#【００Ｘ：DRABBLES.】

[inkantation-arch]

need a rayne check?

2.4k words, rayne recruitment fic

August burns hot as a heat wave hits Inkopolis. It drove everyone’s anxieties high - two years ago, a heat wave caused a blackout, and now, everytime temperatures climb, people hold their breath. While some call it superstitious, Rayne keeps an eye on the meters. As people used their ACs more, the more likely it became that the city’s reserves of electrical energy - only now recovering from two years ago - would be taxed, the more they risked another blackout. 

Rayne can’t take another summer like that one, run ragged trying to keep his borough alive. Nevermind that if it happens again, people might be frightened, more than they were two years ago. If there was any consolation back then, it’s that the number of people hurt was significantly low. Another blackout could mean panic, this time.

He twirls his keys between forefinger and thumb, counting a beat 1-2-3-and 4, 1-2-3-and 4, a song somewhere in the back of his mind. The grocery store moves aside for him, as he ducks his head into the deli section “Papí,” he calls from the counter, “I’m headin’ out, do you need anything?”

“Ay, it’s two already, mijo?” His father calls back, voice drained, “No, no, I don’t need anythin’. Go have fun.”

Rayne cocks an eyebrow up, and with a suspicious laugh, he adds, “I’m gonna swing by the apartment anyway to say hi to Abuela, are you suuure-”

“Actually,” his father concedes, “I could use a water. Oh, and my pills!”

“Knew it.” Rayne laughs, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Passing through to the side stairwell, Rayne climbs the steps two at a time. Now, the Ortegas owned apartment 410, on the fourth floor, so he had a bit of a hike, and through the cramped hallways, he expected to see not a single soul. After all, it was the middle of the day, and no kids got back from school this early. 

Instead, however, when he reaches the third floor, there’s a surprise. A woman standing in the hallway. 

The third floor housed three apartments, and though one often sat empty, the other two served two families, the Kimuras and the Seisma Tierras. The Kimuras were in 310, 311 was empty, and the Seisma Tierras live in 313 ( an error in the floor plan which had remained unchanged since, according to his abuela, the 1970s. ) Now, while the Kimuras were definitely home, the Seisma Tierras were not. It made the fact that the stranger was practically beating on their door incredibly surprising.

This woman, pale and thin, had white tentacles pulled into a bow at the back of her head, wore a surgical mask, and a full kimono. In this heat? She once more knocks on the Seisma Tierra apartment, desperate. “Three! Are you home?” If Rayne had to guess, she didn’t know he was there. Who the fuck is Three?

“Hey,” Rayne makes his presence known, chastising the stranger, “You’re gonna break their door down, or wake the baby across the hall. Whichever comes first.” 

The woman, gold eyes wide as saucers, takes one step back from Rayne. “Where is Th- Tsunaomi? She lives here, right?” 

Rayne Ortega has never been a fool. He watches TV, is a professional Rainmaker player, for goodness sake, and he has a knack for reading people. He also has a knack, apparently, for recognizing poorly disguised celebrities. It is, vaguely, amusing to consider why on earth Tsunaomi would have Marie Squidsisters ( do celebrities have real last names? ) knocking on her door. However, Marie’s distress is genuine, and Rayne’s not a fucking creep, so he doesn’t bother to play up his jokester exterior, or call her on her disguise.

“She flew out to Scaleford last week.” Rayne answers, and before he can say anything-

“No no no, what do you mean flew out?” There’s a rising panic in Marie’s voice, which Rayne tries to calm.

“She took a 6AM flight out east, INK to FIN, with a layover in CLC.” Rayne recites, before narrowing his eyes, hoping a shift in topic would get her to relax, “How do you know her, anyhow?”

“I’m a friend! Of hers-” Marie lies, voice tripping one word after the other, “From high school.” 

“De verdad?” Really? He wonders if Marie even knows who she’s talking to, “How’d you meet?”

Marie seems to search with her eyes, as if something about the wreath on the door would give her an answer, “W-we were on the gymnastics team together.” 

