Chapter Text
The Mechanic, no, Inez hunches over her desk, taking the old parts off her booyarang. Her name is Inez. If Deep Cut had the sense to ask her for her name again when they crash landed, they could’ve at least played it off as making sure she didn’t have a concussion. Instead, she’s stuck being called Mechanic.
Sure, she could tell them her name, but that would let them get one over on her, and she couldn’t stand for that, although they would still owe her for steering toward land in the helicopter, building them an entire ship, risking her life on the daily instead of sitting around in an enclosed machine, and a hundred other little things that any person not in consistent fight or flight would not do for them. If anyone else was stranded on this island with them, they’d all be dead by now.
She dismisses the train of thought and searches through the box of new parts she acquired on their last raid. If this gives it just a little more ink efficiency, she can make it circle her when it returns, just like the splatellites do.
The background music she made loops back to the first track. They aren’t bad, just not as good as anything else she listened to, bringing her mind back to Deep Cut. When they finally introduced themselves, she was so tired that she didn’t even react, and they assumed she didn’t know who they were. She would’ve never come up with the idea herself, but when handed the opportunity to bite back at Deep Cut for the inane requests they had for her, she couldn’t pass it up. She spent the next several days developing her oblivious facade, carefully avoiding any potential references that could let them catch onto her.
Someone calling from the other side of the door interrupts her. “Hey, Mechie! We got something for you!”
The voice is Frye’s, no doubt. While Shiver and Big Man have settled on Mec, or Mecha if they feel adventurous, she remains the single member of Deep Cut both brave enough and stupid enough to keep giving her those absurd nicknames. She attaches the rest of the new parts to the gadget, waiting for Frye to either call her something tolerable or waltz in without permission.
Unfortunately for Inez, she chooses the latter. The door slams against the wall, nearly making her drop the booyarang. She spins her chair around and is met with Frye looking at her like a lost nudibranch.
“You’re gonna break the door if you keep doing that,” Inez says.
Frye waves her off. “Don’t be dramatic, Mechie.”
“Call me that one more time and I’ll sink this ship.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t like any of my nicknames!” Frye pouts.
Inez rolls her eyes. “It’s not my fault you can’t remember my actual name.”
For a moment, Frye is quiet. Inez puts down the booyarang, surprised her quip worked, until it doesn’t, and Frye yanks her out of her chair.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she says, dragging her out of her room.
Inez shakes Frye off of her and rubs her shoulder. “Cod, what is with you guys and all the pulling?”
Frye takes her hand again, a bit more gentle than before, and brings her to the deck of the hideout ship where Shiver and Big Man stand waiting. She bolts over to them, nearly falls over when she leans on the speaker beside them, and attempts to make it all look intentional with a remarkably uncool pose at the end.
“Well,” Shiver says, “you’re likely wondering what we’ve brought you out here for.”
“What an astute observation,” Inez mutters.
“So Big Man over here used your little thingamajig to help us remake hit song, Anarchy Rainbow, by yours truly, so we can prove to you that you know who we are,” Frye says, beaming with pride.
Inez takes a quick breath in to compose herself. “Go right ahead.”
Big Man puts a CD into the player, and a shockingly decent remix of Anarchy Rainbow echoes out from the speaker. The lack of the unique instruments that made the song so beloved is quite noticeable, but the vocals are good, far better than Inez expected. They even added in a few adlibs from Shiver and Frye reserved for live performances. She lets herself nod her head to the beat.
“Sea!” Frye says, “You know it!”
“I think it’s good,” she admits, “but this is the first time I’m hearing it.” She silently thanks her neutral resting face.
“There’s no way,” Shiver says.
“Ay… (I guess she really doesn’t know us…)” Big Man says.
“No, don’t talk like that!” Frye says, elbowing him. “You live in Splatsville. There’s no chance you happened to miss every splatfest we’ve hosted.”
“Have you forgotten I’m a pilot?” Inez replies. “I’m never around.”
Shiver starts fanning herself. “That doesn’t mean you’re uncultured.”
Inez smiles. She doesn’t have to hide it now. “Maybe you’re not as important to the culture as you think you are.”
With that, chaos erupts on the hideout ship, with the trio shouting over one another in desperate attempts to defend their honor. Quickly, Frye and Shiver turn on each other, throwing baseless accusations of not caring about the group and needing to put in more effort, while Big Man tries and fails to mediate their argument.
Inez waves them off, turns around, and goes back to their workshop, closing the door behind her. As soon as she’s alone, she quietly laughs to herself. She may not know how long she can keep this up for, but she’ll savor every last moment she can.