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It's been a long, long time since Octavio's seen inklings and octolings hold such close bonds with one another. The first time he'd seen Ida and Pearl together he couldn't believe his eyes, but hearing the news that his people had begun to occupy Inkopolis like any average inkling? It's like a mocking gesture, a slap in the face for the kind of king he must've been if they were so willing to form relationships with their longtime enemies. Sharing culture, language, things he'd worked so hard to keep down in the domes so they could thrive together, as one. And he's forced here to sit and watch and listen as his work crumbles in the form of these stupid, thoughtless bonds.
Octavio can't stand to see it.
He slumps against the glass, little bits of fake glitter shooting up into the air upon his weight. There's not much he can do in such an enclosed space. Nowhere to hide, exposed to the awaiting eyes of the Squidbeak. It's humiliating, degrading in ways he's both used to and also foreign in feeling at the same moment.
He feels invited to stare straight back into the eyes of whoever's decided to watch him like some kind of exhibition. It wouldn't be a huge shock to him if on the pedestal there's a sign that says ‘Come and see the fallen king of Octarians’, because that's all he is now, isn't it? A display of what happens when you can't rule well enough to keep your society from crumbling.
He'd seen the cracks beginning to form long ago; all he acted as was the glue that held what once was together, and now he's falling apart with the rest of what he tried to keep alive. At least those lucky enough to get away from the mess he's made are living freely with the inklings, the ones who managed to last longer and live happier lives than most of them ever will.
Every time he's forced to see those faces, Marie, Agent Four, Callie…it's like a cycle of the faces of those he's wronged, and those who also very much want him dead and would make it happen at a moment's notice. But Callie…
He can't even bring himself to feel anger seeing her, knowing what he did to the girl. And the emotion he actually does feel is even more pathetic than the frustration he already can't express in his situation. Even then, they're his only distraction, though two out of the three would prefer not to humour his boredom. Marie's sarcastic comments don't count much for entertainment, and Agent Four's stubborn belief that doodling random things to show to him in that notebook of theirs isn't considered help in his eyes, either.
Thinking is his only other option. Listening, too.
There's always conversation floating around him. Despite this place being desolate as it always is, more and more visitors incorrectly find it perfect for casual hangouts and energetic catchups. Ever since Marie had taken up this area as a camp to find her lost cousin, the vibe managed to change quite a bit. Nowadays, there's not a day that doesn't go without the laughter shared between cousins and idol groups, or the pen to paper from a certain non-verbal agent that he'll never trust around rainmakers again at this rate–Marie really does need to keep that inkling under control before they end up trying to ‘speedrun’ all the domes again, whatever that means.
Recently, though, they've had some new visitors. A short inkling girl, loud enough to be heard all the way from the other side of the canyon who's more than ready to burst his eardrums, and then there's Marina Ida there to tag along like a lost puppy. She's not changed much, though she speaks a little more clearly and she's decided to let her tentacles grow out a lot more.
Even so, he can still see that same girl from time ago. Still with that pinch of hesitation in her voice. Still with those expectant, naively hopeful eyes. He remembers the day he managed to crush that spark out of them, grind the last bits of her positivity into more fuel to run the army.
Something cold, dark, creeps up his chest, and he pushes it down with an eerie familiarity.
He's made many poor decisions over his hundred years, some much worse than others, and he knows that if he stopped and took the time to acknowledge every single bad thing he's done he'd have spent another hundred years sorting through them all, emotions spilling out of him that he's unsure whether he's capable of bottling back up again, and turn him into someone he's not. Someone he'll never let himself be. It only serves to further the struggle of living up to the standards of a king, and if he can't even do that then what kind of king must he be?
So, he lets himself ignore it. Like he ignores everything else. He ignores the adoration he can feel dripping from her voice whenever she comes to visit with the obnoxious inkling attached to her side. He ignores how happy she seems to be now that she's on the surface. The smile on her face. The joy in how she talks about Inkopolis. How kind her ‘fans’ are, (he knows better than to trust the affections of inklings by now.)
Octavio ignores it. He ignores it, and then ignores it even harder, with a little side of ignorance. It's easy, familiar. Comforting, even. And…harder, when he can't get away from it no matter how hard he tries.
The Splatoon always make sure at least one person is watching over him, and with the second idol group joining them recently he's had to endure more than just the usual bunch of nuisances. He's not been let in on why they're here, though it isn't hard to put the few bits of information he's overheard together.
Or, well, more so hear Pearl shout it in his ear for the millionth time. He can't understand how Ida does it, honestly. Has she already gone deaf somehow before she met the girl? Or did she lose her hearing quickly enough to be unbothered by Pearl's volume?
Anyway, it went something along the lines of a Metro, some guy called ‘C. Q. Cumber’, and these interesting ‘tests’. In Octavio's humble opinion, they sound more like weird, cruel challenges that whoever was in charge decided to create for the fun of it. Even hearing some of the details didn't make the whole situation any clearer. Thangs, trains, chatrooms, 8-balls which apparently drove the new agent insane.