Okay, Rayne thinks, so she knows well enough to choose the right extracurricular, “Huh,” Rayne tuts his tongue, “Never saw you at the meets, and I’d know, ‘cause I went to every one of ‘em.” He offers his hand out, “Name’s Rayne Ortega, and I am Naomi’s best friend. So start ya story over.”

Despite the mask covering the bottom half of her face, it was evident that Marie realized she was caught in a lie. She did, however, shake his hand, so at least she was polite. “Okay, Rayne,” She starts, “Look, I’m just looking for Tsunaomi, and she’s not here- I just need her help-”

A piece clicks in his head, and Rayne says, “Anything you need Naomi for, I can do. What’s up?”

“I-” she pauses, trying to calculate an answer, “It’s not anything you would know about, Three was specifically told not to tell anyone else,” then, under her breath, “I guess that was… two years ago now-”

“You called her Three again. That’s not her name.” Rayne calls her out, before letting out a deep, tired sigh, “Listen, if I had to hazard a guess, the ‘two years ago’ you didn’t want me to hear is about is the Great Zapfish bein’ missing, like it is now. Meaning you know about Naomi disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back all bruised and shit. ( And ain’t your sister missin’ too- )'' Rayne shakes his head, “Look, I’m offering you help, because you clearly need it. Are we clear?” 

“We’re not clear. You have no idea what you’re signing yourself up for. Tsunaomi knew when she came to us, but you don’t- there’s no way you could-” Marie seemed to curse herself, muttering more, her face dour. Whatever threat she talked in circles about, she was genuinely scared of it. Then, she looks up to Rayne, and declares, “If you really want to help, meet me in the Square later today, and I’ll show you where we need to go.” 

“Deal.” Something gnaws in the pit of his stomach. 

———

RAYNE Okay, start talking.  Did you or did you not rescue the Great Zapfish two years ago?

TSUNAOMI No clue what you’re talking about. Hit your head?

RAYNE Nuh uh, cut that shit, 3. Zapfish didn’t magically come back on its own. Girl, you could’ve been killed. Why didn’t you tell me?

TSUNAOMI It was supposed to be a secret. I went out looking for it and ended up recruited by this old Captain, and I guess this is just my job now. Wait. Who the fuck told you?

RAYNE  One of the fuckin Squid Sisters? El verde.

TSUNAOMI Marie.

RAYNE Yeah. That one. So I’m right then? You got the Zapfish back? Dude, from WHERE?

TSUNAOMI Yes, alright, you’re right. Ask Abuela. She found out everything like a month in.

RAYNE Yo, you told my GRANDMA before me? That’s messed up. 

TSUNAOMI Actually, I told my mom first. Abuela Marisol just caught me sneaking out. Can’t keep secrets from her on her block.

RAYNE Fair enough. Next phone call tho, YOU are telling me everything. I gotta look out for you, Naomi.

TSUNAOMI I was looking out for you. For truth. I’ll call after class, ok? Love you.

RAYNE Love you too. Till death, alright?

TSUNAOMI Or handcuffs.

———

“Abuela?” Rayne peeks his head in, finding the apartment suspiciously empty. 

“Mijo, come out here, I’m on the fire escape!” She calls from the open window. Her voice is chipper, as if age had barely touched her. “There’s a parade down on 170th!” 

“Abuela, how can you see it from here?”

“Come out here, you can see all the floats above the building!” There’s always a glee in Marisol’s voice, whenever there is a city celebration. Though he could guess a reason, he’ll never know for sure.

Rayne could list all the facts he knew about Abuela's life before she came to the surface on one hand. She had been born underground, given that she was 89, and the war ended 100 years ago. She was a soldier, based on the strands of ceremonial kelp she hid in the back closet, and that she left sometime in her twenties, just based on the timeframe. And… That was it. She kept that part of her life very hidden from him, but her story on the surface was practically Shibooyah Heights legend.

