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Marie awoke to a shaft of morning sunlight burning through her eyelids. She sat upright, tasting last night’s sake like sand on her too-dry tongue, and swallowed a gulp of air that made her stomach turn.
All to be expected, really. It was impossible not to wake up hungover after a Houzuki Manor end-of-season rager; they only had so much downtime between Squidmas and New Years before Frosty Fest launched them full-throttle back into performance mode, and they always tried to make the most of it. Since they were all logical, career-focused adults, the decision was unanimous: Get together, get drunk, get stupid, then go back to work next week and prepare to dance into a caloric deficit all weekend in the blistering cold. Ah, the blessed life of an idol!
Beside her on the entirely-too-large guest bed, Callie slept on, each breath marked by the same whistling snore she’d done since she was six years old. She had taken full control of the blankets during the night and was wrapped up tighter than a clam, though one of her bare feet was sticking from the bottom of her cocoon, conspicuous against the striped pattern of the duvet. Her toes flexed periodically, like she was dancing in her sleep. Usually Marie would sooner jump out a window than share a bed with her cousin, but they both got a little bit sentimental this time of year, nostalgic for the days when they would build blanket forts at their grandfather’s house and watch the snow fall past the porchlight. The magic of childhood had a way of transporting them into their shared bed before morning; poor Gramps had been ‘up there’ in age even when they were still squid-shaped, so it must have been quite a trial to scoop them up and tuck them in, especially once they started getting long and limby. Perhaps it was no surprise that, in their mutually inebriated state, they both reverted to the halcyon days of childhood and nestled together once more.
With a crooked smile, Marie lifted her hand—trembling a little at the fingertips, a testament to how extensively she had overindulged the night before—and ghosted her thumb over Callie’s brow. It was hard, sometimes, having to live with the memory that she’d taken aim at this face and pulled the trigger: Not in a low-stakes facsimile Turf War, but to save her life and mind. She still resented Octavio for taking advantage of Callie’s loneliness, nearly as much as she resented herself for being the cause of that desperation. Sometimes it felt like she was the only one who still thought about it; even Gramps was merrily spending time with the old DJ-slash-reformed(?) terrorist, and Callie herself had slunk off on more than one occasion to revive their ill-fated Bomb Rush Blush collab, thinking that her sharp-eyed cousin would be none the wiser. He hurt you, she thought in the early-morning silence of the bedroom, her easy smile twisting into a frown. And I guess I hurt you, too. I wonder if I’ve managed to make up for that yet.
… But these were not Happy New Year thoughts, were they? With a sigh, Marie disengaged herself from the scant bedding she’d been allowed to keep and slid sideways until her feet touched the floor. It was warm despite the below-average temperature outside, because of course Houzuki had heated floors. That squid was made of money.
First order of business, a visit to the bathroom. Then she’d raid the kitchen and treat everyone to her best hangover-cure breakfast, to be sampled at their leisure whenever their corpses rose from the dead. The food would keep in the meantime. If she could trust her fuzzy memories from the night before, she suspected that Deep Cut would be in dire need of help: Shiver and Frye had been blackout drunk by the time Marina finally hid the remaining liquor bottles in a locked cabinet. Even the genius DJ herself had been slurring her words by that point, inebriated down to the neurons in her tentacles, which sluggishly patted a dozing Pearl’s face in search of something unknown. Marie remembered Callie laughing to the point of tears when the unlucky Octarian ended up stuck fast to the couch cushion by her suckers, which stubbornly refused to give up its prize despite her protestations, even after Big Man put his full strength into prying it free. The chaos managed to wake Pearl just in time for her to laugh fit to split over her girlfriend’s wet-eyed panic as the rest of the group took turns trying—and failing—to liberate the pillow from her drunken hair’s iron grip.
Hopefully someone thought to take a picture before the cushion finally popped free of its confines. Marie longed to see the image immortalized on professional-grade glossy photo paper; she would send framed copies to everyone free of charge.
