They sat like that for a while. Jermaine and Jake would intermittently offer observations about the fight, talking largely to and about each other's performance. That line of conversation pivoted to other times had on this beach. Something always happened -- a monster attack, a dark artifact, some tasty booty. Jermaine was confident their dad had salted the field with monster encounters, certain the sand golem must've been one Joshua set here himself. They had a good chuckle over the memory of their dad scolding Jake for his sword stance from within the jaws of an anglerbeast.

"Stances are for nonstretchy guys," Jake concludes, still petting Finn's back, "And I barely done use swords anyway."

"Yeah, 'cuz your stance stinks."

"You stink, Jermaine. Like, forreal."

Jermaine sniffed the air and pulled a face. All this time he thought the pervasive stink had been low tide, but upon closer examination... it was definitely the three of them. Wet dog smell comingling with sweaty human stink, all with a side of brine.

"Ick. Let's get back to the hotel. I'm cold, anyway." He looks to Finn, poorly trying to emulate Jake's effortless chill. Jermaine's nerves were always a little closer to the surface, and right now? Finn was one giant nerve for both his brothers. "You cold?"