Chapter Text
The rhythmic patter of footsteps, and the idle chatter of various lingering Inklings and Octolings filled the air of Splatsville as normal. Unlike normal, however, everything felt a bit more tense—like every resident was simultaneously in anticipation. Nobody had to question what was happening, they only had to question when—and they didn’t have to question long.
At the strike of the hour, every television screen in Splatsville suddenly lit up, a familiar jingle overpowering the booming, funky music blaring from the base of the lobby tower. A familiar blue, yellow, and white logo flashed on each screen simultaneously as the next step to the population’s excitement made their debut. Three figures matching the logo’s colors flashed on screen, a fiery passion in all of their eyes.
Deep Cut.
“Listen up, it’s going down!” Shiver began with an excited bang of their fan. “Repping the Splatlands, we are DEEP CUT!”
“Anarchy Splatcast! We’re LIVE!” Frye joined, pumping her fists in the air with more enthusiasm than normal, even for her.
“Ay! (Here we go!)” Big Man cheered, barely able to keep his fins on the screen he was holding.
“You lip-synch, we drip ink…”
“Ay, ay, ay! (Shiver, Frye, and Big Man!)”
A transition graphic featuring bubbles of all their ink colors flashed over the screen and wiped across. Instead of the usual theme song that plays during Anarchy Splatcast, their backing track for Splatfests was the one playing behind their words.
“Ay! Ay! (It’s time! It’s time!)” Big Man beamed.
“That’s right,” Shiver nodded. “After a long and tedious season of the Turf War Tourneys, we’ve got our final two teams to compete for the grand prize in the final showdown!”
“I can’t wait!!” Frye cheered.
“Ay, ay… (I wonder which team will come out on top…)” Big Man pondered.
“Woah, slow your roll, big guy. Give me a chance to announce our finalists first!” Shiver cleared their throat, fanning themselves quickly. “Ahem. The three of us at Deep Cut want to extend our highest praise to the two teams who managed to ink their way to the top of the bracket in the Season of the Schools. Let’s see who’s competing today!”
“Drum roll!” Frye called. “Budda-dudda-budda-dudda…”
The screen in Big Man’s fins flashed to a decently plain graphic—half of it was a deep blue, while the other half was a striking orange. In the middle of the blue section was what appeared to be the symbol of a blue, flaming Burst Bomb. In the middle of the orange section was a graphic of a Torpedo facing down inside of a shield pattern.
“BAM!” Frye cut in, pumping a fist into one of her palms.
“And there you have it, folks!” Shiver smiled. “Deep Cut sends major congratulations to our two finalist teams: the Blueberry Brawlers, and the Naranja Knights!”
“I bet you’re rooting for the Brawlers, Shiver,” Frye teased.
“What!? Who said that!?” Shiver interjected.
“Ay. (Frye did.)”
“Well—that’s besides the point,” Shiver was quick to change the subject. “In other breaking news—” they pointed to the screen in Big Man’s grip, and it flashed to a photo of two other prominent figures that captured the hearts of Inklings and Octolings alike: Pearl and Marina from Off the Hook.
“Oh, those two!” Frye chirped.
“Indeed. As per usual with our finalists, one of the many bands from around the Splatlands will be coming in to sponsor and represent one of the final two teams. As you can see, Off the Hook will be joining the three of us in sponsoring our champions!”
“Ay, ay, ay! (They’re sending support to the Naranja Knights, while we’re backing the Blueberry Brawlers!)”
“You really aren’t going to beat the bias allegations, Shiver,” Frye chuckled.
“My resting ink color has nothing to do with this!” Shiver snipped. “A hem . We look forward to seeing many Turf War fans gathering to watch this climactic showdown take place tonight at 9:00 p.m. at Flounder Heights!”
“You know where we’ll be!” Frye grinned.
“Ay, ay, ay! (I can’t wait to let loose and dance the night away!)”
“Seconded. You can get a lot done in one minute,” Shiver mused. “And that’s it…for now.”
“We hope to see you all tonight!” Frye beamed.
“Ay! (It’ll be a great show!)” Big Man cheered.
“From Splatsville, that’s a wrap.”
Shiver and Frye rose from their seated spots as Big Man’s screen was carted away.
“Catch ya later!” The two of them said in unison, striking their signature pose as the broadcast ended.
Before everyone knew it, all the televisions they’d been craning their necks to watch had went black. Immediately, an eruption of cheers and intoxicating energy filled Splatsville as the news of the finalists set into the crowd. Some were disappointed, most talked excitedly about their satisfaction with the results, theorycrafting on what the competitors’ strategies were going to be and who they thought was going to win.
If only they had a deeper insight on the players they were cheering for.