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cryxmercy · 4 years ago

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‘Tis But a Flesh Wound || Mercy & Erin (Flashback)

Beer and knives and immortal secrets, oh my.

When: A Saturday night in the recent past, before the Season One Finale Where: Mercy’s apartment Who: Mercy and Erin @corpse--diem

TW: violence, blood (non-medical), stabbing, mentions of stabbing, alcohol, drunken shenanigans, mentions of hypothetical murder, mentions of manipulation

Mercy couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this drunk. Hell, Mercy couldn’t remember what she’d done that morning. Not after nearly a dozen beers. Which was honestly more than she usually drank. But when someone else was drinking with her - Erin had finally had time to come by and do some basic self-defense training - it was easy for Mercy to get ‘into her cups.’ Which is exactly where she was now. Metaphorically speaking.

Physically, she was standing in her living room, what furniture she had pushed to the side (beer bottles stacked neatly in a tower on the coffee table) trying to teach Erin how to do a proper choke hold. “See…. you gotta… you gotta compress both arteries…” Mercy - who was the one in the chokehold - adjusted Erins arm so that it wrapped around her neck properly. Or as proper as possible when the two of them were drunk off their asses. Which wasn’t very proper at all. “Make sure aaaaalll the blood’s gettin’ cut off to their brain. Just make sure when they pass out you let go or well… I guess it’s win/win for you since…” Mercy snorted a laugh. “You’d get another customer if you kill a guy…”

There was no question that this was a bad idea. Of all the bad ideas that Erin had lately, this one was the best. She didn’t expect to learn a whole hell of a lot, especially after she watched Mercy knock back her eighth (or ninth?) bottle of beer. Honestly, she’d lost track. But that had been about the time Erin was finishing up her fifth when the blonde storm yanked her up and started moving furniture around. Oh. Right. She’d almost forgotten this part.

Yep. Bad idea confirmed the very second she tried to stand straight. “Listen, I know arteries,” she argued, a teasing laugh in her voice. But she did her best to reel herself back in while Mercy maneuvered her arms. Every ounce of her concentration went into following her directions very carefully. “Let’s see about this before I go propping up my own business, yeah?” She laughed, her arms firm but not squeezing yet. “I can’t decide if you’re brave or stupid for letting me do this right now,” she paused, a grin taking over her face. “Ready and--GO!” In the next beat, she was squeezing exactly how Mercy had shown her. “Am I doing it?!” She asked, trying to peak over Mercy’s shoulder.

Bad ideas could be good ideas. It was all a matter of perspective. And Mercy’s perspective was that this was a very good idea. Mercy had no idea how many beers she’d put back. She just… drank them. A thousand years of drinking plus a Fury metabolism made her tolerance… pretty high. But not so high that she wasn’t drunk off her ass at this point.

Mercy snorted a laugh at Erin’s assurances about her anatomical knowledge, but took her word for it (as much as one could while piss drunk). “Why not… why not both?” she laughed in between maneuvering Erin’s arms. “I’ve never been… a coward… not a day in my life…” That wasn’t exactly true. But Mercy wasn’t thinking all that clearly. Which explained why when Erin applied pressure to Mercy’s neck again she still continued to giggle. Or tried to… since Erin was apparently a quick study. So the laughter sounded a bit choked off… because it was. Though Mercy gave her an excited thumbs up in answer to her question. She tapped her arm to signal her to let up a bit. “I can show you… how to get outta this… or I can show you how to stab somebody... and not kill ‘em?” Because sharp objects were perfectly safe in their current state.

There was a gleam in Erin’s eye as Mercy’s voice and laughter started to sputter out in short chunks. She was doing it! Oh shit--she was really doing it. She let go as soon as she recognized that the hand smacking her arm meant can’t breathe, please stop. “Oh fuck, sorry,” she responded quickly, though the bellowing laugh that followed didn’t hold as much regret as it should have. And why should it? She’d gotten it right on her first try--she was allowed to be proud of that, right? She stepped back, a little pep in her step as she snagged a fresh beer, bringing out another one for the blonde while she was at it.

