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sal wakes up every morning before the rest of the crew to dance. he dances passionately and without fear, to a beat only he can hear. sometimes the others wake up and see him beating the floor furiously with his feet, or his tail, or sometimes his rear, rythmic, talented, beautiful. often, later in the day, memoca asks him if he wants to dance. he, of course, can't say no. they dance and dance until they're far too tired to dance and sit on the deck idly.
fukami glares at him the whole time.
fukami is really a silly guy.
all stoic, dark and unfeeling... sal wonders what others see in him. what he sees in him. he always says his true love is dancing as the moon passes across the sky and the sun rises, but that's, of course, a lie, to hide that twisted crush on wadanohara that he harbors, festering within his mind like an untreated wound, set ablaze every morning when she steps out of the sleeping quarters to shout a cheerful, vaguely sleepy "good morning" to all of the sea's inhabitants... those that live on yet...
but isn't that crush a lie too? sal thinks to himself, spending a quiet night doing anything but dancing. he's not too tired, today has been a boring day with little action. they near land, now, but-...
but his train of thought is interrupted...
"ooh, mister tall dark and ugly, come to join me at last?" sal says, not aggressively, but sharp.
"...that's a terrible nickname," samekichi spits in response.
sal cackles. "i think it's one of my greatest works. i've got next to nothing left besides my artistic pursuits..."
...
"shut up." samekichi says suddenly.
samekichi is gone within moments.
sal looks over the railing into the ocean, pondering still. some mutter behind his back that he teases fukami so because he's in love with that damned octopus; but he laughs at them, waving the rumors away like they're smoke. what use would he have for that walking plate of takoyaki? him and his trodden-on hectocotylus could go and die for all he cared.
well, that was what he said to those rumor-mongers...
but it was all a lie to hide his one true love, the realest love of all, greater than his love for dance, beyond his warped appreciation for a young girl, even more so than his deep-seated, heated rush of pure eros for that many-armed man of mystery, churning inside him...
it's not real, not true...
his true love is grass.
when they finally reach land, shortly after the sun has risen, memoca has already berated him for long enough. he doesn't want to dance, he's far too excited for what is to come; he can barely think of much else as they're stepping off the ship...
"why weren't you dancing today, sal?" she asks again. he doesn't answer, and she pouts, looking to wadanohara. wadda shakes her head.
...
"dolphi!" memoca shouts, calling to the dolphin-girl so suddenly that said girl winces.
"w-wha...?" dolphi stutters, a little on edge as she always is. he swears, that fukami must be getting to her, or else she'd be as comfortable around him as the rest of those dunces are.
they're soon close together, talking quietly. this is probably the quietest memoca's ever been, sal thinks, a sharp-toothed grin springing to his face.
sal relishes the feeling of the grass as he steps into it. he, as anybody would do, falls foward into the grass's welcoming embrace.
"sal!" wadda exclaims.
sal lets out a low sound of contentment. "i'm perfectly fine, don't worry..." he purrs, muffled by the grass.
everyone else resumes walking. fukami trods on sal's hand as he passes.
sal smiles into the grass. fukami will pay for that; and he knows it. he seemed to disregard his own safety in favor of annoying sal at every opportunity... though he was far too smart for that. sal had to admire his determination...
but he wasn't in love with the octopus.
he was in love with grass.
he rolled over.
he was ready for night to come.