Chapter Text
It’s been three hours, and Tippet’s headache persisted. It wasn’t awful or anything, but felt more like a constant nagging or reminder for unknown deadlines. It wasn’t enough to make him try to whip up something for its departure, but it was enough to make him annoyed for the rest of the day.
Tippet’s slight concern was due to his eight limbs being convinced that being a revolutionary toward the rest of his body was an excellent notion. Prior three hours ago, only three of his tentacles were set on being rebels, but it seems whatever altered their perception of being controlled by him was gossiped to the remaining five. Tippet had given up trying to carry out the various tasks he’d wanted to accomplish today and had been sitting on a bench-like rock indefinitely.
Why.
Why are you all being so difficult?
Tippet glared down, racking his brain to come to a reasonable conclusion for the tentacles’ antics. 1 and 2 were wanting to stick to the ground like it was their only hope for living, with 3,4 and 6 acting limp as if they were completely drained of life. 7 was trying to stretch as far away from him as possible, 5 was constantly waving at Flotsam or Jetsam whenever they came near, and 8 was having a grand time smacking his face.
Flotsam, the sandbar shark swam past, triggering 5 frantically waving back and forth, acting like the shark was its favorite idol. Flotsam waved back in happiness; “Hi, 5! You’re so nice!” He looked up at the person attached to the rambunctious tentacle. “Boss, 5 is really nice today! Did you tell him to do that?”
Tippet felt defeated. “No. I didn’t tell him to do anything.” 8 whacked his ear and clung to the left side of his face, reminding him of a very angry leech. “I didn’t tell 8 to attack me , either.”
Tippet roughly yanked 8 away from his face’s proximity, and held it out like an unexpected phonecall with a distant, obnoxious relative.
Flotsam laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever been present for.
Really? You’re mocking me?
…..That’s fair.
What was wrong with him? Being miserable for three hours was certainly not on his To Do list, which, by the way, was missing. He was really getting off track of various plans, and the worst part was that he had no murky clue what to do about it.
Could it…?
No, this isn’t what it’s supposed to be from what I’ve heard or read.
That can’t be right.
Course not.
…
No, it definitely is.
To an extent, anyway.
Tippet started muttering to himself, sorting through his scattered thoughts semi-outloud. Flotsam drifted over and looked at him, concerned. He hadn’t known the octopus-boy for long, but he still wanted to help if he could.
“Any ideas, Boss?”
Tippet sighed, not sure what to say. He talked to himself on a daily basis, but it seems the newer associate was worried for him, and Tippet didn’t need that in the middle of this. He felt as though the mystery of his tentacles was almost within his grasp, like he was on the verge of a discovery. He looked at Flotsam, and decided that maybe talking to someone other than himself could help organize his thoughts.
“Well… It feels almost like I forgot something, something important.” He got up, but realized his limited movement with 1 and 2 both clinging to the ground, and the other three just serving as dead weight. “No, wait. Not forgetting something… something that hasn’t happened yet.” He turned around, as if getting a different view around him would bring him clarification of some kind. Instead he just found 7 stretching as far as he could along the floor, almost trying to drag him away somewhere in vain. He peered at the strangeness of it all; “What are trying to tell me? ….Or are you just going crazy for no reason whatsoever?” 8 abruptly whacking his back made him think the latter seem more likely, but he wasn’t completely convinced.
Flotsam spoke up, now trying to piece together the context clues; “OH, WAIT! Are you having a- do you magic-ey people have- is it a vision?!”
Tippet turned to face him; “No, Flotsam, but I suppose you’re close. The problem with that assumption is that I don’t have visions, or better worded, premonitions. Yet. Not at my skill level or experience, that is.”
The small shark squinted, confused. “But…But why tho? I think you’re REALLY good at magic, and- and so I think maybe you’re having a preposition- no. Prematition- pemernition-”
“Pre-mon-ition” Tippet corrected. “And no, I can’t.” Tippet smacked 8 away after it almost yanked his hair off, then wrangled it in his hands before it could continue. “Most sorcerors are highly skilled at around 20 or older. Magic and a good sense of potion making usually comes naturally around adulthood, and so does both casual and serious premonitions.”