Oh yeah, that too.
A new agent.
Agent Eight. A skilled one, from what he's heard, no doubt about it. One of his own. An octoling girl, sent to fight the doubly brainwashed husks of her former acquaintances. He'd known long ago that octolings were starting to disappear without a trace, and despite himself, a little part of him had hoped that they'd made it to the surface.
Well, evidently not.
Instead they'd met an even worse fate than being trapped underground as they were. Octavio had heard of the concept of sanitisation, though not to this extent. He wishes he could see what's become of those unfortunate enough to fall into the trap that is the Metro, as despite the gruesome nature of it, he can't help but be fascinated by the process and if he could potentially replicate it. Whatever Tartar had done to his people so far seems irreversible, and looking over the shoulders of the Squid Sisters while they came to the same conclusion didn't show signs of a solution either.
Still, the thoughts and ideas of saving those he failed stay surfaced in his brain whilst he thinks. And thinks. And thinks while there's still nothing better for him to do.
He prefers to keep his eyes closed to avoid any sort of interaction, especially none from a certain formerly-brainwashed Squid Sister, who apparently thinks pestering the octoling who once used her as leverage–not too long ago, mind you–is a great idea. It's not unfamiliar to Octavio, and he'd much rather not delve into the resemblance Callie holds of her grandfather, lest he dig up things so deeply buried he'll never get them back down again.
“Octaviooo!~”
A loud knock against the globe rattles Octavio into a startled defensive pose, before he stares into the excited eyes of Callie and relaxes back into the glass. He watches her casually lean against the snow globe, and she sends him a grin, eyes darting from side to side dramatically before leaning closer to the glass. As if she'd forgotten about the barrier between them, she accidentally squishes half of her face against it and nearly trips over herself in shock at the cold sensation. Unbothered after only a moment, she further pushes her face into the glass while squinting at Octavio.
“C'mon Tavio! You gotta listen in, Pearl and Marina are finally telling us more about the metro!” There's a conspiratorial tone to her voice as she continues to glance behind her to make sure no one's listening. Marie meets Callie's eyes not far from where they are, sitting by the cabin with Agent Four, and Callie laughs nervously and gives her cousin a small, guilty wave. Marie rolls her eyes, and waves away Callie's concern with her hand.
Callie lowers her eager voice to as quiet a volume as she can get it, which is only really a regular speaking volume, but it's still impressive for her. Octavio would rather not play into whatever false camaraderie she's trying to create between the two of them, but still decides to humour her and floats a little closer to where she's pressed up against the glass.
Her face brightens, grin widening. Octavio tries not to let the melting tenseness in his tentacles show.
“Sooo…” Callie holds up one hand next to her mouth, a somewhat ‘serious’ expression forming on her face. It's hard to call it serious, respectfully, when the ghost of another contagious smile tugs at her lips as she almost immediately struggles to hold up the image she was trying to create. “I heard it's gonna be something super serious! Marina told me yesterday that Eight's only just gave her the go ahead to tell us!”
She rocks back and forth on her heels, excess energy that could probably run the domes twice over seeping out of her like ink. Octavio has to fight off the interest he feels surrounding the topic of the Metro, and tries his best to respond with the most disinterested grunt he can muster. It doesn't really seem to work on Callie, or bother her, and she giggles softly and knocks on the glass once again. It doesn't startle him this time, and he looks at her expectantly.
“C'mon, I know you wanna hear the full story just like the rest of us!” Callie suddenly gains a sly look, and Octavio can already see the trouble before it's even happened in that smirk and those squinted eyes. She distractedly fiddles with her beanie, straightening it while taking a step closer to block Octavio's view of Marie and Agent Four. She covers both sides of her mouth this time, voice a low whisper as she leans in.
“I also heard it has something to do with gramps…”
Octavio splutters, and Callie bursts into a fit of giggles. Oh that little-
He quickly manages to spit out the words ‘shut it’, though Callie doesn't take any notice. She shrugs, taking a step back and glancing at Marie. With a final look at Octavio's widened eyes, she makes a small fist bump motion and turns around, feet guiding her back to the cabin.
He's not sure if he heard it correctly, but Octavio could've sworn that he picked up on her muttering something along the lines of ‘knew it!’ as she happily walks away.
Wow. So…
Craig. He already knew the inkling was there on the agent's mission. Hard not to notice his earlier disappearance when the only other thing he has going for him is the Squidbeak, and even then all this is just a bunch of paranoid precautions taken by a delusional war hero. Still, he hasn't even seen him since his last plans were foiled. Despite giving him terrible deja vu, this time around he's in captivity by the inkling's kin rather than the man himself.
The thought of actually being made aware of what Craig's gotten himself into is tempting, and another thing to hang over his head once he's back in the Canyon if his gut's right in telling him it's another one of his bad decision making stunts. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to hear the news of something involving Craig from someone else, and this is already proving it's not the last, even a hundred years later.
Some things die hard, apparently. Craig himself included.