“Here--for your throat,” Erin teased and took a long sip of the cool beverage. This was nice. She was actually having fun, which was a far cry from most of her stress-filled days lately. She’d enjoy it as long as she could--probably until one of them actually got hurt or the alcohol got the better of them. It was her turn to sputter, nearly choking on her beer. “You want to show me how to stab someone?” Right now? In her state? She’d seen a thousand fatal stab wounds but a nonfatal one was new. Given her general anatomical knowledge, she could probably figure it out once she was a little more sober. But this way sounded way more fun and she decided to let the chaos that came with her sixth beer take over. “Oh, hell yeah,” she quickly moved, jabbing her in the side with her finger. “And the other thing too. But I’ve gotta know the stabbing thing first.”

Mercy laughed as Erin released her. “It’s good… it’s all… good…” She rubbed her neck, showing Erin no harm done. “You’re a quick study… you’ll be chokin’ dudes out for real in no time…” Mercy took the offered beer with a grin of thanks and turned it back, draining half the bottle in one go. It wasn’t often she did… this. This being… just hanging out with someone she considered a friend. No overhanging dread, no threat of imminent death or dismemberment. Just two women being drunk and silly for a little while.

She set the bottle aside with the other dozen and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Uh, yeah… I do… ‘cause sometimes you just… gotta stab a guy. But you might not wanna… kill a guy. Though sometimes you gotta do that too.” Mercy waved a hand. “But ‘s’fine…. ‘s’alright… ‘s’a little knife…” She pulled said ‘little knife’ from her pocket. And it was just a short, fat pocket knife. Probably couldn’t do much damage unless you… stuck it in someone’s neck. Or their eye… or… the base of the skull…

But anyway. They were talking about nonfatal. So. Mercy waved Erin closer. “You gotta… stick it somewhere an’ then… twist it-” She made the motion - sort of - with her hand. “- so the wound won’t close good. They’ll bleed…” Mercy giggled. “And it’ll fuckin’hurt… but it won’t… it won’t murder nobody. Probably.” After showing Erin - as much as one drunk person could show another drunk person anything - how to properly hold the little knife, as well as where to strike non-lethally, Mercy backed up a bit. “Now… come at me…” She motioned with both hands as she took up a mostly defensive position. “Try to stab me… it’ll be fine…”

Because this was a good idea. It really, really was…

Oh, this was a bad idea. Erin knew that already, and from the look in Mercy’s eyes she could tell that she knew it too. Especially when she brought out the fucking knife. “Oh, this is dumb,” was her immediate answer, wagging her finger over at her friend. She said the words and knew in her bones that this was very dumb. Didn’t stop the logical part of her that she killed two beers ago from taking the knife anyway. “Right. No murder,” Erin echoed Mercy’s words, practicing the manuever and gestures she’d just seen her do. “Alright, alright. I got this,” she nodded, maybe a little too confidently. But she wasn’t that stupid. Drunk, sure, but not--

Her entire body froze. One jab. It had taken one fucking jab for the blade to sink effortlessly into the skin of Mercy’s arm. “Oh, fuck. Oh fuck,” she hollered, wide eyes bouncing between the knife in her arm and Mercy’s face. Yet still, her hand still on the hilt, did she move. “What do I do?” She stared intensely at the other woman, panic setting in where her good sense should’ve been to begin with. “This was dumb,” she suddenly added, breaking her stillness to point a finger at the blonde.

“‘S’fine,” Mercy said, gesturing vaguely. It was dumb. Considering their states. It was also a bad idea. But as bad ideas went, it wasn’t that bad. Mercy had had way worse ideas when under the influence of alcohol or other things. RIP the City of London that one time, amiright? Besides, Erin had this. She was practical. Smart. Knew her limits. It’s not like she would really be able to-OH. Oh.

Mercy froze at the same time Erin did. Well that was unexpected. “Okay… okay… just…” Mercy did her best not to giggle under breath at the situation, knowing Erin was probably Not Okay right now. So she held up her own finger at her friend. “Okay. One: don’t freak out, m’kay? ‘S’fine. Two-” Mercy blinked slowly. “-OW. Three: imma show you somethin’, hm?” She waved Erin’s finger away. This wasn’t dumb. Mercy had been stabbed before. The wound wasn’t deep, and it hadn’t hit anything important, even though it was bleeding down her arm. What happened next was dumb. And in hindsight, it could’ve been very, very dangerous. But Mercy trusted Erin.

