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"I don't remember that." He replied obstinately, catching Chance's foot in his hand. Why keep his foot hostage, he wasn't sure of the benefits. But he had it now. "Pretty sure that's a lie." Which was itself a lie.

Aw man. Now he only had one hand for his tower of shells.

"I'd never do that." He lied again, letting go of Chance's foot as he struggled. Otto stood then, a hand full of shells with him. He idly wondered if they could skip across the water like a flat stone could. Or maybe he could keep them in a jar. They were kind of pretty. Like little treasures.

He looked out to the horizon beyond the ocean and let his mind go blank. This was nice, he thought. His mind was not preoccupied with worries and doubts and the need to figure himself out. He was just... him. At ease and open to the world and it's wonders.

Spending time with Chance had taken him away from the muddy chaos he'd been drowning in. He'd become his distance. His outside perspective. A break from his own mind, and from that break he'd untangled his strings.

"I was thinkin' of putting them in a jar. Cept I don't got a jar." He murmured, looking down at his hands.

"Maybe theres a jar in the sand too." And hopefully not a broken one. "Kinda sucks theres so much junk in the beach here. Can't walk barefoot without steppin' on something sharp."

"Can't remember.. one of the disasters that was island wide, I guess." He murmured. "Wasn't always this bad, don't think." It made for excellent treasure hunting though. "I found a runic stapler here. Never runs outta staples. Never gotta charge it." It was probably the most amazing useless thing he owned.

He walked alongside Chance, his eyes down for the most part to look for jars. He only looked up by chance, at Chance, and saw the dirt. Otto held the cuff of his own sleeve in his hand and rubbed the dirt off Chance's jaw.

Otto hadn't searched the beaches for treasure in some time. Usually he ended up with nothing. But now and then, a gem.

"Definitly not. Beer bottle ain't classy. And too dark." He was also sure he'd never fit the shells inside. Maybe the smaller ones. "Odds are we won't find a jar but.." He shrugged. He was having fun, regardless.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to walk, his head down low.

Otto's head jerked to look at Chance. He must have found a.. yep. Shard of glass. One of the reasons Otto didn't dare go barefoot out here, even if he wanted to.

A small cut was of course no big deal; even a normal human needn't worry about such things. Unless you were scared of germs, disease and the like. And for Hunters there was always the worry of cutting oneself on something contaminated with Fear and the like.

But it bothered Chance, for whatever reason.

Otto tried to lighten the mood, or tease him into taking his mind off the trail of blood down his hand. "Need me to kiss it better?" He asked deadpan.

Otto tilted his head, regarding Chance curiously. "I remember." he murmured. Was Chance afraid of the sight of blood? If that was all, it would be a grave problem. Hunters had to see the stuff a lot. He wondered if maybe it ran deeper than that.

Otto furrowed his brows. All he had to do was make the blood seem out of sight. Problem solved. Sleeve? No, he didn't want to stain it. Did he have bandages? Nope. Ocean water had salt in it. That would be no good. Painful, maybe? Did all oceans have salt? And really, Otto wasn't worldly enough to know where exactly the 'Bermuda Triangle' was.

So he did what he would have done had the cut been on his own hand.

Otto took Chance's hand, out of the dark haired man's sight, and lightly sucked the wound clean. He took his hand away from his mouth after a moment, inspecting it to make sure the blood wasn't still beading.

"I'd use my sleeve but blood's a b***h to get out." He remarked idly, as if discussing the weather. His eyes remained on the hand, and not on Chance. He was pretty sure he'd get embarrassed if he made eye contact.