Thida's Origins - Dinner Date

[agent3]

You come back from Bluefin Depot an absolute wreck.

Sore, shaking, the acrid sting of Octarian ink still in your nose, you had managed to take down the Octostriker and rescue the little Zapfish...somehow. All the while, you'd had flashbacks of the last time you fought one of these things, splatting a path for yourself through a skatepark, heart pounding whenever you heard the tell-tale ping of an Inkstrike. In Turf Wars, it thrills you, because it's usually yours. Here, it's an all too real threat of becoming a smear on the pavement. And oh, the grates. The water that went out for miles and loomed right underneath should you sink down at the wrong moment, the water that could rip your very molecules apart, that no bubbler could guard against! Even in the midst of games, falling in was terrifying, and after today's mission your nerves couldn't handle the sight of the sea.

When the Cap'n sees you, steps unsteady as you head back to the kettle that leads into Inkopolis, he reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Wanna stay for dinner, Agent Three?" He asks. There's a beat, and he ushers you into his little shack home. "I'm gonna take your silence as an enthusiastic 'yes'."

There's little room inside for any sort of dinner party, just enough for you and the Cap'n to stand side-by-side between his tilted table, wobbly chairs, and a kitchenette opposite. Cooling on the stovetop is a tray of crabby cakes.

"I was figurin' Agents One and Two might've found the time to come to dinner," He says, urging you to sit, "So I, heh, made a bit too much for just meself. You one for food, Three?"

That's what he calls you. Three. Too dangerous to know your real name, he'd once told you, and you think back to the Kelp Dome and the Octoling hanging by her boot laces, and wonder if you made a very dire mistake.

"I like soup," You say, and think of your Dad's soups, how the packs of instant noodles in your cupboard pale in comparison to them. After a moment, you add, "Catfish, too."

"Oho! One loves catfish!" You notice, with a tinge of amusement, that the Cap'n's got a set of Squid Sisters plates. He loads two plates up with crabby cakes and a medley of veggies, sets them down, and turns back around to fetch a pair of bent forks. "Two's more of a hotdogfish squid. Ah, you young-uns and your tastes..."

Once he passes you a fork, he sits down and digs in with vigor. It doesn't surprise you. The Cap'n's a sprightly old squid, and nothing ever seems to slow him down. You eat more slowly, savoring the taste of home-cooked food, allowing it to ease your shakes and shivers. There's mushrooms in the mix of the crabby cakes - not pine mushrooms, but their chewiness is much appreciated.

Needless to say, the Cap'n's finished long before you are, even though he only manages half of his plate. He pushes it back and sighs, closing his eyes against the cool night breeze that filters through his hut. "Nothin' like a summer night, eh Three?" He asks. "Reminds me of the old days. Starin' up at them stars, sleepin' in the brush, hearin' the last crackles of flame as yer fire dies down...you an outdoorsy type?"

You nod. "Came from the mountains."

"Which ones?"

You shrug. Frankly, no one told you their name. "Four hours...by bus, from Inkopolis."

"That'll get you plenty of places," the Cap'n says, opening one eye. "Sardine Straights, Minnow Meadows, this here valley...the Tentacle Range runs 'round these parts, you know. Maybe you're closer to home than you think."

That...was possible. Sometimes, when you super jump from kettle to kettle, you think you can see the other sides of these mountains. Where Octo Valley is relatively brown and stripped of vegetation, the other side is lush and vibrant, and some rock formations are familiar to you. Still, you had no intention of climbing over the mountains to see if you could find your old home. You couldn't bear to go back to that empty hut.

Perhaps the Cap'n can sense your unease, for he's quick to change the topic. "Ah, but yer a city squid now. Betcher a hellion to the other teams in Turf Wars. What do you use?"

"Inkbrush."

He nods sagely. "Takes a special type, to use those. Clever. Sneaky. Quick. You got some ranked action yet?"

You shake your head. Ranked battles were riskier for you - the reward was great, but not getting anything on a knockout loss was really, really detrimental to your wallet. Turf Wars were consistent. Turf Wars paid your rent.

"Well, Three, I say you give it a try! 'Specially if you've got a squad."

"...Squad?"

"Friends!"

You...shake your head again. "Get made fun of."

"What for?"

You don't answer. You just think back to your first week of Turf Wars, still fumbling with the Splattershot Jr. even after the Cap'n's shooting lessons, all the Inklings who splatted you when your back was turned, all the teammates who sneered at your splat count and called your Dad's poncho 'a big ugly target'. Sure, now you've got that stored safely away and your gear is significantly fresher, but a lot of squids turn their nose up at your brush - especially if you can't earn one thousand points before the match is up. Right now, Aerosprays are the weapon of choice, and your scores can't compare.

Gosh, but you hate it. What a stupid reason not to like someone! What big bullies city Inklings are!

The Cap'n, once again, seems to get your discomfort. He leans over and puts a hand on your shoulder, both eyes open and alert. "Now, you listen here, Three," He says, "There ain't nothin' in this world a squid like you's gotta be ashamed for. If you weren't who you were, I'd of turned you around the second you came through the kettle." He gives your shoulder a pat and pulls away. "Maybe you just haven't found your squad yet. They're out there. Just be open to 'em! You never know who'll end up a friend."

All you can do is hum in response and pick at the rest of your dinner. When your plate is cleared, the Cap'n asks if you want seconds, and when you decline, he wraps up the remaining crabby cakes and hands them off to you.

"Go rest up, Three," he says, "and take these home, will you? They're good for most any meal, just heat 'em up. Next time I whip 'em up fresh, I promise I'll have One and Two over. They're sweet squids - I know they'll want to be your friends."

You smile weakly and take them, and head back home. In your apartment, no one sees you toss off the Hero Armor. No one hears you sigh or breathe through the rattling of the train that passes by every half hour, on the half hour. No one notices the plate of crabby cakes you leave out on the windowsill, shutting the window behind it - but only you notice the shadow of the person who comes to eat them.

It's very possible that you made a mistake in the Kelp Dome. But, perhaps...perhaps.