Too much of a good thing - that's what they kept telling him.
The novelty still hadn't worn off, and how many weeks had it been? Oh, Etienne could do this for days. This city was so alive with strange scents and sights - it was an awful lot to drink in, he would willingly admit, but his eyes remained thirsty for it all. Dawn was when the colourful markets would open wide, and dusk was when they'd close their makeshift doors. The crawling rays of sunlight were beginning to bleed back below the horizon and blanket the city in eventual darkness - and the pang of homesickness made itself known then. It got dark gradually under the ocean; they were usually reluctant to dwell below the surface long after it was gone. What dwelt there was dangerous, even moreso when blinded by night.
Regardless, Etienne had nowhere to spend his night. Dressed in what appeared to be a pale green tunic, ill-fitting trousers and a thin chord for a belt, he made his way back to the coastline. The sand was cold under his feet, and the mild breeze chilled his skin. His fingers idly plucked at the soft fabric of the tunic, only to slip down to the cord at his waist, beginning to untie the knot. Though, he came to the hollow by the shoreline, and peered under the rock - but the space was empty. Not a sign of that smooth coat to be found. He blinked, frowned and straightened up once again. Glanced up and down the shoreline - there wasn't a soul in sight.
He swallowed thickly, and looked back beneath the rock - as if he expected the coat to just... appear. No such luck, unfortunately. The tide - he decides. Perhaps the tide came in a few feet too far, there was a storm a few days ago. That made sense. He straightened up again, and stepped back onto the damp sand, tracing his steps along until the water licked his toes. Nothing but shells and stray seaweed dotted his sights. He brought a shaking hand to his hair, and pressed his fingers through - he swore he heard the ocean call for him. His sister was waiting - would she be worried? She'd always warned him that someday this would happen. A not-so-kind soul would find something that wasn't theirs, and abuse their newfound power. Etienne had grinned at her for her folly, and now he was cursing himself for it.
The breeze drifted by him again, and his head snapped up. Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head back. A week. It had been a week. He grit his teeth - someone had found it. Someone had picked it up and kept it. All he could do was hope they had no clue what it was. Hope they were kind enough merely to relinquish their hold on it before they comprehended the full extent of their odd find. He swore quietly to himself, hung his head down over his shoulders, and headed back along the sand until his feet touched the cobbled roads of the streets again. For a time - he merely walked. Head down, thumbs hooked beneath the cord at his waist, quietly listening. The dull rushing in his ears began to get louder, louder and louder until he stood outside a wooden tavern. Sturdy in the sea breeze, the doorway flanked with dancing flames in the now darkness. He blinked up at it, blue eyes precarious. They were in here; with his skin.
Places like this had been readily avoided by him. Occupied by loud patrons who made ridiculous sounds as they shared rooms, and strong smells that could intoxicate without touching lips to liquid. But he had no choice. Not really. Reluctantly, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Thankfully - the place wasn't crowded. Not as he had been expecting. A group of men sat around a circular table at one end, flagons of ale clutched in their beefy hands and a grimy looking deck of cards shared between them. A woman in a flowing dress sat in quiet conversation with a young man a few tables away, and on the other side - a man sat. Alone. His face was mostly hidden from Etienne, yet somehow the Selkie knew it was him. The coat had a scent. It would resonate for days and linger for longer. Like seashells and fresh winds - heavy salt and cool waves. It was him. Etienne stood by the doorway a moment longer, gaze fixed on the man, before he approached. The door creaking shut behind him. Food was laid out before him (oh, Etienne's stomach rumbled at the sight, though he didn't even give it a spare thought), and a tuft of bright hair was visible curling over the hood obscuring his face.
He came to a stop at the other end of the table, pressed his fingertips to the wood, lost as to where to begin. He'd done this once; found the human with his skin once, and the old man had known what he was looking for. Hadn't returned it to him until death had claimed him. What was Etienne to do if this man had used his skin for something else? The glove on one of his hands stole his too-blue gaze for a terrifying moment, before he looked back to that masked face.
"Hello." His voice came soft. He cleared his throat, the odd accent still curled his words, he tugged gently at the opposite chair, it scraped against the wooden floor, "Might I?" A gentle smile this time, his gaze searches that half-hidden face for more answers, but there's too little for him to find. Nothing at all, almost. It is frightening.