Work Text:
Language Barriers
A Splatfest is a fun event. Stal could've figured it out even if there wasn't a whole Splatfest chapter in the book he has to read in one of his classes at Marie Cuttlefish's Apartments for Upcoming Ink-Users. There are lots of lights in the sky, Off The Hook is performing awesome music, vendors are giving out free food, and all sorts of species are dancing.
Not him, though. He stays at a table near Crusty Sean's, an empty plate in front of him, adjusting his Knight t-shirt every few seconds. He likes the color, gray and strong, and he may have sketched a stupid little drawing of himself wearing armor standing between the Great Zapfish and DJ Octavio, and his teacher may have caught him doing that instead of writing about Splatfest law and he may have been signed up for an art class next month. Not that it matters. Maybe coming to the surface was a mistake.
An Inkling walks by and glances at him, stops, and does a double-take before he smiles and waves. Stal has no idea who that Inkling is, but he's got on a knight shirt, too, so Stal waves back. Please don't make him talk. He's failing his Inklish class please don't make him talk.
The guy waves again, almost motioning Stal over. Stal stays put. He doesn't wanna turf right now. He doesn't like splatting Inklings, not when he was supposed to... well.
And then the guy smiles at him, and spins on one foot, and points at Stal again, and, what. What?
Stal puts a hand to his tentacles, and yeah, they're kinda excited, and the guy comes closer and offers a hand, and Stal points at Deca Tower and shakes his head, because no, he's not turfing. But the Inkling shakes his head, grinning all over his stupid face, and spins on one foot and offers Stal a hand again, and Stal may be the worst Inklish speaker in the history of Octaria but he can tell when an Inkling is too stupid to leave something alone.
So he takes the guy's hand, and the guy pulls him up, and out of his seat, and into the middle of the square while Stal is still trying to get his balance. And then—oh.
Stal doesn't know how to dance, but the Inkling boy sure does. It's honestly impressive. The things he's doing with his feet are so fancy, so intricate, that in a fight Stal's sure no one would ever hit him. Except the Inkling laughs, and nudges Stal, and does something simpler, then points to Stal.
Stal tries to imitate it, the back and forth shuffle, and Inkling boy claps twice and shouts out a Booyah! and that gets him in the chest. It's... it's nice, to have someone happy, and then the guy shows him some hand sliding to go along with it, and coordinating both is trickier than marching in step while shooting but he does it and he grins down at the Inkling, a couple inches shorter than him, and the gray of his ink matches the gray of his eyes.
This time, when the Inkling boy offers Stal his hand, Stal takes it without hesitation. “Cave,” the boy says, touching one hand to his chest. “Cave Bacon.”
Stal touches his own hand to his chest. “Stal. Stalactite.”
Cave's shorter than him, but he raises his arm and does something and Stal spins under it, ducking a bit, and a laugh escapes from him. Cave laughs, too, then mimes eating. And, yeah, Stal could eat something.
Maybe coming to the surface was a good decision after all.