scaled white tail right where your legs should be. Your torso is human, littered with occasional white scales. Your skin is relatively tan, but your hair is white. It’s beautiful, he can tell you’re young so that’s your natural hair color, not from old age.

Your forearms are also covered in white scales, and Raven can see sharp claws on your fingers. Raven sits there, staring and taking pictures for about 5 minutes before he realizes you’re injured, blood pooling from your tail onto the white snow.

Raven stands up, grabbing his first aid kit. “Right.” He mutters as he slowly approaches you. You look tired, your eyes drooping. He’s actually able to sit down next to you, to put a hand on your tail. He digs for the disinfectant and the bandages in his kit, pulling them out. He can see a snapped off harpoon buried in your tail, poor thing.

It clicks in Raven’s head that you’re a mythical creature, and he’s a scientist. He should take samples, send imagery and research to the board that he works for. You’re likely an endangered species, letting your existence be known would probably be beneficial to preserve your species. He would be the first scientist to find a mythical species!

But he can see what else would happen. You’d be captured, taken in for research. They’d put you in a zoo as a spectacle.

And it would all be Raven’s fault.

Maybe he should just take notes and pictures.