[ Familiar with water and the ocean as he is, Wriothesley still prefers to keep to more stable ground when it comes to fighting. It's easier to focus on the battle at hand when he doesn't have to split his focus on making sure he's not at risk of drowning, and he's smart enough to know that fighting the Shachimon on their home turf only leaves him at a disadvantage.
Still, there are moments when he's grateful that he's at least comfortable with being in the water. He gets knocked off the yacht more often than he'd like, as do many of his fellow Outsiders, and while most of them are more than capable of handling themselves, there are times when it seems prudent to step in.
One of them, a white-haired man whose name he's not sure he remembers goes toppling over. As with those before, Wriothesley leaves the man largely to his own devices, concentrating on landing one last punch to send the Shachimon in front of him splashing back into the water, a spike of ice driven through its abdomen. He flicks his attention back to the side, expecting to see a struggle, a fight, some kind of movement from where the man fell in and instead sees—nothing.
Ah heck, don't tell him the man can't swim?
From there it's a matter of spraying out an arc of ice to keep the worst of the encroaching kaiju at bay, and then diving into the ocean himself, the sting of water against his eyes not enough to stop him from kicking his way to the body under the surface and wrapping one arm around the guy. He drags them back to the surface and gasps in a lungful of breath, then does his best to give the man a small shake. ]
Hey! Talk to me.
[ He's really only got a handful of seconds to assess the man's condition and make a judgment call from there. ]
iii.
Still, there are moments when he's grateful that he's at least comfortable with being in the water. He gets knocked off the yacht more often than he'd like, as do many of his fellow Outsiders, and while most of them are more than capable of handling themselves, there are times when it seems prudent to step in.
One of them, a white-haired man whose name he's not sure he remembers goes toppling over. As with those before, Wriothesley leaves the man largely to his own devices, concentrating on landing one last punch to send the Shachimon in front of him splashing back into the water, a spike of ice driven through its abdomen. He flicks his attention back to the side, expecting to see a struggle, a fight, some kind of movement from where the man fell in and instead sees—nothing.
Ah heck, don't tell him the man can't swim?
From there it's a matter of spraying out an arc of ice to keep the worst of the encroaching kaiju at bay, and then diving into the ocean himself, the sting of water against his eyes not enough to stop him from kicking his way to the body under the surface and wrapping one arm around the guy. He drags them back to the surface and gasps in a lungful of breath, then does his best to give the man a small shake. ]
Hey! Talk to me.
[ He's really only got a handful of seconds to assess the man's condition and make a judgment call from there. ]