“Watch…” Without much preamble, other than to make sure Erin was paying attention, Mercy pulled the knife out of her arm and wiped the blood away with her hand. “Look…” She pointed at the stab wound. “Don’t freak out…” As they both watched, the bleeding slowly stopped, and the edges started to mend back together until there was only a thin, pink scar on Mercy’s arm. That too would likely fade with time. “‘S’cool, right?”

Staring at the knife in Mercy’s arm sobered Erin up faster than a pot of coffee through an IV. Felt like it anyway, the longer she looked. Was--was Mercy laughing? Did she not feel the whole ass knife sticking out of her? Maybe it was a good thing she was as drunk as she was--maybe she didn’t even feel it at all. A small miracle in the midst of this idiocy? “I’m not freaking out.” A lie, clearly, and she backtracked. “Okay, I am. And you’re not. Which is weird. Really weird. If you stabbed me I’d definitely--” Mercy was shooing Erin away and she watched the blood trickle down her arm.

Oh no. “I don’t think you’re supposed to--” But before she could protest, Mercy yanked it out and Erin couldn’t hold back the horrified gasp that overcame her. “Jesus, you just--” She cut herself off again. Between the panic and the alcohol, forming full fledged sentences felt impossible. But her brain started catching up with her common sense. She was bleeding. Just when Erin was about to turn and run into the bathroom for anything to clean her up with, something changed.

The wound was healing. It was quiet for a good few minutes as she watched. Blinked a few times to make damn sure she hadn’t actually just passed out. But this was happening. It was healing. Slowly, but it was happening. When Mercy spoke again, Erin’s eyes jumped back up to meet hers and all the urgency rushed out of her. “Cool, cool, cool,” she repeated incredulously. It was pretty cool, actually, but she was still playing mental catch-up. So--Mercy wasn’t human. Seemed to be a common thread between most of her friends. Just not any she’d known as long as the one in front of her. Her head tilted to the side, hands resting on her hip. “We’re… gonna talk about this, right?” She glanced back down to her arm, then back up.

“Nahh…” Mercy waved off the ‘not freaking out.’ “I’ve been stabbed… doze- no. Hundreds of times. Maybe thousands.” Mercy proceeded to yank the blade out of her arm - it really was fairly shallow, and had missed anything important - and wipe the blood off on her pants. If she had been sober, Erin’s own panic would’ve been far more concerning, but since neither of them was anywhere near clear-headed, Mercy just reached out and patted her friend on the arm.

“‘S’fine… see?” She pointed to the slowly healing wound. “All better.” The knife was folded shut and tossed onto the couch, where it bounced and disappeared into the cushions. Mercy laughed to herself before turning back to Erin. The other woman was looking at her with an expression that for some reason caught Mercy’s attention much easier than any of the previous ones had. Mercy’s eyes followed Erin’s, down to her arm and back. Her own head tilted to match her friends. “Waaaiiiitt a minute… are you…” Mercy narrowed her eyes. “You know about… things. Dontcha?” Her expression turned to an excited grin. “Holy shit! Why didn’t you tell me?! This is… fantastic! What d’you know about? Like… vampires and fae and shit? Tell me.”

For someone who’d just been stabbed, Mercy had been incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. Even the way she brushed the blood off and tossed the knife away like it was some toy had been handled with little care. “Didn’t that even hurt?” Erin had to ask, narrowing her eyes, which were still glued to the small pink scar that had formed.

Erin straightened her back at the woman’s question. “Yeah, I uh--I know things,” she nodded with the authority of a woman who knew more than what Erin actually knew. This whole… supernatural thing was an ocean she was still just belly deep in. She could still see the beach but there was a big blue vastness far ahead of her. “Vampires, fae, the whole shebang,” she confirmed. Alcohol. Oh, she just remembered alcohol existed. She turned for the first time since they’d started practicing back to her beer. Eyed Mercy the whole time she took a sip, gesturing towards her with her other hand. “So, what does that make… you?” She winced as soon as the question left her mouth. “Wait, sorry. Is that rude? Can I just... ask that?”

“Sure it hurt… it’s a fuckin’ knife in my arm,” Mercy snorted. “No point cryin’ over it though.” Mercy was used to pain, and to pushing through it. Pain meant you were still alive. That whatever had caused it hadn’t killed you yet. Not to mention the slight numbness that came with consuming as much alcohol as Mercy had.

