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Thida's Origins - The Cat Remembers
Late at night, there is a sound from the gutters that piques your curiosity - a tough thing to do. Curiosity, after all, killed the cat, and you tend to be wary of death, given how you've long surpassed your lifespan. Then, you think, satisfaction did bring the cat back, so maybe a peek is worth your while.
So you peek, and you remember.
You remember that ugly old poncho not on the young Inkling girl stumbling as she reforms over the grate, but displayed proudly to you by an Inkling two decades ago. It was too big for him, as it is for her, and he had smiled and said, "Well? How fresh am I, Judd?"
"Fresh as surströmming," you answered, and he had looked at you completely clueless when you chuckled, rubbing the arrowband strap under his pulled-up orange tentacles. Joubin - or No-Splat Jo, as his peers called him snidely - was an odd sort. A native to this great city, he delighted in peaceful pleasures and avoided Turf Wars with a passion. He'd play his guitar in the square for spare change and use it to buy whatever was on clearance at Booyah Base, looking like last year's worst fashion trends. As a result, a lot of other squids made fun of him, but he was just so...unflappable. He still considered everyone who tossed coins into his hat a friend.
You yawn, flick your tail, and let the memory fade as the girl pushes herself back to her feet and leaves, something of exhaustion in her gait.
............................................................
One afternoon, there is a familiar squawk of indignation from the direction of Booyah Base - the cry of a squid not even fresh enough to purchase basic gear, and your curiosity hooks into you again. Before you know it, you've spotted poncho girl again, groaning as her face is pressed up against the window of Ammo Knights. There's a glint on the top of her head, and you make out a pair of old, old pilot goggles.
And you remember.
You remember an Inkling from perhaps...seventeen years ago. She was brash and argumentative, and drew quite a crowd when, freshly registered for Turf Wars, she was not allowed to buy something to replace her Splattershot Jr. Her tentacles moved with her, green as summer grass and twisted in a braid to the side, and something about her looked fresh in a way that had nothing to do with fashion.
"This is a squiddie toy!" she snarled, tossing it onto the asphalt. The Splattershot Jr clattered with the appropriate plastic-y sound of an afformentioned 'squiddie toy'. "I thought Turf Wars were supposed to be serious! You can't even sell me a basic charger?!"
You bathed a paw and considered intervening when Joubin appeared, guitar slung on his back. "Hey now," he said gently, "the old man's just doing his job. Inexperienced Inklings shouldn't handle a charger, they're not easy to wield!"
She gave him a frown, and around her neck you had seen a pair of old pilot goggles, the kind you hadn't seen since the Octarians were forced underground and near every squid joined up behind the Squidbeak Splatoon to do so.
You reverie's reverie was broken by an empty bottle of milk tea that hit Joubin's head. The squid flinched. "Like you'd know, No-Splat," shouted an onlooker, "you've never even tried to ink!"
The others laughed, but...not this new girl. She looked between Joubin and the onlooker with narrowing eyes, mouth dropped open in mounting disgust. As if in defiance of the others, she took Joubin by the wrist and dragged him away, passing you as they went, and your ears pick up a curious whisper - "Can't believe he didn't even acknowledge that he knew me, are you freaking squidding me?!"
You are brought back to the present by poncho girl once more, as she runs into the lobby with a determined glint in her eye. Oh yes, she wasn't going to let a squiddie toy keep her from splatting. You reach a paw out just as the lobby doors close, and you wonder if she'll play in the Turf Wars all day, or if you'll get a chance to...
............................................................
It's evening, and the Squid Sisters are delivering a news bulletin on the stage rotations. You tune it out because you've heard it so many times before, and that's what allows your curiosity to catch again - this time, onto a tune you haven't heard in fifteen years. Poncho girl is humming it, sitting on the railing near your usual spot and kicking her legs, and you remember.
You remember a hot, sticky night in Inkopolis. Long before the sea urchin took up residence in the alley, Joubin used to hide there at night when he got older. His parents, none too thrilled with his busker life, had hit their limit and thrown him out, though if this bothered him he never showed it. He drifted from district to district, but always came back to the plaza to play for the now younger Inklings who, while snickering at his poncho and arrowbands, gladly tossed their winnings into his hat. It was in the alley that he would meet that Inkling girl that stirred up trouble - Abyssi, Judd had learned to call her, and in time she had become an excellent splatter. Unafraid and unhindered, you had watched her climb the leaderboard with mild interest, and you'd noticed that Joubin's most frequent and troublesome tormentors were quickly picked off and kept from high scores whenever they went up against her.
None, however, had been as targeted as Spiru. A troublemaker if you ever saw one in all your years of judging, even you have to admit he needs to be brought down a peg. Cocky, bullheaded, and with a bravado as vivid as his favored purple ink, you had pieced together through whisperings that he and Abyssi had had a summer fling, and he'd dropped her like a hot potato when autumn rolled in. It was classic dudesquid behavior, you'd seen it before, but no squidgirl had ever taken it personally in Inkopolis.
