Daithi is in a dilemma.

There was his Dry Home – a small sea cottage of dusty-pink cobblestone walls, white-patterning-burgundy shingles, a modest, mahogany door, and a weather-beaten, white-washed porch. It lies beyond the shores, nestled comfortably against a willowy skeleton-of-a-tree, and surrounded by a stout wall of gray and black stone.

There was his sealskin – a sleek pelt of fine, peppered-gray fur sprinkled with grains of sea salt and crushed dirt. It lies idle on the dark, sandy banks not too far from the docks and at a good 30 feet from the mentioned sea cottage.

And here he was – dark hair clinging to the curves of his flushed face, gray-green eyes flickering dismally from sealskin to sea cottage and back again, and body quite naked (as far as being up to your nose in seawater goes).

The selkie raises his head slightly, weighing his options carefully as to whether or not he should rush towards the sealskin first and dive back into the water, or run into the house, fetch clothes, and then get the sealskin.

Maybe if he were to swim to a certain point where he’d align the direction of both pelt and house, he could make a beeline dash towards pelt, then shelter, and save him all the trouble...

He sighs, bubbles gathering on the water surface and foaming idly from his mouth. He swims towards the calculated direction, head bobbing in the water like a clump of floating seaweed. And as soon as he reaches said-destination, he double-checks his composure and steadies his will.

He glances about. Yeah, coast is clear. Okay. All right then.

On the count of three.

One.

Two...

The coast was clear. From his point of view, it probably still is (or appears to be), because Taryn's on the side of the house facing away from him. But she'll be coming around the corner any second now...

She's wandering, without any real destination in mind, and thinking while she wanders. Or not-thinking, maybe, because her mind is traveling in directions quite as unplanned as those her feet travel.

They keep circling back to Keye, though. Keye and, oddly enough, Hayley. (Hayley being one of those people who betrayed her in the past, and who she doesn't really want to trust ever again.)

Hayley called her, recently. And Keye is dying. (At least, last she heard, he is.)

Taryn is confused.

She's wearing a pair of cut-off capris, a plain blue t-shirt, and a pair of flipflops. Her hair is in its usual ponytail, though several bits of it have contrived to escape and give her a slightly disheveled look.

Darcy was paying absolutely no attention to his surroundings. This was extremely rare, by the way. Even when in human form, like he was now, he had every sense on the alert. He was very preoccupied - it showed in the hazy look in his amber eyes, the absent look on his face. His brown hair fell in his eyes, and he didn't make the slightest effort to move it. He wasn't really looking at anything anyway, though he seemed to be gazing dully at the water.

He leaned forwards on his knees. He was wearing worn khaki shorts, a grey t-shirt (with old bloodstains on the hem), and sneakers. His sneakers were full of sand now, but he didn't care. A faint splashing noise came to his attention, and he almost looked - but didn't. Giving a soft sigh, he closed his eyes. Being by the water was supposed to be relaxing, right? How come he felt all jumpy, then?

Three.

And there he goes -- shooting through the waters like a bullet going through mist. The waves buffet him towards the shoreline, strong, lithe limbs carrying him with an expert swimmer's grace. He is a selkie, after all; he's in his element.

Of course, the same can't be said when Daithi hits land.

Riding the last wave, he tumbles onto the rocky shores, scrambles to his feet, makes to dash towards the sealskin and trips.

Bare knees and...well, just about bare everything hit the sands, shells, and pebbles with a muffled, granulous scraaape.

Bare knees and bare everything will definitely be feeling that one.

About this time, Taryn rounds the corner of the house and stops, stock still, at the sight of a very bare young man tumbling to the ground and scraping himself--all of himself, it looks like--on the sand.

She promptly turns a rather vibrant shade of red and averts her eyes.

Oops.

Maybe she'll notice Darcy in a minute, if she can stop swallowing, blushing, and trying not to look at anything but her feet.