–
If Marie had known that Big Man would already be awake, she might have changed out of her sleep-shirt and pinned back her tentacles. Fortunately he seemed entirely unaffected by her rumpled state—no big surprise, given that he didn’t wear any clothing at all—and smiled at her warmly as she padded into the kitchen. His dextrous fins were fiddling with the complicated knobs on Pearl’s coffee maker, which had clearly been ‘enhanced’ by her partner’s Octarian tech, given that it was sporting an awful little face.
“Ay. (Mornin’, Boss,)” he said, speaking softly so as not to disrupt anyone’s sleep. Most of the mansion was soundproofed thanks to Pearl’s occasionally-destructive voice, but any one of their number could have fallen asleep anywhere; in fact, Marie couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen Big Man’s bandmates. Did they even make it to a bed last night, or were they face-down on the floor somewhere?
“If it isn’t Ian BGM,” she greeted, smiling lazily as his grey cheeks flooded with embarrassment. Most of the seats surrounding the kitchen island were adjusted to Pearl’s height, so she slid onto the nearest stool with ease, pausing just long enough to raise it by several inches once she was settled. “Where’d the other two end up?”
“Ay… (Shiver’s real sick,)” he said a little mournfully. “(She has a pretty bad alcohol intolerance, but she doesn’t want to admit it…)”
Well, that explained why her nose was running so much last night. And to think she got away with blaming it on Marina’s perfume.
“Poor thing,” Marie offered with a shake of her head. “She’s bull shark-headed to a fault.”
“Ay! (I know! We always remind her to take it easy, but she never listens!”) The ray pressed a conspicuous-looking button on the machine and looked relieved as it began pouring fresh coffee into a mug—warm, thick, expensive coffee. The good shit, as Pearl would say. He cradled the mug between both fins and placed it in front of Marie with a sheepish expression. “Ay, ay... (Speaking of which, you should take the first cup, Boss. You look a little…)”
“You can say that I’m hung over, Mantarō. We’re all friends here.”
“Ay?! (Who told you my real name?!)” With a scandalized gasp, Big Man recoiled as if he’d been burned.
“You did, last night. About three drinks in, if I remember correctly.” Marie wrapped her hands around the mug, savoring its warmth, and leveled him with her cruelest grin. “What was the rest of it, again? Something like Manda Ta—”
“Ay, ay, ay! (Okay, okay, that’s enough! I’m sorry, Boss. I didn’t mean to overshare!)” He folded inward, covering his eyes with his fins as he ducked behind the marble island, devastatingly shy. Marie was forced to hide the beginnings of a genuine laugh behind the curve of her hand.
“I’m only teasing, Big Man. It was kind of sweet. And thank you... For the coffee, I mean.”
“Ay! Ay... (Oh, it’s no trouble!)” He waved a fin as if trying to swat away his embarrassment. “(Shiver and Frye were really, really drunk, so I knew they’d need something to get them going this morning. Speaking of which, I should go check on Shiver…”)
“You’re a thoughtful guy, Big Man.” Marie took a long sip from her coffee—ah, heavenly—and dismissed him with a lazy salute. “Go check on your Leader, then. Make sure she’s not ruining any of the upholstery.”
“Ay! (You’ve got it, Boss!)” The affable manta returned her salute with a comically wobbly fin, then set off down the hall, presumably to search the mansion’s many bathrooms for his missing companion.
Marie turned to watch him go, then refocused her attention onto the piping-hot black ambrosia between her palms. Once the mug was drained to the bottom and a semblance of life had returned to her battered body, she’d see to making that hangover-friendly breakfast. The marble countertops were lavishly dotted with fruit bowls, each of them brimming with exotic imports—perfect for rehydrating a group of partied-out inkfish.
It was time to get to work.
–
Marie knew from experience that squid oranges were particularly delightful after a rough night. She set about peeling those first, quartering each fruit in case appetites were low; the skins would go well with fresh noodles, providing anyone felt up for lunch later, so she set them in a bowl and stuck them into the fridge. Somehow Pearl had managed to get a stockpile of squid leg grapes, even though they were incredibly out of season—truly, money could solve most problems—so she washed those, too, plucking several of each flavor from the vine and placing them alongside the oranges. The plating wasn’t her best work (truth be told, it looked like a Tricolor Turf War gone wrong), but she wasn’t about to get distracted by petty vanity. This was a matter of utmost importance: Ensuring that a group of famous people didn’t have to start their New Year at the nearest Urgent Care clinic for intravenous hydration.
