Everyone Needs a Savior {Syrena}

[Philip Swift]

The sun was hot on his face as the waves lapped at the boards of the little row-boat. Philip had been lying on his back in the little boat for most of the night and now into the morning, and his face, neck and hands were getting sunburned terribly. He had had the idea of shading his forehead with his Bible, until it left him with a Bible-shaped white place on his brow while the rest of his face was burned. Even though it was still the early morning, it was already hot. He did not know how long it had been. He had been paying some attention to the position of the sun in the sky, and he knew from the sea being gentle that he had to be relatively close to land without being so close that the waves were breaking.

A tentative glance at the horizon when he forced himself up to his elbows into a sitting position showed that there was a spot of land nearby, but not near enough to swim to, which was unfortunate as water had been slowly leaking into the boat, requiring him to bail it out by scooping it with cupped hands. He believed though that it would last, but when he got closer to shore, the waves would get rougher… and the shoreline, he was starting to see, seemed slightly rocky, though the rest of the island was a jungle.

He fingered the wooden cross that hung around his neck, as he always did when nervous or thoughtful, and considered what he could do. The boat would be smashed for certain, and he probably smashed with it. But what choice did he have? He sat and waited and prayed, as God’s mercy would most likely be the only thing that could keep the little boat intact, and tucked his Bible inside his coat for safekeeping to be sure that it was not washed away with the tide. As the boat neared the shore, propelled by the rough waves, water entered it more rapidly, and it would sink if it wasn’t smashed. A large wave capsized the boat and threw Philip into the surf, tumbling his body over and over until he did not know which way was up. The last thing he knew was the sharp pain of his head striking a rock on the ocean floor.

^{image credit: cora--corman on tumblr
words: 397
lyrics: mighty to save by laura story
notes: hope this is alright! ariel moment ;]}

[Syrena]

i know now this is who i really am,

It was not every day that she ventured away from White Cap Bay. Naturally, it happened; but it was hardly routine, or proper, most of the time. However for her, someone who strayed away from the 'routine' or predictability of her kind, it would hardly keep her up at night. She enjoyed a bit of adventure, though, dually wary of the dangerous that lay ahead for someone like her -- a mermaid, labeled a dangerous killer from an age-old time. Despite her lineage, she fancied discovering new things, and being enraptured by the wonders of the sea, and land. She had seen some of her sisters venture on two legs into the towns of men; and while she had done so, only a handful of times, never had she been as brave as they. Even if the men they found were often drowned either way, she could not yet handle the bustling in towns. It made her nervous, anxious and...guilty. Had her kin destroyed any families there? It was likely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on her swim; she could breathe underwater for hours, but it was nice to breathe oxygen from the air, as well, every so often. She was half-human, in a way, after all. Breaking the surface, she could see the horizon line; beautiful as always, but also, an island not too far off from where she was. A wave, mighty, and big, crashed, and she followed it's path of destruction with her eyes -- It was a man. On a boat. Even she new such a small thing wouldn't last. And when the wave and it collided, it went under. Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, she looked to see if the man was going to resurface.

He did not. Panic flooded her, and almost instantly she dove down, her eyesight adjusting to the turmoil-filled waters of the sea. With effort, she forced her body to swim faster, particularly when noticing him hitting a rock on the ocean floor. Why she was compelled so fiercely to help, she could not explain; but the faster she got him out of the water, the better. The sea was a dangerous place, after all; far scarier things then man-eating mermaids swam within it's depths. Her arms outstretched to him, encircling around his torso as much as she could, before heading back toward the surface. It was mildly difficult -- he was dead weight, after all, even if things were 'lighter' underwater.

Once breaking the water-line again, she was careful to keep his head above water, as she pulled him to shore, getting mildly more tired then expected from such a feat. But, then again, it had been a while since she ate properly, so perhaps it was to be expected. Before long, she felt sand beneath her scales and skin, and with a few more tugs, he was hoisted up upon the beach, more or less unreachable to the calmer waves that lapped at the sand. What do I do?! Her fingers hesitantly touched the skin of his face, looking for signs of movement at the contact; none, came visibly. Worry immediately etched on her face, and unsure of how to proceed, she let her hand drop to his chest, trying to feel and make out a heart-beat. At least that was a constant to almost all living things.