Darcy was unable to ignore the sound of the stranger's body hitting the ground. Waves, footsteps, splashing,- all these he could ignore, but not the jarring sound of someone taking a spill. He turned his head slightly, so he could see what was going on. He had his mouth open to form the words, "Are you alright?" but the stopped before he could start.

He just gaped for a moment, then swiftly looked away. He'd caught sight of Taryn from the corner of his eyes, but hadn't really realized it was her. He didn't plan on turning around again right away. With his gaze fixed firmly on the water, he called, "'ey, you - you are, er, ... you are alright?"

He groans as he gathers himself from the impromptu nest of gravel, sand, and shells. And when the question finally registers into his brain, he flicks his eyes open and blinks at Darcy.

"..." he answers, and proceeds to portray a perfect example of the 'deer-caught-in-headlights' cliché.

Paralyzed (and vaguely aware of another human nearby), he keeps his gaze steady on the stranger and gropes blindly for his sealskin.

And as soon as his inching fingers catch that familiar, rubbery pelt, he whips the skin across his hips and clutches it possessively to his very naked chest.

"..." he answers again, and continues to stare.

Darcy's voice?

Dear god, please say she didn't just see Darcy naked... No, no, that had been somebody else. She dared a peek up and was greatly relieved to see that the stranger was now (sort of) dressed (in something).

Shuffle, shuffle.

Just a little bit closer, but she wasn't quite sure she wanted to risk embarrassing the young men or herself anymore than everyone surely was.

Hearing no response beyond, "...", and soft footsteps, Darcy chanced another look. Well, this was slightly better. He stood up, brushing sand off himself. He was perhaps less embarrassed than Taryn and the oddball with the... was that a pelt of some sort? Bizarre.

"Oh, 'ey," he said, with a weak grin as soon as he recognized Taryn. This was just a lovely situation all 'round, wasn't it? He then turned his attention to Daithi. "Allo, er... guy? You lose your clothes or somesing?"

Daithi's adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, a pink tongue tentatively snaking out to moisten his salty, benumbed lips. It looks oddly sensual, in a way -- not that the selkie could really help himself.

Because you've got to admit: With dark curls plastered to the sides of his flushed face and his hardly unbecoming body...well, as bare as he can get with that seal pelt, Daithi cuts a remarkably erotic creature.

"U-um," he says, flicking his wide-eyed glance between the female human to the male human, and trying all the more to shrink underneath his beloved sealskin.

"Er, er," he flails one hand unintelligibly towards the cottage that seems so far away at the moment.

Clearing his throat, he attempts again to decipher what the male just said.

And since the words still ring incomprehensible in his burning ears, he simply ventures a timid nod.

To Darcy, equally weakly--mostly through embarrassment--"Hey." To the stranger...

"Um... you need a... I dunno, some help or something?"

What a curious situation this is all around, isn't it.

Taryn is trying rather desperately not to embarrass either herself or the stranger or Darcy, and she's failing miserably at the first.

Darcy shook his head with a disbelieving sort of grin, not realizing that Daithi probably hadn't understood a word he'd said. How do you lose your clothes? This was indeed an awkward situation. And as it seemed to Darcy, they were just going to stand there staring awkwardly at each other until the end of time if someone didn't do something.

So, he did something.
He tossed Taryn an apologetic grin, took off his shirt, and went over to offer it to Daithi. The worn grey t-shirt was conveniently long - no substitute for an entire missing set of clothes, but it was a start. "Cover up - there is a lady present." he said, with a teasing grin, nodding towards Taryn.

Lady present?

He looks confused at first, glancing over to Taryn. He always thought that presents come in boxes wrapped in shiny foil and ribbon.

The selkie stares at the shirt apprehensively, then reaches a pale, toned arm forward and clasps his wet hand onto the dry fabric.

Pulling the garment over his dark-haired head, Daithi chances another glance at Darcy's face and smiles a slight, lopsided smile, embarrassed and grateful.