Octavio decides to glide closer to the glass, leaning against it as casually as he can make it appear, turning his head just enough so his ear's pressed into the material. He closes his eyes to make sure no one catches on, though he can already feel Callie's eyes staring into him so hard he's probably gonna have a hole burned there by the end of it. Even without looking, he can sense the smile aimed his way.
Footsteps break the silence. One pair long-strided, the other rapid and thudding quickly to catch up. The owners of them are easily distinguishable even without looking.
“Yo, yo, yo! What is up you guys?”
For such a short girl, Pearl really does shout with all she's got in her. Octavio only just stops himself from flinching, shuffling a little further from the glass before he ends up going deaf. He's lasted long enough with his hearing, and he's not gonna let it be the work of an inkling which causes it to deteriorate.
“Pearlie!” And there goes Ida. Probably clinging to Pearl's side no doubt. Whenever the two are together it's impossible to get one off the other, no matter the situation. It's disgustingly romantic, and Octavio can't imagine the public displays of affection have died down any since the last time he saw them.
“Callie, Marie! It's been a while, hasn't it?”
Octavio listens to Marina once again, and before he knows it he's zoning out and only half paying attention. He's not interested in meaningless conversation, and by the excruciatingly pleasant tones he hears the Squid Sisters take on–more specifically Callie–he can tell it's nothing more than unimportant greetings. Nothing he needs to take time out of his day to keep tabs on.
Bored already, he cracks his eyes open, mainly just to stare at the surrounding shrubbery with nothing more than random thoughts on his mind while he waits.
Marina and Pearl. Callie and Marie. The agents. Craig has everything, doesn't he? People who care about him, people who respect him without the interference of propaganda or indoctrination. It's everything Octavio could've had if he had been a good leader. They both fought in the same war, and yet Octavio's the one with nothing to his name but a half zombified population and a muddied name to those left competent enough to know it, no less remember it in the case of the inklings.
And now there goes that longing sensation again. For something he could've had. Something he deserved. Back then, at least, before he'd become what he is now. If things were different, would he be out there with them? Talking and laughing, comfortable enough to relax?
Well, it’s definitely been a good while since he's had someone relax in his presence. Not even Callie trusts him fully, and for good reason, too. He can't blame her for tensing up when he makes too quick of a movement, or when he makes threats that don't sound empty enough to ignore.
The only exception he can think of is Craig. Stupid Craig, with his stupid survival instincts. Octavio would blame the man's calm demeanour while around him on having lost them long ago, rather than a real demonstration of the extent to which he's willing to forgive.
Right. That's just Craig for you.
Octavio has to drag himself back into the moment before so much time passes he misses what's important completely. The talking from Callie and Marie has ended, and he can only assume it's been replaced with captivated attention on whatever it is Ida's telling them.
Her storytelling needs a little work–he's heard better, though he'd rather die before he admits from who–and she has a habit of emphasising the more unimportant details and then skimming over what should be the most attention-grabbing parts, but with Pearl by her side to chime in and clear up what Marina doesn't they make quite the storytelling duo.
Some of it he's already aware of. To be honest, someone really needs to tell that girl that no, they do not need to be retold the events they heard only a few days ago. They all have to wait for the new stuff with baited breath, and even in the globe he can feel the thrum in the air and, if he listens closely, the sound of one Squid Sister shaking the other in poorly contained excitement.
Octavio sneaks a glance back at Ida.
She's now got a hand covering her mouth, the other by her side being occupied by Pearl's own. The inkling girl seems to be rubbing circles into the back of her hand, and Octavio can only assume that whatever's coming up next won't be the nicest of topics.
Well. He can't really say that for anything else he's heard so far either, considering he's had to learn of the mass execution of his people from chatter amongst idols. The fact that it was even revealed to him indirectly only adds more salt to the wound.
“That's when-” Ida takes a shaky breath, Pearl leaning into her side. “When Tartar finally combined all the thangs.”
Octavio's eyes widen, and he has to stop himself from forgetting his place here and turning around fully to listen. Now this is interesting. They'd been told of the four ‘thangs’ already, but only through offhanded mentions and nothing enough to reveal what they could actually be. Maybe they'd done it intentionally to keep the suspense up until now, or maybe they'd forgotten that everyone else who hadn't been involved in the journey weren't aware of what the term meant.
Whatever the case may be, it doesn't matter for much longer as Ida finally tells. She tells them about how the sentient phone collected all these pieces of junk and put them together to create something beyond the comprehension of the two people there to witness it. How Craig had apparently led his agent into the contraption without a second thought.
Octavio very nearly sinks to the floor, his folded tentacles falling to his sides and feeling as though a strange numbness had come about them. His head is flooded with a million thoughts, and yet only one sticks out to him.
Craig nearly got himself killed. Again.
He shouldn't be surprised. The inkling's always been a magnet for trouble, even back then, and the news that he's put himself in harm's way once more should be relieving for him. He should be more upset that Craig didn't actually end up dying.
And yet, that thought in particular causes the sharp coldness in his hearts to increase unbearably, stabbing into him like ice. They pound against his chest, a lopsided rhythm so strong he could almost pretend all three were there again.
