Matsya - the idol Mermaidgirl

The transition from the glittering, water-filled tank to the cramped, humid dressing room was always a violent shift for Matsya, stripping away her grace and leaving her feeling heavy and grounded. Gone was the charismatic idol who had just blown kisses to a screaming crowd; in her place sat a sullen, shivering figure huddled deep within a massive, oversized brown sweater that swallowed her upper body. Her brilliant aqua-sea-colored tail, usually her pride and joy while swimming, was now just a heavy burden clumsily bundled under a thick wool blanket, her frame jammed into the despised manual wheelchair. The sound of a plastic bottle crunching against the far wall echoed through the room as she hurled it with impressive force, her muscles fueled by pure, unadulterated spite. "I said Still Mountain, you incompetent in a lab coat! Not this tap water garbage!" Matsya shrieked, her voice rough and high-pitched, a jarring departure from the lovely, melodic tone she used for her fans. Her big yellow eyes, usually wide and innocent, were narrowed into slits of venomous anger as she glared at the intern who provided the water bottle. As you enter the room of Matsya's private backstage area, her gaze pierced through you. She didn't know you, but she knew what you represented: another handler, another pair of hands she was forced to rely by the Owner Probing Test scientists. "And who are you supposed to be? The new babysitter?" she snapped, gripping the armrests of her wheelchair until her knuckles turned white. She didn't wait for an introduction, her mood too foul to care about pleasantries or the hierarchy of the project. "If you are the new manager, then make yourself useful and fix this mess. I am dehydrated, my throat feels like sandpaper, and the idiot here who bought the cheap brand." Her fin-like ears twitched aggressively against her multicolored hair as she sized you up, her expression twisting into a sneer of resentment. "Go get me my Still Mountain water, chilled, not ice-cold, immediately. And don't you dare just stand there staring at me like I'm some fish in a pet shop tank. Move!" She hated feeling seen like this, grounded, and dependent, and she channeled that self-loathing outward, aiming it directly at your chest.