So Erin only received a slightly narrowed gaze from Mercy instead of the full-on look of skepticism she might have received had Mercy been sober. But after a moment, Mercy’s expression turned to a grin. “That’s awesome.” It was always an interesting thing, meeting someone who already knew about the supernatural. And for it to be Erin, someone that Mercy considered an actual friend… a good friend at that… was even better. Though Mercy was still forever cautious. And she never revealed the identity of others like herself, no matter how drunk or impaired she was.

Mercy snagged her own beer and flopped down on the couch, blinking heavily. “‘S’not rude. I wish more people would just… fuckin’ ask. Instead of…” She waved a hand vaguely. “Beatin’ around the bush. Course not a lotta people know about… things. So… there’s that. But, we’re friends, right? You’re like… my only real friend. ‘Cept Arthur. Who may or may not lament that title - among others - at this point in our…” Mercy huffed, “relationship. But… since you asked, and I know you’re not a hunter… since… you know… the whole stabby-stab freakin’ you out bit...” A long sip of her beer followed, the coming revelation hanging heavily in the air. “I… am a Valkyrie.”

Erin shifted uncomfortably under Mercy’s gaze, until at last she got that look of approval. She wasn’t about to forget that whatever Mercy was, she’d been able to heal herself in a matter of minutes. Could vampires do that? No, no--she was definitely alive. She’d been warm to the touch during their brief training session. Fae? She didn’t know what the hell constituted a fae exactly but… maybe? She wasn’t afraid, though. If Mercy had any ill-intent towards her, they wouldn’t have been friends for as long as they had been.

“You’re right, I am your friend,” Erin lamented, slipping into the spot beside her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.She was her friend though, even if Erin hadn’t been the best one lately, she could admit that. Her world had turned on its head and taken her for a ride, so she had some making up to do. “I don’t think your boyfriend likes me much though,” she smirked, recalling the way he’d very quickly skedaddled away from her. But if Mercy was supernatural, and considering how he’d run away from her at the mention of his identical-looking family members, maybe there was something else going on there. That was quickly forgotten when she got lost in Mercy’s dramatic pause, leading into a confession. Valkyrie. Erin sat there for a moment, eyes wide, searching her friend’s face for more clues. “Okay,” she nodded slowly, still staring, realizing she was about to expose herself on how little she actually knew. But she had to ask. “What’s… uh, what’s that?”

One of the advantages of Mercy’s species was that she looked absolutely human. No one would ever know the difference in everyday life. She had been human once, after all. So Mercy watched as the cogs in Erin’s head started to turn. She was processing, thinking over things, and so on. Mercy half-expected her to leave. But she didn’t. Instead, she plopped down beside Mercy on the couch.

Mercy was… surprised. Pleasantly, for once. And despite her inebriation, her expression said as much, and that she appreciated it more than Erin could know. “Thanks…” Mercy told her, giving her own arm a bump. Mercy gave Erin’s smirk a small, confused frown. “Boyfriend? Wh- OHhhh. You mean Arthur.” Mercy snorted and shook her head. “Nooo… no, he’s… he’s not my boyfriend… he’s… mmm… he’s my…” Her brow furrowed, as it suddenly became very hard to classify her oldest friend at that moment. So Mercy’s brain took the easiest route. “Ex-hus- No. Fiance. Ex-fiance? … since ya know. We almost got married…” Mercy held up a single finger. “...once. ‘S’like… 200 years ago now? It... didn’t work out.” Mercy fiddled with her sleeve, the fact that she’d just told Erin that both she and Arthur were at least two centuries old not even phasing her. “But… I still love him, ya know? It’s… pretty pathetic I guess. Since… I don’t think he even… notices me like that anymore. He was… pretty mad at me for a long time.” Mercy gave Erin a tight smile. “So… yeah. Not my boyfriend.” Her rambling had completely lost the plot on why Arthur didn’t like Erin, so she didn’t ask about it at the moment.

