A story of language, of cuttlefish and swans, and of oblivious humans. (Well, two stories. Your choice whether they count as one prompt or two) -- RecklessPrudence
[AN: Welp, we have successfully eliminated the gap count before Cashmas. Huzzah]
1)
It was quite a turn of fate for the captive cuttlefish. They had long since given up on trying to communicate with the air-breathers.
Then one of them noticed them chatting and tried to communicate with their ineffectual tentacles.
"Hey. You. I. Feed. Warm."
The cuttlefish stopped their smalltalk and watched.
"Rock. Up. Vegetable. Breed."
Obviously, they were trying. Using a collection of signs that they had seen, but without context. It was gibberish.
Then they improvised. "Your mother smells of elderberries and your father fucked a sea-urchin."
Of all the ill-chosen movements that might have opened a door to communications, that human chose the absolutely worst one.
The cuttlefish were so incensed that they forgot about the giant leap that had just happened. They would much rather find a way to escape the tank and throttle this insolent air breather.
2)
Most humans, it is widely acknowledged by the swans, are stupid.
A very few of them have bothered to learn Swan, and the rest don't know what they're saying.
Most of the time, a swan will see a human trying to start a fight and, since it's nesting season, swankind are quick to oblige.
Only a precious few know enough Swan to say 'hello' or 'I am friend'. But you can not tell them from the stupid humans, my cygnets. I am sorry, but all humans look alike.
Be wary of them always, my children. Those who are our friends will show themselves.
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