There weren't any books underwater.

The pages and the ink couldn't survive getting wet, after all, much less being fully submerged and likely moved around a lot. On top of that, there was no reason to read them - sirens weren't exactly the most cultured beings, despite their supposed beauty.

But this place, this was true beauty, she realized.

There were so many books here, towering far above her, in tongues she could never understand, words that she could never hear to repeat - and words that she couldn't read. It took her only flipping one of them open to remember that. A bright red book with a golden text on the cover sat before her, laying open to a page in the middle, where she stared at it, almost defiantly. Tell me your secrets, her eyes said, passionate and furious as any sea creature should be. Give me your words, book, so that I might speak them.

The book was, unfortunately, being obstinate in the whole being legible thing. She let out a strained huff, which sounded more like a harsh cough than anything, and flipped it back closed with her forepaw. It could keep its secrets. She could live without those words in her head.

She lived this long without them, she could survive this putrid swamp, as well.

tags - "speech"

She had heard the books falling, yes, but she hadn't really considered someone else being in here. For some reason. Her typical sea-based paranoia (the kind that comes from expecting death from every angle) had taken a back seat to trying to parse the letters, even as they fidgeted, changing every time she blinked. When Crowley spoke, she seemed to jump, swinging her head to him in a lot of alarm, the world suddenly zooming back into focus. She let someone sneak up on her so easily - she needed to keep her guard up. These people seemed nice so far, but she had a generally ominous vibe about the place. As an ex-siren, she would know about luring people, after all.

Her head cocked, she stared at the slinky man expectantly. Why yes, Crowley, she might say, I am having troubles, could you teach me to read? But alas, her throat was empty. Especially bothersome was the fact she wanted to know what he was. She had seen some of the white seabirds in her life, and he reminded her of them, flapping sort of haphazardly, like he wasn't fully in control. Maybe those birds were just drunk, though - the sailors they hung around tended to be, as well.

She looked around her, looking at some of the messed up books, and looking at all of the total lack of other culprits that could have committed such a... crime? Such a misdemeanor. She decided to ignore his first question (yes, Crowley, I do have my share of woes) and go straight for the throat, like her mother taught her. He had said something very convenient for this, indeed.

"Books are rather difficult to pick up," she taunted him with his own voice, gesturing at a small pile of books, hoping that the identical tone in which she said his words would still convey her mocking intent. If not, he'd at least keep talking, and she oh so loved to learn things.

tags - "speech"