"Please be alright," She murmured gently, more-so to herself; she'd seen sailors dye from less then a bonk on the head, and even if it could be considered a 'natural' cause, it didn't mean it weighted in on her heart any less. Though she could swear there was a faint thrumming beneath her fingertips.

[Philip Swift]

Philip was not aware of his rescuer, or how he was being rescued, as he had sunk into the comfort of unconsciousness. He felt no pain in his condition, even though the hit his head had taken on the rock had not only knocked him out, it had given him a rather nasty gash. It was probably for the best that he was unaware of this and the fact that his aching body was being dragged through rough water at quick speeds onto unpleasant sand that scraped over his wind-beaten, sun-burned skin. If he had been conscious, he probably would not have complained, but it was still fortunate for him that as far as he knew, he had nothing to complain about.

Even though the sensations and movement did not bring him out of his state of unconsciousness, he had always been the sort of man to react more to gentleness than sternness, as he was enraptured by the mercy of a loving God spoken about in the New Testament than he was with the angry and jealous God that some believed in who caused pain. So, in a similar fashion, when his eyes fluttered open and he regained consciousness, it was not until there were gentle probing fingers against the flesh of his cheek or his chest, the feel of warm breath on his face, and a soothing voice.

As soon as he woke up, he regretted it, because there was a searing pain in the back of his head. As he slowly regained consciousness, he regained awareness of everything. He could feel sand beneath his back, he could feel the total body ache of a sunburn and having laid in a cramped space for an extended period of time, he could feel blood, sticky and hot and wet on the back of his head in his hair, and he could see… a girl. There was a girl laying over him.

His green eyes were wide now, even though that caused his head to pound because of the brightness of the light and he was dizzied by the sudden movement he made by jumping on account of how startled he was. Even when the initial shock had worn off that there was another person with him, he was still rather in awe because the woman was as naked as Eve. As he tried to comprehend what was going on, he sat up slightly, wincing as he did so, pressing a hand experimentally to the back of his head and frowning when it came away sticky with blood.

Shrugging out of his coat, he took off his shirt, and though it was see through because it was soaking wet and white, it was something, at least. He gently laid it over her shoulders and pulled it closed. “Did you save me?” he asked softly, somehow getting the feeling from her nakedness and ethereal beauty and strange circumstances of their meeting that she was someone who was not used to interacting with others and could be easily frightened off. He treated her almost like a cornered animal who needed to be protected, even though she had just saved him. There were a million other questions racing through his mind too – like who she was, where they were, and why she was naked - but he didn’t want to scare her.
.

^{image credit: cora--corman on tumblr
words: 559
lyrics: mighty to save by laura story
notes: she is presh <3}

[Syrena]

i know now this is who i really am,

The faint flutter of the others heart beneath her fingertips was not a hoax, or her imagination. For soon he sat up - albeit, likely having regretting for doing so - and was very much alive. She was momentarily startled, and recoiled, pulling her drifting fingers away. Nakedness wasn't something she was....too concerned with, normally. But, then again, normally she wasn't in such a unique position. Luckily, her hair was long enough to act as a natural shield for her chest, if nothing else. There were numerous things she expected, logically: for him to faint again, whether from shock or loss of blood, or even for him become distressed, and perhaps angry. The utter last thing on her mind was for the sailor to take off a piece of his own clothing, and cover her with it. Though mildly futile, in it's purpose, it was quite a friendly gesture; one she'd seen with her own eyes, but seldom experienced. In fact, she was fairly certain she was, slightly, gawking at him in her own surprised stupor.

He spoke, however, and the brief spell was broken. Unable to find her voice immediately, she nodded, and shifted more into the shirt. The wet material felt awkward and almost constricting against her skin, as she was used to wearing nothing at all, but she kept her own peace with it. There was no need to seem unappreciative, was there. "Yes," She began, almost suddenly. "I did." It had been a while since she'd spoken to anybody, let alone a mortal human. For once, she actually looked around at their surroundings -- an island, clearly. It looked more jungle-liked then the usual places humans resided, so if there were people here, she knew they had to be aboriginals. Probably not the best place to have brought some body, but there wasn't another land mass for quite some distance. It would have to do.