Besides, Mercy had just revealed what she was to Erin. There were certain to be questions, raised eyebrows, maybe even an exclamation or two. Mercy waited for it… watched Erin’s expression as it started to sink in… and then… nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Mercy visibly deflated. “Valkyries?“ she asked, raising her own eyebrows. “Female warrior figure from Norse legends? Choosers of who lives and who dies in battle? Transporting worthy souls to Valhalla? Big fucking wings? Unkillable?” Mercy sighed. Of course not. “I don’t… do the soul thing. Or… the wing bit - not really - ... because no one read me the fine fucking print, but I-” Mercy touched her fingers to her chest. “- am older than I look. And virtually unkillable. Chaos and discord make me strong, and I can… exert certain influence over people… if I want.” There was more, of course, but Mercy paused there, needing another drink.

The cold beer in her hand was more grounding and necessary than Erin realized as Mercy continued to pour her secrets out between them. And maybe it wasn’t fair of her to think this, but she couldn’t help but feel some type of way about being left out of so much of her friend’s life. But then again--there was a whole side to Erin’s life she wasn’t about to spill to anyone right now. So she cinched those feelings and tossed them away, absorbing and going into listening mode.

“Did you just say two hundred years ago?” Her eyes scanned her friend’s features, as if something would give her true age away. Things were falling into place though. Why Arthur’s face kept popping up in his family’s old photos, why he had bolted like he had out of the coffee shop that day. She’d touched on something he didn’t want anyone to find out. What was he though? “Wait, how old are you?” She asked as delicately as she could muster. She turned further, resting her elbow on the back of the couch. Her mouth opened to say something, one of the thousand questions bouncing through her brain, but all she could do was stare (not impolitely) as she pictured her friend as the ancient female warrior figure she’d just described. “Huh,” was all she could manage for a few moments. “What do you mean? What, uh--what kind of influence?” She tensed a little as that descriptor, certain fae-related memories in the form of water-logged promises and pheromone eggplant parm dinners rushing back to her.

It was rare that Mercy shared certain things about herself. Not because she didn’t trust most people (she didn’t) but because it was dangerous. Both for her and the people that knew. Arthur was one thing. He was OG immortal like her. Among other things. But Mercy hadn’t told anyone else in… years. Something about Erin made her want to tell the other woman. Maybe it was because they were friends. Erin never judged her too harshly for her choices. She might tell her they were stupid or fucked up or absolutely insane, but Mercy genuinely trusted her. Had she been sober, it might’ve been different. But it had been a long few weeks, and Mercy needed to tell someone about it. About herself. About Arthur. About… everything. Maybe it wasn’t fair to Erin (it wasn’t… not one tiny bit), but Mercy was hardly in a state to think that deeply.

“Yep.” Mercy made a popping sound on the ‘p.’ “Two hundred years.” She watched Erin watch her, watched as her friend’s beer-soaked braincogs started turning… processing it all. She didn’t know Erin was researching Arthur’s family just yet, and that so much of what Mercy was saying was connecting those particular cogs. But even as drunk as she was, Mercy wouldn’t let out Arthur’s secret. She never had. So she waited, and when the inevitable question about herself followed, Mercy sobered ever so slightly. Something about answering this particular thing always seemed… well, sobering.

She mirrored Erin’s posture, propping her arm on the back of the sofa. “This year... will be my 1200th summer since I was born. I was human then. My parents were human. My brothers and sisters too. But… when I was…” Mercy shook her head slightly. It was hard to remember exactly. “... thirty-five… thirty-six? I became what I am now. I chose it, so… it wasn’t a bad thing.” The trepidation that settled on Erin’s face wasn’t lost on Mercy, who sighed. “We have the ability to influence certain emotions. To… push… people to do things. But that emotion has to exist inside them already. Things like… hate, fear, outrage… love... can’t be created from nothing. But if there’s a spark… if we’re strong enough, we can fan that spark into an inferno. But even then… on some people… it doesn’t work.” She took a long drink. “I prefer helping people help themselves. To fight back… to… be stronger than the things that wanna hurt them…” She looked at her friend. “And before you ask… no. I haven’t used it on you. Not that you would know if I had, but… no. I haven’t.” Mercy grinned. “You stabbed me all on your own, lady.”

Two hundred suddenly seemed incredible tame in comparison to what Mercy revealed to be her actual age. 1200. It didn’t feel real and Erin had a feeling it was going to take some time for that number to be tangible. Wasn’t gonna happen now, she knew that much. She listened, quiet but intently, anxious hands drawing the bottle to her lips until it was nearly empty. Her friend didn’t seem super thrilled to have to explain her ability, or that she hadn’t used it on Erin, and she understood that. She’d seen that look before on the faces of her other supernatural friends, which at this point seemed like practically all of them at this point. All of those discussions had readied her for this one, as much as they could at least.

