Chapter Text
It was just like she'd imagined.
So, so, vibrant and beautiful and full of life in ways she hadn't even dreamed of. Unseen cicadas buzzed on and on, marking a warm midsummer night, and something delicious wafted through the air. They'd taken an actual subway to get here- much to Eight’s quiet dismay- though apparently, riding a helicopter with two popstar sensations straight into Inkopolis square was not very normalized in inkling culture. (Not that it was in Octoling culture either, but, here we are.) Instead, the tired and victorious agents were dropped at a more appropriate place and took a short underground ride to the center of the square where they all now stood, soaking in the golden hour’s light.
This Ethereal, elysian city Eight had never thought she would get to see... on the subway, the Haikara Walker had been her eyes. Everything she knew from the surface she knew from that battered, outdated magazine. It'd been her didactic, her way of puzzling out some trace of inklish. It was her holy grail, and even now she clutched it tightly in her hands, a shoebox containing her memcakes in the other. What used to be her only scrap of the surface was now her only possession from that wretched subway, and suddenly, the whole world was in her hands.
Right now, though, the contents of her world were right in front of her. The only people she knew: Marina, Pearl, Cuttlefish, and Three.
Marina spoke with an almost untraceable accent, talking excitedly to Pearl and Cuttlefish about cod knows what. They spoke too fast for Eight to really catch anything important, though that meant the only person available to interact with was..
Three. Sitting on a bus-stop bench not far from the group, by herself. Head propped up by bruised palms, elbows resting on scraped knees.
They hadn’t really said much of anything to each other yet, but Eight decided extended silence outweighed any other potential conversational awkwardness. (She also really wanted to sit down. Saving the world in heels is not for the weak.) The Octoling sat neatly next to Agent Three, gingerly placing the magazine inside her shoebox and balancing it on her lap. She spoke with an astounding lack of confidence.
”Uh.. you are.. okay, right?”
Eights voice was much quieter and about 100 times wishy-washier than she would have preferred. Three had to make a visible effort to speak, having to clear her throat first.
”…I’ll be fine. If anything gets worse I’ll go to the ER tomorrow or something.”
Their voice was gravely and flat, and they maintained the sort of eye contact that made Eight squirm. In this light, it was greatly apparent that one of her irises now was much greener than the other, and that sclera seemed irritated and bloodshot. The whole eye drooped a little farther than the other. Their tentacle on the “problem side” didn’t seem in the best quality either, with bits eaten away as if the primordial ooze was some sort of slow-acting acid. Dried specks of it remained crusted on Three’s face. Ew.
Eight decided to feign knowing what an ER was.
”Okay. Good.. that is good.”
Three nodded, then conversation fell silent for a good awkward second. As antisocial as she seemed, they made an effort to keep the conversation going.
”Who’re you going home with?”
huh.
Eight’s brows furrowed a little. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, didn’t think she’d get this far in the first place. A twinge of anxiety set over her heart. She assumed Pearl or Marina had a solution, since they were mega-rich or whatever, but maybe housing worked differently on the surface. She knew it was irrational, but the sudden image of her being left on the street popped into her mind.
Three must have noticed her apparently not-so-invisible dismay, because they gave her a particularly perturbed side-eye.
”You could just sleep in my apartment, if you want. I’ve got a pullout couch n’ shit.”
Eight hadn’t accounted for this possibility. Was this sort of hospitality normal? Wouldn’t Three be.. salty about Eight beating evil-Three? (And why hadn’t they brought that up yet?) On the other hand, though, she didn't want to intrude on anyone else. And, Three already offered...
Cautiously, she nodded.
”I would. Like that.”
Three stared flatly for a second, as if analyzing Eight, before standing up unceremoniously. They walked over and tapped Marina on the shoulder, presumably informing her that they were going to take Eight home. Pearl lit up, and halted her conversation.
”Aww, you’re really going already? We’ll see you soon, okay? I’ve got so much to show you, it’s like ‘Rina’s first time all over again!”
Eight found herself smiling. It was nice to have friends, and even nicer to have another Octoling friend. And they actually liked her. She felt like a part of one of the friend groups they’d interview in the Haikara Walker. Pearl’s comment sparked a chorus of goodbyes from the group, and just like that, Three and Eight began the trudge through what seemed like infinite city blocks. Eight hadn't seen anything like this before- surely, not on the subway, and before that she'd have no way of knowing. Inkopolis seemed to stretch on forever, and as streetlights began to replace the last dying sunrays, Three seemed more confident in where they were going. And maybe, surely, Eight began to think she might just get that happy ending she'd longed for. Maybe she'd actually make it, be able to visit those places that seemed so vivid and saturated on paper that they felt more like fever dreams than real places.
And maybe she'd never understand what some of her memcakes meant, would never be able to piece together who she used to be.
But surely, she could make a new name for herself now.