Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea
or demons or men or whatever it be
No waters can swallow the ship where lies
the Master of oceans and earth and skies
The hypnotic sounds of the water making contact with the sides of The Avenger aroused Buchanan from slumber. He came to realize that he had been lying prone on a bench just off the port side of the helm. He used one hand to rub away the sleep from his eyes, his vision slightly blurry from laying on his face. He could feel the warmth of his cheeks, an apparent result of basking in the gaze of the blazing, blood red sun that hung low in the cerulean skies. He took the time to stretch his limbs, they had grown stiff during the hours in which he slept. He lifted his hands to the sky as if to touch the clouds and sighed in satisfaction when his bones popped and crackled before settling into place. He rolled his neck a couple of times to relieve himself of the many kinks before pulling his knees to his chest. The sensation did wonders for him, relieved the tensions in his muscles and tendons, helping to prepare him for the battle ahead. Keeping his wandering hands to himself when Captain Rogers was around. He had been dying to make a move on the mortal man behind the legend of time, but could never find the right moment.
Finally standing to his feet, he turned his attention to the Kamar-Taj seas. It was a hypnotizing view. Since he was no longer held back by the urge to give into sleep, he was able to really take the time to admire the waters. The sun bestowed upon the crystalline waters a slightly reddish hue that somehow had made the sea appear even more blue. The deeper he peered into the sea, the easier it was to see his own face, slightly distorted, but still reflected upon the surface of the water. He could just make out the distinctions of his features, his almost doe-like blue-grey eyes, the divot in his chin, his shoulder-length brunet hair. However, it wasn’t until his gaze drifted toward his mouth that he noticed a key difference between his true self and that of the apparition floating on the water. Buchanan knew he wore an expression of contemplation on his face, his lips pulled slightly together, pursing as he thought on this. His reflection, on the other hand, grinned menacingly at him. Lips stretched wide over what appeared to be razor sharp teeth. He cocked his head to the side in minute confusion, eyes widening when his reflection did not copy his movements.
At that moment a splash of water caught his attention, effectively pulling his gaze from the strange depiction in the water. Looking up and seeing nothing disrupt the calm rippling of the water along the ship, he almost didn’t notice the ringing noise. Buchanan would have been sure he’d lost his marbles but the sound came again, swelling as in crescendo. The ringing grew even louder, and he realized that it sounded like a little girl giggling away at some joke. Another splash pulled his attention quicker to the source, this time bringing the tail end of a fin to his line of sight.
Buuuuuuccckkkyyyyy.
His body visibly shook at the voice. It sounded as if it had been directly planted into his mind. The voice was relentless as it drew him in. To where, he did not know, and he felt as if he would not be able to continue with his journey if he didn’t at least try to find out. Leaning over the edge of the railing, he reached out and stretched as far as he could. He didn’t understand why he felt such a connection to the voice calling his name, one that only his sisters called him. He was fully captivated by then. Though he was no closer to the surface of the water than he was when he initially reached his hand out, it felt like he had almost achieved his goal. His perception of the world around him was changing and not for the better.
“Buuuuuuccckkkyyyyy.”
His jaw dropped slightly allowing a gasp to slip through his lips at what he was hearing. The voice was singing his name as if it was the most precious utterance in the realm. His eyes finally caught sight of a tail and the one word that came to mind was that of syren. For what other creature could capture him in this manner? The tail blended in well with the waters that carried him, the tantalizing blues mixing in with bewitching silvers and greys. From what he could see of the creature while it was still bathed in the sea, its hair was the color of fire. Fins lined its back and biceps; its hands were clawed and webbed. Once the creature had finally breached the surface, it had successfully caught him in its snare. He was stuck in his place, taking in the beauty before him. The charmer finally raised its head and when he gazed upon its facial features, he was surprised to see his own staring back at him, leering at him.
“Buuuuuuccckkkyyyyy.”
He reeled back in shock. The voice that had lured him in the beginning had now turned sour and grated on his ears. What was once a beauty mere seconds before he had seen the creature’s countenance was now painted in a beastly light. At last, the spell that was cast on him had begun to fall and reveal the truth behind the façade. Buchanan had always thought syrens to be beautiful and humanoid, in a way he was correct in his assumptions. However, the being before him now was grotesque as its figure shifted to resemble a woman with blood red lips to match the fire in its tresses. Its skin was a sickly grey that turned him off immediately. That fiery hair that was voluminous earlier had now seemed to be pulled out in patches here and there, leaving its sunken scalp on clear display. Soulless depths in its countenance for eyes and slits for a nose resembling the syren to that of a serpentine being. Its skin stretched wide around a maw that hung open, jagged teeth with bits of flesh sticking out and on clear display. The image left no room to dispute that the creature before him was hungry for nothing but the flesh and sinews that made up his being. It was clear that it wanted to devour him whole, to leave nothing left but his bones.
“I see you have finally met one of the dangers that the high seas has to offer,” a voice called out from beside him.
“How long have you been standing there?” He asked as he turned to observe the captain of this vessel.
“Long enough to hear someone calling out your true name,” the Captain said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Syrens are a nasty piece of work, they can glean what you call yourself from your soul and have the ability to take your face if you let them. To meet one on your own means certain death.”
“I see,” he said, turning his gaze back toward the waters below them. The syren had sunk closer to the waves, the hollows it had for eyes were the only piece of it he could see as it watched him. It seemed to be biding its time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Buchanan had brushed with death this day and would never forget how attractive its embrace almost was.
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