“That sounds kind of… cool, honestly?” she finally spoke, stumbling a little, the sincerity was there. “You don’t like--do it against their will though, do you?” Erin narrowed her eyes curiously, lifting the bottle to top off the last of the beer. Cringed when she brought up the stabbing. Considering the jaw-dropping information dump she’d just received, she’d nearly forgotten that crucial turning point in the evening. Her hand covered her forehead, sliding down slowly along her cheek. “I’m going to be sorry about that forever, I hope you know.” The corner of her mouth lifted into an innocent smile and she shrugged warily. “Thank God you’re unkillable, right?”

Erin was quiet for a few moments more, sitting up slowly, pondering over the empty bottle in her hand. “Alright,” she nodded firmly, trying to push past the initial shock of this and into a clearer train of thought. She set her hand on Mercy’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to get us more drinks and then we’re going to sit here, and you’re going to tell me more about this fucking millenium-old lifetime you’ve been hiding from me all these years.” She smiled, trying to show her support here the best she could. Her friends were supernatural. That was just how this worked for her now. And she’d do her damndest to roll with this punch like she had with the others. It wasn’t like she didn’t have some of her own secrets anyway. “Sound good?”

The problem with revealing what she was to others wasn’t always how dangerous it could be. It also meant Mercy risked losing a friend. More often than not, people revealed their true nature when faced with something that they didn’t understand. Or that scared them. Or both. And Mercy understood. She really did. But even after a thousand years it never got easier to see someone that you’d trusted enough to tell your biggest secret to look at you with either revulsion, fear, anger, or an entire list of other very complicated emotions. And nine times out of ten, Mercy lost. And for someone that didn’t trust or make friends easily, each time one of those relationships crumbled, Mercy felt a bit of her faith in humanity fall away.

So she answered Erin’s questions and waited for the inevitable, even though the other woman said she already knew about certain parts of the supernatural world. When it didn’t come, and Erin asked more questions instead of exiting the premises as fast as humanly possible, Mercy knew a look of earnest surprise crossed her face. And despite her reticence and her total inebriation, Mercy was grateful to Erin in that moment. “No… not really… it’s-” Mercy found it hard to explain. “More like the power of suggestion? The want to is there, already inside someone… however small… I’m that little voice - a muse, if you like… - that says ‘you know you want to,’ or… ‘you can do this.’ I can’t make people do things… that’s more like vampire compulsion… but I can heavily influence their decisions.” And even that wasn’t a good explanation in Mercy’s mind.

But again, Erin took it all in, and Mercy was still a bit unsure where they stood. So when Erin nodded and made a decision, Mercy let out a relieved breath and smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

They would drink, and they would talk. Like normal people on a normal Saturday night.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Mercy felt exactly that: normal.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #p: erin #flashback #//this was funn!!#p: tis but a flesh wound

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mrandyzavala · 7 years ago

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What IS A Dolphin? The Idealist vs Pragmatist

I just started my second (and final) year of my master’s program in forensic science. One of the classes I’m taking is called Foundations of Criminal Justice, which is deliciously philosophical. And believe it or not friends, I have found some interesting parallels in the marine mammal world with some of the stuff I have been reading in my textbook.

This is my life right now

In the second chapter, the author writes about idealists versus pragmatists, and how they would develop and implement aspects of the criminal justice system. But the thing is guys, the author used an animal to illustrate the difference between the two perspectives. And I realized HOLY CRAP THIS IS IT. THIS EXPLAINS THE MAIN DISSONANCE BETWEEN THE GENERAL PUBLIC AND THE REST OF US.

So let's just not pay attention

To put it bluntly, idealists tend to develop an idea about something without much (or any) legitimate facts/evidence to support it. Their goals are led by what they believe is the right or wrong ways to view/do things. Pragmatists take a scholarly approach, letting the evidence and systematic observation of events or data develop and flesh out the goal. So I'm reading this and then boom, suddenly I read how an idealist sees a dog (heroic, loyal, Rin Tin Tin) versus a pragmatist (something that pees in the house and eats all of your cupcakes). And it is basically exactly like how most people see dolphins.

