Chapter Text
Cure
“Truth, or dare?” asks Callie.
Lucky frowns and taps her lip, her head bobbing to the music around them—classical for once, a compilation of Marie's Favorite Human Oldies. “Ummm... dare.”
Callie has to think for a moment. What can she do that won't.... aha. “I dare you to let me dye your fingertips.”
Lucky's neckflaps poke out and flap once, then fold. She looks nervous, but not upset. “Um. Does that come out? I can't wear that home, and I know it lasts more than a few days when done properly.”
“Soak your hands in your natural ink for twenty minutes and they'll be back to normal,” Callie assures her. “I did it almost every weekend, back when we were on the news. I have a dark green that'll look really good with your ink color. Oh, or we could go for the classic orange contrast, or a deep red would make them pop...”
Lucky's smile tucks into her cheeks, and she rolls onto her stomach and props her head on her hands. “Can. Can I do my thumbs one color and the rest another? I always like how that looks in the lobbies.”
“Lemme get the supplies,” Callie says, getting to her hands and knees. The bigger air mattress is large enough for both of them to lounge on, and every blanket in the apartment that wasn't on Marie's bed make a nice tent for them to huddle in, sipping sparkling grape juice mixed with lightning powder to give Lucky a nice glow and Callie's natural glow a boost. Lucky's reading Callie's old comic books, Callie brought her sketchpad (drawing's usually Marie's thing to unwind, but hey, if she's got the chance may as well and it's also a handy place to write song lyrics), and it's the most relaxing day Callie's had in months.
Lucky kicks her feet on the bed and turns the page of the Calvin and Codd she's been working her way through, while Callie makes a fast exit and tucks the blankets shut behind her. Once on her feet, she stretches, then checks out the window.
Still raining. She hasn't heard any thunder in a while—she had Lucky convinced it was part of the music, especially after that 1812 thing she started them off with—but the rain's still coming down. Keep the music, then.
Callie heads to the bathroom and brings out the tray, then her old dyes. Looks like they've got all the primary colors, and Callie memorized how to mix them years ago. She also grabs the old stained towel; she'll make sure Lucky's not on any of the blankets Marie likes, just in case there's a spill, but this should do it.
With that done, she gets back into the living room and crawls in. Pillows and blankets and a comfy glow just right for comics, this is a good day. “Do you want to take your temperature before, or after?” Callie asks. “You've still got a few more hours before I call you healthy, but it'll be good to check.” That's a lie—if Lucky's temperature is normal, Callie will finally, finally say she's over this right now—but she's not gonna tell Lucky any such thing until the storm has passed.
“Let's do it now,” Lucky says, turning squid. She holds out a tentacle to Callie, and Callie tucks the thermometer into a sucker. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Callie says.
Lucky rubs at her beak with one tentacle. “How do you handle being famous?”
Oh, Callie should have expected this one. She stops to consider, because Lucky isn't just some awestruck fansquid, she's an NSS member, someone Callie cares about. “It was hard, at first,” she says, thinking. “When Marie and I had our first single hit the charts, and people started to recognize us. It was nice, having everyone say how much they liked us, and wanting to stop us, but also... really, really tiring. We spent quite some time figuring out how much of a disguise we needed to go unrecognized, each of us working out outfits—the sunglasses, the facemask, the hats—that we would never wear on the set or anywhere but when we were trying not to be recognized, so we could have times without it. But having people tell me, all the time, how much I mean to them, and how much they look up to me?” The thermometer beeps, and Callie checks it with a smile: normal. Lucky's healthy... or at least not sick. “I wouldn't trade that for the world.”
Lucky turns kid again, and the two of them spend some time figuring out just the right colors for her: most of her fingers an eye-searing yellow-green that could glow in the dark even without lightning powder, and her thumbs the deepest, richest red Callie can manage. One thing at a time, so Callie sets up the tray with the green and Lucky puts her hands in it, resting her thumbs outside the container. “Your turn again. Truth or dare?”
Lucky laughs a little. “I think truth, it'd be hard to do a different dare right now.” She hums along to the music for a moment. “What makes a bad bone?”
“I think it was a human thing, since they didn't have ink they referenced their bones.”
“That's stupid. Ink comes out.”
