Blue and red. Calm and cooling ice and fierce fire.

Lance had piloted ice only to be sent to the fire.

Hot land and refreshing ocean. All things he missed. If not for his blood than for how he was raised.

Not that anyone on the ship understood. How could they? They were human. They were alien. They were mice.

They weren't him. And how awful was it to not have one person to understand the pain. To not have one person understand the hunger. Hunger beyond just the need to eat the food provided.

It wouldn't be hard for him to feed. Just a little song and he could feast. But he didn't want to do that. They trusted him. And to use them as food, would no doubt shatter that trust. Even if it were an enemy, they would only view him as some sort of monster. And they wouldn't even be wrong.

His blood demanded he created catastrophes to feed on the essence of travelers. Perhaps not kill them, but use them as his own pantry. Their unbridled spirit of travel. The adrenaline melting away into the very being of relaxed with the slightest of words.

Warm, fresh blood. Succulent and relaxed bodies.

He shook his head violently. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't do that to his friends. He wouldn't. Even if it meant starving for all eternity. Even if it meant never to sing again.

Even if it meant denying what he really was. Especially, if it meant denying what he was.

For their sakes, he was human. He had to be.

For a siren's call was far too dangerous.

So instead he danced around them and laughed and joked.

Perhaps if he could keep happy, he could ignore the growing hunger.

Siren Lance. Because, why not? More food for thought. A one shot. Meh.