Nonviolent Protest
by Sandra

Nonviolent Protest

by Sandra

Hal Stanley had no problem with mermaids. As far as magical creatures went, they weren't half as bad as those fragging imps, they were far more low profile than faeries and elves, and much less prone to aggression than unicorns.

Nope, no problem with mermaids at all. It was the damn hippies he couldn't stand.

When he'd first started working for the coast guard, he'd felt a slight twinge whenever anyone made a comment about the "dirty hippies" of the League for the Protection of Magic-based-creatures. Political correctness training had left its mark on him. Two years later, he had to admit that the stereotypes were there for a reason. The majority of the protesters he'd seen seemed opposed to shaving and/or trimming any of their hair, and despite the department regulation of keeping five feet between the protesters and himself, Hal felt he could safely guess the majority of them opposed deodorant and shampoo.

"This is California," Joey, a coworker, had said after Hal's first run in with an LPM member, "I'm surprised this is the first time you've met one."

"Transfer from Kansas," he'd admitted, and took the guys' laughter like a man. He eventually proved that it didn't matter that he came from a Midwestern land and thought hippies were a thing of the past; he was a damn good member of the team.

Which is why he was currently one of ten men trudging up the beach towards a mob of LPM protesters.

"Couldn't they do their protests during normal working hours?" he grumbled to Joey.

"Yeah, well, you can say 'no' later down at HQ when they ask for a glass of water." Joey let out a low whistle. "This might take awhile."

Hal opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. "Is that guy supposed to be there?"

"Who?" Joey turned.

Hal pointed down the shoreline. "That guy."

"Aw, hell," Joey sighed. "Looks like one strayed from the herd." He grimaced, then handed Hal a flashlight and a pair of cuffs. "Probably going to try to cut the strum lines. Think you can go get him?"

Hal nodded and started his way back down the beach.

An old man was running his fingers right where the tide came up, seemingly searching for the wires that connected the strum counters together. His white hair was long and matted, and the moonlight was bright enough that Hal could make out that while he had been kind enough to wear a pair of ripped jeans, he had opted to write the letter "G" on his back rather than wear a shirt.

"Hey," Hal called out as he approached.

The old man looked up, eyes narrowed. Hal at first thought he was wearing a bandana, then realized it was a rather poofy beard and moustache.

"C'mon, Dad." Hal jerked his head towards the main group. "Step away from the ocean. Let's take you in nicely and with no pepper spray, huh?"

"Fuck you!" hissed G, his voice cracking. Hal blinked, and squinted in the moonlight. On closer inspection, the matted hair was a very pale blonde, and under the beard and moustache, the man's eyes blazed with a passion that only came from one thing: the rage of the post-teen.

"Hey, drop that!" Hal pulled him away from the strum lines.

G held on firmly to the wires. "Never! You'll have to take me out with them, dude!"

Hal hissed and tried to wrestle him off them, and almost succeeded. One of G's finger was firmly twined between two delicate looking wires - tugging too hard would break either the wires or the finger, and Hal didn't want a reprimand for either.

"Look," he tried, desperately, "this is a strum line! It doesn't hurt the mermaids!"

"It poisons them, man!" G glared and tried to bite Hal's nose.

Hal jerked back just in time. "It doesn't!" he insisted, "it counts them! It makes sure their numbers in this bay stay healthy and alerts us if something's gone wrong!"

"How'd you feel, then, with a counter thing hanging over your head all the time, huh?" G struggled, and Hal noted with relief that G'd finally let go of the wires. He took advantage of it to flip G over, and pin his hands behind his back.

"It," Hal said firmly, getting the restraints around G's wrists, "doesn't hurt them. It emits a silent beam and they don't even notice it's there."

"Lead!" squeaked G. "The lead in the strums poisons the water, man!"

Hal exhaled and pulled G up off the sand. "There is no lead in strum lines."

"That's what they want you to think." G tried to break free.

Hal held on and patiently continued. "If there was lead in them, we'd have all sorts of shore authorities coming after us - and if you think your protests are scary, Mr. G, you should see PETA's."

G glared balefully at Hal. "Carl."

"Excuse me?"

"Carl. My first name's Carl."

"Hi, Carl," Hal said, cheerfully, nudging him up the shore.

They walked in silence for a bit, before Carl spoke. "No lead?"

"No lead." Hal kept his hand firmly around the plastic divider holding Carl's hands apart. "Didn't they tell you this at hipp-- at LPM school?"

Carl was quiet again, not that Hal minded. It was all too brief, though. "I thought they had lead, man."

"No, no lead," Hal repeated. "Are you lying to me?"

"Nope."

"No lead?"

"No lead in sight."

"I'm going to be arrested and they have no lead." Carl sounded quite bewildered. "...say, could you let me go, maybe?"

"No."

"Aw, come on." Carl turned his head and grinned weakly. "I swear I didn't know the strums were leadless, man."

Hal winced. If Joey or any of the other guys figured it out...

"You can tell them I faked a faint then ran away. No one's going to care if you lost one guy, right?" The grin dropped off. "Please, man."

Hal sighed and fumbled with the restraint. It sprang free with a loud click. "Get going or I'm going to have to tell them you punched me to get away." He smirked, and poked one of Carl's arms with his flashlight. "And they'll never believe that."

Carl looked briefly offended, then grinned. "Yeah, good point. Thank you." He hesitated, then reached behind his ear and extricated a pen from the mass of hair. He surprised Hal by grabbing his hand, and scrawling something on the back of it. "It's my number. Call me when things are less stressed, ok?" He smiled, almost shyly. "We'll have a proper first date."

Hal meant to protest this last statement, mention that he wasn't gay nor had he ever been, but unfortunately he was interrupted by a kiss. It wasn't a good kiss, really, but in retrospect, Hal decided he was to blame for standing stone still while Carl's lips moved fervently over his. Carl pulled back while Hal's brain debated between correcting the previous statement and apologizing for the shoddy kiss.

"Thanks again!" he called, and began sprinting down the beach.

Hal stared after him for awhile, then shook his head. "Damn hippies." He put his hand firmly in his pocket, and walked up the beach towards his coworkers and the mob.