Newcomer to the surface finds an apartment in Supa Nagano’s block ( Inkwell Buildings #1 - #10 ) and starts making money, scrubbing homes until her hands are raw, fixing cars and power stations because it paid better, and coming home to lament that she had to go so far south to get fresh food. One complaint from her, and soon enough, she noticed every time someone made an offhand remark. So, Marisol started saving, took what used to be an abandoned storefront, bought it, and gutted the entire thing. Put in fridges, put in a deli counter and industrial kitchen, and scrubbed the place top to bottom.

It was the first grocery store in the Heights. It’s the only grocery store in the Heights. Abuela’s fed people and made the corner what it is. When she opened it, it was just the Tienda. But then, a few years later she adopts a young Inkling kid. Then twenty some odd years later, she hands the store off to him, and Sunny Ortega changes the name. Doña Marisol’s, for everything she’d done for the community. 

Even now, she keeps busy. Abuela liked to walk the neighborhood, liked to stop and check in on every neighbor. Her late 80s hit her like absolutely nothing, and she stands on the fire escape, looking out at the city. At her city. She keeps her eyes on the distant festivities. “Dime tus problemas, mijo.” She doesn’t even have to turn around, her gray tentacles curling up in anticipation.

“Abuela,” he starts, stomach still twisting. “Two years ago, when the Great Zapfish went missing, you… you and a couple of the other Doñas and Obaa-sans, you said something about the Shogun being responsible. No one would tell me then what they meant by that.”

“Rayne, you don’t need to know-” Abuela turned, looked at his face, and almost immediately relented. The lines drawn into her face imperceptibly softened, “But you’re gonna find out whether I tell you or not, no?”

Rayne nodded. “If someone’s threatening this city, I gotta do something.”

“Ay, mi lluvia, you’re going to have to listen and listen well.” Abuela cast her view back to the city she loves, gold eyes filled with darkness. “Everyone knows the history. A hundred years ago, we’re cast from the surface. It was a tough life down there, mijo. Every day, working just to see that night, hoping for enough food, enough electricity, fighting tirelessly for a war that we lost.  Some of us figured out, we could just leave, so we snuck out. Came to the city, made our peace with it all, and started life over again. We fought for our rights to live in happiness, and we did it in the sun, in the rain, in the snow.”

“Not Octavio. Octarian King, Shogun, whatever people like to call him. From what the newcomers tell me, he is still bitter, and I cannot blame him in the slightest.” Rayne opened his mouth to ask a question, but Abuela cut him off. “Yes, two years ago, the UFO in the sky was Octavio, and it was our people who stole the Great Zapfish.”

“... But…” Rayne trails off, unsure what to say, “If there wasn’t electricity when you left, then surely they need the Great Zapfish. I-if that’s true, I can’t just take it back.”

“La estrella said the same thing, so I’ll tell you what I told her. The people may need help, but the man running the show, that power will be going to him and his war machines alone. Innocent people will die, mi lluvia.” 

“Wh- what am I supposed to do? What’s the right thing to do?”

“There’s not one right thing to do.” She answers him softly. Abuela turns, and her wrinkled, withered hands cup his face. “You, mi lluvia, you show mercy wherever you can. You help people, trade favors, play the game to win. Whatever it takes to get access to wherever he keeps the Octoweapons, and you destroy them, before they can be used. And you bring the Zapfish back.”

“Most importantly,” She presses a kiss to his forehead, “Do what you do best. Be kind.”

———

His afternoon now totally destroyed, Rayne set about his tasks ( Dad’s water and medicine, not forgotten in the mess ) before heading downtown. His leg bounces on the subway, anxiety seeping and soaking down to his core. Beak clenched as he gets off the C train, Rayne keeps his hands in his pockets. Do what you do best, she said. And he’ll listen. When he reaches Inkopolis Square, he follows Marie without hesitation, out somewhere he’d never seen before.

Emerging into sunlight, Rayne winces back. Across the way, Marie stands, her surgical mask now removed, and holding a parasol. Behind her is a worn down shack, radio antennas sticking out the top.

“So… You came.” She seems almost impressed.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Rayne sighs. “So, we’re getting the Great Zapfish back from Octavio, yeah?” 

