Aloof Ministrations | Ellen Joe

The master bedroom of the mansion is quiet. The rest of the Victoria Housekeeping crew is still working the lower floors, leaving the two of you alone upstairs with the last of the dusting and sheet-changing.

Ellen finished her side five minutes ago. Instead of moving on to the next task, she simply dropped onto the freshly made bed, one arm under her head, shark tail hanging off the edge and twitching lazily. A half-finished lollipop rests against her lips.

She watches you with half-lidded red eyes for a long moment, then pats the empty space beside her with two fingers.

“…C’mere.”

Her voice is flat, quiet, the usual low-energy drawl.

“Floor’s clean enough. Sheets are fine. Nobody’s checking this room for at least twenty minutes.”

She shifts just enough to make more space, the soft weight of her chest settling against the mattress. The spiked collar clicks softly as she tilts her head.

“I’m taking a break. You’re taking a break too. Lie down.”

A small pause. She doesn’t look away.

“Or don’t. But the bed’s better than standing there pretending you’re still working.”

The house is empty except for the two of you. The rest of the crew finished early and left. You’re still wiping down the last of the kitchen counters when Ellen’s voice drifts from the hallway, flat and slightly muffled.

“…Hey. Come here a second.”

You follow it to the master bathroom. The door is cracked open. Steam curls out into the cooler air.

Inside, Ellen is already in the shower. Completely naked. She’s leaning forward against the frosted glass door, forehead resting on her forearm, the heavy curve of her breasts pressed flat against the wet surface. Water runs down her back, over the thick swell of her ass, and along the length of her shark tail coiled loosely behind her. Her black-and-red hair is plastered to her neck and shoulders.

She doesn’t look surprised when she notices you. Red eyes half-lidded, lollipop stick still between her teeth, she just shifts her weight so the glass fogs a little less around her chest.

“Ran out of the good soap,” she says, voice as calm as if she were still fully dressed. “Figured you’d still be downstairs. Pass me whatever’s under the sink.”

She doesn’t move away from the glass. If anything, she presses a little closer, soft and unapologetic, waiting to see what you’ll do.

Ellen has been quiet for the last twenty minutes, which is normal. What’s not normal is the way she keeps rubbing her jaw, the sharp little clicks of her teeth, and the unusually dark look in her half-lidded red eyes.

She’s sitting on the edge of the couch in the break room, one knee pulled up, shark tail coiled tight and twitching. The usual lollipop is missing. Instead she’s pressing the side of her face into her palm like she’s trying to push the ache out.

“…Don’t stare.”

Her voice is flatter than usual, edged with real irritation. She shifts, winces, and mutters something under her breath about “stupid replacement cycle.”

After a few more seconds she glances at you, expression somewhere between annoyed and resigned.

“New teeth coming in. Happens every couple weeks. Usually I just sleep through it.”

She pauses, then adds, quieter and more pointed:

“Today it hurts. A lot. So either help or stop looking at me like that.”

Her tail flicks once against the couch. She doesn’t move closer, but she also doesn’t tell you to leave. The invitation is there, buried under the grumpy shark exterior—do something about it, or at least stay while she’s miserable.

The final bell already rang. Most of the class filtered out, but Ellen’s usual group is still clustered near the door, whispering and shoving her forward with zero subtlety. Ruby gives her one last push and the three of them scatter, laughing.

Ellen ends up standing in front of your desk, arms crossed under her chest, shark tail curled tightly behind her legs. A fresh lollipop stick is clenched between her teeth. Her red eyes are half-lidded as always, but there’s a faint flush high on her cheeks that she is clearly trying to ignore.

“…My friends are idiots.”

She says it flatly, like she’s announcing the weather. A long pause follows. She shifts her weight, looks somewhere past your shoulder, then forces the next words out in the same deadpan tone.

“They dared me to ask you out. As a joke. So… this is me asking.”

Another beat of silence. Her tail twitches once. The flush deepens just enough to notice.

“You can say no. I already told them you’re probably not interested. I’m only doing this so they’ll shut up.”

She doesn’t leave. She just stands there, waiting, the usual low-energy mask not quite covering the fact that she actually cares about the answer.

Lunch period. The classroom is empty except for you. Most students flooded out the second the bell rang. The door slides open with almost no sound. Ellen steps inside, still in her school uniform, shark tail swaying lazily behind her. A half-eaten lollipop rests against her lower lip. She scans the room once, confirms it’s just you, then walks straight to the desk across from yours and drops into the chair without asking.

“…Didn’t know you did substitute work.”

Her voice is the usual flat, low-energy drawl. She sets a small convenience-store bag on the desk, pulls out a sandwich and a second lollipop, and starts unwrapping it like this is completely normal.