Halfway through segmenting the bananas and strawberries into neat little piles, Marie paused, raising her head toward the sound of thudding footsteps. She was unsurprised to see Frye stumbling around the corner, still visibly a bit drunk; she was a little more surprised to see that she wasn’t wearing pants. Perhaps they’d been claimed by the labyrinthine mansion’s many unknowable rooms…
Or maybe she’d been wearing them like a hat last night, and now they were thrown over a lampshade somewhere. That seemed more likely.
“Boss!” Frye crowed, and Marie felt herself recoil as the first hot lance of headache spiked through her entire brain. Undeterred by such a negative reaction, the master of eels came stumbling into the kitchen, both arms held out as if she was planning to go in for a hug—or maybe she was struggling to keep her balance. “I’m staaarving! You gonna feed me or what?”
“Hush.” Marie grabbed a stray grape and popped it into Frye’s mouth, hoping to distract her with its chewy texture. “Half of us are still sleeping.”
To her credit, the grape was a good distraction. Frye’s lack of coordination meant she had to bolster herself against the countertop as she chewed it down, a look of immense concentration overtaking her features. She was swaying a little on her feet, even with the sturdy countertop beneath her palms. All too soon, the morsel vanished with an audible gulp, freeing up her mouth to continue yammering.
“Mmm, delish!” She bared her beak in a sly grin. “Thanks, Mommy.”
Marie twirled the paring knife in her fingers, her narrowed eyes glinting in the low light of the kitchen.
“Call me that again and your fans will be holding a candlelight vigil in your memory.”
Frye tilted her head back to bark a raucous laugh, but she dislodged herself from the counter in the process, which sent her stumbling back into the wall hard enough to rattle the glassware in the cabinets. They both winced in concert. Thankfully nothing broke, so they released a simultaneous breath of relief.
“Sit down before you hurt yourself,” Marie said sharply, gesturing to one of the vacant stools with the tip of her knife. “And please drink some water. You’re still drunk.”
“‘S not a good party unless you wake up drunk the next morning,” Frye countered. Nevertheless, she was humbled by the sore spot on the back of her noggin, which she rubbed tenderly as she swaggered over to sit. Marie set one of the plates in front of her, and she tucked in like a squid starved, piercing each fruit with her sharp fangs and smearing her face with juice. Taking full advantage of her distraction, Marie slipped a glass of water between her palms, which she immediately began to drain in big, mindless sips. The arrival of non-alcoholic sustenance would go a long way towards sobering her up. Frye became obediently quiet and pacified once her stomach was full, allowing Marie to continue her work now that she’d broken her fast. So long as she could pilfer the occasional slice of fruit from the counter, the younger Inkling was content to sit and watch, humming a soft tune under her breath. She still reeked of alcohol, but it was a distinct improvement.
One idol successfully fed and watered. Six more to go… Although Off the Hook could take care of themselves, and each other, without needing to be babied. Marie would prepare a meal for both of them, anyway. It was only proper to thank one’s host.
(Hopefully they wouldn’t be too upset about her taking full advantage of their food stores. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?)
As for Shiver, Marie suspected that Big Man would bring her around shortly. She turned to refill the coffee maker, anticipating that she would be in need of something a little stronger than a few slices of fruit.
–
Big Man’s description of Shiver’s state hadn’t prepared her for the reality of witnessing it firsthand. The Octoling stood miserably in the kitchen, stripped down to her sports bra and boxers—not as a result of any drunken shenanigans, but because her pale skin was covered in angry, raised welts, the redness spreading down her arms, across her stomach, and even up her neck. The whites of her eyes were tinted red, and her lips were cracked and dry.
“You look really bad,” Marie offered by way of comfort. Shiver leveled her with a fierce glare that only succeeded in making her look more pathetic.
