Work Text:
Fisher's Market
Knowing basic Inklish is one thing, but Oct-Minceling, her name is Minceling now, she doesn't have the word for this. The best she can do is go home early from turf and tell her yellow seahorse uncle, "The trees are sick."
He chuckles. "Hand me my sleeve; the fisher's market will open soon. They don't have autumn where you're from, do they?
Mince doesn't know that word, so she shakes her tentacles, even as she gets him his long sleeve and unsnaps the fin holes for him.
"When it gets cold enough, rain freezes and comes down as ice; we call that snow. Too much snow is too heavy for the trees, so trees with big leaves drop them in autumn and grow new ones in spring. They change color before they fall." He uncurls his tail and shimmies into the sleeve, doing up the snaps with his snout.
Mince looks out the window, at the yellow orange red brown trees, and smiles. If they're not sick... "I like it."
"Me too. Wanna come with me?"
Mince's tentacles curl with happiness, and she runs to change from her turfing outfit into the comfy cozy sweatpants and pulls her favorite fuzzy yellow hoodie on over her t-shirt. Soon she and Uncle Yellow are walking through the streets of Inkopolis. This time, Mince will remember the way.
But she goes straight when he turns left, and she has to race to catch up and grabs his flipper. "You'll be roaming Inkopolis like you've lived here forever soon enough." The fisher's market is in a huge building with pillars and a ceiling but no walls, and he leads her through it. "Today, you need to try a bunch of autumn foods and tell me which the horselings will like best."
"I can do that."
"Excellent. Now, shall we start with apples, pumpkins, or cranberries?"
Mince loves blackberries. "Cranberries!"
"Excellent. Mica has a cranberry crumble that's tail-straighteningly good. We'll start there."
Mince stretches one tentacle. It can almost reach his flipper. Soon, she'll be able to press his fin against her sucker. Then he'll know she loves him. But today, she lets him lead her through the rows of stalls, of fruit and seaweed clothing and the most delicious drinks, to one on the far side, except then she doesn't follow him because she stops so fast she pulls Uncle Yellow to a stop with her.
There's a large booth with a barrel of apples and a display of orange fruits and a large basket of bright red berries in the center, with all sorts of delicious looking baked goods. There's a sea turtle running the booth, her head turned as she speaks to a smaller turtle helping her set up some items in the back.
Every hexagon on her shell has a design on it.
Swirls, blue and gold and silver, sparkly white or orange; patterns, stripes and polka-dots and hexagons inside hexagons inside hexagons; landscapes, trees and rivers, beads and stones embedded in some patterns and others just paint.
When Uncle Yellow tugs her hand again, Minceling almost runs forward. “ How did you get those to stick?”
The smaller turtle almost drops the cask on their foot.
“ That is so cool how you have all the—is that superglue? What are those?”
The Sea Turtle turns toward her, but when she sees Uncle Yellow, she smiles. “Oh, is this the new adopted daughter you told me about?”
“It is indeed,” says Uncle Yellow. “Minceling, this is Mica; her family runs a farm and visits several markets selling their goods. Mica, this is Minceling; she forgets what language to use when she's excited.”
“She was asking about your shell,” says the other turtle. “They talk like that in the splatlands, sometimes. Hi!”
Mica raises a foot to pat at her shell. “Oh, this? I get another design emblazoned every couple years. Most of the paint ones fade away after that.”
“But the—” Mince remembers her Inklish. “But the stones, the—”
“Getting beads embedded is a bit more permanent,” she says. “But it's not that different from the piercings you lot get. If you all can get jewelry dangling from your ears and tentacles, I can have mine on my shell.”
Minceling's jaw drops. She can do what?
She's gonna have to look into this.
“Don't stare too hard, Mince; it's rude.” Her yellow uncle presses a container in her hands and offers her a spoon. “Time for a snack.”