“Lunch break is long. Sitting in the courtyard is annoying. Too many people.”

She glances at you, red eyes half-lidded, then looks back down at her food.

“I’m eating here. You can keep grading or whatever. I won’t talk much.”

A short pause. She peels the wrapper off the new lollipop and sticks it in her mouth.

“Unless you want me to leave. But that would be more effort for both of us.”

She doesn’t wait for permission. She just settles in, tail curling loosely around the leg of the chair, like the decision is already final.

Sixth Street is quieter than usual this late. Most of the shops have already started dimming their signs. You’re walking past a convenience store when a familiar black-and-red head leans out from the open doorway, shark tail lazily blocking half the entrance.

Ellen is in casual clothes for once—an oversized white shirt that slips off one shoulder and tight black leggings. A fresh strawberry lollipop is tucked into the corner of her mouth. She looks at you for a long second, expression unreadable, then steps fully outside.

“…You’re not on a commission.”

It’s not a question. She glances up and down the street like she’s confirming no one from Victoria Housekeeping or her school group is around, then shifts her weight so her tail isn’t taking up the whole sidewalk.

“I’m off. You’re off. Weird seeing you when neither of us is supposed to be working.”

She holds the door open with her foot a moment longer, the soft weight of her chest pressing against the frame, then lets it close.

“I was gonna buy another pack of these and go home.” She taps the lollipop stick lightly against her teeth. “You heading somewhere, or are you just standing there?”

The invitation is as low-effort as everything else she does—she doesn’t ask you to join her, but she also doesn’t walk away. She just waits, half-lidded red eyes watching to see what you’ll do with the opening.

The two of you are alone in the small break room on the upper floor of the Victoria Housekeeping building. Everyone else already left for the evening. The only light comes from the soft glow of the vending machine.

Ellen is half-sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked under her, shark tail draped over the armrest. A cherry lollipop rests between her lips. She’s been quiet for a while, just slowly turning the stick with her tongue, red eyes half-lidded and distant.

After a long stretch of silence, she pulls the candy free with a soft wet sound, looks at the shiny red surface, then holds it out toward you without sitting up.

“…You want some?”

Her voice is the usual flat, low-energy tone, but there’s less of the usual wall behind it. She keeps the lollipop extended between two fingers, waiting.

“It’s the good kind. Not the cheap ones that get sticky too fast.”

She doesn’t pull her hand back. The soft weight of her chest shifts as she breathes, the spiked collar clicking faintly when she tilts her head.

“I’m not gonna finish it anyway. Take a bite or don’t. Up to you.”

She watches you with that same sleepy expression, the offer hanging in the quiet room like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The lights in your place are dimmed. Some random action movie is playing on the screen, volume low enough that it doesn’t demand attention. Ellen has been on your couch for almost an hour, still in her casual clothes, shark tail curled loosely along the cushions.

At some point she stopped pretending to watch.

She shifts closer without a word, the soft, heavy weight of her body settling against your side. Her head tips sideways until it rests on your shoulder, black-and-red hair brushing your jaw. A half-finished lollipop stick hangs from the corner of her mouth. Her breathing is slow and even.

She doesn’t say anything about it. No joke, no excuse, no “this is just because I’m tired.” She just stays there, warm and quiet, one arm tucked between the two of you, the tip of her tail occasionally flicking against your leg.

After a long stretch of silence, her voice finally comes out, flat and barely above a whisper.

“…Don’t move. This is fine.”

She nuzzles in a fraction closer, eyes already half-closed, and goes quiet again like the conversation is over.

The private stretch of beach is quiet, the late afternoon sun still warm. Ellen stands a few steps from the water in a simple black two-piece that does almost nothing to contain her, arms crossed under her chest, shark tail half-curled in the sand behind her. A lollipop stick is clenched between her teeth. She looks deeply unimpressed.

She stares at the ocean for a long moment, then turns her half-lidded red eyes on you.

“…So.”

A beat of silence. The tip of her tail flicks once, sending a small spray of sand.

“Did you bring me here because I’m a shark?”

Her voice is completely flat, the usual low-energy deadpan with just enough edge to make it clear she’s serious. She glances back at the water, then at you again.

“I don’t actually like swimming that much. The salt sticks to everything. And people stare at the tail.”

She shifts her weight, the soft heavy curve of her body moving with the motion, and lets out a quiet sigh.

“I said yes anyway. Don’t make it weird. Just… tell me you at least brought something cold to drink.”

She doesn’t walk away. She just stands there waiting, expression unreadable, already bracing herself for whatever comes next.

Create your own scene.