siren

A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "Do the hoo-mans sing to get the bur-gars into their mouths?" The siren asked, her top, human half hanging out of the pool she had claimed as her own, algae growing around her.
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "...Wha'd the fuck're yew...wha'...what?" peered the Skippy who had arrived with an unconscious hooker on his shoulder. This had been his favorite abandoned pool for drowning the battered and bruised for quite some time.
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "I asked if the hoo-mans did this-" she started to sing, her voice melodic and hypnotic, then abruptly stopped "To get their main prey 'the bur-gars' into their mouthes"
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "Also, are you going to eat that?" she pointed at the hooker.
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "Wull, no." He still had no idea what she was saying, and her mouth-screeching had made him somewhat irritable. Too much...harmony. "Not dead yet. S'gonna wait f'er ta' wake up, then drown 'er a liddle."
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "Hey, wai'd'a'minute!" An accusatory finger was pointed in the darkness, all knuckles and bones. "Whad're yew doin' in my pool?"
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "You can't own the /ocean/!" she gasps, incredibly offended by the mere idea.
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "....wait...you're gonna wake up the prey just to drown it? why not just eat it?"
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "Wull..." She kept saying things. It was really starting to equal parts irk and confuse. "...Sets good 'xample." A wry grin crept across his huge, oversimplified, blocky face. The tear of his lipless mouth blended in well with the other scars and bruised protrusions. "Stole outta mah stash. So's Ah drown 'er, an' tie 'er to a rock, an' leave 'er for a few days. See Ah know wher' she does her work." He shook the fishnet-legged whore around like a ragdoll, eliciting a pained whine. "An' Ah'll nail 'er bloaty, salty carcass there, right to th'sign, twenty feet up."
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "Yeeaagah..."
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "Hurr...that'll learn 'em ta' steal from Skippy."
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: She squints. "....Hoo-mans are odd creatures, why punish the food when you can just...eat the food..." she opened her mouth, teeth all jagged and sharp and made for a carnivore. "Like she's right there...do you not know how to eat? Give her here, I'll show you the death roll and how to eat"
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "No." Skippy huddled the badly bruised and lacerated prostitute now more like a neglected baby, close to the chest. "Ah know what bits ta' eat, she's no good fer that. Got plastic in 'er bones an' no meat asides."
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "An' yew didn' even catch 'er! Lousy fraggin' ongrate. Now yew git outta mah drownin' dock so's Ah c'n drown a crocly!"
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "No!" her short, plump fish tail slapped at the water. "This is my territory now, I found it and I've been laying my eggs! When a male of my kind finally shows up and fertilises them then you can have it back! disgusting land creature and your owner ship of water! Is the land not enough for you?!"
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: His answer was immediate, verbal, but not a word. He made a low grimacing growl inside of his intestines and it streamed out of his mouth like a dying lawnmower. If anyone was to ask a something like a Skippy how much was 'enough', the only answer in turn could be MORE. A lot more, and a lot more than that, too. He remembered the last he'd been hired by the Orongronaut core or the Britons to kill Sirens. They kept making him dizzy and puke for days, and their teeth bit off almost all of him. After four days under the water, frozen too badly to move, he'd been let off and floated ashore. When he walked into town it'd been more panic than usual, on account they could see his skull through the patches cut out of his face. "Hrrmmmgh."
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "So's if yer eggs git done critchin' up for, y'll leave mah spot?"
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: She hissed back at his growl, the sound igniting the instinctive side of her that she had been trying to suppress in her effort to fit in with the land walkers, learning all their rules and expectations and how they worked, all so different to her, all so wrong.
Timidly, she nodded.
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: Perhaps they were alike in that way. Maybe not, though. He wasn't the one to ponder. Calming down gradually, he donned the same sleepy grin he'd wore on the way to the docks with a mangled woman over one shoulder. "Oh-kay."

Turning his back, the Skippy disappeared into the brush. Up a tree. A thick evergreen with a wide trunk and sparse limbs, old and tired from the last few harsh seasons. He reached about forty feet up using only one hand and his legs, and then got to work tying the hooker up by her waist. When she was well and truly bound to the tree like a fly on a menagerie of cobwebs, he let go. Instead of sliding he dropped all 13 meters straight down, landing audibly. He stood in silence, approaching the dock again. When he found the siren a second time, he took off his overcoat. It landed on the rocky shore as if it weighed five hundred pounds, making a distinct set of clattering clanks.