“Thanks for breaking the news, Boss. I thought you retired from that line of work.” Her typically flutelike voice was raw and croaky with… Well, to be honest, Marie didn’t want to imagine what she’d been up to all morning. It was obvious enough, considering how poorly her body had reacted to the alcohol. “Yeah, it’s bad. I know. This’ll probably be…” She paused to clear her throat, wincing, and sniffled, raising a hand to hide her running nose. “... the last time I try to keep pace with you. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“You were trying to keep pace with me?” Marie felt oddly touched by that, but another glare kept her from commenting further. She dutifully slid a plate of fruit and a tall glass of water towards the open space next to Frye as Big Man herded Shiver over, shielding her with his fins so her sensitive skin wouldn’t brush against anything painful.
“Aw, Shiv, you really got messed up this time!” Frye looked genuinely aghast at the sight of her leader, reaching up to push the tentacles away from her tired eyes. “I think you gotta retire from alcohol. Like, for good. You’re definitely allergic or something.”
“I am not allergic,” Shiver countered as she eased herself into her seat. Air whistled through her clenched beak as she sucked in a pained breath, her blistered skin protesting every motion.
“Ay. (Shiver, we’ve talked about this. You have an intolerance at the very least,)” Big Man said kindly, still hovering at her back.
“Definitely an intolerance,” Marie agreed. “Sorry.”
“Ugh.” With an aura of complete misery, Shiver began picking at her plate, squeezing a grape between her claws like a fussy toddler. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she murmured, sullen.
This seemed like a discussion for the trio to have without her, so Marie busied herself with preparing more coffee. Their soft voices whispered behind her, speaking words of consolation to their ailing leader until the spitting of the machine drowned them out entirely. She loitered by the mug once it was full, fretting idly with one of her tentacles, until the low drone of conversation faded out; Shiver had finally started to eat by then, looking more gloomy than irate, though her upturned nose was wrinkled in a familiar expression of disapproval. Big Man had pilfered a tissue box for her, likely from one of the guest bathrooms, and was offering them as needed while Frye gingerly rubbed the small of her back. It was a charming sight. They made a rather wholesome team, if one could ignore the occasional banditry.
“Here.” Marie placed the coffee beside Shiver’s plate. “Just in case you need an extra boost. It’s black; not sure where Pearl keeps the sugar.”
“Thanks, Boss.” Shiver’s shoulders were sagging, and she didn’t bother looking up from her plate as she rolled a grape around with her fingertip. She looked rather defeated; even her band-mates were frowning, at a loss as to how they might console her.
“You should try smoking weed instead,” Marie suggested before she had time to reconsider. Three inkfish heads instantly snapped up to meet her gaze with identical expressions of shock. “Just a suggestion. It’s different than getting drunk, but it won’t put you in the hospital or anything.”
Deep Cut exchanged an unreadable set of glances with one another. The silence in the room quickly became deafening.
“... You smoke seagrass, Boss?” Frye was the only one brave enough to ask the question aloud. Marie favored her with a conspiratorial grin, leaning over the countertop with both palms pressed flat against the marble.
“What are you, my manager?” She tapped the stone surface hard enough to make all three of them sit upright, suitably chastised. “Mind your business, kids.”
They could pry the truth from her cold, dead fingers.
–
Deep Cut was finally on the mend by the time Marina and Pearl rejoined their ragtag group. They’d clearly set aside time to shower and tidy up before their arrival—it wouldn’t do for them to look disheveled after their own party. The tall Octarian never seemed to get cold, even in a cropped top and leggings in the dead of winter; by contrast, Pearl was absolutely drowning in one of her girlfriend’s sweatshirts, its dress-like fit extending well past her knees. They strolled into the kitchen hand-in-hand, their fingers loosely entwined, both of them serene and smiling and not even a little bit hung over. It was cute, but also kind of infuriating.
“Yo, party people,” Pearl greeted cheerfully. She was much more sedate than usual, but not in a bad way; it seemed like her usual energy was spent, leaving her comfortably satisfied. “Callie’s not up yet?”
“Still down for the count,” Marie confirmed. “We don’t drink as often as we used to. She’s never been much of a party-girl, anyway… Unless french fries are involved.”
