Camp

Your parents have never left their comfort zone.
Comfort is an important thing, to be sure.
But living a life without risk,
A life where all you do is what's always been done,
Is not living.
Being scared shitless is good for you.
Just don't tell your parents I taught you to swear.

Pearl paces back and forth outside the jumpad to newbie's alley. Marina has to do this: it's the simplest, most reliable way to get cash in all Inkopolis, and much as Pearl'd like Marina to live with her forever, Pearl's parents'll come home soon and she doesn't want Marina to deal with that. And if she's never battled before because her family was stupid—seriously, the way Marina touches that short tentacle every time she talks about the things she isn't allowed to do—then she needs to. She'll have fun and gain so much confidence!

But the way her voice wobbled and her face paled when she said she didn't wanna splat anyone makes Pearl wonder if she knows about respawn pads. She'll have to reassure Marina somehow about that.

Marina emerges from newbie's ally then, ink tank over her shoulders and junior in hand, sprints over to Pearl, and babbles, "That can't be it!"

"Sure it can," says Pearl.

"It was just—it was balloons! It was balloons, and inking walls, everyone knows how to ink walls and swim, and—it can't be that easy."

Pearl bites her tongue until she's not gonna laugh. It's easier when she looks at Marina's ashen face, at how she's pulled her goggles down again, fiddles with her short tentacle, her mouth pinched. "It absolutely can." Pearl says.

"But there'll be people shooting at me." Marina's voice drops until she's almost whispering. "I don't wanna splat anyone, Pearl. Even if-even-"

Pearl grabs Marina's hand. "You don't have to. So, how do you feel about going turfing now?"

Marina reaches up to play with her tentacle again. "Maybe this isn't the best time-"

"We're doing it," Pearl says. She tugs Marina's hand, but Marina doesn't move. "Lockers over here, changing rooms into turf gear-they've got newbie stuff in your size, people are nice to new turfers-"

"Pearl, now's not a good time."

Pearl stares straight at Marina and raises an eyebrow. "There'll never be a good time, if you're scared. One match. Then, if you really don't wanna continue today, we'll go."

Pearl doesn't give Marina a chance to argue anymore, just pulls hard enough to make her stumble forward. Pearl shoves Marina into a changing room, tosses a shirt and a 'first ten matches' pin and headband and shoes over the curtain, and retrieves her splattershot from her locker before Marina's finished. Then she grabs Marina (still pale, but now silent) to a waiting area.

Five people are in there already. A boy is still wearing newbie clothes as well. "Your parents didn't let you in til now, too?" he asks.

Marina gulps. "I-I, uh-"

"She's nervous," Pearl supplies for her. "Can we be on the same team?"

"Opposite team as me and Fiin, then," says another boy. "We'll spread out the newbies."

"Oh good, here's an eighth," says someone else, and then they're piling on the launch pads (Marina's hands are so tight around her junior Pearl expects them to creak) and jump to the starting point.

Camp Triggerfish. Pearl knows this place, could travel it in her sleep, has overseen some of the repairs. "You'll be fine," Pearl whispers.

Marina doesn't respond, as the countdown ends and they can go. Their teammates leap forward. So does Marina.

She then trips, drops her weapon, and tumbles to the wood below, rolling five times before ending upside-down against a wall, her gun still at spawn.

Pearl can't help it: she laughs so hard she can't stand up. Turf? Who CARES? "That," she gasps, "was brilliant."

And Marina pushes up her broken goggles and laughs, too.