If the tables were turned, she never would have even thought twice about it. Probably, anyway. She wasn’t all that in tune with what might be considered rude (obviously) and she found that sometimes people apologized at her for things she’d never thought merited an apology. Isopia was the only one she’d found that she struggled with, really, and that she was quickly learned was because Isopia was literal whereas Syrena used few words and assumed everyone else could fill in the blanks. The Mountain was a lesson in patience for Syrena, and one that truthfully, she needed.

Their conversations had grown easier, both parties trying to figure it out. As did her other conversations. Sometimes she did better than others. Always, the deadpan nature of her voice seemed to be off-putting to those that didn’t know her, but eventually, she found most grew used to it. Or at least, pretended they did. Either way, she didn’t care. It was one of those things about herself that likely wouldn’t change much. Now and again, hints of emotion crept in that pretty voice of hers, but mostly she was a strange mix that made her something like a beautiful wall.

She is grateful their conversation has purpose, because this she can do. She can stand here and study the little metallic thing with him, not necessarily because she cares about the little metallic thing, but because the result of the conversation could perhaps be useful. And really, she just needs to learn. Everything, anything. It doesn’t matter what. She feels woefully ignorant in this position as Storyteller.

He tells his story, and she listens with one ear cocked in his direction, the other swiveling around just to keep a tab of her surrounds. She’s no warrior or sleuth, but she’s got no desire to let others sneak up on her. Helovian’s had a nasty habit of running right into her, and she was seriously over it.

“Magic?” she asks, half question, half statement. It must be some sort of magic. The question, rather, was what. She thinks on his story more, trying to pay attention to the details, wondering what exactly what going on. It’s a strange feeling for her, to think on something like this, to care enough to maybe find an answer. Not that she is likely to find an answer. She could teach him to lure his prey into the ocean; she could not teach him anything about crafting magic.

“Was there anything there before the dragon?” She’s not entirely sure what the dragon was, but assumes it was something metal probably and not a real dragon. But if the things weren’t made of nothing like crafting magic…then something must have been there first. Probably. “Are you a crafter?” she adds, realizing he speaks of crafting magic like he’s familiar with it. Though maybe, like her, he’s just seen it.


les words "chat chat"

Syrena

let the water take me