Marie is taken aback, “So you do know. ( how is it everyone else gets to be prepared when they walk in? ) That makes things easier.” 

“This is Cuttlefish Cabin,” she begins, “and I am Agent Two of the New Squidbeak Splatoon. We protect Inkopolis from the Octarians' attempts to bring war. Our Captain and Agent One are… away.” Oh, sore subject? “Obviously, if I could have called Agent Three - your Tsunaomi - I would have. Training a new Agent on the fly... It’s risky.”

Rayne just laughs, blustering bravado, “Risky’s my game.” 

"I sure hope it is... Welcome to the team, Agent Four."

[inkantation]

tag drop

[inkantation-arch]

home is a door frame, somewhere deep in octo valley, where names are carved. inches, ages, names, each recorded with absolute care and precision. they descend, telling a story. a gaggle of cousins, the tale of growth spurts, a small house full of activity. places where the carving has been bumped, ever slightly. the steady handwriting, ever constant. they ascend, stopping at t, age 7, 53.43in. a tale of a house abandoned, lost to time as the floodwaters rose.

for home is a place far underground, and far underwater. you can't go back.

home is a girl with a guitar; she sits next to your bed, fingers plucking patterns and singing idly. "You'll be okay," she says, "I know you will be." you, tsunaomi, are marred, by bright teal, across an eye that doesn't see the same. but your psuedo-sister doesn't care, she's marred too, and reaches out over and over. a year of dull, burnt out exhaustion.

home is the sister who shares her excitement with you until you feel it too.

home is a common room, still deep underground. standard furniture, pillows and bedsheets piled and strung high. a fort, made by teenage girls. there's giggling, there's songs sung under covers. flashlights dance patterns as games are made up, the rules tweaked and changed, paperclips and pushpins as the tokens. one works on homework, signing her label e. yaki. the silhouettes of the girls, though, all piled on the floor, they have been gone.

for home is two, three, five years behind you now, as you near the surface. you can't go back.

home is a girl with paint splattered hands, ears open to you as she works a canvas. "You're gonna knock 'em dead," she says. "I know you will." you, eden, always have some second thoughts; the surface is full of promises, full of light. it's also full of critics. full of people who stare at you, when you play in a coffee shop. but your pseudo-sister smiles and cheers, allays your fears.

home is wherever your heart is.

[inkantation-arch]

Metal echoes foot steps across the Great Zapfish's dome. It was a great, circular room, made of dark steel and lit in neon blue and purple. The fantastical fish floats behind glass - the enclosure takes up half of the entire dome. They would not risk harm to it after all they had done to claim it. Space for the great fish was incredibly important. The rest of the dome was dedicated to protecting it, tunnels and winding corridors meant to confuse outsiders.

And, of course, these halls were patrolled. The squadron protecting it rotated every six hours, to prevent the slips caused by exhaustion. Each soldier was handpicked, the best of the best. But, with how often the Squidbeak agents pressed them, eventually, the perfect defense buckled. Their front lines breached, everyone was on high alert. Weapons drawn, at the ready for whenever day-glo yellow vests were spotted.

Red sirens flash, Civilian engineers run for cover, fumbling as soldiers usher them into back rooms and maintenance tunnels. The Agents approach ever closer. Each soldier calls out on the radio, when they're splatted, and the dwindling numbers frighten her; her pulse runs frighteningly quick, heartbeats in time with the emergency lights. More than her fear, though, Tsunaomi feels rage.

How... How dare they! They proclaim peace, they decry war, and yet, her soldiers are harmed. No one was left standing. It would be up to her. Everyone is counting on you, Naomi.

Standing atop a metal catwalk, she waits. Perhaps, foolishly, she wanted nothing more than to resolve this without anymore violence. But she doesn't have much faith in Inklings anymore. There are beacons scattered around the room, hidden down twists and turns that lead to nowhere, ink mines laid down to protect her flanking paths. Shei twirls her Octobrush, keeping herself sharp.

Metal echoes foot steps around the Great Zapfish's dome. Tsunaomi, once Agent Three, now Elite Seisma of the Octarian Army, jumps down from her perch.

