"Breathe.. under water."<br/><br/>It wasn't a question. Desmond just had to reiterate it to make sure he'd heard it correctly. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at a curve ball like that. Actually, that wasn't even a curve ball compared to everything he'd witnessed and heard, starting at 'You're a demigod, Desmond' to watching the polite stranger toy around with water in midair. Compared to that, why should breathing under water be considered out of the extraordinary?<br/><br/>After a moment of contemplation - rather, what<span style="font-style: italic">looked</span>like contemplation, though he'd already made up his mind - he nodded his head once and then jerked his chin in the direction of a large rock formation along the shoreline. "No one goes down that way," he explained, and from experience, too. That was where he loved to hang out, when he actually did wind up going for a swim. Most of the beachgoers were tourists anyway, and they certainly didn't want to spend their precious week in Miami on a rock formation. That aside, the ground didn't taper off into a deep end. It<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>deep, right from the moment you put your feet in the water. When Desmond was a kid, he used to think that there was a cave deep down along the rock, but no. It was just a pit. How disappointing.<br/><br/>He took off again, back across the street and made off in the direction of the beach. This time, for the first time, he peered over his shoulder to make sure the stranger - Jesus, he'd need to find something else to call that guy - was following him. That noted, he spun his attention forward once more. "You haven't even told me your name, yet," he pointed out, more for the sake of having something to address him by and not for the sake of being rude. "You know everything about me, and all I know about you is that<span style="font-style: italic">you know everything about me.</span>"