"Why....were you in the boat?" She'd seen those types of boats before, but rarely did it hold less then four persons. After all, those were the easiest to nap men from -- she'd seen it with her very own eyes. Not that even a full-blown ship did much if enough of her sisters were eager for a good hunt. It was quite alarming that he was alone, really; not many survived out on their own, especially this far from cultured civilization. For a moment, she sat back, putting some distance between herself, and the unknown man. "And where are your companions?"

There were whispers about what resided on this island, of course; the very beating heart of Davy Jones -- but it was a rumor, passed by tongue for decades. There was word that the damned man was no longer captain of the Flying Dutchmen, but it was hard to tell if it was true or yet. To date, she'd yet to come across the cursed ship -- there seemed to be lots of those in the Caribbean. Feeling oddly self-conscious, and worried for her own reasons, she wrapped her arms around herself, protectively; even if she didn't rightly feel threatened by the man, it was hard to break that wariness that came second nature to her. She was, after all, a monster to his people; and, he may be nice and civil now, but the moment she was engulfed by the tide for too long...her unspoken secret would be revealed.


image: moi
words: idk, enough
lyrics: the kill, 30 seconds to mars
notes: they are precious ♥

[Philip Swift]

He watched her shift backwards and went still, not wanting to scare her off. Even though he was pretty sure he had more of a right to be frightened than she did, seeing as how he was the one who was injured here and had needed rescuing. But of course he could not be scared of her. Not when she looked so fragile and delicate, like she needed to be taken care of. Protective instincts were awoken in him like they always were when he went on a mission and saw people whose souls needed saving, who were living in poverty and needed their bellies to be filled with food just as much as their minds needed to be with knowledge. Only, it was different this time. The people he saw he wanted to protect because he was a human and so were they. But she… she was almost inhuman in her beauty. He might even say divine.

His mouth opened and he could not really think of what to say – what could you say to someone who had just saved your life? “Thank you,” he said softly, sincerely, as he looked up into her face earnestly. It was the only thing he could really think to say, and though it was simple, it was honest. He kept watching her, searching her pretty face for any sort of emotion as she looked around – what was she looking for? Were there others like her on this island who were going to come find them? Or were there enemies?! – but seeing nothing, no hint at why she might have rescued him. He wanted to ask why, but he had no idea how, and he sort of got the feeling that it would only make her more skittish. And deep in his heart, he already knew it: for the same reason that he was a missionary – because he was a human and so were they. Because she lived and breathed and thought, and so did he.

She had questions as well, apparently, which surprised him a little. He was pleased by her curiosity even if he did not quite understand its origins; it seemed like a funny to thing to ask why someone was in a boat. Boats were for traveling. But maybe it only seemed strange to him because he had not thought about it much himself, or maybe because he had thought too much about it. His whole life was about being a missionary to others, traveling the world to spread the views of his home. There was no way to get around the world other than by sea, in a boat. “I was traveling,” he answered simply. He did not want to get into the details of why he had been in a dilapidated little boat all by himself, as that was another story entirely. And she seemed, in spite of her curiosity, to be a bit stunted in her education, though it was probably biased of him to think that just because her words appeared to be spoken with a bit of difficulty.

“Alone?” he repeated, realizing that he was probably going to have to go into it after all. “Well, I’m not really alone,” he said tactfully, dodging the question and fingering his cross. “No one is ever really alone, after all.” Maybe it was a bit ridiculous of him to start in on his witnessing, but old habits died hard, did they not? But instead of talking about Jesus, the look in her eyes made his heart beat a little faster as she stared down at him, and he thought of how God had sent someone to him, alright. “After all, you saved me.” He met her gaze for a moment and held it evenly before he lowered his eyes. “I have not had the type of companions you probably think of… for some time,” he said, a bit painstakingly because of the memories that the question had caused.

