Syrena | Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides | OpenperilousloveAugust 13 2011, 07:46:21 UTC
[It's not an occupation she's familiar with, this kind of festivity - it requires legs, for one, and she is short on experience, her feet still tender and prickling with hot pain and bare beneath the sweeping hem of her dress, her legs still prone to buckling. Instead she sits and watches them, perched on the edge of a discreet table with her gaze eerie and roving and a scaled mask lying in her lap.]
The Spanish Empire comes across this strange woman as he takes a moment to sit and just watch the festivities. He cradles his glass of wine, craving a bit for a cigarette, as he stands by the side when he notices her. She's quiet and seems to just want to watch everything. And she's not wearing a mask. She intrigues him, really, and he waits by the side to see what she will do. Is she waiting for someone?, he wonders.
But when no one comes along to join her, he becomes a bit worried. This may be the Love Hotel but there are those who might not want to be here and in turn there are those who like preying on such unfortunate ones. What if something happens to her?
And so, eventually, he approaches her. "Are you waiting for someone, señorita?" He asks, unable to stop himself from looking her over when he's close enough. She's beautiful; it's hard not to.
The scent of him on the air doesn't taste human, not...really. Syrena turns her gaze to him, wide-eyed and vaguely surprised, her lips parting. Waiting for someone? No. She's taken up with no one in the short time that she has been in the...hotel, and as sorely as she misses her sisters, it hasn't occurred to her to seek out new company. Species instinctual wariness has dominated her actions since she arrived.
"No," she says after a moment spent studying his features. Mermaids speak half through body language and tasting the water around them; she's still picking up purely human patterns of speech. "I am not."
Spain nods slowly at that, looking at her and watching her study him with obvious wariness. In turn, he doesn't do anything, just lets her examine him and draw her own conclusions. Poor girl. Perhaps she's one of the unfortunate ones who has suffered in the Hotel. He can sense a pure innocence in her. He can't say how he can just tell such a thing. Maybe it's the wide-eyed stare. Who knows?
"My name is Antonio." He says to her, inclining his head to her politely. He still keeps a good, polite distance from her, not wanting her to feel threatened or crowded.
She rolls the name over in her mouth, curling her tongue around it and considering. Her real name he could not even hope to pronounce, but she was, after all, given a perfectly serviceable one. This is not a simple man, as honest and uncomplicated as the preacher boy, but nor is he like the pirates, with their painful hands and flat dark eyes. Closest to the noblemen in the cave, perhaps; the men she's dragged beneath the water are as much drowned in mindless terror as the sea, impossible to compare. "Syrena," she says finally, slowly, the pause as she considers her words once more conspicuous.
"Syrena." He tests the name as well, the "r" rolling softly in his tongue, caressing the name almost lovingly in the dulcet tones of his native language. He offers her a slight smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you." And of course he tells the truth. An encounter with a beautiful woman is always a pleasure, no matter how strangely... still she is. As if she doesn't quite know what to do with herself in the middle of all this revelry.
He looks away from her for a moment, glancing around them at the wild and raucous festivities. "How are you liking the Carnevale?"
Syrena's wide, intently penetrating gaze moves off of him and onto the throngs of people with unmistakeable fascination. "Carnevale," she said, her voice soft and sounding out the word with a distinctly unfamiliar care. "It's beautiful," she answered finally. "What do they celebrate?"
Spain takes a moment to think about it then laughs softly as he comes up with nothing. He shakes his head. "No se. I don't know. Perhaps they are just celebrating life." He smiles over the rim of his glass of wine, humming in appreciation as he takes a sip. The wine is delicious, warm and sweet. "It's not such a bad thing to celebrate."
Syrena leans out from the table. She's looking at the throng of people with undeniable and growing fascination; the bright lights, their covered faces, the rising music. She turns back to him, slowly, tearing her eyes from their movements and studying him again through a tumble of dark hair. "Why - " She touches her face, her cheeks where a mask might lay. She grasps the reality of it, but not the idea behind it.
"The masks?" He asks as he tilts his head, one hand coming up to touch his own lightly. "Hmm, I've been told it's to hide your identity for the night so you may enjoy yourself in however way you want. Tonight, you can be anyone. You can do anything and tomorrow no one would know it's you." He wonders if she can understand that concept but he has a feeling she doesn't still.
Syrena's gaze drifts over the crowd again. She knows no one here, and human mores are largely alien to her - she's familiar with the honesty of their actions, the coarseness and the terror or the tenderness, but their unspoken rules are only vaguely grasped, and disregarded as easily with a vague disdain she wouldn't even have named as such. "And they're ashamed of what they wish to do."
She discards the bright life and chaotic energy of the masked revelers and returns her attention to him. "And you?" She asks, softly.
"Perhaps." Spain can agree with that. The anonymity of the festival does add to the general air of naughtiness of this night, though normally the hotel itself is a raunchy place. But yes, it's true what she just just said and Spain will not disagree.
