Dedicated to an old friend of mine who had recently passed away.
Splatoon: Tides of Change
Sam did not understand what all the hubbub and commotion was about. Being an old dog, one with years of lounging about on his belly, he was akin to that of a living fossil, spending his days lounging on his fluffy little bed in the living room, dreaming the days away slowly. It was not exactly a desirable life, but it was nice in its own regards.
Day after day, Sam would sit down and nap, spending the day on the floor or his bed, sleeping like a dog on a bed made for dogs. His age had rendered him blind and almost deaf, but that was what sixteen years could do to a dog. Whenever he needed to use the restroom or needed food or water, he would howl as hard as he could possibly could. It was hardly a skin crawling howl, it was almost humorous as it could be annoying; for an hour or so if the denizen of the home he lived in had not answered him, he would take care of business himself. That usually ended up as a mess on the floor and an irritated owner to clean said mess up. That was how Sam had lived for the recent final years of his life. He was not long for the world, but he, being an old dog, had already made any amends necessary for a pug, which was not much to be frank.
However, today was a bit different. His peaceful slumber was disturbed; the normally relaxed atmosphere was thick with a tension. There was almost an uproar among the house, and his owner was pacing about the house. Sam could only tell whenever he was given the occasional pet that he was worried about something. There was something going wrong, but the pug sitting on the bed could hardly notice. Shakily, Sam attempted to stand up straight on his paws, but his fragile, elderly bones seemed to have been too worn out for any travel. So he laid on the floor, an almost perpetual frown stuck on his pug dog face. Eventually, the feeling of footsteps managed to rouse him.
He felt hands wrap around him suddenly, lifting him up from the floor. The tight grip on his stomach and his paws touching nothing, yet the fact that he could feel them flail about meant that he was being spirited away. He was bounced up and down in the grip of the human who carried him as he ran. Despite his awful hearing, he could vaguely make out the noise of a door opening and shutting, and the temperature rising. A wind accompanied them as they ran, from what Sam could not discern. He simply made a coughing sound, which was remedied with a quick pat on the head as the two left their home.
Throughout their haste, the distant yet oh-so-familiar sound of heavy traffic rang throughout his ears. Looking to and fro curiously, he was still confused. Though he did not quite understand what was happening, his owner certainly did. They had a time limit of sorts. Sam's owner was racing against the clock, with a heavy heart in his chest. So he ran, for him and his pet.
Eventually, the droning of sirens and horns behind them was drowned out. The dog felt himself being lowered from the arms of his owner, his paws gracing grass of some form. With very little prompting to the landing, he stumbled back, only to be caught mid-stumble. Whimpering very quietly, it soon felt the ground once more as he was adjusted, standing on his four legs. Standing still, eventually he took to pacing around the hill blindly, but was somewhat satisfied with his standing.
However, his owner, hardly relished in the luxury of innocence or ignorance that came with being a blind and nearly deaf pug was now sitting on the hill in a melancholic sense, watching the waves below with his blind dog attempting to besides him. Both he and his pet had a nice life, but with the incoming news, it seemed as though it were about to change. He looked out to the city. There was a flood. A thick layer of water stretched throughout the world, engulfing his town and vehicles still filled with people. However, despite the panic and the chaotic racket that had ensued moments prior, it was snuffed out almost instantaneously.
Funny. He had expected old age to have taken him AND his dog separately. Peacefully, at that. It seemed that fate had other plans in store. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out a solitary item he had managed to evacuate with them: An old dog collar. Sam's owner smiled sadly. Glancing over at his beloved pooch, now sitting in the grass lazily with hardly a care in the world, it seemed almost serene as the world they knew was getting destroyed.
"...Hey, Sammy?" The owner spoke up, offering the collar to the dog.
The pug made no reply, and simply continued sitting on the grass, almost sleepily. It was like that for a while. He was an old dog now, but the owner could not shake the habit of speaking to him almost constantly. Regardless, whether Sam made a response at all, his owner still wanted to pull one last "video game-like" gesture as he imagined it in his own mind. Taking the collar, he began to place it around Sam's neck, who fidgeted slightly as the sensation, but ultimately gave in and decided it could not hurt.
