Sirens' Guard Dog

Chapter 1: Precious Cargo

A silent siren seemed to be an oxymoron, and yet it was a reality: trapped in a pathetically small tub of water secured in the middle of their ship is a beautiful young fish woman, bound and gagged. She glares at anybody who dares approach and only reluctantly slurps down disgusting, pulverized rations of freshly caught fish through a thin wooden tube pushed between her lips behind the gag (with heavy handed innuendo) when they're brought to her by a member of crew once a day at noon. Just enough to keep her alive until they reach the Gates to Heaven: a series of rocky arches, grand enough for a vessel such as the Deus Ex to pass through, that supposedly hold a treasure trove from the pirates of yesteryear guarded by a swarm of colorful, beautiful sirens.

Legend has it, any crew accompanied by one of their own would be allowed access.

Hans isn't sure how the one they have could fit the tropical beauty bill, though. Her skin is pale and she's got blonde hair, limply plastered to her head when wet and wickedly frizzy out of saltwater when drying. Her tail is dull to boot, a gradient of navy at the back to pale baby blue at the front, much like a tuna. The only thing she was missing were the characteristic spikes and sharp fins—instead given delicate, almost tulle like swathes of tissue. A stark contrast to the probably insulating layer of fat wrapping around her arms and midsection. She looks to be from the North like the rest of their bastard crew, picked up in the middle of the open ocean as part of one of Montana's schemes to find treasure and magic with which he could subjugate the world.

Speaking of the Captain, he'd originally fancied to keep her to himself. She'd been put in his private quarters up on display, but that'd come to an end before the first night. Apparently—as best Hans could tell from his boss' tight-lipped explanation, he'd tried to touch her and she damn near sliced through his cheek with a single, devious caress. From that point on she'd been labelled a dangerous seductress and carted down to sit in the mess hall in the middle of the ship, subject to the whims of a pig-staffed crew.

Hans pitied her; for as much as she glared at him, trying and failing to bare her teeth over the gag with her bioluminescent marks glowing weakly under her skin and the fins in place of her ears stretched, at least he had relatively more freedom. It was funny to think they were in the same boat, both literally and figuratively. A werewolf magically chained to a madman and a fish woman physically bound in a bathtub bolted to the floor.

At the very least he was able to wander the deck and stretch his legs. She couldn't even fully unfurl her tail and had to deal with torment from the hoard of sexually starved men and two cruel, sea hardened women. The only reason she'd only been harassed and not worse was that they couldn't figure her out. Hans, for her sake, hoped it stayed that way.

It wasn't like he could stand around to watch her, make sure she wasn't assaulted. He was the First Mate, busy overseeing the worker ants scuttle about on the deck while the Montana, the Captain who fancied himself the best man to ever live and rival to famous British Privateer Captain Alucard, sat on his fat ass up in his quarters.

In Hans' mind, he wasn't much of a rival and the best thing he had going for him was his charisma and the rabid devotion of their ragtag crew. But now with a captured and effectively declawed siren on board, they might stumble upon the riches and power to change that.

For the weeks she's been with them, gradually growing thinner and weaker, part of Hans has started to doubt that she'll be of use.

Even worse, another part of him—a part he'd been sure to bury, pained by his unending life at sea—hungered for a woman that wasn't a member of the crew. And every time he looked at that nameless siren he was tempted, so tempted. Even without her voice, if she'd looked at him only once with shining, sparkling eyes free of fury and hate, he'd be hers forever. In his dreams he can taste the sea salt on her skin, feel the smooth scales on her wide hips under his hands, and hear her sweet voice as she cried his name to the heavens while he was buried in her depths.