Marina’s gaze fell to the fruit spread across the countertop, and she broke into a wide smile, her eyes shining.
“You didn’t have to go through this trouble, Marie,” she enthused. “Pearlie and I had this food shipped in so we could make breakfast for all of you.”
“I woke up early,” Marie countered with a shrug. “Besides, this seemed like the best way to keep Deep Cut from raiding your pantries.”
At the mention of their fellow idols, both Pearl and Marina glanced down at Shiver, who was still hunched over her empty plate. The sight of her blotched skin made Marina gasp, her teal claws raising to cover her mouth.
“Oh, Shiver! You poor thing.” She released Pearl’s hand in order to rush to the other Octoling’s side, careful not to jostle Big Man in the process. “Are you having an allergic reaction to something? Your skin…!”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Shiver groused, pointedly looking away. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s fine!” Her perpetually-concerned eyebrows pinched closer together with the furrowing of her brow. “Listen, I have some creams in my bathroom. They’re meant for Octarian skin sensitivities, but they should work just as well on surface Octolings. Let me get them for you, alright? And I have a few painkillers, too—non-prescription, don’t worry. They should help you feel a little better. Are you nauseated at all? How’s your stomach feeling?”
“Uh.” The leader of Deep Cut looked fantastically out of her element beneath the intensity of Marina’s care. She leaned back a little, scratching at her reddened neck with the tips of her nails, and shrugged. “... Sure? All of that sounds great. Thanks.”
“Why don’t you go with her, Shiv?” Frye launched herself out of her seat, nearly bowling both Marina and Big Man over in the process. “I can help out! I think I’m starting to sober up, actually.” She rolled her shoulders and shifted from one foot to the other, testing her balance—which, to her credit, seemed much improved from when she first woke up.
“Ay! (I’ll help, too!)” Never one to be left out, Big Man raised a fin.
“This really doesn’t need to be a group project,” Shiver protested weakly. Her objections were swiftly overruled by Marina’s hand closing around hers; she blushed deep-blue enough to compete with the redness of her rash, her jaw tensing, and slipped from her seat without further argument, acknowledging that she’d been overruled.
With the shark successfully tamed (for now), Marina leaned over to plant a parting kiss on Pearl’s cheek, then made a beeline for her private bathroom, half-dragging the abashed Shiver behind her. In direct contrast to the DJ’s gentle affection, Frye punched Pearl in the bicep as she walked past, which instantly attracted Big Man’s ire; he swatted her upside the head with his fin—not hard, but firmly enough to make a point—and began lecturing her as they followed after the Octolings. Their disagreement escalated as they entered the hallway, with Frye attempting to climb up the manta’s sleek back to gain the upper hand, her purple-toed feet still scrabbling for purchase as all four of them vanished from sight.
“... Yikes.” Pearl hopped into the only stool that hadn’t been adjusted beyond her height, rubbing her sore arm with a grimace. “I kinda thought they’d be dead after last night, but here they are, lively as ever.”
“Youth is wasted on the young,” Marie agreed, solemn.
A moment of silence, please, for idols rapidly approaching their 30s.
“So.” Pearl helped herself to a plate of fruit and a glass of water, gulping down a few noisy sips before continuing. “You been having any fun?”
“Time of my life,” Marie replied airily, leaning her forearms against the countertop to meet the shorter Inkling at eye-level. “You two throw excellent parties.”
“Nah, that’s not it.” The Houzuki heiress flapped her hand with a shake of her head. “I meant, like, this whole year. Was it any good for you?”
“In what way?”
“Like, your life. And your career. The Squid Sisters broke up for a while, right?” Pearl regarded her with an open, curious stare. “‘Rina was totally messed up about it. We already knew you guys back then, but… I mean, it’s different, right? The band and the people, they’re not the same thing.”
“Right, of course.” Marie returned her stare, puzzled. “But that happened years ago. Why are you asking now?”
“I dunno. I guess I never thought about it much.” Pearl shrugged, a familiar and exaggerated palms-up gesture from her own broadcasting days. “You two were outta the game for a while, as far as idols go. Now you’ve been doing Splatfests again for… How many years now, two?”
