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It's a warm night as Scar stumbles down the path, the air sticking to him in a humid blanket that the alcohol in his system certainly does not help with. He trips over a loose cobble and stumbles wildly, managing to retain his balance, though the sudden movement causes his cat and constant companion, Jellie, to yowl in protest and dig her claws into his shoulder, as well as the side of his neck. Not that he notices the pain, though.
"Sorry, Jellie!" The pirate giggles drunkenly. "We'll be back soon… promise." He clumsily tries to pet Jellie's head. In response, the disgruntled cat hisses and sinks her teeth into his fingers.
"Ow," Scar mutters half-heartedly, hastily pulling his hand back. "That's not very nice."
Jellie simply jumps off of Scar's shoulder, digging her claws into his shoulder as she does so.
"Fine," Scar sighs. "Have it your way."
And so he walks, occasionally tripping over loose cobbles. Less than an hour ago, he'd been sitting in the bar, with Martyn on one side of him, Sausage on the other side, talking about… he can't remember. Whatever they had spoken about had been lost to a gold-tinted haze of warmth and contentment. He vaguely recalled Sausage talking about Scott at one point, though what exactly was said eluded him. But it had caused Martyn to tease Sausage relentlessly, and when Scar had eventually decided to leave before he passed out, he hadn't stopped. Scar wasn't even sure that anyone had been aware that he left.
The gas lamps lining the street are lit, throwing spiky, stark shadows onto the surrounding structures and showing the battered and weathered path into stark relief, each broken or missing cobble thrust forward for all to see. Not that Scar himself is paying much attention to the path though, despite the numerous times that he's ended up stumbling already.
He never intended to drink as much as he did when he got to the bar at first, he's sure of it! He knows that most of his fellow pirates love to indulge themselves on alcohol and gambling most nights, but Scar? He's more refined than that. So why did he decide to loosen up and drink more than he usually would on this particular night? He can't quite recall the reason. But he has to admit, being this drunk feels good.
It's… peaceful, in a way. The lazy heat of the air is sticking to him, but it doesn't feel oppressive or uncomfortable like it usually does. It just feels warm and somewhat comforting, like a blanket wrapped around him, and the night is so quiet, the kind of peace that Scar hasn't experienced in… he doesn't know how long. Years, at least.
Maybe the still silence was why the call alarmed him so much at first. A thin, melodious wailing that shatters the quiet night like a bullet, causing Scar to jump and stumble backwards, promptly losing his footing and falling backwards, hitting the pavement with a jolt of pain that shoots through his entire body. A torrent of whispered curse words tumble from his lips as he gets back to his feet, wobbling slightly.
Okay. Now he is finally starting to admit to himself that being careless and drinking too much at the bar was a very bad idea.
The sound doesn't stop, not really. Whoever - or whatever - is making it does pause briefly sometimes, as if to draw in breath, but the tone in which it cries never falters or changes. It's a strange, mournful cry that is still beautiful, and seems to cut right through Scar's alcohol-addled brain, and it doesn't falter or change in tone. And Scar just stands there on the path. His lips are parted slightly and his arms hang limply by his sides, and though he has no way of knowing who or what is causing this melody through the darkness of the night, he is certain that it's coming from the out-of-sight ocean.
Somehow, the cry sounds familiar, like listening to an old record whose title has long since been lost to his memories. A whisper in his brain is telling him that he knows who is making this haunting melody, pulling at him incessantly, but he just can't fully articulate why that is. Who could he have met in his past that would be able to produce such a sound as the one that he's hearing?
Scar knows he shouldn't be stood here blankly, listening to a melody that has no visible source, especially when he knows full well that there are things that lurk these Isles that won't hesitate to attack him, not to mention the bounty hunters that will most likely try to kill him once they realise he's easy prey. He doesn't even have his sword on him, for God's sake. He must have left it in the bar by accident.
Despite knowing the dangers, Scar can't seem to convince himself to move. He just stands there, listening as the melody wraps itself around him and strangles him, filling his ears, his head, and the more he listens, allowing himself to become enveloped in its beautiful eeriness, the less confusing and hard to decipher the sound seems, shifting into a clear, mournful and inviting melody that speaks to Scar clearly, leading him gently off of the path.
He stumbles on the sand as it shifts below him. It shimmers gold, clear as anything, and Scar can't help but stare at it. Should the sand be this bright? So perfectly gold? Is it even real?
Curious, Scar bends down and touches the golden sand, but it comes away dull as ever under his touch. How strange.
He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He must be hallucinating. There's no other possible explanation for why the sand is gold under the black velvet sky. There's no-
Woah.
The sky is beautiful.
Swirling fractals of navy and deep violet twirl and twist over the usually empty sky, combined with ribbons of indigo and magenta. The moon is a drifting mass of rainbows, patterns of pale colours that seem to shift every time Scar is sure he's identified some of the colours it's displaying, hiding colours or adding new ones, and he is sure that if he looks at the sky for long enough, he'll fall into it and drown amongst all the dancing colours. He can't see the stars, but it doesn't matter.