“It's not like there are any around we can ask.” Callie grabs her sketchpad and keeps working on her drawing while she thinks. “Truth, huh... Do you still want to be a profreshional ranker? You got kinda overwhelmed with the tournament and everything.”
“Yes,” Lucky says, a whisper that may have been a shout. “Absolutely, more than anything. It's...” She lets out a breath and wiggles her fingers in their brightly-colored soak. “It's kinda nice, having people who wanna be on my team. Or who talk to me in the lobby and are impressed. And no one thinks I got to S+ by luck anymore, they all think I have skill. And...” she lowers her head, a tiny blush coloring her ears and nose.
Callie leans closer. “ And?”
“I, uh, I always wanted to play with all the best people and get better,” she says, kicking her feet again, neckflaps only waving at the end, a tiny smile on her face. “I thought it'd be like playing with Alan when I was little, where every time he beat me he'd have something to say to tell me what I did good, and I'd try to do more good next time. And sometimes it is, but, but, there's a lot of people who are looking to me for that now, when I'm playing Tower Control especially since I'm still stuck in A+ there, and even though they're older it's like I matter. Like I'm the best big sister, even though I'm not their big sister.”
Callie almost squeals. Lucky is just too cute right now. “You have a lot of practice being a great big sister to a lot of little squiddos, and you had a good teacher for how to be a nice winner when you got good,” she says, feeling her ears twitch as she tries not to grin too wide. No need to scare Lucky. “I'm glad you enjoy it so much.”
“I just wish I could have a sponsor,” Lucky says, her neckflaps still doing teeny-tiny flaps. “Then I'd be official. But it's never gonna happen.”
Callie stops drawing to rest a hand on Lucky's wrists. “Your parents never come to Inkopolis?”
“They only ever leave Fort Mariner if there's something to do with the prison they have to go to,” Lucky says, her neckflaps folding back around her neck. “A big meeting on restructuring last year, where I was watching the kids alone for a full two days; something about renovations right before I learned to shift at ten, and all those stupid motivational speakers. I think they may have gone to my Granny's funeral when I was young, but I was so blobby then it's hard to remember.” She shakes her head. “I just wish, just once, they'd come here. Just for a day. It'd be hard and scary to have them here, and I couldn't introduce them to anyone, but if even one recruiter talked to me, then they'd see it. They'd approve then. They'd have to.”
Oh, Lucky. “If they didn't,” Callie says, her voice gentle as she gives Lucky's wrist a squeeze, “what would you do then?”
Lucky lifts her fingers from the dye to check on them—barely changed—then puts them back. Her flaps do something complicated. “I... I don't want to leave my squiblings,” she says. “But, but if...” Lucky clenches her hands into fists, then relaxes them with obvious effort so her fingers dip back into the dye. “Marisol says I can't be the best squibling ever if I'm always unhappy and worried. And it's not good for me. So I'd... I'd try to find a way to stay, one that'd still let me talk to them.”
Okay, so Alan couldn't be her legal guardian, then. Callie wraps an arm around her in a fast squeeze of comfort and returns to her drawing. They can cross that bridge if it happens. They'd have to get her parents here first, before Lucky even considers it, and they need to do it soon .
Before they can do anything else to hurt her.
But how to get them here if they only leave when they've got something to do with the prison? It's not like Callie can invite them.
A thought itches Callie's brain. “You said they invite motivational speakers?”
“People who recovered from using illegal substances,” Lucky says, rolling her eyes. “At least one I-was-a-victim-here's-why-you're-wrong every year. Rehabilitation fundraisers. They're all boring and I have to keep everyone quiet through them all.”
I was a victim, here's why you're wrong speech. One every year. Callie swallows hard.
Therapy or no, she's not fully recovered. But she's got to do something more-or-less public, give them a story to latch onto, sometime. She's talked about it with Lapis often enough, and discussed possibilities with Gramps and Marie before, too.
And if it gets Lucky out of there...
Callie flips the page and writes furiously in her sketchbook. If Marie agrees, and they work out a proper cover story, then maybe. They can't use the truth, for obvious reasons, but whatever they come up with will no doubt be too close for comfort. Callie will deal.
“Whatcha drawing?” Lucky asks.
Callie finishes her sentence and turns the page, fast, and continues working on her earlier picture. “Nothing,” she sings.
“Nuh-uh. Show me?”
