Through the haze, you recognize the two approaching fellow merfolk: Estre and Arraia. Their arms are linked, their pace perfectly matched.
Arraia has discreetly and fashionably wrapped her transitional area in a loose wrap. She'd normally adorn her hair to match, but you notice it loose and tangling in her wake instead. Estre's hair is short and slicked back. He's always had a preference for painting his body instead of covering it, and as he approaches, you can just barely make out today's pattern: green overlapping knots with cornered edges.
It's strange that neither of them is carrying any bags. The sensitive lateral line running down the length of your body twitches at how hard they're thrashing to get to you. It must be important.
As you push off to meet them, you start to feel a bone-deep reverberation: sonar. It's whale song, and you curse the timing. The song will most likely have an important message, but one you can only hear if you stop to properly listen.