As discussed, there aren't mermaids, or fairies, where Deacon was from. The presence of other supernatural beings may be a thing it takes more than a few months to grow accustomed to, and he's had enough negative hunting experiences that the concept of a corpse violently reanimating and talking in a new voice isn't entirely out of the question. He's half risen out of his crouch when the body splashes to the surface, startling and automatically gripping a handful of now water-logged shirt and hauling the great, loose-limbed thing off and away from him with a soft, animal-sounding snarl of annoyance.

Deacon's dressed darkly to disguise the run off from his feeding, but smears of red remain on his face, neck, his hands, though the most of it is washed clean. In comparison, Deacon is never in the mood to tolerate the bullshit of others, but he is at least having an okay night.

"It's a free river."