Oh, so that's what that smell was. Tucker swam to the edge, watching him for a moment. Blood, darker than any ocean here, and he reached out to touch it.

"You don't want to be on that ship anyway," he said, before holding up a finger. A second later and he disappeared under the water, lost. One minute, two, five, longer than anyone could hold their breath for, and finally he was back up in the same spot with wet hair hung around him, the ends floating lazily before he pulled himself onto the rock beside him.

Were you waiting for legs? Because that's not what you're getting.

The tip of his tail curled up and in on itself like a party favor before it's blown into, and he ignored it as he took his newfound seaweed from where it was clinging under the surface. "Just press this on your cut. Seriously, you can do way better than being on a ship where they try to harpoon everything that moves."

Nonchalant. Act like it's nothing. And to Tucker, it was; he was comfortable with himself, who he was, and how lucky people were to glimpse him. But...then again, when was the last time he actually talked to a human, anyway?