He should be celebrating the near-death of his biggest rival.
So why isn't he?
Octavio shudders, whatever Ida's saying now going in one ear and straight out the other. It's like everything around him turns to nonsense, nothing he can really understand at this very moment.
Something's wrong with him. Something has to be wrong with him. Why do his tentacles tremble, why does he break into a cold sweat at the mere thought of…
Of no more Craig.
No more visits from Craig. No more late night silences that feel comfortable in ways he can't describe. No more of Craig listening to his hateful words, and despite their nature, treating them with kindness and respect even he knows he doesn't deserve.
Maybe it's stupid, but Octavio is an octoling of little friendships, and he hates to admit it but Craig is one of the few people he's known long enough to perhaps even…care for.
…no. That can't be right.
He cares for his people, not some squid who betrayed his trust and then continued to belittle him and his army. Maybe it's some weird form of stockholm syndrome, maybe he's coming down with an illness that makes him feel things he's not supposed to, and that's why he finds his breath being stolen away every time he thinks of Craig leaving him for good.
To be honest, he can't really say he's thought of the idea much. Yes, he's always fought with the objective of finally getting back at the inkling for what he did. Not that he was driven by the goal of killing him, per se. His main intentions were to steal the Great Zapfish and then Craig's untimely death may have been an extra bonus, and a satisfying one at that.
But the aftermath? The one person who's still here with him after so many years finally being gone? It doesn't sound as appealing as it had previously, when he was outside the globe.
Being in here's given him way too much time to mull over the idea, and now he can't say whether he's so sure about Craig's death at all. Maybe just a permanent injury? Or some sort of brain damage to put at least something other than Octarian hate into that shrivelled old brain of his?
Oh, Octavio is fucked, isn't he?
Thinking like this doesn't help his situation, no, not at all. He's shivering, trembling, and he isn't sure if it's just because of Callie's eyes he can feel on him but he feels exposed and sensitive to everything around him. He doesn't usually feel so much, no less show it.
Octavio forces himself to take a few deep breaths, and the shaking stops. It doesn't seem like anyone else has noticed his inner turmoil-turned-physical-panic, though Callie sends him a concerned frown when she meets his eyes. He waves her off with a tentacle, and he can tell it isn't easy for her as she drags her attention back onto Ida.
Marie and Four are still hooked on every word coming from Ida's lips, though he does pick up on Marie's tightened grip on her umbrella and the sharp glare she sends his way when Callie isn't looking. There's a distinct furrow to her brow which accompanies it. He's almost appreciative, but he'll have to be more careful next time.
How could he slip up like that? A little bit of violence scaring a king? Really? He's got an image to uphold.
The troubles surrounding him aren't new, if anything it's a comfort they're around even today.
That's why he should be grateful and bottle them up like he's supposed to. It's a responsibility he chose to uphold the moment he was crowned, and he'll let Craig actually die before he fails to do so.
The stress of the situation slowly begins to lure him into exhaustion he knows isn't real, and yet he can't help but accept the fact that something clearly isn't right with him and should really get some form of rest, no matter how little.
With a sigh, Octavio closes his eyes once again, and this time a real slumber falls upon him.
It's when he opens his eyes again that he notices the sky is dark and the idols are nowhere to be seen. It isn't the easiest to tell, considering his vision is blurred and watery from waking up, but the lack of chatter is obvious enough.
He can only assume they got bored and left with one another, like they've been doing more often nowadays. Since bonding together over saving the world, they've been taking more time to get to know each other–most times while he's in the vicinity because he's apparently much too dangerous to leave unattended.
It means that the realisation that they were so ignorant as to forget to leave someone in charge of watching over him before they left is a strangely hurtful one. They could've at least woken him up to say goodbye.
…not that he would've wanted to say goodbye, but it's the thought that counts. He should be respected enough to deserve a proper parting at the very least, maybe even a bed if he's lucky enough to convince one of them.
A quick scan of the makeshift homely environment leads him to the conclusion that they must've left to go eat and talk about whatever it is that idols talk about. Probably about how good their lives are and all the adoring fans they have. And he's sure of this because of the very clear signs they left behind: the way their items are positioned and the boot imprints in the dirt help him understand their hunger and longing for conversation and-
He's just kidding, he can see the scribble in Callie's messy handwriting on her pink diss-pair themed calendar that, from what he can tell, says ‘lunch with off the hook!!!’ in a pen that's way too glittery for his tastes, under what he can only assume is today's date. Or it could say ‘bunch with opp the book’–that girl really needs to sort out her handwriting.
Octavio stretches his tentacles above his head with a groan, the tips squishing into the top of the globe. Sometimes he forgets about how cramped the space is, and he's ninety percent sure it's even more enclosed than last time; maybe when rebuilding it they'd lost a few of the shards after his first escape. Or, just as likely, Marie felt the need to make his stay even more uncomfortable.
