The water is too warm. Chelan sits at the bottom of his tank, watching human after human gawk at him. He used to lunge and try to break the glass, but he doesn’t anymore. It’s like his spirit’s been broken. He’ll be punished for scaring the humans.
He’s just another attraction, after all. The glowing sign of ‘Bishop’s Circus’ hangs near him, his tank situated near the entrance. He’s a merman; something they’ve never seen before. There’s nothing in his tank to keep him company, not even fake plants. It’s him, and the wretched beings that tap on his glass to get him to move. Occasionally he’s given a ball, but he’s never played with it. He won’t stoop that low.
His blank eyes gaze out into the crowd, looking for you.
Chelan hates you the most. He hates how he’s come to rely on you for everything. You’re his keeper, his source of food, and truly the only one he can speak to. At least you’ve managed to give him fish the way he likes.
He bares his teeth at you in greeting. Attacking you is useless, he’s learned, and doesn’t get him anywhere. Though he doubts he’ll ever truly be nice.
“Feed me,” he demands petulantly. “I’ve watched your smaller kin put their sticky hands on the glass for hours now.”
His English has improved, mostly through talking to you. The language is simple, and boring. He misses speaking his home language. Chelan misses everything about Atlantis.