Stavanger Bay Really bad eggs.

She was a crafty bitch; he couldn't help the vitriol that bubbled up within him as she assailed him, and he was made a fool with her tactics. He thought himself a warrior; he saw himself as a man of means and power, having bested most of Rusalka prior to this endeavor, and to be harassed in this sly manner from the seaside by a woman was almost too much for Firefly's ego to handle. 

He succumbed to his rage in fits. Spinning and vying with a plunge of teeth through the waves for the woman's face — only to swallow a mouthful of brine and be left gagging, spinning again, failing, spinning — soon he could taste the sharp metallic flavor of his blood within the water. He twisted again and again but each time he missed, each time growing further infuriated, lending the warrior woman with many openings.