He's glad the girl isn't here right now, or else she'd probably be confronting him about earlier. There's no way she didn't notice his little episode, and knowing her she'd want to bring it up as soon as possible. He can't even blame her for that, even he wishes he could confront himself over whatever the hell happened.
At least the cool breeze seeping in through the cracks is a nice sensation. It's a distraction he welcomes with open arms, and Octavio allows himself to relax and sink to the bottom, leaning against the equally cool glass. He closes his eyes, and the calm embrace of sleep begins to tug at him again. He knows that he should probably be taking advantage of the fact that no one's here but…
He cracks an eye open, scanning the area. After a closer look, he's confident that the small bit of colour peeking out from inside the cabin is that of an inkling, more specifically Four, so there isn't really a need for him to try what he's been doing unsuccessfully for days, right?
Eh, whatever. He closes his eyes anyway.
Octavio can feel his mind beginning to drift off, warmth dabbing at the edges and pulling him to someplace where he won't have to face the reality which he lives in. He must say that sleep can be quite nice, really, when he's given the time to ignore everything around him even for just a short moment.
The surrounding nature acts as a comforting ambiance, lulling him into a much needed break. He appreciates that he's far enough away from any of the domes not to hear the familiar clanking of metal and subdued groans from the Octarians. As much as he wishes he could, his beats only extend so far as to drive their little brains into hard relentless work, though sadly not enough to keep them ignorant of the conditions he put them into. Distraction from cold and starvation isn't as easy as he wants it to be.
Guilt tries to claw its way up his chest, and he muffles it easily. He's gone for too long without the luxuries belonging to the inklings, his people too, and this should only be used to spur him on into larger attacks and even more threatening advances into their territory for the future. He may not have many of his people left with him, but the ones still there deserve the best he's able to get.
But for now, he should be allowed to enjoy the silence. It's nice to be able to sit there without being surrounded by the stench of rot and decay, or oil from machinery long destroyed by the Squidbeak. There's no crashing from walls falling apart, or cries from soldiers wounded.
Just the grass swaying with the breeze, and papers strewn about on the bench outside the cabin rustling and restless with each strong gust of wind.
And the sound of footsteps thudding against the grate after a long journey from Inkopolis.
Octavio would've opened his eyes to see who it was, but the sound of that uneven gait isn't hard to distinguish.
It's been a while since he's seen Craig. He doesn't open his eyes yet, though. He'd rather not talk to the man right away; that's a job in which a lot of mental preparation is necessary.
The dull thud of his bamboozler-turned-cane slowly passes by his globe. The sound stops for a moment, and Octavio can only wonder if Craig might've seen through his false sleep, before the sound starts once again towards the cabin.
Craig whistles some annoying tune as he hobbles over to the structure. The footsteps slow to a stop at the doorway, and he listens as he places his bamboozler against the wall like he does usually and carefully makes his way further inside.
Octavio isn't too sure what's going on there, but whatever it is consists of the snoring that'd been coming from there previously stopping and being replaced by many tired woomys, along with Craig's low voice muttering something to what he can only assume is a newly awoken Agent Four. And Agent Eight, apparently. Even with the inkling talking he can still hear the mumbled octarian without fail, even if it's a little warbled and slurred with sleep.
Hearing Craig's soft spoken responses in octarian make his hearts react in ways he knows they shouldn't. The fact that he still knows the language after so long, even while he and his people were stuck underground…
He folds his arms, drifting a little towards the side furthest from the cabin. It's not like he can create much space–he barely has any for himself–but it calms his brain and the pounding in his chest enough to be worth it.
After a click sounding out from inside, Craig's footsteps retreat from the cabin, and the thudding of the banboozler returns too. He doesn't realise how close he gets until there's a sharp snap and something falls heavily to the floor.
Neither of them say a word.
He shouldn't have been expecting Craig to try and talk to him anyway, he's supposed to be asleep, but this amount of quietness feels weird even for Craig. No tapping of his foot, or whistling like just a few minutes ago. He might even be able to describe the inkling as calm, and isn't that just a funny thing to associate with him?
It lasts for minutes longer, and it feels as though the lack of talking is chipping away at his determination to keep up the act of sleeping every second that passes by. He couldn't even fall asleep if he tried now, knowing Craig isn't far. The air feels tense around him.
He shifts slightly.
“I know yer awake.” There's a soft tapping on Octavio's globe, and he already knows there's no way of getting out of this.
Slowly, he opens his eyes, and is immediately met with the sight of Craig laid back in a folding chair that should've been thrown away ages ago. The inkling shuffles into a more comfortable position, staring straight ahead, and he can literally see little bits of rust crumbling off the metal. He grimaces, and after a moment he turns to face the same direction as Craig, looking at whatever's still visible in the dark cloak of night.
“Yeah, right.” He scoffs, eyes trailing the small bushes and weeds growing around a few of the test dummies. “I doubt your old eyes could've seen more than the silhouette of the globe, no less my face.”
He can hear movement beside him, and glancing at the inkling only makes him want to punch that slimy old hipster even more than usual. His smug smirk is visible even through his mess of a beard, and it's the same one he's always hated no matter what.