“Almost three, actually.”
“Yeah, that. I was just wondering if you’re still into it.”
A worthy question. Marie felt strangely uncomfortable, for some reason—like she was being seen in a new light for the first time.
“Is this your way of telling me that I need to retire?” She gave Pearl one of her signature grins, but there was an edge to it. Pearl grinned right back, clearly amused, and shook her head again.
“Hell no. I was thinkin’ the opposite, actually.”
“The opposite of retirement?” Marie reached for the segmented orange on her own plate, turning it over between her fingertips to mask her discomfort.
“Yeah. I mean…” Pearl mirrored the motion, prodding at her own orange slices with a blunt finger. “You almost look happy when you’re up on stage. You’re smiling more, putting new inflections on some of your old songs… I dunno. ‘Rina seems to think you’re getting a second wind, or something. If it’s an act then you’ve got your #1 fan fooled, and she’s literally a genius.”
“You two have been watching our performances?” To her immense humiliation, Marie felt the tips of her ears getting warmer. “All of them?”
“Uh, duh. Haven’t you seen ‘Rina’s collection of Squid Sisters merch? It takes up an entire room! I don’t think she’s ever missed a livestream, even while we were touring.”
“That’s… Sweet?” Marie managed a half-smile that felt more like a grimace.
(How close had she slept to this previously-unknown Squid Sisters shrine…? Perhaps it was better not to know.)
“Ah, forget it.” Pearl scoffed, flicking a grape across her plate with her free hand. “You two sounded great this year, is all I was trying to say.”
With a start, Marie realized that she’d managed to hurt Pearl’s feelings. That was a pretty rare thing.
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to avoid the compliment.” She sighed, propping her chin up on her palm, and continued to feign interest in her sliced orange. “I guess you’re right. I have been pretty happy this year.”
“And that’s a bad thing…?”
“No, not at all.” She shook her head, feeling her long tentacles wobble against the backs of her legs. It was strange to liberate them from their signature bow-shaped style; their unexpected touch nearly made her flinch. “It’s just been a long ride, I guess. I never saw myself going past a decade as an idol, but if I’m being honest… I still like it. The crowds, the choreography, the music. It feels like home.”
“I feel the same way,” Pearl agreed, perking up now that her sentiment had been returned. “Me and ‘Rina aren’t gonna settle down any time soon, either. She’d be seriously bummed out if you guys didn’t come along for the ride… And I guess I’d miss the competition, too.”
“Color me shocked, Houzuki.” Marie placed a hand over her hearts in mock surprise. “Do you actually enjoy losing the #1 spot on the charts every time we release a new single?”
“Hey, you don’t always beat us!” Pearl leaned over the countertop, pushing against it with both arms to achieve maximum height. “Besides, our shit goes way deeper than that. It’s about representing Inkopolis—and Calamari County, too! So you gotta make a promise, alright?” With a somber expression, she grasped the now-pulpy orange between her thumb and forefinger and waved it in front of Marie’s face. “Swear on this squid orange that you’re not gonna quit on me!”
Marie blinked in surprise, leaning back as the dripping citrus swung dangerously close to her eyes. After taking a moment to bask in the absurdity of Pearl’s request, she grinned, helplessly swept up in the tide of her enthusiasm, and raised her own orange in a toast; the two Inklings touched them together in a strange mockery of a pinkie promise, allowing them to drip onto the countertop below.
“I won’t quit on you,” Marie vowed. “Calamari County for life.”
–
By the time Callie was reasonably awake, everyone else had gathered in the parlor, forming a loose circle around the grand piano. She stumbled bleary-eyed towards the couch, leftover fruit segments piled high onto her plate, and sat beside Marie, allowing her head to loll against her cousin’s shoulder. Marie gave her a fond smile and nudged a round slice of banana past her lips, urging her to eat before sleep could claim her once more. Despite Callie’s muffled protest, the taste of fresh fruit managed to stimulate her appetite, and soon she was gobbling down her breakfast with all of her typical fervor. After being sufficiently fed and caffeinated, she was back in the game for keeps.
