"Like a... what do y'call them, the singing flying ladies. Guy tied himself to the mast to listen."

She steps even closer, murmurs in Dani's ear - voice like she's reciting a very racy love poem, her accent suddenly an echo of Dani's own - 

In flowery meads the sportive Sirens play,

Touch the soft lyre, and tine the vocal lay;

Me, me alone, with fetters firmly bound,

The gods allow to hear the dangerous sound.

Hear and obey; if freedom I demand,

Be every fetter strain'd, be added band to band.

She wraps her arms around Dani, tight, irresistible, and her voice takes on an almost sing-song tone - but more haunting and beautiful than that - 

Approach! thy soul shall into raptures rise!

Approach! and learn new wisdom from the wise!

We know whate'er the kings of mighty name

Achieved at Ilion in the field of fame;

Whate'er beneath the sun's bright journey lies.

Oh stay, and learn new wisdom from the wise!'

And she kisses Dani's cheek - and the strange spell of her voice breaks. 

"You make a good siren."

"Alluring and beautiful?"

"Mhm."

"Drawing sailors and caterpillars alike to a watery grave."

"Remind me not to invite you to the lake house, I guess."

"Only if you want to keep drowned sailors to a minimum."

"Usually a sound policy."

"Only usually?"

"Well, if you're fighting a battle at sea against an unforgiving enemy, or if you're doing something illegal in international waters and want to minimize witnesses..."

"So all guidelines have exceptions."

"The real world is full of edge cases."

"Really strange ones, sometimes."

"That's what makes it interesting."

"There is that."

"Do you know any other poems?" Dani asks.

"Very, very many."

"I'd like listening to you recite more."

Quick kiss. "Any themes you're in the mood for?"

"Maybe more ocean stuff?"

She leans in again and murmurs - 

On sands by the storm never shaken,
Nor wet from the washing of tides;
Nor by foam of the waves overtaken,
Nor winds that the thunder bestrides;
But red from the print of thy paces,
Made smooth for the world and its lords,
Ringed round with a flame of fair faces
               And splendid with swords.

There the gladiator, pale for thy pleasure,
Drew bitter and perilous breath;
There torments laid hold on the treasure
Of limbs too delicious for death;
When thy gardens were lit with live torches;
When the world was a steed for thy rein;
When the nations lay prone in thy porches,
               Our Lady of Pain.

And bites.

Eeep!

(A good eeep though, Carmilla is being very sexy right now.)

Then surely Dani won't mind Carmilla's hand slipping under her shirt...?

No, that fits the mood pretty well.