Callie grins at her over the sketchbook. “Are you sure you wanna see?”
“Yes!”
Callie holds up the picture: a rough sketch of Lucky, her tentacles bandaged and her hands soaking and still managing relaxation and smiles. Lucky's earlier blush spreads across her whole face, and Callie lets out a heavy breath because it's almost all blue. Finally. “Do you like it?”
Lucky opens and closes her mouth a few times, before ducking her head and trying to bury it in the pillows.
Callie laughs a little. “Oh come on, it's not that bad!”
“I don't,” Lucky mumbles, then jumps as her cell phone rings.
Callie picks it up for her and scowls at the number: her parents. “I'll lower the music, so it sounds like you're in a lobby somewhere, and answer it for you, then duck out of the tent so you can talk,” she says. “You should be able to hang up with just your thumbs.”
Lucky nods, her neck-flaps straight out, her shoulders by her ears. Callie fixes the volume (still enough, she hopes, to drown out the rain), puts the call on speaker, and backs out of the blanket fort with her sketchbook. She can hear Lucky's mother clearly, and it makes her grind her beak.
Cod, Lucky is too good for them.
The door creaks as it opens and Marie steps in, her brow furrowing as she takes in the scene, but Callie presses a finger to her lips. As soon as Marie's hung up her coat, Callie tows her down the hall and shuts them both in her room. “Lucky's healthy, but I don't want her to leave in the rain,” Callie says, glancing out; looks like it's slowed some. “And I really don't want her without some support after talking to those...” she lets out a breath.
“I agree completely,” Marie says. “Lemme get out of my radio clothes, and I'll join you two. What are you doing?”
“Playing truth or dare, reading comics, dying our fingers, and sketching,” Callie says. “We could use some more popcorn, come to think of it, and now that you're here I wanna make plans for Marlin's birthday next week. While I'm making that, you read this.” She flips to her notes and hands Marie the sketchbook, then goes to the kitchen, where she can hear voices but can't make out the words. Melting butter and heating the oil over the stove takes a little bit, then she lets the pop pop pop soothe her nerves. A big bowl for them to share.
When Lucky hangs up, Callie brings in the fresh bowl of popcorn. “You look happy,” she says.
“Sean learned to shift!” she says, and dyed fingers or not she claps her hands in excitement, spattering tiny drops. “Uh...”
“No big, it'll come out.” Maybe. “Your fingers would've been about done, anyway. Just let them dry before touching anything else. Does that mean you can relax when you go home?”
“Not just that,” Lucky says, practically vibrating in place. “Lexi, and, and Sean, she doesn't want Sean relying on me and Dad says he would, too, so I don't have to go home! I'm not allowed, Callie, not for at least two weeks! They told me to, to, to stay in Inkopolis and I have to call a lot more often and I need to figure out how to send money over the phone but I don't have to go home this Sunday! Or next Sunday! I get to stay! At least for a bit!”
Callie owes Lexi an apology, and maybe a giftcard to SquidGrids. “That's awesome!” Callie says. “Marie just got home, lemme grab her, and we'll celebrate together.”
“Don't tell her, let me tell her,” Lucky says, her flaps waving so hard the breeze disturbs some of the lighter blankets. “I wanna tell her!”
“I'll let you tell her,” Callie says. “You just stay here. Don't touch anything.”
When she returns to her room, Marie's got her laptop out, making notes. “What do you think?”
“If we try this, we're signing up to be mocked, laughed at, and scorned. Probably to our faces.” She looks up from the screen. “We'll need a cover story, one close enough to fit the truth's inktank, and there'll be a lot of scrutiny when things get out. You okay with that?”
“Absolutely.”
“And between this and the splatlands tour and that upcoming concert with Off The Hook, we'll have no free time next month. Less than the none we thought we'd have.”
“Yeah,” Callie says. “But if it works...”
Marie bares her beak in a fierce grin. “I'm ready if you are.”
Callie matches it. “Let's do this.”
“Then tomorrow, you call our agent, because it'll take better acting skills than I've got. I'll work on gramps. And we can both work on Pearl.” Marie closes her laptop.
“And if this doesn't work,” Callie adds, “then we're gonna go New Squidbeak on their asses.”
Marie gets to her feet and stretches. “One way or another, we're gonna keep Lucky in Inkopolis. I call next question in truth or dare.”