Chapter Text
Connor doesn’t remember much about his life before, but what he felt remains clear as day.
It’s subtle at first.
It begins with a “Hey, let’s check this out,” or “Do you hear that?” or a “I wonder what that could be.” You may think it’s odd, but you follow anyway. The rain hits like bullets on your skin, but in the loud chaos you barely feel it. Everyone around you refuses to listen as they’re consumed by something you refuse to listen to. One after the other, they dive into the ocean. The next thing you know, you’re watching your brothers head for the side of the ship.
In your attempt to reach, your hands fall from your ears. It grabs you. It tears at your chest and buries itself deep inside you. A hunger that can only be filled by the water beneath your feet.
You don’t notice the now barren deck, or wonder where the singing has come from, or hear the screams. You simply fall and hit the water, yearning to fill that black hole inside you with the salty depths. But the song is gone now, and you realize you’re dying. Your family is dying. Your brothers are dying. You’d do anything to save them; you'd do anything to live.
The Ocean can hear you, and She will listen. It’s too late to save them, but you can still save yourself. She will offer a deal; serve as one of Her loyal sirens for the next century, and you shall live.
It has been 80 years since Connor accepted the deal.
As a siren, his voice became toxic. A single syllable and it would already be too late.
He could speak with other sirens, of course. As cruel as the Ocean could seem, She would not damn anyone to such a fate alone.
There was Kara, the second youngest. Despite her youth, she practically acted like the group's mother.
There was North, the second eldest and a true spitfire. She had been thrown off her ship to drown by the crew. The Ocean had saved her, and given her revenge. It took 10 years to hear that story, and ever since the group was closer than ever.
Then there was the eldest, Lucy. The quietest yet wisest of the sirens. She only had three years of her sentence left.
They were family, or rather, the closest thing Connor would ever have to family again.
At the very least, he was still alive. It was his choice what to do with that second chance, and when you’ll live for another hundred years at least, you’ve got no shortage of options or time to try them.
Despite this, however, there weren’t many hobbies Connor truly enjoyed. He kept many succulents and plants in his room, but even he viewed them as more of a decoration than a project. He loved animals of all sorts, but was forbidden from truly keeping them.
Those he did get to enjoy were often physical. As an immortal siren, he didn’t need to sleep and could no longer get tired, but there was something about it that kept him going. He had studied many types of martial arts, and even picked up dance for a bit.
But, every once in a while, when the group was lucky enough to move to the city, Connor would get the chance to pick up an older hobby of his; parkour.
It had been years since they lived in a city. He missed the scale of it, though he didn’t know why. After all he had lived through, one would think a city wouldn’t hold much to be surprised by. Regardless, he held whatever wonder he managed to find tight to his chest.
There was something about rushing across rooftops, the wind through his hair, being so close to the edge, and all those other cliches that resonated with whatever humanity he had left inside him.
The last dying rays of the sun fueled his running more than the Ocean ever did. His heart beat with the echo of his footsteps. He was looking, looking, until he found it. The eye of the storm; a moment of calm.
It was a small area that had been abandoned a long time ago. There were bits of broken junk, a spray painted signature or two, and a single plank of wood that extended to the horizon.
For just a moment, Connor wanted to scream. He never could, of course. As empty as it appeared, who knows how many people would hear; far too many to simply ignore if they all began mindlessly walking to their watery graves. No doubt Connor would be killed for a stunt like that. A single inconvenient whisper could be the end. So, he had to stay alone with the silence for now.
“Hello?”
Or so he thought.
Connor startled, spinning around in a rush (thankfully, he had stamped out the habit of screaming when scared a long time ago). There was a young man there, about Connors (physical) age. Maybe it was the sunset, but he shone like gems. His skin was a smokey quartz, and his eyes shone with both emerald and sapphire.
The man put his hands up as if comforting a startled animal. “Sorry!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, I didn’t really think anyone else came up here.”
Connor grinned sheepishly, briefly thinking of trying sign language but settling for a few ‘it’s fine’ gestures. Eventually he simply moved off to the side, offering space for the man next to him.
Despite the awkwardness, the man smiled and nodded, taking his place on the ledge. After a moment, he reached out his hand. “I’m Markus, by the way,” he chuckled a bit.
Connor shook his hand briefly, then reached inside with a pocket in his coat. He pulled out a notepad and began to scribble.
“Oh,” Markus exclaimed. “Are you deaf?”
Connor shook his head, his eyes never leaving the paper. His free hand made a movement at his throat. A simple ‘I can’t speak’ motion that most people were too polite to question further.
My name is Connor the paper said. It’s nice to meet you!
Back and forth they went, with Markus sharing all of the good spots within the city he knew, and Connor excitedly nodding and scribbling along. There were many times that the siren wished to apologize for his communicative methods, but not once did Markus show anything other than patience or curiosity.
It could have been days for all Connor knew, but then he suddenly blinked and found the sun had long since set and Markus trying to conceal his yawns.
A bit sheepishly, Connor made his exit, but not before Markus had casually (but still not so casually) asked for his number (hey, even mythical sirens have a need for texting and addictive mobile games).
Once Connor got home, took a lot of excuses and feigned nonchalance to avoid explaining to the others where his huge grin came from. None of them were really convinced.