Mitch nodded respectfully. "Don't worry, it won't happen again." He turned to make his way out of the house, looking over his shoulder to call, "And I'm not afraid of a little singing."
He took a look at the rules on the way out, noting that they were all reasonable, and rushed out the door, narrowly avoiding bumping in to the two women standing there. "Sorry!" he quipped as he passed, not really concerned with them.
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Mitch had managed to find the way to the bay by bus, luckily Marisa's advice about following the skyscraper was hugely accurate. The way to the dock was down a wooded path, scarcely found in cities such as this. It must have been some kind of park. Perfect for privacy, he supposed.
He walked briskly down the path, eyes cast downward as he tried to figure out what to say. Never in his life had he really found himself in the role of the wrongdoer, or at the very least, the one apologizing first. It hadn't been much of a practice in his circles, so he struggled a bit with coming up with an apology.
However, it was all wiped from his mind when he heard a very quiet, soft voice, coming from the same direction he heard gentle waves. He slowed, walking silently, listening. As he drew nearer, he recognized the sound as singing, the most lovely he'd ever heard. He felt like he should recognize the song, but didn't know why; maybe he'd heard it in prison? Who knew. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.
As he cleared the trees, he could see a figure sitting on the dock, and hear the singing clearly. Obviously a woman, by form and by voice, but it wasn't the same ear-splitting soprano that most singing women he knew took pride in. It must be Karaiyah: she was here, exactly where she said she would be, and doing exactly what Marisol said she would. And while the song was by far the most beautiful he'd ever heard (he'd expect nothing less from a Siren) he wasn't hypnotized. At least, not in the way that lead seafaring men to their deaths.
After listening to her song for a little while, he felt the familiar warmth that came with any music. A side-effect of the species, he'd called it. By now he had an ear for the tune, and hoping for the best, he stepped onto the dock and started whistling an improvised counter-melody to the song, hoping it would be a gentle way to announce his presence, as not to startle her.