Verdigris wriggled. She jiggled, she sucked in until her cheeks glowed a vibrant red. But still the tight nylon wouldn’t let her body in. With a snort of contempt she tossed the swim-suit onto the small pile and took a deep breath, the squealy voice of the judgemental assistant piped up from where she was jiggling around outside the door.

“How you going sweety?”

Verdigris grit her teeth, a young teen calling her ‘sweety’ was almost too much. She inhaled and addressed the feet she could see peeking under the door.

“Can you grab me the next size up?”

She twitched as she heard the intake of breath. She was fairly sure if her chest didn’t fit into this one then she would give it up as a lost cause, it had been so long since she had worn a swimsuit that she really had no idea what size she was anymore. The assistant seemed to want to make her feel like a freak, bringing in swimwear that would have been tight on an underdeveloped ten year old and gradually moving up the sizes, consistently slipping in at least one pair of bikinis each time, no matter how many times Verdy protested that she wanted a one-piece.

She would not destroy the innocence that lurked in her boss’ face. Not with swimwear as temperamental as the flimsy jobs the twiglike assistant was apparently fond of. She transferred the pile to just outside the door and took the new pile from the assistant’s outstretched hands. The girl could put them all back on the hanger herself, it was what she was paid for, and Verdy didn’t feel like being generous. She tossed two suits on the floor without even trying them, a leopard-print bikini and a one piece roughly the colour of strawberry thick shake. Complete with flecks of darker material.

She was able to pull this one up at least, but it squeezed her hips something terrible. She tossed the grey material aside. Next. She pulled it on, had one look in the mirror and began frantically struggling to get out, although with a neckline like that it was a surprise she didn’t fall out without even trying. She flicked through a purple number, camouflage print that would only help if you were hiding in a plate of scrambled eggs and a strapless blue suit that defied all laws of gravity in staying on. Finally she came across a suit that looked promising.

She turned it left. She turned it right. She double-checked the price. Then, and only then, did she take it off the hanger and slip into it. It was tight across the small of her back, but not constricting. The leg holes were wide enough for comfortable movement, but had little legs, almost like shorts, that meant any embarrassing moments as elastic became looser in the water would be avoided. The halter neck was a clip-job, no tempting ends of ribbon to be yanked by cheeky kids, and there was the tiniest layer of padding across the bust, allowing modest movement between pool and towel, even on the most freezing of days.

It was perfect.

She gave it one more twirl in front of the mirror, inspecting all angles, lifting and lowering her arms to observe armholes, bending from the waist to check the neckline and after one final crouch she was satisfied. There was no way that this swimsuit was coming off by accident. The little shorts even meant she didn’t have to splurge on board shorts. She stripped off and tugged her own clothes on, pausing to arrange the other options on their own hangers before unlocking the stall and stepping out.

The assistant gave her a sickly-sweet smile.

“So? Did you find anything that fits?”

The twitch that should have followed that comment was replaced by a smile, the swimsuit made it all better. She passed the pile of rejects to the girl (How old was she? Fifteen? Maybe sixteen?) and placed the black suit on the counter. The thin ribbing matched her eyes, a toxic waste-green and she fiddled with her bag as the girl rang it up. It took her a moment to pay and she politely accepted the material bag with the logo of the store splashed across it. That could be their swimming bag.

Crushing the receipt in her palm she flung it through the portal and out the other into a trashcan. Her towel was still good. She was ready. The warm spring air tossed her hair gently and she gave a little bounce with each step.

Bring on the swimming lessons...

The Kabal's Leader sat on the waiting bench in front of the reception desk. The telephone rang; he twitched. Children ran past. He twitched. Down the hall, a can of soda clanked down from the innards of a vending machine. He refrained from twitching (with effort). He was dressed in a blue polo shirt and khaki pants. Between his feet was a bag that contained a towel and swim goggles, still in their packaging. He had not been certain whether they would be required. In the end, he had opted to come prepared.

