Ship In A Bottle

Mistakes Of Today

Skull hates this.

His tail swishes angrily, steel gray with a myriad of scars dotting the ecto flesh. His single eyelight roams his "enclosure" with a hateful leer, and his clawed phalanges crunch the forgiving water, which slips from between them without so much as a ripple.

He can't remember how long he's been here—not that he can do much about it, due to his cracked skull. All he knows is that he wants out.

But that will never happen. As much as he hates to admit it, humans are remarkably skilled at keeping things where they want them, even a twenty-foot-long skeletal siren. Especially a twenty-foot-long skeletal siren.

His teeth ground together sharply at the thought, emitting a dull crunch that drifted through the oppressive silence of his cage. His hand comes up to scratch the inside of his dead socket, a behavior he can't quite remember picking up, only that he does it when he's stressed.

Speaking of stress, his captors aren't the only thing stressing him out.

It's feeding time...

...and he's still waiting.

At least he can somewhat count on the humans to feed him. They need him alive so they can brag to other humans about capturing a siren and keeping him alive, after all.

That doesn't mean he isn't simmering with rage. Or that his bones are rattling and he's unwittingly drooling and his mind is reeling with craving.

where is it—

As if on cue, a group of humans enters the room. His magic rumbles when he spots the yellow tub carried between them, undoubtedly filled with some squirming delicacy for him to enjoy.

He can barely contain himself as they scale the special stairs leading to the top of his cage, where his food is usually dumped into the water. Barely a second later, he's breached the water, waiting (im)patiently for them to dunk the contents of the yellow tub in.

Thankfully, as soon as the humans are up, they promptly dump the tub, sealing the fate of the fish trapped within. Skull dives after their shimmering, sliding shapes, eyelight blazing.

He catches the first fish relatively easily, his clawed phalanges digging deep into its squirming flesh. He then, without preamble, shoves the whole thing into his maw, not even bothering to chew. It's not like his magic will care.

And it doesn't, dutifully absorbing the offering with a pleased thrum and a burst of warmth in his bones.

Momentarily satisfied, Skull takes his time with the rest of the fish—turning the experience into a sort of game.

It isn't like he has anything else to do...

...and even if he did, it's not like they'd be able to escape him.

***

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He was careful... almost too careful. He made sure they never saw him.

But they still knew, and, on one stormy night, he would discover just how much aware the humans were.

***

You're running out of money again.

Another year has passed since you started your epic journey, and it's almost comical that your only hindrance comes in the form of insufficient funds.

Sure, you get paid for your work... but it's only occasional, and definitely not enough to support you for long.

Which is why you cut your mission short—docking at a random port and using the remainder of your money to buy some emergency food.