~~
The entire spectacle brings a memory to Scar as he watches everything above him. A memory of another time, another version of him that would have constantly looked up into the sky and seen all this whimsical beauty. This other Scar had been… well, an idiot. He'd put too much faith in people and had only gotten hurt by it. Had given too much of himself to others. So he'd done what he was sure anyone else would have done in his position and ditched the whole persona entirely, in favour of one that cared little about people and more about what would turn a half-decent profit.
There had been some people he'd cared about then, he'd be lying more to himself than anything if he said otherwise. There was Grian, who was mischievous in an alluring way and was great fun to be around. There was Mumbo, who was somewhat strange and awkward but very smart. There had been Pearl, a smart and extroverted person who had formed a close bond with practically everyone. And there had been Impulse, who had also been smart and fun to be around.
Scar wasn't sure what it had been about this crew - Boatem, they called themselves originally, before the Flying Jellie ship had been built - but there had been something that had brought them all together, made them work together well as a crew (and Scar would be lying if he claimed that he never developed a firm crush on Grian, though he'd never admitted it.) Maybe it was the stupid pranks they pulled on each other, or the dumb and often straight up deadly antics they got up to (such as throwing eggs at highly explosive crystals or riding donkeys around decidedly unsafe areas.) Or maybe it was just them in general.
Scar wasn't sure. And he was sure that he'd never understand it.
Then one day, Scar had been down in the docks when he'd seen it. A battered and weathered pirate ship, tied firmly to the docks with a man stood on a soapbox in front of it, naming his price. 700 gold coins. Scar had thought that was surprisingly cheap for a pirate ship of that size, but even back then, he was nothing if not opportunistic, and something about the ship just told him that it was his destiny to be on there, sailing the seas (and probably earning a fair bit of gold from it.) So he'd marched his way proudly towards the seller, pushing through the crowds, and accepted the price. And just like that, Scar was now the captain of his very own pirate ship.
The rest of Boatem had been confused at first, then exasperated over the fact that Scar had spent even more money on something pointless, but Scar insisted that this was their destiny together as a crew, to sail the seven seas in a ship of their own. They were less than happy when they discovered they'd most likely need to spend a lot more gold coins on actually making the ship suited for sea travel, but Scar didn't care about that. All he cared about was the opportunities for business that the sea would provide.
And so, after a year straight of working on it, the ship (aptly named the Flying Jellie, after Scar's cat) was finally ready to set sail. So early one morning in late winter, the crew had been fighting through biting wind and bitter cold, loading up the ship with rations that would hopefully last them for more than a few months, as well as a limited amount of personal belongings. Scar, of course, brought his ever-growing collection of hats and chests full of goods, much to Grian's annoyance.
Scar had promptly made himself the captain, of course - it was his ship, after all - and Grian had been his first mate (though he'd preferred to stay up in the crows nest most of the time.) Mumbo had been Quartermaster. Impulse had been the Boatswain. Pearl had been the Sailing Master. Not that the titles were necessarily needed, as they frequently did each other's jobs anyway, but Scar liked them. They just made the ship more authentic.
And it was fine, mostly. Sure, there were some rough patches, such as the time they were fighting through a particularly nasty storm and Scar was sure they would capsize, or the time when they discovered that rats had gotten into the pantry and ruined half of their food supplies, meaning that they had to rechart to the nearest island that had people living there in hopes that they could get some food. But most of the time, it was smooth sailing (and in Scar's case, smooth selling as well.)
Scar had been definitely noticing more of Grian in these months they'd spent on the sea as well. His laugh, his voice, even the mildly confused, amused look he seemed to reserve for Scar alone. The crush that Scar had long decided would go forever unrequited was met, and it had all tipped over the edge one considerably drunken evening, where Scar had found Grian alone in his cabin and couldn't resist making some light-hearted banter. The next thing he knew, Grian had shoved him down onto the bed and was lying on top of him, kissing him like his life depended on it.
Scar remembered that night well, even through the haze of gold that had tinted it. Grian's hand down his shirt, his hands gripping Grian's back and moving down to his thighs, both of their tongues exploring each other's mouths. He also remembered his hand between Grian's thighs, the perfect marks that Grian had placed on his neck and chest, Grian's shuddering breaths as he kept a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from making too much noise, his other hand gripping Scar's hair and holding his head in place. He remembered tracing the jagged scars on Grian's chest with his fingers and whispering about how beautiful he was, how perfect he was. He remembered lying beside Grian afterwards, both of them hot and exhausted, staring into his eyes and wishing that this moment could last longer.
But, as they always say, good things never last.
There had been a storm. They'd got through it, but at one point the ship must have hit some rocks, because there was a large, splintered hole in the hull that was rapidly letting in water. They had nothing to patch it up. Just when they thought they had escaped their fate, it had come back to get them.