"Oke-doke. Wher's this eggs?"
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "At the bottom, I have a few more thousand to lay, but a good portion is already out" a section where her vagina would be, were she a human and not a sea creature evolutionary designed to drown the masses in the deep, split open like a flower, exposing, as she had said, the thousands of unfertilized eggs that had yet to make their way out of her womb, they were small and see-through, made up of half the dna they needed to develop into the little ravenous guppies she knew they could be.
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: "Huh." Beady little gray eyes pierced through the water, examining the smallest of sights with perplexity and not much else. It was much more benign and casual than mammal birthing. Without a draping trenchcoat around him, Skippy looked stranger. It was easily apparent that his arms were each long enough to reach his shins. His shoulders, even without armor or padding were unnaturally square and about four feet across. It made an ordinary tank top look silly, like circus clothing on a hunchback. He sat on the wooden dock, taking off his boots. "Whull lemme know when yer done, an' Ah c'n git ta' drownin' an' crucifyin' by sunrise, Ah hope."
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "I had been working on my 'how the hoomans behave' list and laying before you interrupted me," she said gently, a handful of the eggs sliding past the flower and into the pool water, glowing when they left her. "Tell me, land walker, what do you know of the hoomans behavior? More than I, hopefully, if one was propositioning you for breeding."
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: He had begun to know, generally- sorta? What she meant. Possibly. He made an attempt, despite analytical conversation being one of his few strong dislikes. "...Mah mum was one. A humie, if'n that's what ya mean. A...pers'n. A lady. She raised me nice. She's was a real good lady." He had veered off topic, and had thusly become so incredibly sad that the air seemed to decrease in temperature while his panache-y, swaggering posture visibly deflated. It only lasted a few seconds, and then he was back to imagining the woman he'd wrangled out of his booze warehouse, bolted to a steel pole, high in the air near a Motel.
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "Oh...I am sorry...I had merely assumed that due to your appearance, like me, you merely mimicked the human shape in order to lure the prey in...not that you were a /half breed/...." She didn't say the word like a slur, she said it like just another word, used to describe something. "What was your father?" she reached out and gently placed her webbed hand over his, her fingers were long, designed to push her through the water as best as they could.
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: His hand felt like rocks with skin stretched over. Terrible, spidery fingers- thin enough to fit around the trigger of a firearm, but perhaps twice as long as a human being's. The nails weren't nails, on close inspection. Just a patch of missing skin where the bony endoskeletal structure beneath could be seen. The knuckles were sharp and rough. They lead up to an arm with no discernable wrist, all bound up in bulky interlocking bands of sinew. "...Dunno." He knew what fathers were, and he had learned how he had come to be. He didn't like thinking about it, though. Nonetheless it was what he was thinking about. "Ah was...as Ah's told, when Ah asked." He looked down at her hand, trying for a second to figure out why she was touching him. Maybe they were going to fight soon. The thought cheered him up a bit, and he continued saying words. "Uhr...sorta put t'gether. An' some fellers cut mum open, an' put me in, so's Ah'd look...kinda..." his free hand scratched at his beard. "Y'know? Like a feller, instead of whathaveya-else."
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: In short a Skippy had been made from stolen parts, fabricated by mankind, a sinister amalgam of white bones and black lipids. It had been placed inside a womb, tampered with, and ultimately ended up walking around nailing people to things.
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "....Interesting...I guess Hoomans have no end to their sins and nothing they aren't willing to attempt...I suppose that is what happens when you cast life out of the sea of eden, it has to make sin..." she pulled his hand close, rubbing her scaly cheek into his palm. "Poor little mimicry of man"
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: ((*actually scratchy 'scaly', bitch is all rubbery, like a seal U-U
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: ((*scratch
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: Skippy stared at the water, no idea what she was talking about. Eden? He was pretty sure he'd once eaten Eden- Eden being a sixteen year old girl who'd grown up in the slums of Chicago. Skippy remembered such because her hairband got caught in his throat for a few days and itched terrible. He could smell bear piss. Thusly he resolved to find and kill a bear later in the evening, too. While this was decided on his hand was limp, but was soonafter pulled away. He pointed at her, certain that something about her sentence was untrue. "...Hey!" His hand waggled. She couldn't fool him. "Ah'm bigger'n yew, not lil' a'd'all." Arms crossed over a wiry chest the size of Alaska, he frowned. "Yew got yer eggo's sat out yet?"
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: "I've been at it for several days and your presence is not making it any easier, what do you want me to do? Grab hands fulls and toss em in the tiny oce-I SMELL A LAND SHARK" she screeched, and pulled herself out of the water, making some pained breaths while her gills sealed up and her lungs got into working order, the second she was out of the water, her tail started to split, blood and seafoam seeping from the wounds as the tail painfully formed into misshapen legs, ones that would undoubtedly cause a stabbing pain when walked on.
"HUNT IIIIT!" she seemed to become dreadfully excited at the prospect of a hunt...
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: The gore she underwent in the oddest of ways made him somewhat hungry. Her words confused, again, and again. Landshark? He hadn't seen a landshark since Dr. O'Faykirk had died. He thought he'd got the last of them, after all that work, and all of those moles, and the flying ones, too. Either way, she was out of the water. Skippy stood with a shrug, walking on bare feet to go and fetch his drowning victim as previously planned.
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: The sirens singing started working in the cries of bears, designed to lure the land shark and the land shark alone...she thought bears were fucking land sharks. She dragged her self around, legs twisting and bending in unnatural ways.
"Ooooohaaaaaa-what you getting the hooman down for?" she stopped singing and scrambled towards the tree, claws digging into the dirt. "Gonna eat it? E A T I T"
Skippy [Mercenary, 298 lbs, 7'5", shaggy hair, bushy beard, IQ of 68, excellent marksman, odd past]: He had already reached the hiding spot forty feet high, grabbed the girl, and leapt back down. A thunderous thump sounded just feet away from the siren, and he began loping back to the water to begin dunking his quarry. "ught-" went the now half-conscious concussed twenty-something Philippino gal.
A siren struggling to learn human behavior: The siren loped after him like a hunting dog, nipping at the poor woman's hands, sharp teeth tearing skin and fingernails off.