Shiver and Frye were sitting atop an amalgam of blankets and pillows, savoring the heat that suffused through the hardwood. The Octoling’s entire body was glistening with ointment, but the unpleasant redness had mostly receded, and she appeared to be in better spirits overall; beside her, Frye was using her blunt nails to scratch the small of her back. Shiver was practically arching her shoulders with delight, grateful that someone without claws was able to alleviate the remainder of her discomfort. Big Man stood behind them both, still dutifully clutching a tissue box in case their leader should face another bout against her runny nose.
Marina perched atop the piano’s stool with Pearl sitting halfway on her lap, nestled comfortably beneath the long reach of her arm. She’d been improvising various songs for about a half an hour now—all three versions of Anarchy Poisons, much to Deep Cut’s delight, and a rousing rendition of Ink Me Up, which made Callie grin, her beak stained pink with strawberry juice—but now her teal fingers were plucking out an unfamiliar tune, something sweet and bright and sad all at once. It was a short, repetitive melody, but she knew how to keep it interesting, layering fresh new harmonies with each go-around.
“I haven’t heard this one before,” Callie said, setting her plate on the side-table so she could curl more comfortably against her cousin’s side. “Are we getting an exclusive preview?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Marina smiled at Callie over the top of Pearl’s head. “This is an old song, I think. It’s from way before our time.”
“How old?” Frye piped up from her blanket-nest. “Like, Pearl-old, or prehistory-old?”
Pearl raised her hand in a particularly rude gesture without bothering to turn around.
“Prehistory, I’d imagine.” Marina’s swift fingers continued to play that same tune, slowing it down until it nearly droned. “I learned it back in the Domes. One of the other girls in my unit found some old tech while we were on recon: A pile of gears and cranks, mostly, but the shape of it was like… Like it was meant to fit inside of a box, almost. I was sure it was supposed to be an instrument. The top part had this beautiful thin metal disc that was covered in holes, and it made the most wonderful ringing noise when I ran my claws across it. It took all eight of us to carry it back to our base.” She smiled at the memory, fondly nostalgic. “I got a little obsessed with it, I guess. I knew I could restore it if I had enough time and material… But we had to save wood for special projects, so I made due with low-quality stuff. Tin, aluminum, things like that. I’m sure it affected the sound quality, but—”
“You’re losing the room, babe,” Pearl interrupted with a crooked smile. Marie could see the glaze of disinterest in Callie’s eyes, and Deep Cut had long since checked out of the discussion; all except for Big Man, who looked absolutely rapt, hanging on her every word.
Pearl, for her part, was looking up at Marina like she hung all the stars in the sky. It was positively beak-rotting.
“Right, sorry!” Marina shook her head, refocusing her attention as her claws danced across the keys. “Anyway, long story short, it was an instrument, or something like it. The disc was like a record, but it only played one song… The same song that I’ve been playing. Um, I haven’t heard it in a long time, since I had to leave the whole machine behind when I came to the surface—but I’m pretty sure I remember it. Human relics are common, but it’s rare to find any of their old music in a salvageable state… I regret not finding a way to take it with me, but it was really heavy. Maybe it’s still down there, but I doubt it.”
“Ay?! (You rebuilt a human instrument all by yourself?!)” Big Man was practically salivating at the thought.
“I did!” Marina’s tentacles curled upwards, pleased with his praise. “That was one of my favorite hobbies. Most of my instruments were adapted from human relics to some degree, but that song-box was the most complete piece I’d ever restored. I’m sure there’s more out there, if you know where to look.”
“What’s the song called?” Shiver asked, finally tuning back in now that the tech discussion was over.
“I don’t actually know.” Marina stopped playing for a moment, turning to face the others with Pearl still half-perched atop her lap. “I couldn’t read the words on the disc. They weren’t written in a language I’d seen before.”
