Dark Eyes And A Kiss Curl

Belle, Splosh and Arthur check into a room in the Hotel Kyriad, with a sea view.

We can all fit in here, don't you think?, says Belle.

Sure, says Splosh. I'll be out and about, mostly.

We all will, says Belle. What a wonderful view.

They gaze out of the window at the waves crashing onto the pavement.

There's Gaius, says Arthur. Talking to seagulls.

Is he? says Belle. Oh yes! I see. And Terence and Baldy are getting soaked. He's not even watching.

Baldy's long johns didn't look like they'd dry very quickly, says Splosh. They're fleecy cotton.

Lucky Terence has got those spare shorts, says Belle.

He's wearing both pairs, says Splosh.

Arthur is not into laundry conversations.

I'll be back later, he says.

He goes down to the pavement, to find Gaius.

Then he changes his mind.

Gaius will probably want to recruit him for some task or other.

Arthur heads off down the slick pavement, in the opposite direction, to look for a bar.

Gaius is talking to seagulls, two in particular.

They perch on the sea wall, beside him.

Oystercatchers! says one (call him Lefty).

The study was most specific, says Gaius.

As if there were no other birds! says the other (call him Extreme Lefty).

A twenty year international study, says Gaius. I'm here to follow it up. The oystercatchers don't appear to be able to learn new behaviours.

Bwaarhhk-hark-hark! laughs Extreme Lefty. It's clear you know nothing about oystercatchers!

Gaius thought he knew everything. But he is happy to receive new information.

Tell me.....begins Gaius.

Warkaarkkk! Watch your infants! squawks Lefty.

Terence is balancing on one foot on the sea wall. A large wave is approaching.

Baldy is facing the wrong way. He is looking up at the window of the Hotel Kyriad, waving.

Belle! Look at me!

But today a disaster is not going to happen.

The wave breaks gently.

Rainbow droplets fall in a mist on the infant activists.

When the mist clears the seagulls have flown away.

I must speak with them further,  says Gaius. But you boys are soaking wet. Is that Belle I see up there? Yes! That must be our hotel. Most convenient!

They go in, and up to their room, to dry off.

Meanwhile Arthur is in a bar, talking to a young man who looks like a poet, with dark eyes and a kiss-curl.

It's all mine, says the poet.

(we appear to have dropped in mid-conversation).

Any birds there? asks Arthur.

Every-bleeping-where! says the poet. Gannets, shags, seagulls, peregrine falcons....

Oystercatchers? asks Arthur.

Doubtless, says the poet.

Not that he cares.