Syrena

let the water take me

It’s miserable hot just about everywhere she goes. It’s days like today (okay, all of Tallsun) that makes her wish she had a horn, just so she could live in the Basin and hide from the damn sun. But the water in the Basin is frozen most of the year, so really, that wouldn’t do. But whatever, a girl can dream about a home where the water flows all year round and the place stays at that perfect temperature where it’s neither hot nor cold. Honestly, she’ll even take the damn cold over this summer, with half of Helovia literally lighting itself on fire due to the heat.

But despite her silent stream of grumbling, she’s still out, making her way to the Threshold because there’s nothing better to do other than swim. And usually, she’s swimming. Not that she’s not built for it – her seal-like coat is designed for water, not land really – but still, sometimes she maybe possibly should get out of the water. Maybe. If nothing else, since she looked perpetually wet anyway, no one could tell if she was sweating or not. She just looked wet, like she always looked, and that at least suited the once siren.

She makes it to the Threshold eventually, and though she feels like she’s melting, the shade provided here is a welcome relief. Thank the Gods for trees, if nothing else. And so far, these particular trees don’t look like they’ve been catching on fire, unlike the Falls. Or the Thistle Meadow. Or who even knows where else.

A slight commotion and some words catch her attention. Syrena’s not one to look for a particular type of horse around here. She can’t look at someone and be like “oh, they’ll probably fit in,” or even get a read on them all that well. So instead, she goes for a more odds based approach. If she keeps showing up, eventually someone will decide the Falls is for them. Which leaves her with zero expectations, which is fine, because Syrena doesn’t really care if they come back with her or not. She only wants them if they want the Falls. Otherwise, they’re all just wasting their own time.

So, without any real thought, she goes toward the sound, catching sight of a Pegasus and rather interesting looking mare. Not that Syrena is one to judge, though she’ll eye beauty with a hint of jealousy. But Syrena doesn’t entirely know what she thinks of the orange mare with the mask, and so that familiar pang of jealousy doesn’t hit her. “Hello,” she offers, knowing how to navigate the world of pleasantries, though she still despised it. Her voice, like always, is deadpan, though her expression is at least vaguely friendly. It’s about the best she can pull off. Her general demeanor is calm and relaxed and uncaring, so if nothing else, it’s obvious she’s not here to cause trouble of any sort. “Syrena,” she adds, leaving it at that for now.


"words"