5 was waving at Flotsam with the pure essence of enthusiasm, and Tippet didn’t bother trying to stop it. “I’m…only 16, so I shouldn’t be able to have any yet-” Flotsam cut him off, determined that his reasons were faulty no matter how logical; “Boss, that can’t be right! Remember two days ago, when you lost that one thing, and then 6 went and found it without you even trying? OR when that one thing broke and before it exploded, 2 saved the day by warning you to add the squid ink to make it stop?”
“Yes, but those-” Flotsam continued without hesitation; “Boss I KNOW your magic is good enough for those premosinition things- Jetsam even told me about that one time a year ago where 3 remembered that it was Jetsam’s birthday when you didn’t! ”
Flotsam huffed, out of breath like a little kid after a big confession, acting like Tippet was somehow the most magical person he’d ever known, even more than that weird fat guy in red that he occasionally mentioned. Tippet smiled, and spoke up now that the ramble had ceased.
“I remember, Flotsam, and you’re right. I was going to say that those times were all ‘casual’ premonitions, but some not even that.”
Flotsam rushed to give another piece of input; “But you said you couldn’t have any, and that it only happens when you’re all grown up!”
Tippet let go of 8, hoping it’d stay still for a couple minutes, and then gave Flotsam a small grin. “Heh, well, I suppose I’m not an average cephalopod. I’ve been told all about the normal age for it all, yet I’ve also had a knack for potion making ever since I knew what it was.” Tippet plopped down, tired of staying still when he couldn’t move around very efficiently. “I’ve been doing magic here and there for years, too, so I’m not really confused at the casual premonitions once and a while. What I’m confused about,” He shifted 3 and 6 playing dead so they weren’t coiled on top of each other weirdly. “-Is why not one, not two, but ALL EIGHT, of my tentacles are acting up, along with that weird headache. Not even a headache at this point- It’s just a strange sense of something wrong, or out of place, almost more of a gut feeling than anything else, and I don’t understand a bit of it.”
Flotsam watched as Tippet folded his arms in exasperation. He usually was really good at solving puzzles and finding answers, but this was the time where the Sorcerer of the Sea was maybe, finally, stumped. Flotsam thought it made sense though, and replied after a long pause; “A…gut feeling?”
Tippet didn’t bother looking up at him. “Yes, that’s the wording I used.”
“Boss, I know what all this is. You’ve gotta be hungry! ”
“Flosam-” Tippet knew the shark was trying his best, but he knew for certain that it was definitely not because he was hungry. “Good guess, but no. I concur it’s some kind of premonition, but hesitant to call it that because all premonition stories I’ve heard about always involved a clear image or words coming to mind, a crystal ball, a magical vision-ey bubble, cauldron potion for specifically picturing them, and so on. None of them mentioned……this.”
8 was acting like a third arm and tried to fold with the two Tippet already had crossed, 7 was off to the right, 4, one of the limp ones, just rolled over, 1 and 2 were still stuck to the floor and 5 had started to get a cramp from it’s waving for so long.
“My only real guess is that it’s due to my younger age combined with my early skills. Something big is happening, but since I’m the least experienced with dealings of the future, I think my cephalopod self just doesn’t know how to tell me.”
Will it always be like this for me?
Maybe it’s to keep it balanced with my skills in the other aspects.
In a weird, tedious kind of way.
Resting his chin on his hand, the cephalopod waited. He stared down 8 as it was approaching him, wishing he could read it’s mind. His mind? His own thoughts? Who knows at this point. Tippet suddenly felt his mind clear slightly, and a mumbled blur of sounds came to his senses. He sat up, looking around his lair.
“Did- Flotsam, did you hear that?”
“Um. Huh? What kinds of sounds was it…?”
Thoughts swirling, Tippet zoned out to focus on the mass of clouded words, when something actually specific stood out among the rest.
--- — - Soon. - – —
He froze, and was surprised when all his tentacles did too. No other words came to mind, but the single, four-letter word seemed to unlock a vault in his mind, giving him a hint to piece together what everything meant as a whole. Extra limbs 1 through 8 slowly went back to what they were doing, and this time Tippet knew each was operating in its manner for a reason. Time to bring in his evaluating skills and push them to the max.