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[Tap tap tap

Yes, that sound is coming from your window, barge denizen, it is the soft tapping of little fingers on irritatingly water resistant glass.

Tap tap tap

Usually, Prefect is pretty much the last person on the barge who would come tapping at someone's window, trying to lure their out of their room into a watery grave. He's a nice person, and more than that, a man who holds himself up to a high set of moral standards.

Unfortunately, he fell overboard and turned into a mermaid, and he does have a precedent for taking a keen interest in fucking with people when he's been turned into a mermaid. Still, it's probably okay to open your window and talk to him, right?

Tap tap tap

Tap tap tap

Tap tap tap...]

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[Prefect is trying to pick the seal away from one of the barge's windows, when he notices Rorschach appear at his side. He's... seen the other mer before, but Prefect is a good few steps down the food chain from Ror, so he's made a habit of avoiding him, where possible.

He abandons the window when Rorschach moves to circle him, turning to keep from giving the merman access to his back.]

Ah, my friend! You've found the ship as well? What do you think of it?

[wemaketheworld]

[He pauses long enough to regard it for a moment, as if he hadn't before, then hazards a response, garbled some through an improbable number of teeth and gritty and hoarse where it isn't; speech isn't something he attempts often.]

Sealed can. Smells like food.

[But then there isn't much that doesn't. Lips twitch like he knows it's something he's not supposed to say out loud, but he doesn't have the patience for anything but brutal honesty anyway.

He watches the window for a few beats longer then returns his attention to Prefect, trying to sniff out where he's hurt.]

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You can smell inside it? [Prefect asks, surprised. He turns again to peer into the window. It leads into one of the empty cabins this time, and he's getting a little annoyed by his inability to get in.]

All I've been able to figure out is that none of them want to open their windows to me...

[His bandaged tail wafts, gently, and tantalizingly behind him...]

[wemaketheworld]

Mostly metal. But they leave. Can smell then.

[Lazy movements bring him underneath the other mer, webbed fingers reaching out to grasp only to retreat at the last minute. No. He shouldn't be eating the others. Even if they smell like food. Airbreathers maybe, other mers no. He huffs in indecision, a trail of unsettled bubbles escaping his nose as he moves past. Maybe the window's a better thing to occupy himself with after all.]

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[Prefect sighs, tapping on the glass again. He shoots Rorschach a sidelong look, but the other merman isn't circling or menacing him anymore, so he's less concerned now. With a flick of his tail, he sweeps to the next window, letting a tiny current of blood out into the water.]

I've not found any out here yet. Some try to talk to me, but none come out...

[wemaketheworld]

Not when you look.

[He pries at the window, presses his nose to the glass to better examine it, but there's nobody inside, so after a few minutes he snarls at it and gives up, twitching away from the side of the ship. He doesn't stay away for long, however, not when there's still mer blood in the water, and it's this which brings him slinking back, sniffing again and drifting closer to the other.]

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[Prefect turns, spinning his tail through the water at Rorschach.]

Do they come out when you look, then? Where's the way out? Can we get in, do you think?

[He flaps his tail against Rorschach lightly, jostling him irritably.]

[wemaketheworld]

[...Rorschach might be paying more attention to the flopping tail than the creature attached to it. He's sorry but YOU'RE BLEEDING and therefore highly distracting.

He shakes his head at the question all the same, though, giving a little helpless almost-shrug. He doesn't know. They haven't come out when he was watching, he doesn't know if they can get in or how they get out exactly. His gaze never drops from the trail of blood, no matter how faint, the path of fins, the call of food that it's more polite to ignore.

But when Prefect's tail brushes against him, the reaction is immediate. Bared teeth and a defensive hiss with a glower to send the message the rest of the way home, a flick of his own tail and a sudden backpedal, as if it was an assault or worse instead of just a pointed tap. As if he'd been bitten or stung or burned with acid instead of only chastised, no damage done at all.]

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[Prefect watches Rorschach flail backwards dispassionately. He doesn't often get the chance to look down on other merfolk, but he thinks in this case he's entitled. Rorschach is just so weird.]

You're being even more unhelpful than usual, friend.

[He gives another chastising sweep of his tail, but Ror is out of reach of it this time, so it's just the threat of a jostle now, and another swirl of thin blood through the water.]

[wemaketheworld]

[Pale blue eyes follow the swirl intently, more blatantly hungry than predatory now. He scents the water, angling himself to follow it more accurately, faintly leaning towards it.]

Hungry.

[It's more sigh than snarl, no matter how much effort he puts into pitching it towards the latter, the desperate, plaintive sound of a creature whose belly never seems to be as full as is comfortable.]

And you're bleeding.

[Finally offered, explained, though it does little to curb his too-intent attention.]

...smell like food too.

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I am not bleeding! [Prefect blurted out, suddenly indignant and irate. He could feel the... tiny twinge of pain in his tail now, yes, but being told he smelled like food was not the way to get him to admit that.]

You're probably smelling something else! The inside of the ship! I don't smell like anything!

[He thrashed his tail a little, letting out a little more blood as he put some more space between himself and Rorschach, cautious again. Suspicious, even.]

[wemaketheworld]

Can smell you.

[There's no uncertainty in his words, only blandly offered honest truth and bared teeth, though he doesn't move any closer. He has no reason to lie about this, nothing to be gained from deceiving him about his own scent, and his sense of smell is too keen for him to be wrong.]

Stop moving. Making it worse.

[A frown even as he cranes to look, raising his chin to sniff better and his stomach rumbles as predatory instinct creeps in to helpfully inform him that it's bleeding, that the food chain dictates he needs to clean it up, preferably by cleaning its bones, but he ignores it. There are other things he can eat. Other things that aren't bleeding right now, but other things that have the added benefit of not talking back. Other things with worse transgressions against the ecosystem, or weaker links in the chain.]