Scar knew that no matter what, he had to survive. He was the one who had kept them alive by selling his goods to the inhabited Islands they'd sailed to, and had earned a substantial amount of gold off of it. Enough to keep himself alive, hopefully.
So he slipped off. He knew that the classic saying was that a Captain should never abandon their ship even when times were dire, but he also knew that no matter what, his survival would always be his top priority. He'd dragged his chest of gold into the lifeboat, coaxed Jellie into getting in as well, and had then cut the ropes that secured the wooden boat to the Flying Jellie herself, barely sparing a look back as he secured the oars and began to row away as fast as he could.
He looked back once. He could see Grian standing at the edge of the railing, watching him with a look of despair, horror and heartbreak on his face. And Scar had simply turned his head away and rowed away, leaving his crew, his friends, his lover, all behind. He'd spent days at sea before he found a bigger boat full of a crew who called themselves the Kestrels, who'd found the fact that he'd saved his wealth and cat over his crew funny, and told him that he'd fit right in.
And just like that, Scar surrounded himself with people like him who enjoyed the finer things in life, leaving his life as part of Boatem/ captain of the Flying Jellie behind for good. He'd been brought to the faction Isles, where several pirate crews lived together in relative peace, and now, here he was.
~~
The insistent melody still hasn't stopped.
Scar feels himself being pulled across the sands, almost like he was a mere puppet being manipulated by his strings, forcing him to walk. He can feel the water of the ocean lapping at his boots as he walks along the rolling tide, the silver foam beating incessantly at the soles like tiny horses, can smell the bitter salt of the ocean combined with something sweet and fruity that he can't quite identify. He just walks, and before he knows it, he's knee-deep in the sea.
It's not cold. It doesn't shock him like it normally does when he steps into the sea first thing. It feels warm and comforting, like a bath or a hot spring. Inviting him to sink beneath the surface and forever be lost in it.
He's waist deep now, and can see something swimming towards him. A glimmer of scales, a head of brown hair so pale it might be mistaken for dirty blonde. It is quite unmistakably a siren (which, Scar thinks dimly, would have explained what the melody he'd been hearing was a lot sooner,) and it's beautiful. It breaks the surface of the water, and Scar is captivated immediately. Pale, scarred skin laced with clusters of purple scales that seem to flash as though reflecting light, a pale face with blue lips, blue freckles and silver eyes that are dead yet alive, and dark blue marks running down its face that look almost like tear streaks, forever imprinted into the deathly pale skin of the siren.
The siren is inches away from him now. It's not singing anymore, but it doesn't need to. Scar is already drowning in its magic. It reaches a pale arm out of the water (Scar notices fins on the undersides of its forearm, and that its hands are webbed and house long, pale fingers and sharp nails) to touch his face, and it doesn't feel like the hand of someone who lives in the cold, mysterious ocean at all. It feels like a regular human is touching his face (minus the scales.)
The siren's hand traces down the skin of his jaw, down his neck, his arm, and takes Scar's hand in its own. It doesn't speak, but its message is clear. Follow me.
Scar does. The siren is leading him gently under the water, and when Scar's fully submerged, it wraps its arms around him and holds him tightly to its chest. Scar can't keep staring at the Siren's eyes (he's sure that his eyes should be stinging horribly with sea water by now, but they're not) and is unsure whether he's looking into a pair of eyes or the moon, as they seem to be giving him the same feeling that the moon did when he was looking at it - the feeling that he was falling into them, and he's not sure if he's in the sea (he must be, right? God, he's confused) Or in the sky. The sea is a mess of dark colours and dancing golden lights (are they real? Scar can't tell) and the siren has not let go of him, keeping him tenderly wrapped in its arms (he can feel his chest starting to hurt. Is he drowning? He can't tell if he's breathing or not.)
The siren kisses him then, its arms still holding him tenderly like a lover, and Scar kisses it back. It doesn't matter that he can't breathe, he decides. This is all he needs, the feeling of the siren's lips on his, its arms holding him as he feels his consciousness starting to sleep. The siren nips at his bottom lip, forcing Scar's lips to part, and its tongue slips gently into his mouth. Everything feels honey-coated as Scar tries to raise his arm to hold the siren's face, but he can't (does he even have arms? He's muddled and confused, and all sense of himself seems to have been lost.) The siren breaks the kiss, looking at him with such love and lust that Scar can almost mistake them for being real, and it seems to be asking Scar if he enjoyed that, though its lips never move.
Yes, Scar tries to say. I am your boy.
He doesn't know if he actually said those words or not. His vision is starting to fade. He can see the moon - or is it the eyes of the siren? - looking at him.
The last thing he knows before he fades away is the siren gripping his shoulders and sinking its teeth into his throat, and his eyes are filled with swirling fractals and golden lights as his blood bursts into bloom all around him.