Taking back his consciousness with a violent gag of water shooting from his mouth, Hoffmann rolled onto his stomach and spat out the last of the obstruction to his normal breathing. He was tough enough to endure the throbbing headache, and didn’t seem to have suffered anything that couldn’t be dismissed with an aspirin.

What he could not dismiss, however, was the sensation of suddenly being lifted effortlessly by the collar into the air, so much as a cat being grabbed by the scruff of its neck, as he is met with what seemed to be the owner of the raft in question.

“Hey, dumbass. Unless some minnow-brained Gaijin like you has boat insurance, use a rooftop to land next time, aye?” stated the figure matter-of-factly.

Hoffmann opened his eyes after rubbing them free from water, taking in the tall figure that held him hostage. It was a water species, humanoid, and the tell-tale dorsal fins as sharp as blades affixed to her arms, as well as the fluttering slits in her neck in the form of gills, made it altogether obvious that he was facing down some kind of waterborne predator.

Matters were not helped when the gargantuan and stocky shark woman yanked Hoffmann forwards, slinging him nearly to collision with her head as they were forced into close proximity. Hoffmann had every opportunity to note her dark purple, almost black shock of hair, smooth and water-streamlined pearl white skin, and the prehensile shark-finned tail that rudely slapped him across the face as the shark woman demanded his attention.

“I’m talking to you, wings.”

Hoffmann grunted and looked the shark in the eyes as her slits exhaled with a quiet hiss. She was seemingly irritated with the interruption. Not wanting the trouble, and desiring to make a half-decent first impression with the locals, Hoffmann bit his tongue. It was his fault, after all.

“Sorry,” he said simply. “Having a rough day.”

The shark woman’s gills hissed as they stole another gulp of oxygen from the air, and her eyes leveled with the winged stranger she held as easily as a doll. A flash of mild anxiety in his eyes gave her delight the moment she gave him a toothy grin, and Hoffmann had every reason to - this woman had the physical might to make trouble, and those teeth appeared to be capable of crushing steel.

The grin is juxtaposed in moments by the guttural chuckle escaping between the thin gaps in her teeth. Hoffmann felt the solid bottom of the boat meet his boots, and he silently reminded himself to change out his clothing once again. The hobnail boots of his former identity weren’t suited to urban wear nor remaining unnoticed...and as it were, they were now depressingly waterlogged and shrunken.

“You’re alright, wings. My name’s Fins.”