The tide below the hill began to rise. Sam's owner scooted up the hill, but had found that they had reached its peak. Despite the impending doom rising at a high rate, there was hardly any feelings of anxiety or worry. Sighing, the owner simply scooted over to Sam and started petting him.
"You're a good dog." He smiled.
Sam closed his eyes as he felt sleep overtake him. Smirking, his owner did the same, sitting back, closing his own eyes as the water levels rose, eventually submerging the both of them, with hardly a struggle to their names. Along with them, the grass was swallowed up by the ocean, though with somewhat less disastrous results. Under the tide of the waters, the modern world vanished. The world wrapped itself in liquid, and land had ceased to exist…
Until years and years would finally give way.
"Sharq, you don't bring rollers around for strolls. If you want to play in a Turf War, play in a Turf War." A humanoid figure asked one another, taking strides across grass, "There's a reason no one practices on tilted dirt."
Standing next to him was a humanoid. Upon closer inspection, the two of them both had similar features, and where hair might have been on a human's head, there were blue tentacles wrapped around it in a simple bun, the both of them wearing t-shirts of some kind as they walked over the grass in colorful shoes.
Hefting a sort of paint roller over his back, the other Inkling smirked. "Bro, listen, walking with your weapon isn't a crime. Besides! I think it helps!"
Sticking his hands in his black shorts, the Inkling without a weapon equipped rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it'll really come in handy for standing still. And that's not exactly one-hundred percent 'on the moral' either."
"You know what I mean, Splin! It's like an extra person to keep us company!" Sharq grinned at his brother.
Said brother glanced in the other direction. "I really don't."
The two continued their walk for a while, until Sharq halted, pulling his roller out, brandishing it as if it would shield them from any danger. For Splin however, this only managed in having his face smacked.
"Gah!" Splin yelped, holding his face, "What are you-"
"Do you see that?" Sharq asked, eyes gravitating towards the grass.
Blinking, Splin rubbed his eyes tiredly, and stared down. Sitting in front of the brothers was something creating an indentation in the field of grass. Slowly but surely, Sharq edged closer and closer to it, still holding onto his roller as if he expected something to leap out of him. Tired of the other Inkling's shenanigans, Splin transformed into a blue squid and hopped towards the object, grasping it in his blue tentacles.
Reforming into an Inkling humanoid from the ground, he stared at the treasure. "Hmm…"
"What is it?" Sharq asked, with a hint of caution.
Blinking, Splin displayed the object. It was a beaten up, leather ring of sorts, seemingly broken in half.
"Er… Something." He spoke up with a shrug, "I think it might just be trash."
"Hold the phone!" Sharq shook his head, raising his hand out, "Maybe it's treasure! Who knows, it could be something valuable."
The other Inkling simply lifted the collar, shaking it slightly. "I doubt it."
"Well, at the very least, can you let me keep it?" His brother asked, intrigued.
Splin stared down at the collar, setting it in his two hands. Despite its current state, it was almost nostalgic. As if it were a heirloom of sorts. Sighing, Splin simply handed over the object to Sharq, who happily decided to stuff in his pockets.
"I, uh, still want to take a look at it later." Splin spoke up, reinserting his hands into his pockets.
Sharq smiled warmly, hefting the roller over his back. "Sure thing! Right after I play!"
Shaking his head, the two Inklings began making their way across the hills, aiming for home. All throughout the walk, Sharq kept a great grip on the item, ensuring that he would not lose it on the way.
AN: Just a little memorial/scenario fic. Had to listen to a lot of Majora's Mask, EoH, etc. to get this done. I was thinking of a way to honor the memory of a good friend, while simultaneously getting a Splatoon story based on the lore out. I don't know if I did him justice. Heck, I don't think even HE would know if I did him justice... But I wanted to write about this anyways.
Thanks for reading. Also, I dunno if he'll be able to read this, but thanks for being a good dog, Sam. Hope whatever form of energy or in whatever sanctuary away from this earth you are now is... Generally happy.