^{image credit: cora--corman on tumblr
words: 662
lyrics: mighty to save by laura story
notes: she is presh <3}

[Syrena]

i know now this is who i really am,

"You are welcome. As curious as she was - like a kitten, was it? - she recalled that he had, fairly violently, hit his head on the rock. The stains of blood on his hand from touching it proved that, and she felt guilty, regardless of the fact that she had no control of it. I could've dived sooner, she reasoned -- but also, if she had, and he was not unconscious, her true physical nature would have been revealed. Somehow, she doubted it would have been as calm and civil as this. "Should you not find something for your head?" Though the island seemed ripe with vegetation of jungle life, she wasn't mannered in the ways of human medicine, or anything of the sort. There was only one way she could heal him, but without his life in grave danger, it didn't seem necessary; not only that, but she had never saved another's life in that manner before. It was something her kind rarely did, if ever, these days.

She stood, and understandably, was wobbly on her feet; her balanced was fairly grounded after a few moments, and with a tentative step forward, she managed not to fall back to the ground completely. Though it was quite the close call, she caught herself in a squat before that, and stood again. When was the last time she even walked? Far too long ago, she reasoned, using much will-power and effort to keep from toppling over. "I wouldn't know what to get...but, something to cover it, perhaps?" Her English was slightly broken, and probably odd; it felt that way coming off her own tongue, but at least he appeared to be able to understand her.

A layer of the tension in her back relaxed, and the tiny, almost sad smile on her face could hardly be helped. "No, I suppose not." Much like schools of fish, mortals seemed to always be in the company of one another; talking, laughing, preaching about things unseen, and legends. Off the top of her head, she could only think of a few species that were, generally, always alone -- and it was for good reason. She knew little of worshiped God's beyond Poseidon, and even if she did, it wouldn't quite reside within her like it did with others. Though it was humid, the breezes were cooler, if only by small fractions, and she welcomed them; there would be only so much time she could stand outside of the water - mostly out of personal preference, but not entirely - and it would have been wrong of her not to enjoy it.

"It is a lovely day...I only wish it were under circumstances that were better." Her hair was still damp, and it stuck oddly to her face; so much so, that she had to brush it out and back behind her, twisting it into a makeshift braid that would hold long enough.

image: moi
words: idk, enough
lyrics: the kill, 30 seconds to mars
notes: they are precious ♥

[Philip Swift]

The way she spoke was interesting to him, and he had to wonder where she was from. Probably France. He was reasonably educated in different languages, as was required for a missionary, of course, because he traveled so much, and that would be his guess, from her broken English and slight accent when she spoke. Her voice lilted so wonderfully, it was like music to his ears, even in the few words she spoke. But he was simply glad to have her company no matter how she spoke. It was not good for man to be alone, after all, and two was better than one – both biblical concepts he found himself heartily agreeing with now.

He sighed softly, wishing that he could stop thinking about the pain and throbbing in his head; perhaps it would be better to take care of it though, she was right. “Perhaps a few leaves to wrap it with,” he agreed, “to stop the bleeding.” It was difficult to tell sometimes with the wide array of foliage what plants were medicinal and what plants were poisonous, but he liked to think that he had at least some knowledge of medicine, because on his various missions he had been required to administer to the sick as a part of his services to them. Hopefully he could find a plant that had the qualities of a painkiller, like willow.

Watching her as she stood, it felt strange to look up at her naked form, which he could still quite clearly see the silhouette of through the loose white shirt that was plastered to her body. He averted his eyes, flushing slightly, and because he was looking away politely he did not notice if her stance was a bit unsteady. “I can get it myself,” he said, though probably not very convincingly. He would have been just as shaky as she was if he had tried to stand, owing to the blood loss, though the salt water had cleaned his wound nicely enough…he would have to clean it again from the sand.

She was quiet and spoke little, something that he had to admit he appreciated most of the time, even though at the moment he was so glad to have someone to be with that he would not have minded if she never stopped talking. Still, part of her silence was probably owing to the language barrier. He knew a little French, enough to hold simple conversations, but he did not want to patronize her, or misuse it. “It is indeed,” he agreed when she commented on the weather. Hah! He had thought such comments only existed in polite society and he would never find them again, yet here he was on a remote island with a strange young woman talking about that very thing. He watched her intently, somehow fascinated by her fixing of her hair. “I do not think the circumstances are so bad, though. I am here, alive and well, thanks to you.” He got to his feet slowly. “I wish I had something to offer you in return…”

^{image credit: cora--corman on tumblr
words: 515
lyrics: mighty to save by laura story
notes: this is true}
[/quote]