"I hate him," she said, her voice echoing out from the alley. You dropped down from your spot with feline grace (your size does much to disguise your abilities) and slunk over to listen, catching Joubin's latest guitar tune.
"Well, you've got enough for your bus ticket, right? Get on, go home, and you won't ever...have to see him again."
Huh. Joubin almost sounded...sad. How odd. Even downtrodden, he was always upbeat, so why would someone moving on bother him?
A sigh. "At least I got 'im pretty good. One hundred splats in two years. I know it's not a record, but it feels good to me."
"It should! It's great! You never once didn't splat him in a match - remember when you were on the same team that one time?"
"Pfft, yeah, I just pushed him off of Saltspray Rig the entire match. The look on his face - priceless!" They laughed and lapsed into silence, Joubin strumming away. The sound fades into Poncho girl's humming, and you have to push down the lump in your throat.
You remember when Abyssi left. Joubin came up to you clutching those old goggles, desperation coming from every fiber of his being. "She left them," he said shakily, "she forgot - she's halfway to the mountains by now, I've got to return them!"
"And you're telling me because-"
"Because I need a favor, Judd!" He paused for breath. "I-I need money. Just half, just to cover a bus ticket one way, just to give them back! I'll pay you back someday, I promise, but these mean so much to her, I..."
There were tears in his eyes, and his hands shook. All at once, it was like he was that little Inkling in the too-big poncho all over again. No-Splat Jo, with no friends and no home, only his music, had fallen in love with a girl who had fallen into treating him with the respect and interest that even you never gave him.
You'd given him the money, and you never saw Joubin in the plaza again. You got a package from him once, but no letter and no news, just the return of your loan to the penny. After that, you'd made it a habit to give money to kids based on their winning streaks, just to make sure they're okay. Just to make sure...
"Hey."
This time, your curiosity pulls you out of your memories, and Poncho girl is standing in front of you. She looks tired, glancing over to the sewer grate with an attempt at being discreet. It's almost funny.
"...Yes?" You ask. The girl pulls a piece of paper from the poncho pocket - her wins from the last session. Technically they're not valid for redemption, but she'd had a ten win streak.
"Cash?"
"...Sure." You pony up the cash, and she stores it away. "Just this once though, okay? You look like you could mewse some fresh gear." A pause. "You're fresh as surströmming in that old thing."
She looks at you with blank confusion, and it's like staring at Joubin all over again - a Joubin with Abyssi's tenacity. You laugh, and she looks even more confused.
"What's your name, Squiddo?" You ask. She folds her arms in front of her chest.
"Thida."
"Well - go get another streak, Thida, and you come see me again. Don't be a stranger."
So you peek, and you remember.
You remember that ugly old poncho not on the young Inkling girl stumbling as she reforms over the grate, but displayed proudly to you by an Inkling two decades ago. It was too big for him, as it is for her, and he had smiled and said, "Well? How fresh am I, Judd?"
"Fresh as surströmming," you answered, and he had looked at you completely clueless when you chuckled, rubbing the arrowband strap under his pulled-up orange tentacles. Joubin - or No-Splat Jo, as his peers called him snidely - was an odd sort. A native to this great city, he delighted in peaceful pleasures and avoided Turf Wars with a passion. He'd play his guitar in the square for spare change and use it to buy whatever was on clearance at Booyah Base, looking like last year's worst fashion trends. As a result, a lot of other squids made fun of him, but he was just so...unflappable. He still considered everyone who tossed coins into his hat a friend.
You yawn, flick your tail, and let the memory fade as the girl pushes herself back to her feet and leaves, something of exhaustion in her gait.
............................................................
One afternoon, there is a familiar squawk of indignation from the direction of Booyah Base - the cry of a squid not even fresh enough to purchase basic gear, and your curiosity hooks into you again. Before you know it, you've spotted poncho girl again, groaning as her face is pressed up against the window of Ammo Knights. There's a glint on the top of her head, and you make out a pair of old, old pilot goggles.
And you remember.
You remember an Inkling from perhaps...seventeen years ago. She was brash and argumentative, and drew quite a crowd when, freshly registered for Turf Wars, she was not allowed to buy something to replace her Splattershot Jr. Her tentacles moved with her, green as summer grass and twisted in a braid to the side, and something about her looked fresh in a way that had nothing to do with fashion.
"This is a squiddie toy!" she snarled, tossing it onto the asphalt. The Splattershot Jr clattered with the appropriate plastic-y sound of an afformentioned 'squiddie toy'. "I thought Turf Wars were supposed to be serious! You can't even sell me a basic charger?!"
You bathed a paw and considered intervening when Joubin appeared, guitar slung on his back. "Hey now," he said gently, "the old man's just doing his job. Inexperienced Inklings shouldn't handle a charger, they're not easy to wield!"
She gave him a frown, and around her neck you had seen a pair of old pilot goggles, the kind you hadn't seen since the Octarians were forced underground and near every squid joined up behind the Squidbeak Splatoon to do so.