Slate waited just inside his local YMCA for his coach to arrive. He sat straight, his blue eyes focused on the doors. He was, perhaps, focusing a bit too hard on not appearing nervous. He had been sitting here for exactly twenty-two minutes. He had not wanted to be late to his first lesson.

Today, Ms. Verdigris was going to kindly teach him how to have a childhood.

Also, how to swim.

Verdigris had chosen carefully that morning what she was going to wear. It was not yet warm enough for a tank top, but not cold enough to warrant a long-sleeve. She had opted for a plain black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. These were the older pair, a little more scruffy around the cuffs and warn soft on the seat, but missing the faint bloodstains of the last pair the boss had seen her in. She had a small clutch-bag with her towel and flip-flops over her shoulder. (She knew better than to walk barefoot in a shared change room, no matter how often it was cleaned) and she was wearing the swimsuit under her clothes for speedy changing. She didn’t want to keep the boss waiting for too long and wrestling with a new pair of swimmers- never worn- was much nicer in the privacy of her own little bathroom.

With a hasty look at the resuscitation poster outside the entry she found the correct entry point and the boss, looking very not-nervous. She smiled at his stiff-backed pose and big blue eyes. Was that… a goatee? She swiftly dealt with the receptionist (with a furthering of the resolution she would never behave like a blood sucking parasite while working in a clerical position) and walked over to where the young man was sitting.

“Good to see you again Mr Slate, are you ready?”

Bring on the shallow-end… on second thought perhaps she should have brought floaties.

Slate stood up at the appropriate speed as Ms. Verdigris appeared: not to slow, and certainly not too eagerly fast. That would be undignified, particularly as her employer.

The receptionist raised an eyebrow at the "Mister" as she addressed him, then seemed to write it off as a teenage joke.

"Yes, Ms. Verdigris." He picked up his bag, holding it in both hands. "I brought my suit and a towel. Will that be sufficient? I also brought goggles. I… was not sure if they would be needed."

The young man rose to his feet smoothly, -had he always been this graceful?- and clutched his little bag. She smiled at his hesitation, her own eyes could cope with the chlorine, but to eyes that were not as hardy the water would end up giving a nice set of bloodshot peepers.

“That was probably a wise move, pool-water usually makes your eyes sting.”

Although, as a healer he probably wouldn’t even be bothered by the minor discomfort suffered by first-time-swimmers. She considered the contents of his bag thoughtfully. No flip-flops…

“Next time I’d suggest bringing some kind of shower-shoes, but for now just don’t step on- or in- anything that you don’t know what it is, okay?”

She glanced at the door to the changeroom marked ‘men’. His bag wasn’t very big, and hers was much smaller than the backpack she usually carried around.

