“Another one, Boss,” Spooky haphazardly signed with his tentacles.
“Mate, that’s your fifth shot. You sure you’re up for it?” The bartender spoke in a low voice, locking eyes with two of Spooky’s. Such a typical human habit — this compulsive need to make eye contact. It would have been far more practical to focus on the tentacles he used to communicate rather than struggling to pick which eye to look at.
“Alright, alright, no need for the whole colour show — you really don’t look good in black. A fifth shot it is!” The bartender backpedalled quickly as Spooky’s displeasure became obvious. Quadrinocularis were usually a quiet, docile species, more accustomed to basking in the sun for hours than arguing. Spooky, however, had cultivated a reputation for being irascible. When he got annoyed enough to change colour, most knew to keep their distance.
Soon, a small glass of clear liquid was placed before him. The bartender struck a match, and blue flames licked the surface. Spooky flared his pores, greedily absorbing the rising fumes. His entire body shivered in pleasure. Immersed in the heady haze of Smokey Blast, he could almost believe he was back in his reef — rooted, at peace, at home.
Life had been simple then. Days spent weaving colour-shows with his brethren, not for profit or spectacle but simply for the joy of creating something beautiful. Occasionally, a predator would stir things up, but the Quadrinocularis’ eyes were excellent at spotting danger. More importantly, life had been static. It was so hard to remember what the reef had been like, now that he had been gone for so long. Only after a few Smokey Blasts could he recall the feeling of the warm currents flowing around him, the hum of his brethren blending into a harmony that resonated deep in his bones. His reef had been small — 20, maybe 30, Quadrinocularis — but their synchronization had been unmatched. Even in the dead of night, there was always a soft pulse of colour, a quiet song of belonging. Then the humans came — driven by greed, curiosity, and their ceaseless need for movement and expansion — and everything fell apart. His homeworld, once serene, was now forever tainted by activity. His reef had lasted longer than most. It wasn’t one of the great northern reefs, where thousands of Quadrinocularis moved as one, their collective shimmer making the sea itself vibrate with colour. There, the ocean was alive with a never-ending symphony. But humans needed space for their buildings, their entertainment, their noise. Like many of his friends, Spooky had left to chase the Universe’s vaunted beauty — only to learn that beauty was a relative concept in the endless expanse of space.
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“Sa’amm pretty, right? Saw this shade — blue, green, pink? And these side eyes? Mmm, top-notch for profile pics! Who cares if I’m lil’? 190 cm’s a dumb human thing. Like, why’s that the standard for models? And last week — last week, you know what they tol’ me? They said I needed a better skin care rou’ine! Smooth skin this, smooth skin that! Some of us like bein’ a liiittle slimy! Discrimination, man, it’s all discrimination!” Spooky ranted.
The bartender was fluent in Quadrinocularis tentacle language, but even he struggled to parse the avalanche of signs the wobbly appendages were throwing at him all at once.
“Yes, mate, it’s all discrimination,” the bartender nodded sagely. “You’ll get another chance. I’m sure there’s a brand out there looking for a pretty little thing like you.”
“All I jus’ wanted was to stay in one place ’n’ look all pretty, ya know? Ain’t that what life’s ’bout? I figured humans were all nuts, runnin’ ’round, never just sittin’ down to soak up the sun for a year or two, ya feel me? Then they come up with this fancy model gig, ’nd I’m like, ‘Hey, that’s perfect for a Quadrinocularis like me!’ Thought I could build my own lil’ reef that way, ya know?”
His agitation reached a peak, even his rear tentacles were shaking wildly, turning his signs into an incomprehensible blur. His head began to vibrate, producing a resonant buzz.
The bartender sighed, humming noncommittally as he focused on mixing drinks for another customer. When Spooky got like this — his words blurring into song — there was no point in responding anymore.