You reverie's reverie was broken by an empty bottle of milk tea that hit Joubin's head. The squid flinched. "Like you'd know, No-Splat," shouted an onlooker, "you've never even tried to ink!"
The others laughed, but...not this new girl. She looked between Joubin and the onlooker with narrowing eyes, mouth dropped open in mounting disgust. As if in defiance of the others, she took Joubin by the wrist and dragged him away, passing you as they went, and your ears pick up a curious whisper - "Can't believe he didn't even acknowledge that he knew me, are you freaking squidding me?!"
You are brought back to the present by poncho girl once more, as she runs into the lobby with a determined glint in her eye. Oh yes, she wasn't going to let a squiddie toy keep her from splatting. You reach a paw out just as the lobby doors close, and you wonder if she'll play in the Turf Wars all day, or if you'll get a chance to...
............................................................
It's evening, and the Squid Sisters are delivering a news bulletin on the stage rotations. You tune it out because you've heard it so many times before, and that's what allows your curiosity to catch again - this time, onto a tune you haven't heard in fifteen years. Poncho girl is humming it, sitting on the railing near your usual spot and kicking her legs, and you remember.
You remember a hot, sticky night in Inkopolis. Long before the sea urchin took up residence in the alley, Joubin used to hide there at night when he got older. His parents, none too thrilled with his busker life, had hit their limit and thrown him out, though if this bothered him he never showed it. He drifted from district to district, but always came back to the plaza to play for the now younger Inklings who, while snickering at his poncho and arrowbands, gladly tossed their winnings into his hat. It was in the alley that he would meet that Inkling girl that stirred up trouble - Abyssi, Judd had learned to call her, and in time she had become an excellent splatter. Unafraid and unhindered, you had watched her climb the leaderboard with mild interest, and you'd noticed that Joubin's most frequent and troublesome tormentors were quickly picked off and kept from high scores whenever they went up against her.
None, however, had been as targeted as Spiru. A troublemaker if you ever saw one in all your years of judging, even you have to admit he needs to be brought down a peg. Cocky, bullheaded, and with a bravado as vivid as his favored purple ink, you had pieced together through whisperings that he and Abyssi had had a summer fling, and he'd dropped her like a hot potato when autumn rolled in. It was classic dudesquid behavior, you'd seen it before, but no squidgirl had ever taken it personally in Inkopolis.
"I hate him," she said, her voice echoing out from the alley. You dropped down from your spot with feline grace (your size does much to disguise your abilities) and slunk over to listen, catching Joubin's latest guitar tune.
"Well, you've got enough for your bus ticket, right? Get on, go home, and you won't ever...have to see him again."
Huh. Joubin almost sounded...sad. How odd. Even downtrodden, he was always upbeat, so why would someone moving on bother him?
A sigh. "At least I got 'im pretty good. One hundred splats in two years. I know it's not a record, but it feels good to me."
"It should! It's great! You never once didn't splat him in a match - remember when you were on the same team that one time?"
"Pfft, yeah, I just pushed him off of Saltspray Rig the entire match. The look on his face - priceless!" They laughed and lapsed into silence, Joubin strumming away. The sound fades into Poncho girl's humming, and you have to push down the lump in your throat.
You remember when Abyssi left. Joubin came up to you clutching those old goggles, desperation coming from every fiber of his being. "She left them," he said shakily, "she forgot - she's halfway to the mountains by now, I've got to return them!"
"And you're telling me because-"
"Because I need a favor, Judd!" He paused for breath. "I-I need money. Just half, just to cover a bus ticket one way, just to give them back! I'll pay you back someday, I promise, but these mean so much to her, I..."
There were tears in his eyes, and his hands shook. All at once, it was like he was that little Inkling in the too-big poncho all over again. No-Splat Jo, with no friends and no home, only his music, had fallen in love with a girl who had fallen into treating him with the respect and interest that even you never gave him.
You'd given him the money, and you never saw Joubin in the plaza again. You got a package from him once, but no letter and no news, just the return of your loan to the penny. After that, you'd made it a habit to give money to kids based on their winning streaks, just to make sure they're okay. Just to make sure...
"Hey."
This time, your curiosity pulls you out of your memories, and Poncho girl is standing in front of you. She looks tired, glancing over to the sewer grate with an attempt at being discreet. It's almost funny.
"...Yes?" You ask. The girl pulls a piece of paper from the poncho pocket - her wins from the last session. Technically they're not valid for redemption, but she'd had a ten win streak.
"Cash?"
"...Sure." You pony up the cash, and she stores it away. "Just this once though, okay? You look like you could mewse some fresh gear." A pause. "You're fresh as surströmming in that old thing."
She looks at you with blank confusion, and it's like staring at Joubin all over again - a Joubin with Abyssi's tenacity. You laugh, and she looks even more confused.
"What's your name, Squiddo?" You ask. She folds her arms in front of her chest.
"Thida."
"Well - go get another streak, Thida, and you come see me again. Don't be a stranger."