BLACKFISH.

It would make sense that she surrounded herself with the purest symbol of femininity, purity, beauty. The flowers, stars in their own right that the land created for her littered her field. All the glamour and glitz of show business didn’t taint her humble abode. Admirable. 

He sniffs the floral aromas and wonders if it is anything as sweet as the real thing. It’s possible. Sniff...

Fingertips touch the pristine picket fence, the ideal compliment to her dollhouse home. Much time is spent getting to know her exterior before she arrived. He would make his presence known only after, just happened to stop by. 

Startled by the noise of a garbage can crashing on the floor, a lone Octoling flinched and turned around to the source of the sound. Fortunately, she was lightly armed and prepared for unexpected events such as this.

She slowly approaches the alley while slowly reaching for her lower back for something under her ridiculously expensive Toni Kensa black bomber jacket, pressing her back against the wall on the lip of the alley and slowly peek into the alley.

@virtuorco 💖

    “String instruments kind of sound like honey, don’t you think?”

Land Cetaceans are so damn weird I had to draw out how they work!!! Blowholes aren’t necessary for survival since they live above water these days but there’s no reason for them to disappear either. They still use them to communicate in native languages and breathe while submerged/eating/drinking (talking while eating is still considered impolite). In whale form it is the primary way of obtaining oxygen.

The air passage that links to the hole splits into lungs and a “blubber sac” which contains a supply of converted whale oil for various uses. A plug exists to prevent improper exchange between the organs, and the lungs can be sealed off from the mouth, freeing it to be used for separate functions. The “whale oil” is limited. Oil converts from blubber over an extended period of time, the biproduct of burning fats into energy. In the event of a shortage, the sac can hold non-hostile liquids like Cephalopod ink or water. A muscle empties the sac’s contents forcefully through the blowhole.

“Oh shut your mouth.” Carolina glared at the not inkling in front of her. She was in full agent gear and kept a hand on her heroshot. “Last time I saw you, you attacked me with some freaky inky stuff. And I think you do have answers. So spill.”

A sharp snort expels from his single nostril, dismissing her request. “With my mouth shut, I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand anything I’d try to tell you. I’d only be wasting our time.”

Melo spends a lot of his downtime doing “research” on psychoacoustics. Ever since he’d learned about the effects music has on cephalopods, he’s been looking into what those effects are and the limitations. He keeps the details of his methods to himself but he gets to talking about his interests if the other person seems sophisticated enough for him.

His ability to make his own ink react to his music is a start that has put him down a path where he has less regards for others unless they could be of some use to his work. It has made him fairly successful in concerts but he always strives to outdo himself in that regard. He knows the industry is fickle.

More importantly, his long term goal is to permanently affect how his ink works through sound. He has already found a way to alter himself, but it isn’t enough. He must fix his damaged airways or consider it all a waste of his time.