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One of your favorite things about being captain is being at the helm. With nothing but an endless ocean in front of you and a steady grip on the wheel, you’ve never felt more at peace.
Except for right now, with an incessant rapping on your shoulder.
“Yes, Mr. Brightley?”
Your nervous, newest third mate jolts at your voice, probably just having worked up the nerve to approach you in the first place.
“U-um, the lookout has spotted a stranded person sitting out on the rock.” His shaky hands point out on the horizon, where a large outcrop stands solitary amidst the waves. The kind of rock that could sustain no other life than a seagull and crustaceans.
Your brow furrows.
“Really?”
“Yes, captain. The crew was wondering if we should stop and help them-”
“What do they look like?”
That stops Mr. Brightley in his tracks.
“Uh-”
“Check for me, will you?” You nod your head to the nearby telescope. Your ship is slowly riding the waves, the rock just within viewing distance.
Mr. Brightly shakily takes the scope, extending it and trying to catch any general features.
“Uh, long black hair, tan-” Brightley’s free eye squints, “It looks like they're wearing a sheet?”
You sigh.
“Tell the crew to get the rowboat ready, I’ll go and check this out.”
—
Your younger crew looks at you like you're crazy as you insist on going out to the rock by yourself, bringing nothing but a rope, a ladder and a bucket of fish with you. You told them you’ll be back in a few hours, another baffling fact.
As you row through the crashing waves, a beckoning, melodic voice calls out to you.
“Oh, my savior!” The tenor calls out in fake falsetto, white linen flowing around his nude figure like Aphrodite. “I’ve been stranded for days. I thought I was a goner.” You throw a rope up the side of the rock, a snake-like hand grabbing it with precision.
His face is beautiful, practically carved out of marble. His warm brown eyes are that of a doe, all innocent and alluring. “Whatever can I do to repay you?”
“Cut the crap, Harris.”
You toss the pail of sea sweater directly into Harris face, the sheet wrapped around his chest going sheer. Harris just tosses his hair, water speckling like a rainbow as false skin fades into green scales, those doe eyes glowing a bright yellow and his demure smile becoming full of sharp teeth. He still resembles a human, a handsome one too, but this form is much more real.
“Ah, you always know how to make my day, Captain.”
Haris knots the rope around a sturdy rock, foregoing your rope ladder entirely and diving into the water with perfect precision. You roll your eyes.
“Showoff.” Haris flips back his long hair, now dark and tangled with sea water, as he pulls himself up onto the rowboat. His triceps flex and he gives you a wry smirk “You know you could send me a letter, like a normal friend does. Don’t have to do-” You gesture to the giant rock, to the diaphanous sheet now barely hanging off his hips, “-all this.”
“Nonsense, Captain.” Harris leah's over and sends a wave to your crew, most likely absolutely gobsmacked at this point. “These meetings are special! Special things deserve some drama.”
Harris flops his body over your legs, hand thrown over his forehead like the cover of a bodice-ripper. The sheet wraps around his waist, somehow making his sharp v seem all the more pronounced.
You scoff, setting your large oars aside and giving your arms a break. The sun is bright today, reflecting off the wear and right into your eyes. Sweat has begun to pool onto your brow.
A calloused, scaly hand runs up the side of your face, drawing your attention. The tips of Harris’ claws just graze your skin, lingering over a strip of puckered skin right by your jaw, no bigger than an inch.
“Is this new?”
You hum, remembering the scuffle at the bar they gave you the scar. It wasn’t even a good enough story to tell, the mark itself easily covered up by some facial hair, if you wanted to.
“Well, it makes you no less handsome.”
Harris sits up on his elbows, eyes dangerously darting across your lips. His tongue, long and black, darts in between his teeth.
You throw your thighs up and even Harris’ strong core isn’t enough to keep him steady. He falls off of you, quite ungracefully.
“Hey! Watch the merchandise, these looks are important, y’know?”
Harris brushed back his hair, showing off the sharp cut of his jaw and his perfectly pushed up cheekbones. They glimmer green and gold in the sunlight.
You grab a fish from the bucket and throw it in his face. Harris catches it between his teeth. He gives you a wink as blood and bone crunch under his fangs.
“Hope you like mackerel, cause that's all you're getting.”
Harris pushes your knee in jest, lips so pouty, but graciously accepts the heaps of fish you give him. You’re lucky you're almost completely nose-blind, as you're sure the boat reeks of fish guts and brine at this point.
“Now tell me Captain,”” Harris says, still picking flesh from his teeth, “-what ya been up to?”
“Nothing much.”
“You always say that.” Harris whines, stripping flesh clean of the bone with one bite. “Must I pry out every battle and plunder you’ve gone through? You’re a fearsome pirate Captain, brag a little.”
“This coming from the man who's been inside the Marianas Trench and didn’t tell me until I knew him for a year. ” You pull out a fresh orange, thankful you didn’t get any of the fish-stink on your hands. “Pot calling kettle black, Harris.”
“Ugh, you’ve seen the Marianas Trench once you’ve seen it you’ve seen it
hundred times.” Harris throws a fish bone over the side, crossing his arms and leaning on your seat. “Now, suck it up and tell me about a ‘port’ of some sort!”
This was how it always went with Harris. For a siren, he was weirdly fascinated by your land-locked tales. You’d think he’d hate human stuff, given you met when rescuing him from a fishing net.
“Meh. Some sirens are shitty, some sirens are good. I’m sure humans are the same. I mean, you seem pretty cool.”
The next time your paths crossed had been accidental. Harris almost lured one of your men over the side. But after that snafu, he agreed to let the poor soul go in exchange for another story, something exciting like you had distracted him with when cutting him free.
