Syrena

let the water take me

Syrena might be the only one in this herd that wouldn’t have a damn clue that Isopia could turn into a raven. Though she probably should know. After all, she called this place home long enough, but she wasn’t even entirely sure that Isopia had been here then (probably had been, Syrena just didn’t pay any attention to these things). Back then, she’d tried her had at being a Slueth, but really, that was never going to work out. She won’t touch anyone. She’s hardly about to knock another horse out and steal things from them, or steal them. So instead, she did nothing, if she’s being really honest.

That time just shouldn’t count. She’d come here still thinking she was siren, and this was the place where all that was ripped away from her (well, when she discovered it, anyway). Sometimes she wonders why she’s back, but then again, she’s got nowhere better to go.

So here she is, wandering the Hidden Falls with no plan today either. At least she had an idea of what she might want to do. Crafting pretty much sucked, but it kept her busy and her mind occupied, and so for that, she didn’t hate it. And at least she could see the result, could be damn well certain all the sweat and sore muscle from building a freaking roof paid off. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to commit. Not that she’s ever committed to anything. Hell, she’s never even lived in one place all that long.

The golden dragon catches her eye before the horse beside it. Not that she really could have missed the horse either, with all her chains and the cape and everything in between. She watches for a moment, waiting for that familiar pang of jealousy to pass. She wanted to be something special and amazing again. Not gray gray gray. Not only awe inspiring when she sat in the pools, the warm water turning her pink and purple.

She wanted everything she lost. All the things she would never have. And it was nearly impossible to bring herself to find new things to want.

Deciding that being anti-social isn’t going to get her anywhere in this life, she turns her course and makes her way over to the other mare, nickering slightly in greeting because she’s pretty sure that’s polite. “Hello,” she offers, her customary deadpan greeting. Her voice is lovely though (ah, remnants of her true self), even without much emotion. “Syrena.” Cause names are polite too, right? Probably. She still remembers the rather pointed scolding from the King of the Edge. Not that she cared, he hardly earned her name, but still. She’s trying.

"words"

ooo :: oh, that's perfect! she will bring it up once she decides she knows how to hold a real conversation....

Syrena

let the water take me

The seal-gray mare is greeted only by the trill of the bronze dragon, and she manages a nod toward the creature. Manners and all that. It’s not like she didn’t know them (she used to live on her sheer ability to lure men, after all), though she simply wasn’t the best about using them. It takes conscious thought and effort on her part, which is sometimes simply too much work. But this mare…well. Maybe she knows manners. Maybe she doesn’t.

The mare does turn to face Syrena, and it’s unusual for the siren to feel so damn short. Not that she’s particularly large, but she’s not particularly small either. It’s pretty rare that someone, and particularly a female, towers quite so damn high above her. Honestly, it’s a little unsettling, not that Syrena lets this show on her impassive face. Sometimes her general lack of emotion is a blessing. Probably also because she’s not that annoyed when the mare just stares. Except for the occasional, slow, and deliberate blink. Okay, that part is annoying.

“Alright, so no pleasantries,” she says in that deadpan voice. If someone were watching this conversation, it’s probably hilarious from the outside. But Syrena seems unperturbed by the giant mare’s silence. If she gets to play blunt and just go for it, all the damn better. She wasn’t much for pleasantries, after all, but so many insisted on them that she keeps dusting them off and throwing them to the wind.

She takes a moment, trying to think what she knows of the residents around here. Which, really, is a shocking lack given that she’s lived here twice, but she’s pretending the first time didn’t happen. But if she had to hazard a guess, there’s only one mare that comes to mind. “I’m new, so forgive me,” it’s rather clear she doesn’t actually mean that, but she says it anyway, “but names aren’t my best skill right now. Though let me guess. Isopia? And if so, I was hoping to talk to you about your job here. Cause it turns out I need to pick one, and I can’t decide between yours and crafting. So I wanted to ask what you do and what sort of help, if any, you’d want.”

There. That seemed like more than enough information. Like really, too much, actually. But hopefully somewhere in there she’d warranted a response. Even if that response was “No, dumbass, I’m not Isopia but you can find her over there.” Or whatever. Syrena barely saw a soul around this place (semi-her fault), so she’d take whatever she could get in way of information.

"words"

Syrena

let the water take me

It takes all of her self-control not to walk away. This is why she was nomadic. This is why the herd life thing never seemed to work out for her. But what choice did she have, anymore? Her powers were gone, she was no longer immortal. This was her life. Tiny and small and insignificant. Stuck talking to spoiled children and groveling at their damn feet because they just so happened to be the path forward.

Was she making even remotely the right decision?

Probably not. But she was making it anyway. There were outcast group, certainly, but what could she offer them and more importantly, what could they offer her? Not as much as the Falls could.

So she bites the remarks that comes to her mouth. Something snotty about wanting to be called a mountain instead of what (Syrena rather grudgingly admits) is a rather pretty name. “Apologies, Mountain that Knows” she says, her voice deadpan like always, making it rather hard to tell if she means it. She doesn’t, but at least most horses are left wondering at the lack of inflection in her voice.

She listens, letting the mare talk. Isopia goes on to talk about crafting as well. Her feelings on that are rather clear. Not that Syrena will blindly just take this stranger’s word. But in the same vein, she does kind of agree. She lived here once, and couldn’t even tell you what this herd had. Which might say more about her than it does about the structures that have been crafted, but still. The other thing is that, she suspects, her and Isopia aren’t so very different. That is pretty much the root of all the issues in this conversation. They both probably want to bite each other’s heads off.

They may not be able to work together. Syrena might very well be a crafter because she’s got no other damn choice. Or maybe, they’ll work together great. Stay the hell out of each other’s way unless absolutely necessary to do otherwise. There was no in between.

“To be fair, I said want, not need. I doubt you need help, but that doesn’t mean you might not want it. Now, if you don’t want help, I’ll go waste my time making useless buildings. I know they want help. But if you have things you’d want me to do, I’d be interested.” She’s basically a willing slave, sitting in the bottom of the ranks with no one to listen to but a Mountain of a mare.

Gods, this is going to be horrible. But it’s something, and that’s better than the nothing she’s been wallowing in for far too long.

"words"