He turns to her when she asks a question. "And me?" Does she mean that he is also ashamed of what he is doing? Or is she asking why he is also wearing a mask? He'll wait for her clarification.
"Are you here for secrets?" she asks. They're kinder words than her previous censure, and her expression mirrors that, a faint smile curling across her face and lingering in her deep eyes. Syrena knows about secrets and mystery and the seduction thereof, of course; there's no mermaid not intimately familiar with them.
Her smile, faint as it is, makes him smile back. Has he stopped? Perhaps not. Spain is usually smiling, it seems. This smile, however, has a touch of irony to it.
"Hardly, no." He answers just as he reaches up a gloved hand to strip off the mask that covers half his face. Curly brown bangs fall over emerald green eyes as the mask comes off and he is bare faced before her. "I am not here for secrets, Syrena." He explains just a more humorous smile touches his lips and a chuckle makes his voice light. "I'm here for fun."
What he cannot tell her is that his whole existence is a secret. Lewd games and secret trysts. These are mere trifles compared to the secret he himself keeps.
"Do you dance, then?" Her noticeable accent cuts her words, carrying a French flavour as the tone strengthens. She puts her feet squarely on the ground and creeps closer, rolling to the balls of her feet and ignoring the unfamiliar wobble in her legs that makes her sway closer. His finery arouses curiosity, his well-ordered elegance and the nuance of that smile. "Is that what you...enjoy?"
Her secrets must match his in their own way, though she does not necessarily consider them as such. If the question arose, she would not conceal her nature...but neither does she feel the need to divulge the information.
(ooc: I'm so happy that you posted again! I really enjoy this thread, I thought I'd just let you know)
He watches her and readies himself to catch her should she stumble. Her movements are a bit awkward, as if she hasn't really mastered how to walk. Which is strange for someone her age. Another strangeness to add to the mystery that is Syrena. The touch of French in her words might be clue but such a small clue it is, Spain thinks.
He nods at her question. "I do. I love to dance." One of his hands move forward, slowly, deliberately, carefully, and he holds it out to her. "Do you dance, Syrena?"
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But when no one comes along to join her, he becomes a bit worried. This may be the Love Hotel but there are those who might not want to be here and in turn there are those who like preying on such unfortunate ones. What if something happens to her?
And so, eventually, he approaches her. "Are you waiting for someone, señorita?" He asks, unable to stop himself from looking her over when he's close enough. She's beautiful; it's hard not to.
Reply
The scent of him on the air doesn't taste human, not...really. Syrena turns her gaze to him, wide-eyed and vaguely surprised, her lips parting. Waiting for someone? No. She's taken up with no one in the short time that she has been in the...hotel, and as sorely as she misses her sisters, it hasn't occurred to her to seek out new company. Species instinctual wariness has dominated her actions since she arrived.
"No," she says after a moment spent studying his features. Mermaids speak half through body language and tasting the water around them; she's still picking up purely human patterns of speech. "I am not."
Reply
Spain nods slowly at that, looking at her and watching her study him with obvious wariness. In turn, he doesn't do anything, just lets her examine him and draw her own conclusions. Poor girl. Perhaps she's one of the unfortunate ones who has suffered in the Hotel. He can sense a pure innocence in her. He can't say how he can just tell such a thing. Maybe it's the wide-eyed stare. Who knows?
"My name is Antonio." He says to her, inclining his head to her politely. He still keeps a good, polite distance from her, not wanting her to feel threatened or crowded.
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He looks away from her for a moment, glancing around them at the wild and raucous festivities. "How are you liking the Carnevale?"
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She discards the bright life and chaotic energy of the masked revelers and returns her attention to him. "And you?" She asks, softly.
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He turns to her when she asks a question. "And me?" Does she mean that he is also ashamed of what he is doing? Or is she asking why he is also wearing a mask? He'll wait for her clarification.
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"Hardly, no." He answers just as he reaches up a gloved hand to strip off the mask that covers half his face. Curly brown bangs fall over emerald green eyes as the mask comes off and he is bare faced before her. "I am not here for secrets, Syrena." He explains just a more humorous smile touches his lips and a chuckle makes his voice light. "I'm here for fun."
What he cannot tell her is that his whole existence is a secret. Lewd games and secret trysts. These are mere trifles compared to the secret he himself keeps.
Reply
Her secrets must match his in their own way, though she does not necessarily consider them as such. If the question arose, she would not conceal her nature...but neither does she feel the need to divulge the information.
Reply
He watches her and readies himself to catch her should she stumble. Her movements are a bit awkward, as if she hasn't really mastered how to walk. Which is strange for someone her age. Another strangeness to add to the mystery that is Syrena. The touch of French in her words might be clue but such a small clue it is, Spain thinks.
He nods at her question. "I do. I love to dance." One of his hands move forward, slowly, deliberately, carefully, and he holds it out to her. "Do you dance, Syrena?"
Reply
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