Marie

Slow down, Cal!
Didn't you see those flowers?
They're perfect for those crowns we're making.
I'll show you how to tie them again
And we can make one for everyone
But special ones for each other.

Peppy. Fast paced. Guitars and drums. Callie props her notebook on her knees and jots down the last notation, then stretches out across the couch in the sunlight. This is a perfect day for being outside: not too hot, just the right amount of clouds, not enough breeze to rifle the pages of her notebook while still giving her that fresh feeling. She almost feels sorry for Gramps and Three, off running through all the kettles to check for recent activity (sadly necessary, after she and Marie found some fresh tentacle marks near the entrances to three of them). Normally, she'd be taking this day off.

No, everything's perfect today—

"I know you understand me, you inconsequential nincompoop. Answer!"

Except for that. That isn't perfect.

That, and this song.

Callie scowls at the sky. Background? Great. They want a solo song that reflects her, she's gotta be fast-paced, happy, energetic. All her things. But words?

Marie is always the one who comes up with the best words. Without her, Callie doesn't even know where to start.

Callie turns back to the front of the notebook. She bought a new one for this, pink with rainbows and sparkles all over it, and the last ten pages have the musical part. The drums, the guitar, piano. She even has ideas for a melody. But the words—they don't work.

Maybe she should start with a title? That's helped in the past. And it doesn't need to be about her, really, just... reflect her style. Callie's never done a solo song, she wants to do it right. But all she has is eight pages of cross-outs.

"You incompetent cephalo-poop. You really think you can contain me? You?"

Callie sighs and sits up. "I'm not the one in a snow-globe," she informs him, "so I hardly think I'm the incompetent one."

"You're going to regret this, you and every one of you slimy, culture-stealing hipsters, Callie Cuttlefish."

Callie drops her notebook, but her brain catches her mouth before she can say anything stupid. "What makes you think I'm related to The Captain?"

"You think that slimy no-good imbecile would recruit anyone but family for his splatoon?" Octavio snarls. "You, and those you scout because he's too stupid to do so—you're all going to regret this."

So he doesn't actually know, then, and he doesn't even suspect Marie. She shrugs, deliberately nonchalant; best to be amused. "Believe what you like." Time to address the other part: "We didn't steal any culture."

"I've heard the music, that half-wit Agent Three plays," he snarls. "I know you have people singing in Octarian! It's not enough to steal our power, you use our language for your own twisted desires. Soon your own terrible group will be singing Octarian songs, and we will reign again!"

Callie has her mouth open to tell him about Marina before she closes it again; if he doesn't know about her yet, it's best not to say anything. Let him think the goggles came from an Octarian they captured, one who was returned to Octo-lands. Instead, she picks up her notebook and lies back down, though she does jot a note about Octarian.

He's right: the double-language songs are gaining popularity, and Callie likes languages. She learned Octarian from gramps, but she also became fluent in Stacean as a kid, and is passable in Gells now. She even knows a few words from that ancient human language, like Bonjour, Sayonara, Tasukete, Selamat pagi, and 'My hovercraft is full of eels' though she really wishes she knew why what was such a popular phrase. Maybe she could use a few words of another language in her own song.

Someone superjumps nearby. Callie sits up and waves as Three comes over. "Need a break?" she asks, getting to her feet.

"Please," Three groans, slumping to the ground. They pull one of their long tentacles in front of them and groan. "I need to take a shower; there's ink stuck in these."

Callie winces. "Bad day?"

"They're trying to get the octobosses to operate without zapfish," Three says. Octavio starts cussing them out, but Three ignores them. "Which... half works? Enough that I have to take them out again. The Captain's checking if the Octomaw's working."

Oh, poor Three. "If you wanna keep an eye on Octavio, I'll go buy us some lunch," she says, getting to her feet.

"We don't need to keep an eye on him," Three reminds her. "He can't get out."

"If he was gonna try something, it'd be while you and Gramps were busy," Callie says. "But fine. You clean up and meet me back here?"

That, Three agrees to. Callie tugs on her hat again and squids through the drain.

She goes to Three's favorite restaurant, orders both their usuals, and pays without paying much attention. She keeps thinking about the song, the song she's been working on for a solid week, the song she still doesn't have a title or any words for.

She needs Marie for this.

But they're supposed to do this alone. When they're done with the news, they want to try new things, different things. They have to learn to be apart.

As Callie walks back to the drain, her eye catches on the splatfest sign-up podium. She hasn't chosen her team yet. Might as well get it done now.

And she only hesitates a second before joining Team Marie.

Because Callie never would've made it in music without her.