apparently you can tag people in the chapters, too? All I did was press the at-symbol... Hehe, imagine if I put a B in front of that. Then I'd have the Bat-fam, too!
This chapter is dedicated to FeatheredTerror.
POV: The Sealiens
We Sealiens do not dream.
To suggest such preposterous behavior would be like asking a human if they were crocheted into an elephant every night. Just as humans are not made of a crochetable material, we aliens of the Sea are not made of a dreamable conscience. Instead, we are responsible for weaving the dreams of lesser beings, revealing and occluding strands of fate as we see fit. After all, what is time but a repeatable pattern? What is fate, but an artist's choice in weaving thread to tell a story?
Perhaps a soldier's strategy?
An ocean's-bottom swim-drilling game? You humans refer to this as TTRPG.
As a dedicated scribe to the Prophets, Sera%$& found the Chosen One Millie to be the most intriguing client to weave dreams for. Her brain waves only permitted a specific pattern to be repeated, over and over again, for years after the murder of her father. It was an exhausting, boring pattern to examine after seeing it so frequently-
Look! A new pattern!
That's nice, my Seadragon.
No, look!
Our soul's teacup (for that is the closest translation you mortals have in the limits of English to describe a Sealien's divine form) sang with hope, mimicking the sounds of our favorite instrument: The xylophone.
It appears that under the influence of sedation, Millie's brainwaves take on a new hue, washing over the old pattern with a new story. I examine the threads carefully; it would be important to transmit the exact pattern, for fear of misrepresenting the waves of fate heading our way. One wrong shade in the tapestry of consciences, and Millie might believe she was made of clam chowder.
My soul's teacup sang a song of focused determination as I magnified the currents flowing around the camp. Edward's was simple; three threads flowing into each other like galloping feet.
Harry's currents speak of hidden depths! Look, see?
No, I cannot. Millie's currents are all I care about.
Then I shall-
POV: Mat!!@*#&$
As much as I love my symbiote, our differences in interest require that we separate our #*&$#*() - Huh. You humans do not have an easy translation for that.
Perhaps 382793 - No, that still does not work.
It appears some Sealien physiology must be learned in the future, when the technology finally catches up to capture the #($(^%*3138[]][]\~~~. Until then....
While I am no prophet's scribe, a thousand millennia spent at Sera%$&'s side have taught me to recognize some basic patterns in the consciences of mortals. Edward's have always been on the simpler side - the perfect pattern for a novice - but with their fates so bright tonight, weaving in and out from each other, nearly finishing each other's sentences, I felt confident in at least reading the tapestry in Harry's dreams.
The boy always kept a tinge of sea green in his stories - an unconscious pull towards the Chosen One. Below that - depths, in jelly blue and mermistine purple. While there was a pineapple deep in his subconscience, glowing with subtle threads of magic (I recalled Sera%$& muttering a nursery rhyme for scribes... "If it hums, let it bum; however, if it glows, they cannot let it go"... was this the work of the earworm pest?!), overall there was very little red, orange, or yellow visible... which meant....
YOU ARE READING
Welcome to Sealantis
FanfictionWhat story was Aunt Millie about to tell her nieces at the start of Merfolk on Mars? How exactly DID Sealantis come to be? And what exactly do clams and rutabagas have to do with it all? This is a fanfiction inspired by none other than Crystal Scher...