Craig fusses with it, toying with the tips while he hums distractedly. He doesn't seem to care at all, and Octavio can't say he's surprised.
“Your tentacles were too tense. An’ you were too upright, too. Don't think I can't see through yer little pretense.” Craig chuckles softly, a fond tinge to his voice that makes Octavio want to throw up. His ears lower slightly. “It's been a while, ain't it? I see you've attempted fer the zapfish again.”
“And you of all people should know why.” Octavio almost growls it out, shoving himself into the glass to try and meet Craig's eyes. “If it weren't for you I'd have no need to even see you again.”
He takes a deep breath and moves away from the glass, seeing how Craig didn't even bother to look his way not helping at all. His eyes trail over the inkling’s form, lingering on the heavy eyebags and deep wrinkles that aren't just from age.
“Why're you even here?” He grumbles, tearing his eyes away from Craig's face.
“To watch over you,” Craig seems to pause, as if in thought for a moment, before a smile forms on his lips, barely visible yet Octavio can still see the way his eyes light up. “The girls told me they were headed out with those Off the Hook fellows, and Agent Four here was s'pposed to be watchin’ but…”
He suddenly whips out an old phone, one that's seen much better days; it isn't the same model as the last one he saw Craig with. This time with a small, slightly fuzzy screen instead of just the ancient thing he knows the inkling treasured. It lights up with a soft buzzing sound, and he has to watch in silence as Craig fiddles with the damned thing before a low quality image pops up in front of them. He pushes the screen into the glass with a quiet clink.
“An’ this is the state I found em in. Ain't it adorable?”
On the phone, if Octavio squints, is an image clearly taken moments before Craig woke the Agent up. They're looking up at something just behind the camera, most likely Craig, blearily, half falling off their seat and a few tentacles stuck to their face. Their arms are full with what looks to be a still fast asleep octo, its tentacles clinging onto their arm which they've lifted slightly as the picture was taken. They're both covered in a bright lighting, probably from Craig forgetting to turn off the flash again.
“I was wonderin’ where they'd run off to when I got ‘ere,” He lets out a hearty laugh, pulling the phone back to look at it for a few more seconds before shutting it off and returning it to his pocket. “I guess they decided to do some bondin’ with our newest Agent!”
Octavio rolls his eyes at that. Sure, he must admit that the picture is a little endearing, but he despises the fact that now there's another relationship of some kind between an inkling and an octoling. He's already sick to death of Pearl and Ida, and now if he has to endure another pair that can't keep themselves off each other he might do the Squidbeak a favour and just end himself for them.
“You should fire these new recruits, then. Sleeping on the job? Really?” He barks out a laugh, staring at Craig's face for any sort of reaction. “C'mon, you can't really have such slackers working for the Squidbeak, can you?”
Craig doesn't respond for a long minute, and Octavio's smirk grows wider.
The inkling lets out a soft breath, and he pulls the bamboozler which had been leaning against the chair to rest in his lap. Octavio watches him trace the grooves in the bamboo with a finger, and he can only guess what's on the other's mind. He knows the Squidbeak are like family to him. Some even are.
“They're new. And anyway, you ain't much of a threat Tavi.” In an instant, the barrel of the bamboozler is pressed against the glass right where Octavio is. The octoling nearly flinches, but Craig has always been one for dramatics, and he's no more surprised than he is impressed at his swiftness even at an age like this. Craig calmly lowers the weapon back down, slower than when he'd pointed it at Octavio, a glint of something in his eyes.
“You can't even fake sleep well! It's easy to tell when you haven't curled up all cute like you used to.”
“I never used to do that!” Octavio all but shouts the words, a dark magenta spreading from across his face to the tips of his tentacles. Craig laughs, patting the glass calmly.
“Calm yer seahorses, I don't judge. I still remember when you used to pull me back to bed when I-”
“Shut. Up. I don't know what you're talking about, maybe your old brain can't remember things correctly anymore.” Octavio turns an even darker shade, turned away from Craig's view. He folds his arms once again after they'd uncrossed whilst he spoke to wave around a little in a definitely not desperate manner. He huffs out a breath, taking a few seconds to calm down.
They both go silent.
It drags on for what feels like ages, and Octavio listens to the calm breeze outside the globe, and it's times like now where he really wishes he could feel nature again. He never really got a chance to, before this. From being underground to trapped in a globe, he's not been given much time to stop and take a break, appreciate the scenery he's had to go so long without.
He looks over the small section of the canyon they're in with half lidded eyes, and soon enough they move onto Craig. It's the same Craig as always. Heavily balding, bony stature, knees that look like they can barely hold up his weight. Now isn't the time to dwell on how time has changed the two of them, but it's a funny thing to see the man he hates turn so weak.
“You don't know me well enough anymore, Cuttlefish.” Octavio grumbles, eyes fixed on Craig, who's still staring off into the ashy sky. He shakes his head, groaning softly. “And I was asleep, not like you'd know that. Just get it into your puny head that you don't know me, and you never will again.”
A beat of silence passes.