“If you go and get changed and come back out, I’ll grab us a locker to put our stuff in while we swim.”

~~~

The change out of clothes, leaving her swimwear on- to be wrestled with after the swim- was quick and she was able to organise a medium locker to leave their bags and towels in while they swam. That way they were sure to be still dry when their splashing and learning was completed for the day.

Slate returned several minutes later, his bag somewhat bigger: even though he had neatly folded his former clothes, they were still rather bulky. He carried the bag over his shoulder, with his simple blue towel; his swim trunks were nearly knee-length, and light gray. In his wet hair perched the swim goggles. He had showered prior to going swimming, as advised by the large changing room posters.

Ms. Verdigris awaited him by the lockers. Slate neatly inserted his own bag inside, with hers.

"So now… we swim?" He ventured. "…Is the pool water cold?"

~~"So now… we swim? …Is the pool water cold?”

Verdigris was yet to test out the water, but most of her previous experiences with pools led her to the conclusion that the water would, in fact, be cold. Not freezing enough that your lips would turn blue and a warm shower would feel like it was burning your flesh off, but not warm like a bath either.

“Probably a little chilly, but not too cold, once you get in it’s not so bad.”

Snapping the locker shut she walked to the edge of the pool and inspected it briefly. The water on this side of the middle was deep enough that she could easily swim without scuffing her feet along the bottom, but shallow enough that should the boss need rescuing she could drag him out. Could a healer drown? Surely he felt the same discomfort of anyone else, and water up the nose was bad no matter how quickly you could dissipate the stinging sensation. With a quick breath through the mouth and a jump she was in the water. It was slightly warmer than she had expected, apparently someone had left the water heaters on, on a low temperature. Standing so that her head and neck were exposed, her shoulders just barely underwater she lifted her hands out of the water.

“Cup your hands a little when you want to paddle like this-” she demonstrated “and you’ll have to kick your legs, bend your knees when you jump in so you don’t jar your ankles and you’ll be fine.”

She smiled encouragingly at the young man.

“and the water is actually quite warm.”

Quite a bit warmer than showers pinched in public restrooms on chilly winter days before she had entered the mansion. Best of all, being an inside pool the chances of sunburn were significantly low and there was practically no wind-chill factor at all. Perfect learning environments.

“whenever you’re ready boss.”

Cup hands to paddle. Kick legs. Bend his knees when he jumped.

Though this advice seemed to come in reverse order, Slate thought he grasped its essential elements. Slate observed the placid, chlorine-scented water for a moment. The warnings of ankle-jarring combined with Verdigris’ clear display of standing allowed him to deduce that the water was not terribly deep in this spot. Then he jumped in, his legs bended. There was really no reason to hesitate.

There were few things which Slate did that could be classified as guilty pleasures. Constructing a hegemony was one; another was turning the shower in his room up to scalding temperatures, despite the Lab janitor’s firm warning that it bred mold on the bathroom ceiling. The sensation was pleasant, the fog cloud creation and dissipation an intriguingly complex matter governed by mathematics higher than his current understanding, and the conversion of any neighboring mirrors to canvasses quite satisfactory.

The pool water that closed over his head was less than scalding. Distinctly. Slate’s feet touched bottom: he remembered to stand. Goosebumps had already set up military encampments along his arms by the time he reached the surface.

“Not so bad,” Slate stated, blinking surprisingly stinging water from his eyes. “Yes. So now I... paddle?”

Verdy smiled at the pattern of bubbles heralding the boss’s return to the air. His goggles still perched atop his head in the scruff of his now sopping hair. Deciding he didn’t seem to be one of those people who automatically started gasping as soon as the water touched over their head she began sculling back a little, to where she had to tread water to keep afloat.

“Yep, if you put your head into the water and blow bubbles through your nose water won’t get in your sinuses. Plus it sounds cool.”

Sinuses seemed the smart kind of word the boss was so fond of, her use of it wasn’t condescending, it was a friendly integration of a word she possibly wouldn’t have used when talking to someone else. She watched him closely. There was a distinct difference between unskilled paddling and the flails of a drowner. There would be no deaths today, nor- she hoped- any other day they decided to go swimming.

The water felt nice against her skin. True, it wasn’t the same as the water of the ocean (kind of like comparing a magestic eagle in flight and a feather-quill) it lacked the feeling of life, and power. The feeling of buoyancy, not constantly dragged by gravity, she decided she really had to come swimming more often. True, she was a little out of practice, and she probably couldn’t make the same times she used to, but the feeling was the bit that mattered.

Her suggestion regarding his sinuses was noted, and processed. So. People put their head into public pools, and exhaled through their sinuses. In a manner meant to keep them clear. The Kabal’s Leader turned suddenly dubious eyes on the water’s surface, wondering why the pool rules included bathing before swimming, yet allowed blowing one’s nose in the communal water.