After that began the trade; he told you about his underwater escapades, you told him about your land ones. You seemed to be like magnets, paths always crossing in a wide wide ocean.
“Ooh, like this. ” Harris lunges forward, clawed hand going for your neck. After years of this, you don’t even flinch. The claws pull at the lace of your new necklace, pulling out the mother-of-pearl pendant ensconced in gold in the center. “I bet this has a story. Where did you get this from?”
“Hmm, just a bet gone right at a port bar. The one I told you about, with all the seashell decorations” It was a common haunt of you and your crew, your face well known and respected. “Stupid bastard just wouldn't stop playing. He must have been a stupid noble or something, trying to make it on his own. Too much gold and not enough sense.” You look at the pendant, seeing the faint colors shimmer in the sunlight. “He only quit after he lost this, must’ve been an heirloom cause he got real red in the face afterwards. Lunged at my neck with a fork.”
“Oh! Oh! Did you stab his hand into the table? Did you grab him by the collar, hold your sword up to his neck and say ‘Unhand me, fool, or I’ll wear your guts for garters’?”
You raise your eyebrow.
“You’ve been reading too many of those romance novels. No, I punched him and he was out like a light.”
Harris flops down, a pout.
“Well, what about the gold?”
“Spent most of it that night. Well, the crew did. I think they bled that poor tavern dry.” You laugh, fiddling with the pendant. That had been a fun night. “I held onto the rest.”
“Well surely you spent some of it. Didn’t you party with your crew?”
“Nah, I love the lads but they make poor company when drunk.”
“Hmm, so you prefer the company of others.” Harris wiggles his eyebrows, leaning forward and an elbow. “Anyone in parti-cu-lar?” Harris gives an exaggerated wink, scrunching up his cheek and all.
You aren’t moved by the performance
“Like I said, too many romance novels.”
“Oh come on !” Harris grabs another fish, ripping its head off with one movement. “Do you know how small the eligible siren population is? There's only about 500 of us, and you’re lucky if the siren you're courting isn't an ex's ex of an ex. There’s like, thousands of you humans-”
“More like billions-”
“-and you’re saying no one comes to mind? Not even a young ingénue waiting for their fearsome captain to come back from the sea? Or pining over that rugged lover they took one night, who blew their stockings right off?” Harris takes a bite of the fish, spitting out pieces of bone over the side. He leans forward further on his elbows, chin just inches from brushing against your thigh. “You’re telling me they don’t just throw themselves at you, Captain. You? Surely there must be someone who caught your eye.” Harris gestures to your whole body.
You exhale through your nose, staring right into Harris' deep yellow eyes. You’re no artist, nor a writer, but you wonder what the right words would be to describe him.
Someone with big eyes, with that aquiline nose. Whose eyes are like the sunset on the water, clear yet vibrant. With a black tongue, sharp teeth and even sharper claws.
“Nope, no one.”
Harris rolls his eyes, shoving your thigh with a half-strength push.
“Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll pry you open one day, Captain.”
Fortunately, the conversation quickly drifts from your love-life to his recent misadventures. Mostly boring, according to him; Riding the gulf stream all the way to Iceland, helping a whale calf back to its mother, and sinking an English ship with some siren buddies.
“All Royal Navymen, so not the tastiest meat. But my god, do they make interesting sport.”
You show him the scar on your side you have from when such a Royal Navyman had grazed it with a bayonet.
“Lost lots of blood. But I walked away with my head intact, can’t say the same for him.”
“Not that he had much to begin with.”
That gets a laugh.
Only the setting sun can cut your meetings short, the night at sea bringing a deathly chill you’re ill equipped to deal with. Harris offers to pull your rowboat back to your ship, knowing how the sun tires you to the bone.
Curious crew members flee from the side as Harris draws closer, his handsome face poking out above the water. You’re sure some of them have already stuffed cotton in their ears, terrified of Harris. It takes your second hand, Ricky, to let the rope ladder down after you call everyone else cowards.
“I see what you mean about your crew, Captain. Who’d be afraid of little ole me?”
He presses a finger to his cheek in faux innocence, smile still filled with teeth. You splash some more water in his face.
You hop onto the bottom rung of the stepladder after typing up the rowboat, sluggish crew still too afraid to approach the side and pull the boat up. You turn back to Harris, who lingers in the water.
“Well, Farewell Captain! May your adventures be plentiful, so I have something interesting to listen to next time”
Harris propels himself upward, giving a dramatic bow half-way out of the water. You can’t fight the smile. Such a drama queen.
“Hey Harris?” You call back, now hanging off the ladder with one hand. The other gestures for Harris to come closer.
“Yes?” Harris asks, leaning up with brows furrowed.
His lips are just as salty as you’d expect. With only a three second peck, you’re already fiending for some water. It’d be harder to pull away, otherwise.
Those eyes are blown wide open, cheeks flushed an unnatural color you’ve never seen before. It’s a brand new expression on Harris, it shoots a pleasant bolt down your spine.
“Until we meet again.”
You tap the side of the rope, quickly yanked up by Ricky. You shoot only a glance back and see Harris, jaw dropped open like a guppy.
By the time you’re back on the deck, he seems to have dived back in the water, and your crew are pulling cotton out of their ears.
You give Ricky a pat on the back and he gives you a knowing smile. He’ll never let this go, that’s for sure.
You saunter off into your quarters, Mr. Brightley and the rest still as befuddled as before.
“Absolute madman, he is.” Mr. Brightley says, wondering how he’d fit all your escapades into his letter to his sister. Hopefully her Captain was more sane than his.