"H-how do you do?" He asks, mimicking a term he often saw in his books. His tongue was awkward in his mouth, unused to speech, but touched with a velvet purr that all the more softens the consonants of his already husky voice.

Legs still aren't working yet. It'll take a while before the rest of his body starts moving again.

"Er, fine."

Note that Daithi, dear fellow that he is, doesn't receive the honest answer that Taryn would give to several other people of her acquaintance. Darcy is, in fact, one of them, but not when someone else is around.

Okay. He's covered now, though--and Darcy has a nice chest. Bad thoughts--and she can be rather less embarrassed.

"... how did you lose your clothes, anyway?"

Blunt, isn't she.

'How do you do'?

Darcy just shrugged a shoulder, and let Taryn's answer cover for the both of them. Any answer he could give at the moment would sound false, even in such a - can this be called casual? - situation. He glanced at the small cottage, not far off, then back to Daithi. He lived there, he supposed. So he must have other clothes there.

He gave a faint nod at Taryn's question, thinking, Ditto.
I mean, how do you lose your clothes?
... And why had he left a sealskin lying on the beach...?

He's not sure how to exactly answer that question. He could lie, of course, but good morals drilled into him since he was a sealpup renders him inefficient with lying.

"Was swimming," he answers simply, and that was honest, enough. Just because he can't lie, doesn't mean he has to tell the whole truth.

He shrugs one shoulder in what he hopes is a casual manner. Ended up looking stiff. Which he is, somewhat, although if it was due to the cold water, that's hard to say.

Gathering his sealskin, he climbs unsteadily to his feet and wavers in one place for a moment -- as if testing the validity of his legs and making sure they'll work.

"Come with me?" he asks, gesturing towards the cottage and wearing what he hopes is a friendly smile.

His face falls blank for a moment, dark eyelashes blinking slowly and contemplatively before speaking.

"Thanks."

He must have lost his swimming trunks in the water...? Maybe. Or maybe it's something weird and bizarre, or... Let's not try too hard to figure this out, hm, Taryn?

"Um..." She glanced at Darcy. If he's okay with going in, then she'll be all right. Nothing happens when you're with other people, it's when you do stupid things with strangers alone.

Yes. That's right. That's how it's supposed to work.

"I guess so..."

He looked at Taryn when she was looking at him, and offered a nod and a grin.
"Euh, sure, let's go." he said to Daithi, returning the friendly smile. It looked friendly to him, anyway.The guy seemed to be having as much trouble with words as Darcy did sometimes.

Also - just for the record, Daithi had Darcy's shirt, and he was going to be wanting it back before he left.

A full-fledged grin illuminates his face. It isn't common for him to have guests over. And human ones at that!

So he strides forward towards his house. Stumbles a bit. Then, smoothly continues sauntering as if nothing had occurred. This proves that he's been doing this for a good while now, and although he hasn't quite mastered the art of walking gracefully, he had practiced the good cover-up.

He's most fascinated by the female, though. The only female he's ever been close to was his mother. And maybe fish, if he bothered checking for their distinguising traits. Which he doesn't (thank god).

So he more or less sidles closer to Taryn, catching every fascinating curve and soft build of her body, and perhaps appearing lewd if not for the pure innocence of his sparkling gaze.

Not as round as Mother, of course, but certainly pudgier in some places than the male. Curious.

Well, at least Daithi is being exposed to a fairly attractive specimen of the human female before he meets the other ones.

However, Taryn does not particularly fancy having this half-dressed stranger--and the wrong half, too--looking at her all over like that, innocently curious or not. Thus, as he sidles closer to her, she slips nearer to Darcy.

Yay, protection.

The impression that one might get from that, though a wrong one, could easily be that she was 'with' Darcy.

Which she wasn't.

Darcy, having no desire at the moment to be perceived as being 'with' someone (even Taryn), took his turn and edged away from her. Yay, domino effect. He wasn't up to negotiating the terms of any relationship, not even that of a completely innocent friendship.