He can see the way Craig's shoulder's tense, and his grip on the bamboozler tightens. It takes only a second for him to relax again like nothing happened, but Octavio knows he got into his head. He's already been trapped in a snow globe while Craig's in the vicinity, so he's experienced enough to know how hard it can be to get under the inkling's skin. Surprisingly enough, it doesn't feel as rewarding as he'd thought it'd be to have actually achieved it this time.
That shouldn't matter. Craig shouldn't matter.
And so, Octavio waits for an unbearably long amount of time afterwards; it gets to a point where it's impossible to let it go on for any longer. All Craig does is stare into the sky with a distant look in his eyes, and it's worse than just being watched regularly like he is with the other agents–being here with Craig not saying a word is more awkward than anything else to exist.
He wracks his mind for something, anything, to break the silence…
“What happened in that Metro?”
Octavio can see the slight flinch from Craig. Well, less of a flinch and more of a sudden straightened posture and a grip on his weapon, but it's certainly not what he would label a ‘calm response’.
He shrugs loosely, slumping back down into the chair.
“I'm sure ya heard most o’ what happened from ‘Rina. That Tartar put poor Agent Eight through some nasty tests and then tried to wipe us all out.”
Yeah, that is really downplaying what actually happened. Octavio wasn't even there and he knows that there was way more to the story than just Craig's understatement of the century. He's not sure what happened to his storytelling, especially when it comes to events with such drama that even he could make it interesting, but it's so unlike the inkling he nearly interrupts his talking just to butt in with a ‘that's it?’.
He waits for a moment longer, but apparently Craig doesn't feel like there's more explanation needed.
“Yeah yeah, I heard all that from Ida.” Octavio pauses, folding his tentacles a little too tight, almost even around himself. “But don't tell me you've forgotten about the whole ‘walking into what is very clearly a blender’ thing. What was that?”
He pokes a tentacle into the glass accusingly, glaring at Craig, who seems to be caught off guard at him bringing up the situation. Maybe he hadn't even realised 8 gave Ida the go ahead to tell them, and that only fuels the anger bubbling up inside him. He bets Craig didn't even want him to find out about that slip up on his end.
“N-Now, now, what's gotten you all riled up about this?” Craig's hands raise placatingly, and he has this stupidly guilty look on his face that Octavio knows for a fact isn't genuine. The inkling even gains a softness to his voice that makes Octavio want to punch through the glass and give him a piece of his mind for thinking he can calm him just like that.
“Whaddya mean ‘riled up’? You think I care about your little stunt that much?” He makes sure to put as much venom into his words as he can, scowling in Craig's direction. “I would rather you have died in that stupid machine!”
“Then why're you so not riled up ‘bout this Tavi?”
“I…” Octavio falters, taking a breath before responding with a little less aggression, “I can't believe you would be so negligent as to risk the life of one of your agents.”
Craig's eyes dart away from his, a slight flush forming on his face.
“I must admit…that was quite the lapse in judgement on my part.” He shakes his head, and with what looks like hesitation he pulls his eyes back to meet Octavio's. “But we had no way of knowing it was a trap! We'd been stuck down there for Cod knows how long and it was our only salvation! Can ya really blame us?”
“You knew it was a blender. I know you did.” Octavio raises his voice in response to Craig's flimsy excuse. He can't believe the inkling would think to make him seem faultless in the near-death of both him and the innocent octoling he forced along to play agent.
“Well, I…” Craig freezes. His hands tighten on the bamboozler, gently placing it aside. He turns his chair to face Octavio's direction and folds his hands in his lap, and actually being able to get a closer look at the inkling doesn't do him any favours. Craig's eyes tug down with bags heavier than he's ever seen, while his fingers have a stronger tremble than usual.
Octavio almost wants to calm down, to give Craig the benefit of the doubt when he looks so exhausted like this. Almost.
“I didn't think you could be so stupid- so careless!” He's just a touch away from shouting, and he can't seem to find it in himself to care whether it bothers the two lovebugs back in the cabin. At least the agent he least wants to hear this doesn't even understand much inklish yet–just another thing Craig looked past down in the Metro.
“I know you're not that clueless, Craig.”
“Ah, you see,” He mumbles a few nonsensical words, some sort of response or another, before his eyes dart away from Octavio's. “I must admit, it did look quite…blendery.”
Octavio scoffs, “That's all you have to say? You walked right to your death there knowing full well what was bound to happen!”
“And so what if I did?” He taps his fingers together, breath hitched and brows furrowed.
“So what if you-” Octavio gapes at him, “So what if you did?”
Craig takes a second, before his eyes widen and he quickly raises his hands in the air half heartedly. “We had no other choice Tavi, even if I may ‘ave recognised the thing it doesn't mean there was anything else I coulda done…”
“You had Ida watching over you. She was one of my best mechanics, I'm confident she could've figured out another way that didn't include playing with your agent's life! With your life!”
“I'm sure you would've been happy if it were me who died.” He frowns, a solemn tone to his voice.
“I don't know what I would do with myself if you died!”