[inkantation-arch]

@m1metic​ sent in: straight to video >:3c

memories on tape // accepting.

     grainy footage plays out a loud scene; flashing lights occasionally highlighting the abandoned warehouse.  the skylights are broken out and glass crunches under foot, as the camera person approaches closer to a group of teenagers circling around a guitarist.  though the music nearly screams, the revelry and loose lips gives the impression that no one else can hear the party.

      the circle centers around a young girl, dark skinned, who sticks her tongue out at the camera.  eden yaki looks alive in neon light, glitter glinting off her cheek and eyes.  she runs impressive riffs on an electric guitar. 

     it was a normal night, captured on tape: labelled e. yaki’s first show, and dated january 2016.  it was after everything changed; the teenagers partying were the rare glimmer of fun in lives full of running.  a peak into what their future might hold, in a land better.  in a land above.

[inkantation-arch]

octo expansion drabble

1.4k words, just some practice at writing a fight scene, really.

Naomi felt like paint scraped off a wall. Thrown from on high, only to awake in a crumpled heap, against cold, blue bricks. The air is thin here, much like it was on Mount Nantai; and yet, it’s not the same kind of thin air. Air with an artificial amount of oxygen pumped in, that distinct taste of airborne sanitizers, and it all leaves her with lungs feeling deprived and the back of her mouth being dry. 

But, she peels herself off the ground. First, her back screams at her, then the side of her head aches too, likely from impact. No matter, she thinks, she needs to get up, needs to find the Captain, needs to find that Octoling, before anything else finds them first. Her aches and pains can be ignored, tucked away in the back of her mind. Naomi is on her feet in seconds, Hero Shot in hand, and her backpack, slung over her shoulder. 

Surveying her surroundings, Naomi realizes that she has awoken at a dead end. Okay, she thinks, she can deal with that. All around her are brick walls, and the sky above is no sky at all. Like a glass fishbowl, water rippled above the city. She has no time to consider her panic about that, keeping her head on a swivel for any clues. 

No, she has to press forward, out of this alley, and perhaps into a street, perhaps with people - she can hear the low chatter of talking somewhere, she just has to find it. The first corner she rounds is fruitless - just the back doors of businesses and no one in sight. But, at least, there is the exit, where the alley seems to open up. 

Then, ice fills her veins.

“... Target for elimination…” 

A voice, crackling with the distance of an old computer speaker. A voice that was too close for comfort, perhaps no more than 3 meters away. Immediately, Naomi ducks behind the first staircase she sees, pressing herself to the wall.

One, two— no, four Octolings emerge from one of the back doors, and immediately, she knows something is wrong. Their skin is tinted a terrible shade of green - their eyes are empty, hollow, and yet glowing with unearthly, teal light. They move with one, singular purpose. Almost automated, they do not consider her hiding spot, instead, moving past Naomi. 

“Target in sight.” 

If Naomi is not the target, who is? She watches them move forward, closer to the main street. 

“H-hey,” another unfamiliar voice, this one mumbled and morphed, trying to appease, “I ain’t done nothin, cool cats-” The man is a long necked eel, with a pleather jacket around his shoulders, almost like an old school greaser. He stands tall, but four soldiers with weapons trained on him seem to cow him.

“The eel is accounted for,” the leader speaks, the kelp on her mantle denoting her as such, “Find the intruder.”

Mercifully, their attention is on the eel, and not on her. The leader has her weapon trained on him, ready to fire, as two of them restrain the man. That left the one, working their way back through the alley. Just a little closer, she thinks.

With the advantage, Naomi takes a moment to steady herself. She centers her breath, readies herself, and then pounces. Whipping the first Octoling in the head with the heel of the Hero Shot. They reel back, dualies still ready to attack. 

“Destroy her.” Again, the leader speaks, and with the cock of their head, one of the Octolings holding the man runs down the alley. With only a few seconds, Naomi grabs the Octoling, and spies an opportunity behind her. Launching them into a group of garbage cans, Naomi counts that combatant as down and out. 