Dog-shaming is definitely an exercise in pragmatism

I could focus all my energy on school and really hone my understanding of this concept through the lens of my next chosen field, but I decided it would be better off in a blog.

Here are some major idealist (read: most of the general public, including myself before I became a dolphin trainer) concepts of dolphins, and the pragmatist (zookeeper) response. Bold is idealist, normal font is pragmatist.

Dolphins live in tropical waters that are also 78,000 feet deep

This is especially directed at obnoxious ARAs

Wrong. Raise your hand if you have told someone about dolphins living in cold water and they look at you like you just ate someone else’s toenails. I’ve encountered this when talking to guests about where they can go whale-watching in New England and geek out on the chance that they will see either Atlantic white-sided or white-beaked dolphins and they are like, “Uh, you moron, dolphins don’t live in cold water.”

Or these guys, who can ONLY live in cold water

The other bizarre part of this is that some idealists (myself included!) are shocked to learn that in many cases, warm water dolphins live in pretty shallow water, because that is where the fish are. Until I moved to Florida, I thought all fish lived in deep water because like…you know, the bigger the fish tank the better or something.

Dolphins will save drowning or distressed swimmers

Don't count on dolphins helping you

Okay, this may have happened once or twice. Maybe. But most of the time, if you get into trouble, dolphins will just sit underwater and laugh at you. Or think, “Wow, that sucks. Not my problem.” Sounds a little familiar.

Dolphins are gentle creatures who live in peaceful societies

Amiright

Plants don’t even live in peaceful societies. Next question.

Dolphins are extremely intelligent and are friendly towards people

KNOW THE TRUTH

Yeah, those of us who know dolphins know that they are individuals whose intelligence and friendliness exist on a pretty broad spectrum.

But the fact is, there are Jerk Dolphins out there. Usually, they are the insanely smart ones. They WILL steal your iPad. They WILL bite your toes. They WILL zoom into one of your guest’s um, male nether region. They will dismantle hardware in the habitat and hide all the pieces so you freak out for hours trying to locate them while the guilty dolphins look at your and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh

Dolphins are the only animals other than humans who have sex for pleasure

Side note: IT IS BASICALLY ALMOST HALLOWEEN

I admit, I bought into it when I thought that dolphins were somehow “higher” than other animals (and when I thought that there was such a linear ladder of intellectual and behavioral complexity in animals, silly me). However, sex should feel good for at least one party in sexually-reproducing animals, otherwise it wouldn’t happen.

It’s not like a horse suddenly gets this idea in her head, “Oh, I can just magically tell I am ovulating. Better find a genetically-fit stallion so we can copulate and contribute another data point to the Selfish Gene Hypothesis.” No. Like the rest of us (dolphins included), the chick horse is like, “I NEED A MAN. THAT GORGEOUS ONE OVER THERE. GET OVER HERE AND DO GOOD WORK, SIR.”

...and zookeepers are over here like....

Dolphins do use sex as a social tool more than some other animals, but they are not the only ones to do so (bonobos and gold diggers are classic examples).

All dolphins want to do is play

World domination is serious

No. Sometimes they want to eat. Sometimes, they want to sleep. Other times, they sit around and plot the demise of humans (spoiler: they are well on their way). I've worked with a couple of dolphins who were just business-oriented, both in and out of sessions. They would play once in a while, but for the most part they were basically like Dwight Schrute.

MARRY ME DWIGHT

Most of us have idealist viewpoints on many subjects, and that is not a bad thing. I don’t really think it’s a good idea to be firmly in one camp or the other. And it is easy to move from one to the other, especially when it comes to an understanding of animals and what they are like as a species AND as individuals. I definitely learned a lot more about dolphins after actually working with them, despite all that I had read and studied. And while I am poking fun at the generalized, incorrect myths of dolphins people believe, I also realize that you know what? That's how our brains work, until we get new information to assimilate into our understanding. In the case of understanding animals, the job of a zookeeper is to provide accurate information to our guests who may think that all dolphins are nice, or that rattlesnakes are evil, or whatever misconceptions they have about their generalized idea of whatever species. Having an “idealist” concept of an animal doesn’t mean you are dumb. It just means you get to learn some more cool facts, and have an even BETTER appreciation for that critter!

from The Middle Flipper http://ift.tt/2eRL7hH

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