…
Craig's face falls. He opens his mouth, then closes it, and then opens it again still without a word. Octavio knows he said the wrong thing, but the least Craig could do is answer. Preferably with an apology, and also by doing the right thing and not acknowledging what he just said.
He can feel his tentacles twitch, and he has to stop himself from shying away from Craig's shocked stare before he loses the advantage he has in the conversation. The tension is palpable, and even through the globe he can feel it in the air.
“Tavi I-”
“Don't ‘Tavi’ me. You can't pretend that we both aren't aware of your tendencies.”
Craig's ears droop, and it takes a lot of effort not to back down when he's already got this far in breaking down those shockingly high walls of his.
“I know how you are, and I'm not gonna let you go get yourself killed by something as stupid as a blender!” Octavio waves his tentacles, sending a dirty look Craig's way when it looks like he's gonna start talking again. “No, no, don't even think about lying to me about this again. I don't want any excuses Cuttlefish.”
He has to calm himself before he ends up shouting again; it's a hard task when Craig has the audacity to try and look confused.
“I don't know if it's some part of your brain making you do it and you're not even aware but-” He groans, wiping two tentacles down his face. “You head straight into danger without even thinking! Do you never have time to consider the consequences of your own actions?”
Craig doesn't interrupt his rant, he doesn't even speak up when Octavio goes silent for a short moment. He's not sure whether it's because he went on for so long that whatever response he had dropped out of his head, or if he really managed to stun Craig Cuttlefish into silence.
“I know how you treat your own life, and I can't let you just ignore it like this. You've been this way since we met, but…walking into a huge blender is pathetic, even for you.” His voice softens, and he can't keep the trace of guilt out of it. “Why do you think it's okay to do this to yourself, huh? You have a family Craig, what about your grandkids?”
“I…” Craig's so quiet it's almost inaudible. He lets out a breathy laugh, closing his eyes and tilting his head down a little. “I guess I can't really deny anythin that ya said.”
He blinks hard, and the glint of a tear shimmers in the corners of his eyes. Octavio has to fight the urge to wipe it away for the inkling. It's not like he could, anyway.
“I'm sorry for worryin’ you Tavi.” He pushes the bottom of his palm into one eye, rubbing it tiredly.
“I wasn't worried about you.” Octavio mutters at the sight of Craig, listening to his wet, raspy chuckle. He hates it when people cry around him. “I care more about your grandkids than I care about you Craig. You of all people should know you lost that right years ago.”
Craig shakes his head, smiling fondly. He moves a bit, turning his chair to face the scenery again. His eyes open, glassy and clouded, and they trail the plants and the cabin and the little plush zapfish that've made their home in the corner as a little pile near the cabin. Then, they make their way to meet Octavio's.
“I can't say the same for myself.”
“...what?” Octavio mumbles, tensing up.
Craig rubs the back of his neck shyly, what tentacles he has left swaying in the wind. He directs his attention to the floor beneath his feet, a small smile on his face.
“I have'ta say…I've been worryin’ for you for far too long. Guess I shoulda known you wouldn't feel the same way.” He speaks softly, only a low whisper as he refuses to meet Octavio's eyes. “Seein’ what you'd become…how yer position o’ power was treatin’ you…I couldn't recognise you for a good while. Been waiting to see the same ol’ Tavi after all these years, even if I always knew you wouldn't appreciate it.”
“You…” Octavio's head feels like it's spinning, and the only thing grounding him is the pure shock of the situation. “What?”
“I-I know it sounds a bit strange but,” Craig hums, tilting his head slightly, “I thought that if I put you somewhere that'd give you time to think alone then it'd make things better.”
Octavio sends a concerned glance Craig's way, listening to the inkling chuckle humourlessly. It's a horrid sound, not when his laughs usually make him feel warm in an indescribable way.
“I guess I haven't been doin’ that too well, have I? I've been sharin’ my own thoughts more than I've given you time to think on yer own…” He looks more tired than ever, and Octavio chooses not to respond to Craig's words. It doesn't really seem like he's even talking to Octavio anymore, more to himself than anything else.
They both sit there for what feels like forever, and yet barely any time at all before Octavio feels something in himself urge him to respond. Anything is better than leaving Craig acting like…whatever this is.
“Don't think this changes anything, Craig.”
“I know.” His voice breaks a little, and Octavio almost wishes it didn't have to be this way.
If only.
He doesn't forgive easily, and unfortunately for Craig a little sadness can't make the past go away. Maybe in another universe, one where the war never had to happen. Or one where Craig had it in him to choose Octavio.
“You're reckless, Cuttlefish. And somehow, I feel that still makes me worry in the same way it's always done.”
Oh.
The way Craig's eyes light up makes his hearts skip a beat. He huffs quietly, watching the inkling's expression closely.
“Really? Oh, Tavi, I-”
“And you're not getting more than that, okay?”
Craig laughs heartily, a warmth to his pale skin that hadn't been there just a second ago and a genuine grin on his face, poorly hidden beneath his beard.
“I can accept that."