Okay, maybe not completely innocent. But that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. If it hadn't been, he might have shot Daithi a slightly offended look and edged closer to Taryn instead of backing away.

But, as previously stated - that was the last thing on his mind.

He's not exactly sure what's creating the tension in the air, but the effects of that slight movement sure was amusing.

But it only took a couple of paces and a few minutes for them to reach that dreamy, cozy cottage. Bare feet pad the cobblestone path and wooden panels as Daithi walks up the white porch and opens the door.

You'd figure that at this time and age, he should learn how to lock the doors. But seeing that this cottage -- however adorable it may seem -- is situated far from urban activity and less likely to have anything of great value, the chances of anyone invading the house for money or treasure is unlikely.

At least, that's what we should hope, for Daithi's sake.

"Come on," he urges, keeping the screen door open and struggling to get the knob of the inner door open with his slippery, wet hands.

That Darcy moved away from her when she drew closer to him surprises Taryn greatly. He's never seemed to be the sort to shy away from any kind of contact. And wasn't he the one who wanted to make sure she was all right, that first time they met...?

She frowned a little. But she followed Daithi inside anyway.

"You okay?" she whispered to Darcy.

Darcy looked surprised by her question, grinned, and whispered back, "Bien sur, pourquoi ne serais-je pas?"

Aware that it was rude to whisper behind someone's back, even if he wasn't talking about them, he looked away and pretended that the little exchange had never occurred. "It is a nice place you 'ave 'ere," he said to Daithi, smiling. "Are you living 'ere year-round?"

((trans: Of course, why wouldn't I be?))

He observes Taryn studiously, perplexed about the whispers and the general shyness of her nature. Are all female humans like that?

At Darcy's question, he couldn't help but give a proud beam.
"Mm," he says with a nod. He wanted to clearly pronounce 'yes' better, but he couldn't help but fascinate over Darcy's peculiar accent. It differs so much from the female, after all.

He motions over to the cotton sofas placed in the small parlour, their florid pattern faded into a dusky burgundy.
"Make yourselfs at home," he welcomes with a shy, excited smile.

He stands there for a moment, happily basking in the warmth of company. And then logic strikes that he ought to get clothes.

Muttering an incoherent apology, he quickly disappears down the hallway and looks for his own clothes.

Which leaves Taryn alone with Darcy.

She watches their host go silently, then turns to her friend.

"I dunno; you just don't look okay."

And he didn't seem to want to be near her, which, against all logic, rather upsets Taryn. Probably because she expects it from Darcy, because that's just the way he is, in her experience.

"How've you been doing?"

"T'anks," he nodded to Daithi as he left the room. Darcy ignored Taryn's question for a moment, while he made sure that there wasn't any sand on his shorts before he took a seat. Finding no sand, he sat down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Bien, I do not know where you would get that idea from," he shrugged, not wanting to regale Taryn with the details of what had been a...not messy, really... but very painful breakup for him. He hadn't quite come to terms with it himself, yet. "I 'ave been doing alright."

He quickly turned the subject away from himself with a hastily-added, "And you? 'ow are you?"

"Back," he announces, unable to contain the eagerness in his voice. Not that he'd need to, seeing that the word was muffled by the shirt he was wrestling to get over his head.

The selkie walks into the room wearing a plain, navy-blue t-shirt and a pair of worn blue jeans. After yanking the shirt down from his head, he ruffles his dark hair to rid the sand from their curls.

"H-hey," he says, breathless with anticipation, face still touched with that flush he sported moments ago.

He looks quizzically at the pair, blinking rapidly.
"I-I am interrupting something?" He asks, unsure as to how to go about these things. Y'know. Conversation.

"No."

Awkward pause. Taryn would like to have asked Darcy more, but that doesn't seem to be an option at the moment.

"So, um... what's your name?"

Why was he swimming alone, blah, blah...

Darcy was quite glad to have Daithi step in - it cut off any more questions that might have come up. Taryn hadn't looked like she was satisfied with the answer he'd given her.

