Outfit

I've got some information for you.

Glad something's worked.

I'm glad to see you squiddos taking this seriously.

So, what'd you find?

I've been running tests on those goggles we took off M—the octoling defector. Hers are broken, so I can't give all the deets. Anyone who wears them hallucinates. Don't think they'd handle anything advanced, but if you're scrubbing floors and think you're playing games with little squiddos, well, they must get a lot less complaints that way.

Okay. That's impressive.

That's useless, you mean.

Are you kidding? If I could be eating plates full of chips instead of broccoli? Sign me up!

xxxxx

Marina tries, and fails, to pull up her zipper all the way. "Tell me again, who designed these outfits?"

"A senior at Inkblot Art Academy." Pearl tugs down the bottom of her dress; Marina carefully keeps her eyes on Pearl's face. "One who really loves zippers. And inappropriate clothing in general."

Marina snorts. "No kidding. I think it's broken."

"No, it's supposed to look that way." Pearl looks at Marina, at the zipper, looks away, and pulls on her dress again. "And it's more than you were wearing when I met you. But a dress? When I'm gonna be jumping and kicking and..." she trails off into wordless grumbles.

Marina crosses her arms over her chest. Pearl's right: her outfit—the one Inkopolis News chose for her now that she and Pearl are in the top two contenders for their new hosts, the one she'll be wearing for years if they make it—does cover more than her octoling armor. Barely. But she's used to fabric (soft, hopeful, reminding her where she is) in a lot more places now. These clothes practically scream what she already knows: even if she is in Inkopolis, she's still being controlled by the shades, doing what they want, wearing what they tell her to.

So she just says, "And they put us in black and white. Could they be any more... more..."

Pearl nods. "I know what you mean. They let us keep our headpieces, at least. I don't know what I'd do without the crown. And your headphones look good with that." She tugs at her skirt one more time. "Whatever happened to your old goggles?"

"Oh, they broke all the way," Marina lies.

There's a knock on the door to their dressing room; before either of them can reach it, the door opens, and a hermit crab scuttles in. "How's the fit, ladies?"

"It's fine, thanks, but... could we have some pants?" Pearl asks.

The crab tugs on an antenna thoughtfully. "Pants?"

"Leggings," Pearl substitutes.

Marina nods, seeing what Pearl's up to. It might even work for Pearl, but not Marina: the Octarian Army may as well have her back in armor. But maybe she can make a small change, too. "I mean, these outfits are gorgeous, but white and black don't lend well to splatfest color changes."

"And the first time I have to dance, I'll wind up flashing all of Inkopolis Plaza."

The crab chuckles. "We're moving locales to the square in a few months, but I do see your point. Take those off, and I'll see about the adjustments."

Pearl's got her dress off before the door's closed. Marina looks away, her cheeks burning, and keeps her back to Pearl as the two of them put their normal clothes back on. The two of them leave the studio and emerge in the cold November air. "Every now and then," Pearl says, "something about fame just gets to me."

Marina shrugs and pulls up the hood of her pink-and-yellow sweatshirt. "Well, we have the rest of the day off," she says. "Rest of the week, except for fittings. And we'll start doing one broadcast a week after that, so let's take advantage. What do you wanna do?" Pearl looks far too twitchy to rehearse, like they'd planned.

"I'll give you a choice," Pearl says, "we either go turfing or check out every open building in the square and buy something from each."

Pearl goes shopping the way many Octolings clean their weapons, and Marina doesn't feel like running around with her roller today. "The square."

"Cool." Pearl skips a few steps. "Sean's making his own business, didja hear? He wants to start selling food. So we can see if he's ready to open and get a snack when we're done." She grins at Marina.

"And if he's not open?"

"Then we'll really be his first customers," Pearl says, and starts to rap.

The two of them take the train. Pearl accepts one person's offer of a seat, but Marina stands, and they both sign autographs for people who recognize them from the news. There's no train stop at the square-there's plans for a bus, if Marina remembers, but it isn't working yet-but it's only a short walk away.

One hour and two stores later, Marina discovers that Pearl managed to buy her boots at some point. "Pearl! We need to return these."

"Nuh-uh." Pearl grins up at Marina, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You tried them on with the day-glo top and the orange pants as part of that 'worst combination ever', remember? I saw your eyes. You wanted them."

"But I don't need them."

"Too bad. Oh, what's over here?" Pearl grabs the bag, hops over a drain, and races up a slope into an alley.

Marina chases after her. "Oh no you don't," she says, following Pearl into a shop. "We are going back to return... to, um..." Marina trails off as she gets a good look at the place they've just entered.

The weapons on the walls are normal enough, the off-beat, almost out of tune music a bit strange, and the statue of some sort of hairy creature behind the counter is downright odd, but it's the pictures of salmonids and replicas of their weapons that does it. This store is Octarian. It's got something to do with the Octarian-Salmonid alliance. And she just walked right in... oh, she is so-

"Nice to see you squiddos." Marina starts so bad she turns into an octo. She stays on the floor just long enough to take a deep breath and pulls herself back together. Where did... "Are you two looking to join the grizzco crew?"

"This looks awesome!" Pearl bounces on her toes in front of the desk, where the... statue is hooked up to a speaker, okay. "Sign us up!"

"Pearl," Marina says, "maybe this isn't a good idea-"

Unseen hands yank her into the next room. Marina stumbles forwards, tripping over her own feet, never seeming able to stand or hold still. When she looks up again, she's in another room, the only door closed behind her, a pile of clothes in her arms and staring straight at another creepy statue.

"This is bad," Marina whispers, speaking Octarian since she's alone.

"Thought so," says the statue, and Marina nearly goes octo again. "Gotta admit, I didn't expect to see one of your kind. But perhaps we can benefit each other. I'm Mr. Grizz, your new employer. Your name?"

Marina reaches for her goggles, for their safety, but finds only Pearl's headphones, the ones Pearl made her keep. She swallows once, twice, trying to control the tightness in her throat, her dry mouth, her racing hearts. "Ida," slips out, the first time she's used her Octarian Army name since leaving. "Marina Ida. B-benefit?"

"Any octoling in Inkopolis must have either a grudge against Octo society or a price on their head," says Mr. Grizz. "I deal in... salmonid control. You know the type. Those menaces will overrun the entire country, Inkopolis included, unless they're properly discouraged." It's nothing but a statue, but Marina gets the feeling Mr. Grizz is appraising her. "They're still far offshore, on isolated islands, and I plan to keep them there. Your species trades with them. I want to know ways around a scrapper's armor, and the best way to sabotage a flyfish's jets."

Marina's mouth is dry. She's heard of these things, she—she saw the diagrams, she didn't help with the trade but she certainly helped make some of the items. She twists her hands together. "And if I do?" She thinks, but doesn't say, If I betray all of Octo kind, if I let our secrets fall into the hands of the enemy—can I do that if this is real? If this is a test, what will they do if I pass?

"Then you're Marina, a regular employee and inkling." Mr. Grizz's voice clings to her ink like oil. "One who will have some warning, and extra protection, should I learn of anyone with questions."

"Give me a week and materials and I can reproduce the blueprints." Marina twists her hands together, gripping so hard her fingers hurt. Maybe it is real. Maybe she just failed. But she's fine, either way.