Slate reached up, and wordlessly brought his goggles down to shield his eyes. Then he leaned forward in the water and—keeping his mouth both closed and above the surface—experimented with this ‘paddling’.

It proved a surprisingly effective, if not efficient, mode of travel. The water’s density compared to that of his body allowed for a natural floating phenomenon. It was not nearly as difficult as ice skating, though slightly more challenging than ordering someone killed. He paddled in a slow circle around Verdigris, his head held above the water with the utmost of dignity.

He wondered if his feet were supposed to be splashing her quite so much.

The young man was not a bubble blower. In fact, currently he looked more like a cat desperately trying to keep its ears from getting wet. For the shortest of moments she considered dunking his head underwater, but decided that not only was it mean and uncalled for- no matter how funny- it served no real purpose. Besides which, dunked cats usually came up claws swinging, and so far she liked this young man. Strange manner of talking and all.

Or perhaps especially.

A particularly big splash to the face cut that line of thought off nice and fast. She shook her head to clear the water from her eyes and sneezed once, twice, three times. Sneezing whilst swimming by far was one of the strangest things. Your body is crushed for a moment as all the weight of the water presses in on you, then it is as if you are weightless, you zoom to the top of the water- sneeze- and are normal again. Repeat three times and voila, Verdy.

All this was completed in less than a second and she wiped her eyes and nose with her hands in an effort to clear those post-sneeze-tingles.

“S’cuse me.”

She observed him for a moment more and nodded. He would not drown now even if he got startled out of a stroke. Being towards the side left the wall an option if water instead of air was inhaled.

“Good job, you have mastered the art of doggy-paddle. Ready to move onto a stroke?”

“Mastered?” Slate repeated, his splashing circuit continuing. A slight frown came to his face. “No, I do not believe so.”

A particularly uncoordinated kick of his leg sent a small wave crashing toward her face. He was quite certain he was doing something wrong. While he was not overly familiar with swimming, nor had he observed swimmers at length, he did know that its purpose was propulsion. Much like ice skating, or simple walking.

If he walked like he was currently swimming, he was quite certain he’d be diagnosed with epilepsy.

“Am I truly doing this right?” He inquired doubtfully, kicking again. And again.

Splash, splash, splash.

So mastered was a bit of an overstatement. The splashings of his feet may have been acceptable from a four or five year old, but people always seem more judgmental the older you are when you learn something. Except maybe lawn bowls or something like that.

~~“Am I truly doing this right?”

She blinked away the pool water only to cop another few rapid-fire splashes. Sucking in a breath in a second’s pause she ducked under the water and with a quick kick and paddle popped up on the other, splash-free, side of her young boss.

“Almost. You need to straighten your back a little more so your feet go underwater. Can you feel how bent you are in the middle? That’s why your feet are splashing so much. Here, suck your belly up here.”

'There'

She pressed at his tummy slightly above his belly button. If it worked his back would stop doing an upside-down cat stretch and his feet would kick him along from safely underwater. Leaving her face splash-free, despite the fact she could open her eyes happily underwater the splashings always felt different and forced her eyes closed.

Slate was unsure how appropriate it was for his future secretary to be touching his bare midriff. Susan’s reaction to such also came to mind, though he was unsure why—in his imagination, it was a purely practical reply: ‘You look ridiculous. Do what she’s telling you.’

Imaginary Susan gave sound advice.

Slate’s tummy moved back upwards; his back relaxed into a more natural line. His legs slipped beneath the water. He kept paddling, now more of a cruise boat than a sinking ferry.

“Ah,” he observed. “That is an improvement. Thank you.”

~~“Ah, that is an improvement. Thank you.”

She smiled, it was an improvement, a vast one in fact, mass splashings seemed to be less likely now and he looked more like a swimming tiger, less like a drowning house-cat. Minus the fur. On both accounts. Now that the coast was clear she ducked back under him to inspect from the other side where he seemed to be heading. In fact he had been heading that direction before she ducked under him the first time.

She watched him for a few moments more just to make sure of what she suspected.

The boss, ever so carefully and minus the splashings, was going around in circles. Highly dignified and satisfied circles, but circles all the same. She refused to giggle at him, but she allowed herself a grin, after all, it was slightly funny. She tilted her head a little and tried to work out exactly what he was doing to make rounds of her bobbing body.

“You’re very welcome. I think, though… your aim might need a little work.”

There were a few kids messing around further down the pool, and a man wearing much too little, but other than that the pool was empty, a perfect place to learn straightness without getting in the way of others.

“Try and scoop the same amount of water with each hand. You can put your head down and look at the line on the bottom of the pool if you need something straight to follow, you’d have to blow bubbles though, but you can use your mouth or your nose for this.”