"Euh - 'scusez-moi," Darcy smirked apologetically at Daithi, raising his hand as if in a classroom, waiting to be called on, "... Can I 'ave my shirt back?"

In case he decided to get up and leave, he'd want to do so fully clothed. He wasn't averse to being shirtless on say, the beach, or at home,... but he was going to be walking home after this, and he'd rather have his shirt.

"Shirt?" he echoes, blinking at Darcy and staring at him oddly. It takes a while for it to actually click -- the word 'shirt'. But it's rather distracting to see another male human that's semi-naked. Very interesting, that, and I'm sure Taryn would agree.

"Ohh! Shirt Shirt." He fumbles with the grey raggedy thing in his hands and walks tentatively forwards to hand it to Darcy.

"Name?" He asks, turning his head to Taryn. Was there a certain way he was supposed to act around her? She is, after all...well, female. Should he treat her like Mother?

"Daithi," he supplies, the shyness of his voice reflected on his grin. Grins never did anyone any harm so it should be all right to use 'em, right?

Taryn would agree if she were looking. But she was sort of trying not to look, lest she embarrass the both of them.

"Um... hi, Daithi. 'm Taryn, and this is Darcy."

Yay, introductions. Yay, neutral ground.

"Merci," Darcy said, taking his shirt and slipping it on rather hastily.

"Allo, Daithi," he smirked at him. "Euh,... mind telling us why you were out,... comment dit-on... merde, je ne peux pas me souvenir du mot..." He looked at Taryn, as if expecting her to know which term he was looking for. (the term would be 'skinny-dipping', by the way). "Se bagner sans vetements? Il ya un mot pour cela en anglais, je le sais..."


((translation: how do you say... damn, I can't remember the word.
Swimming without clothes? There is a word for that in English, I know there is...))

"Mercy?" he parrots, unsure. Confusion wrinkles his smooth brow and tilts the corners of his lips into a slight frown. That's what the word sounds like, but there's a certain quality to it that's ... unique, you might say. Almost pleasing to the ear, if one would get into the aesthetic of things. But a misplaced syllable here and there, and Daithi's utterly confused.

He flicks his perplexed gaze towards Taryn. Mother always knows the answer, so he'd suspect that this is a trait common to females.

A few, wide-eyed blinks; a gentle tilt to his head:

What is he saying, Taryn?

Fortunately, Taryn speaks Darcy's language. At least, she understands it.

"He wants to know why you were, um, swimming without clothes." For some reason, she couldn't think of the word either. Maybe because it was so... awkward.

And then she blushed beet-red.

"Close," Darcy grimaced wryly. The term he was thinking of didn't sound so ... exposed, somehow. "I wanted to know - well, it is a silly thing to be doing, ... you said earlier you lost your clothes? 'ow did you manage to do that, eh?"

Like everything else, the question takes a while to sink in. For one reason, why would it be so odd for one to swim without clothes? But he notices Taryn's face turning into this becoming flush (which really is quite fascinating; seals don't have the ability to change colours outside of the general gray-black-brown shades) and couldn't help but stare.

"Oh." He says. Oh. "Um. Was swimming and..." And I was about to slip into my seal pelt so that I can transform into a seal and swim back to my Ma, but then the tide blew it over to the coast and I couldn't really do much about it.

Daithi may be a bit slow a times (a bit?) but he certainly isn't an idiot.

"...and I lost my ... um, shorts." Something like that, right?

I'm sure Taryn would be flattered to know that he thought her blush becoming, but she was a little too embarrassed. Also, it would probably just have made her blush further.

"Oh, okay."

Good enough explanation for her. It's plausible enough that she's not going to call him on it.

(Especially since she has almost had a similar experience with the bottom half of her swimsuit, once or twice.)

"Ah, I see," Darcy nodded. Well, that made sense. Then he chuckled softly. "Should 'ave realized that straightaway, - you just looked so - so, surprised that I wondered if it 'ad been something strange that 'ad 'appened."