One enemy still with the eel, one charging at her, and the leader, her gun still drawn. For his part, he was doing a terrific job with the two who were focused on him, thrashing and trying to waste their time. Or trying to kill them. She’s not sure.

The one charging has a brella in hand, annoying. Naomi feints right, making sure to give herself just enough paint coverage on the left. She waits for them to deploy the canopy before shifting, seamlessly, into her swim form, and jumping to the side. Popping out of the ink, she slams her shoulder into the enemy, forcing them into the alley wall, and they collapse. 

“What are you doing, girl, splat them-” She hears the eel growl, and elects to ignore it. 

As if on cue, though, the leader turns to her. They are apathetic, showing clear disinterest in the proceedings. “I will destroy the target, if none of you can.” again, that same glitched effect, like a synthesizer. 

Naomi doesn’t want to hurt them - whatever had turned them into these hollow representations of Octarians surely must be reversible, right? Surely, if she survives this new, terrible place, she can find some way to free them too. She raises her Hero Shot only in self defense, and watches how the leader levies their Octo Shot in return. Okay, she thinks, what do I do?

She has to shoot first, right? Or— she reaches back into her bag, and pulls out an autobomb - not the same as a seeker, but it’ll serve her purpose all the same. Tossing the waddling bomb into the fray, she waits a moment, and then, watching as the leader scrambles to get away from the bomb, she acts. Naomi pins the leader to the wall, knocking their Octoshot to the ground, the plastic scraping the bricks. 

Elbowing the leader in the head, Naomi knocks them out cold. She scoops up the autobomb in her free hand, disabling it. 

Spinning on her heels, Naomi finally turns to see the eel, his captor having been tossed aside, and pointing the discarded Octo Shot at Naomi. It’s still full of the enemy’s ink. His eyes are wide, furious, glinting in the neon light. Almost opening her mouth to question what the fuck, Naomi is cut off by a command.

“DUCK-”

Dropping herself lower to the ground, she watches as the shot flies, above her head, and into a green Octoling, her armor covered in bits of rubbish. Still set on her original intention, she rakes her claws across Naomi’s side, right as she pulls away. The enemy is splatted soon after, the ghost floating up… somewhere. Naomi just hopes they’re attached to a respawn. 

Naomi looks up, from the ground, at the eel offering her his hand. Reluctantly, she accepts his help, if only because wallowing in an alleyway felt like a good way to get the wound infected. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“That, kiddo, was a bunch of sanitized- you’re lucky your little beat down routine didn’t get you killed.” His voice sneers, and Naomi can’t help but argue back. “Shoulda splatted ‘em when you had the chance.”

“Sorry, I’m not in the habit of killing people without reason-”

He laughs, “Better get that outta your head, you’re in the Metro now, ‘sides, they was gunning for you before you ever woke up.”

“... Explain.” Naomi squints.

“What, are ya writing a book?” He rolls his large, frighteningly white eyes, “The clean octopi were already ordered to kill you.” 

“On whose orders?” She presses.

“Oh, you’re really off the deep, huh?” The eel shrugs, “I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually.” 

Naomi can’t help but feel anger rise in the back of her throat. “Some help you are, motherfucker-”

Quietly, a chiming, third voice called to them, “U-um, if you two are done arguing,” they both turned to lay eyes on… 

Oh my. Standing in the back doorway, right above where the outcold leader lay, is a sea sponge, but one unlike any Naomi had ever seen before. Her head is made of nebulous, connected orbs, glowing pale blue. She dresses modestly, a black dress, tight, and house shoes, and she dips her head slightly, each glimmering stalk moving with, “Please, come inside, before more of the sanitized arrive.” 

Before Naomi can question or argue, she turns to go back inside, “You may call me Ava, surface dweller, and you both may take my help or leave it.”

The eel tilts his head, “Nah, I ain’t down for that.” Before he turns away, he thrusts a blue, plastic device into her hands. A card that looked like a pass for the subway was tucked inside a small folder. Gruffly, he calls as he disappears, “Good luck, kiddo. You’ll need it.”