Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge
Tarzan watched the ink mermaid with an intense, focused glare that did not waver when she splashed away. The thought of fish made him hungry, but he knew enough to know she was not food. He was not amused by her elusive non-answer to his question about her origins. Perhaps it didn't matter.
A thick set of brown fingers swung out to catch the reaching hand that came for his throat and the sparkling locket. Perhaps he would only be fast enough to drive her hand off, but his other arm twisted around behind his back and an angry knife fully the size of her head made an appearance between them. He took very good care of his knife, and there was not a spot of rust on its gleaming surface. Teeth, bone and limb had resisted the surface of that knife to no avail, leaving pockmarks of the struggle along the chipped blade. It held a keen edge and it probably could have cut off one of her hairs if the wind blew it his way.
He snarled at her like a cat protecting a mouse, pulling his lips off his teeth as he set the knife along the outside of his forearm and threatened her with it. The sentiment was shared by every beast in the jungle that he had ever met, and they all had different ways of saying it. He said it in the speech of the Apes first, a grunt, the threat and a sharp movement of his free hand toward his chest. It was, perhaps, ten times as effective as the small word in English. "Mine."