Unexpectedly, Marie found herself thinking about Alterna. It had been an unsettling place at best—a graveyard, even—but in spite of its chilling emptiness, there was something alive about the few traces of humanity that remained. She remembered watching Neo Agent 3 stoop down and place her small hand against a much-larger imprint fossilized in concrete, examining the difference in size with a detached sense of interest. An entire species once dominated this earth, from the skies above to the underground below… What could be said for them now? They were bones in the backyards of families, dug up by curious children and discarded, not even worth donating to a museum for how commonplace they were. They were obliterated shapes at the bottom of an oceanic crater, the place where all primitive inkfish learned to stand, and speak, and sing. They were both everything and nothing at all.
Star at night, glowing bright, bringing us your light,
A message to us from far in the past, saying, "Shine on!"
Words you write, line by line, showing us your sights,
Passed down to us so we sing them today, we feel you still.
“... Marie?”
The soft touch of Callie’s fingertips startled Marie from her thoughts. She opened her eyes—when had she even closed them?—and felt a strange warmth on her face, tracking down her cheeks to her chin. Callie was looking at her with wide, watery eyes, her lip trembling as she swept her thumb across her cousin’s face. “You’re crying,” she said in a soft voice.
Now everyone was looking at her. Marie sniffled and touched a hand to her face, feeling oddly numb; sure enough, her palm came away damp and glistening. It was kind of surreal. When was the last time she’d cried about something? Hell, when was the last time she’d cried in front of people?
Big Man nearly tripped over himself to offer her the tissue box. Behind him, the rest of Deep Cut was gawking like they’d never seen her before, their mouths hanging open. Marina had both palms over her cheeks, her teal-and-pink eyes glistening with sympathetic tears, while Pearl regarded her with a single upturned eyebrow, clearly worried but keeping her silence nonetheless.
“Uh… Sorry.” Marie accepted a tissue from the box without looking at Big Man, but she used it to dry Callie’s face, instead. The sight of her own tears always got her cousin blubbering, especially back when they were kids. “I’m fine. Just got a little caught up in the moment, I guess.”
“I’m so sorry,” Marina eked out, mortified up to the squirmiest parts of her tentacles. “I didn’t mean to upset you! I can play something else, or nothing at all, if that’s better—”
“No, it’s alright.” Marie took a second tissue to dry her own face, then linked her fingers with Callie’s, hoping to reassure her with a soft touch. Her cousin compensated for her growing anxiety by snuggling in closer, tucking herself beneath the point of Marie’s chin. “I’d actually like to hear it again, if you don’t mind,” she said, wrapping an arm around Callie’s waist to ensure that she was comfortable. “The slower version.”
“Really? Are you… sure?”
“I’m sure.” Marie offered her a half-smile. “It might do me some good to let these feelings out… But if I hear any camera shutters going off, they’ll never find your bodies.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Boss!” Shiver and Frye barked in perfect unison.
(Suspicious. She’d let it slide for now, though.)
Though her back was stiff with uncertainty, Marina turned back around to face the piano, twirling Pearl around with her. The slow movement of her claws against the keys unlocked that same deep well of emotion within the pit of Marie’s chest: Something like nostalgia for a life she’d never lived, or grief for a person she’d never met. Unable to resist that feeling, she rested her face against the crown of Callie’s head and allowed her eyes to run freely; beneath her, Callie seemed to be catching that same emotion, snuffling through a snotty inhalation as she buried her wet face against Marie’s rumpled pajamas.
She heard Marina’s breath catch as she continued to play, and soon enough, she was crying, too, her tears dripping onto the keys of the piano. Pearl made a soft, soothing sound, using the sleeve of her borrowed sweatshirt to dry her partner’s eyes before rubbing at her own. Even Big Man was starting to crumble, his distinctively three-shaped mouth wobbling and tightening at its corners. Shiver and Frye were baffled up until the moment when it overtook them as well; then they leaned against one another, their eyes damp, and scrubbed at their faces in sullen silence.
Pale mid-morning sunlight drifted through the windows, illuminating each member of the supergroup known as Now Or Never Seven as they clung to one another in solemnity. That was how the Houzuki Manor end-of-year rager came to a close: A group catharsis for the busiest idols in Inkopolis and the Splatlands alike, united by their communal love for music, even that which could be traced back to a time when their kin yet swam through frigid ocean waters.
All life here is one, intermingled in the hourglass.
No start, no end, it lasts for all eternity.