Memories

This is it, Mar—
Our first day on the news.
Someday, we'll look back on this
As the day our lives started,
And everything went right.

Marie closes her backpack and looks around. There's nothing on the floor but the table and chairs. All their posters and pictures are off the walls. Even the tin of lollipops, a fixture in the center of the table since they auditioned, is gone. Marie sits in her seat and rubs her hand across the table.

She can almost see the lollipops, the book she was reading when they got started, Callie across from her fiddling with the sequins on her outfit, squirming and tapping her foot as she tried to get used to the way it tied in the back, while inklings and jellies and all sorts of others took a moment to climb the stairs and peer in. And they waved back, every time, immediately back then.

Now she's alone, in a plain white room with one glass window wall, with no one outside. She gets to her feet and presses her hands to the glass, peering out; Inkopolis Plaza is nowhere near as active as it was even last week. With the turf scene migrating to Inkopolis Square, no one's around anymore.

No one's here to see her, even though she's theoretically popular. She's just one more celebrity, fading away. She's old news, literally. Off The Hook is the new news.

Marie blinks back tears and pulls away. There's one last thing on the floor, a small pink pillow the size of her palm; Marie picks it up. Way, way back, when they'd finished their transition period and were solo news hosts for the first time. Their first ever splatfest. Salsa VS Guacamole. After it was over, they went to the hallway and hugged, and Marie swore she'd win the next one, and they were laughing as they came in here and stopped in their tracks, stunned by the pile of presents taking over the table.

Callie squeaked and hugged her, jumping up and down, and they turned on the sound from outside and spent hours going through those presents, laughing and excited and thanking everyone, and the very last present Callie opened was this pillow. She hugged it to her chest and thanked the unnamed person who gave it to her, and then used it to take a nap every single day until the next splatfest, when whoever-it-was gave her a bigger one.

Tears prick the backs of Marie's eyes, and she blinks them away. Between Callie's auditions and her radio show, between her making a new outpost for the NSS at one spot and Callie feeding Octavio at the other, they've only spent one or two days a week together for the past month, and only because they have to do the news.

Marie hoists her bag and leaves, clutching the pillow to her chest. She finds Callie in their dressing room, bent over her own bag. "You ready?" Marie asks.

Callie stands up and looks at Marie, her sunglasses glinting in the light. "Yeah. I can't believe that's everything."

"It's not." Mar pushes that last pillow into her hands. "Maybe you could see that if you'd take off those shades."

Callie gives a short nod and puts the pillow in her bag, then looks at Marie again. Is that a tear on her face?

Marie grabs the shades off Callie's face, and she covers her eyes, but not before Marie's seen the tears. Marie rolls her eyes, because really? "I didn't think you'd be the first to cry," she comments, and waits until Callie pulls her hands from her face to hug her. "I'm gonna miss this place."

Callie hugs Marie back, almost too tight, but Marie needs that right now. "Me, too. We've been here for forever." She pulls back and wipes her eyes.

"And in a week, nothing will be," Marie says. She drops her eyes to the ground. "They're moving to Deca Tower and this'll just be—" Nothing. Nothing special, nothing for anyone to remember. Just another building.

"Maybe it'll be remade into a store?" Callie's still crying; she reaches into her purse for a tissue or something. "And we can shop here, and get changed in our old dressing room."

Marie forces a laugh. "Maybe," she says, and turns to the door. "Let's go. It's time to announce the stages."

The walk between their dressing room and the announcement area isn't anything special, but today, it feels like it is. Every detail jumps out at Marie: the plain white walls, where just last week there was a row of pictures of former hosts, with theirs—taken right before Final Fest—with pink and green ribbons intertwined around it. A spider is building a web near the ceiling. Marie blinks fast, fighting tears, and opens the door.

Callie, at least, has stopped crying.

The turf stages are Blackbelly and Moray, the ranked ones... it doesn't matter. Marie goes on autopilot, her familiar bantering with Callie, words they've said before and will never say again, trying not to cry. But when they get to the end, the teleprompter clicks over to SAY GOODBYE and even though they rehearsed what they'd say Marie has to take a deep breath.

Marie is supposed to start, but she can't.

"Well, this is it," says Callie at last. Going first. Like she has their entire career. Having her be the first to end things feels... appropriate, somehow.

Marie shakes her head to give herself a moment to breathe. "We have so many memories here..."

Callie gives her a smile full of mischief. "Remember that first squidmas splatfest, when I decided to give you all your presents instead of doing our closing?"

Boy, does she. The broadcast went long with ratings off the charts, she learned, because everyone was so thrilled to see her flustered and stuttering and apologizing because she hadn't even bought Callie's presents yet and she'd gotten Marie a signed Chirpy Chips poster and VIP tickets to their next show.

Still, two can play at this game. "Remember when you kept getting lost trying to find our dressing room?"

Callie stomps her foot. "Oh, come on! That was only, like, five times!"

They both laugh, because it was only five times and then Marie spent two hours in the studio with markers making arrows she taped to all the walls, with VIEWING ROOM and DRESSING ROOM and STUDIO written on them, all color-coded. They only came down yesterday.

Callie catches her breath first. "Anyway." She stops to take a deep breath. "Inkopolis... this is the last time we, the Squid Sisters, will be doing the news for you."

Marie knows her cue, they're back to what they practiced. "And it's been an honor doing it for all these years. Thank you."

They both bow, Marie holding it until she's got her tears under control. "We'll see you again soon, Inkopolis," Callie says. "But this is Callie..."

"And Marie." Marie forces a smile.

Together, they do their familiar pose, their Squid Sister's pose, for the last time as news hosts. "Stay fresh!"

The camera clicks off. The jelly behind the camera nods at them, then walks away. In seconds, they're alone in the room.

Callie turns to her. She scuffs one foot on the studio floor. "Do I have to give back my key? It just feels so... final."

Marie completely understands. She's not sure she's ready for what comes next—whatever that is—either. "I'm keeping mine, unless they ask for it. The next people to own the building will change the locks, anyway."

Not like she or Callie'd do anything bad even if they didn't. But Callie sniffs and nods and goes to her backpack again, digs out those shades. This is hitting her harder than Marie thought. Usually, it's her who has trouble coping with change. "I'll stop by the storage place to drop off my stuff," she says, not meeting Marie's eyes.

Makes sense. It'll give her a few extra minutes to collect herself, too. Marie'll give her more time. "I'll swing by the radio station. They're talking about giving me my own show, a study hour full of fun facts and procrastination. I'll head out first."

Marie hugs Callie until she squirms. They'll see each other tonight. They'll be calmer then. And, Marie discovers when she opens the door, no one will be trying to eavesdrop. "Before you leave, Marie, I'll need your key," says the director.

Something in Marie snaps. She has been with Inkopolis News almost four full years: this past almost-year, selecting the next group and transitioning out, two years as hosts, and the ten months they spent auditioning and transitioning in way back. She has come here when it was too early for the coffee shops to open and so late at night she's had to wake up Callie, she's pulled over a dozen all-nighters working on scripts and interviews and even more on splatfests, the couch in their dressing room pulls out into a double bed that they've used more than once.

She is keeping this key.

"I lost it," Marie says.

"You... lost it?" He stares at her. "Marie, this isn't a—"

"Callie and I both," Marie says, because if she's gonna do this she's gonna go all the way. Both of them have put enough into this, after all. "We had to get that new intern, what's his name, to let us in this morning." She pushes past him, into the hall. There's about six interns who only started in the last month, at least two of whom are star-struck enough to cover for her.

She's going to the studio, and then, she's going to get a chain and put her old studio key on a necklace. Just because.