Presence
Sometimes, being there is enough.
Seeing what someone eats,
Where they go,
What they do,
What they eat.
The more you learn about someone,
The better you can understand them.
It's a beautiful day already, a morning full of sunshine and light, and that means Callie needs shades. She surveys her collection, a smile tugging at her lips.
The wonderfully beat-up pair from the last time she trained roller with Gramps and Three? Not today.
The sleek ones that may be more appropriate on a motorcycle? Pass.
No, today's a special day, the day High Tide Era will take over the morning news after the first announcement, and Wet Floor will handle it after they do the first of the afternoon, the last Friday she and Marie have to make announcements for the news. Today deserves special glasses, and Callie reaches for her brand-new pair from the Final Fest and opens the case.
They gleam at her, shiny and new and gorgeous, and she can't remember where but she's sure she's seen someone else wear them. Not too often, though. They must be brand new, the cutting edge of freshness, and Callie unfolds the arms with relish.
"Callie, I'm headed out," Marie calls.
"I'll set the timer," Callie calls back, and listens to the door slam. She sets her phone timer, so no one'll see the two of them entering together and mob them, then grins and slips on the shades.
The world shimmers for a moment, and Callie blinks, once, twice, as spots and rainbows dance in front of her eyes, and then it's gone and the world looks the same as always, a little darker from the shades. She must've been staring at the bright lights for too long, burned her eyes a little.
She slips out of her room, into the darker hallway, but it doesn't seem that much darker. Maybe they've got transition lenses? Eh, whatever, they're super comfy, don't press on her nose or ears or the side of her head at all, and big enough she can't see around the edges and get little glimpses of brain-frying sunlight.
With two new groups to show around, they may not have time to order out lunch. Callie makes a sandwich, lettuce and tomato and egg and mayo, then another without tomato because Marie probably forgot, and puts them both in her bright—it almost seems brighter than usual—pink lunch box with a couple apples. There's always extra drinks at the studio, and their dressing room even has a mini fridge of snacks, but Callie feels like something more substantial today. She even finds herself going back in the fridge again and again, she doesn't know why, but it feels important to know what's in here, every little item, whether it's the carrots in the crisper or the block of cheese wrapped in paper in the back. Maybe she should have an omelette tomorrow, they've got some great omelette stuff in here.
The timer goes off. Callie silences it, backtracks to her room for a pair of shades in case she needs them later, shifts her ink to blue for some extra deniability, and starts her walk to the studio.
It's a beautiful day. Sunny, but not too sunny; a glance at the sky shows a couple lazy clouds in front of the sun now. It'll be hot later, that's for sure, but right now a nice breeze stirs her tentacles. She ties them up in a bun as she waits at the corner for the light to change, a babble of excited inklings around her going to turf, and lets the momentum of the crowd carry her across the street with them, to the bus station.
Callie scans her bus pass and looks for a spot. She forgot to bring a book or music with her, too distracted packing lunch, but today just listening to everyone talk around her seems more important anyway. She gets a seat near the back, but two stops later she offers it to a very pregnant seahorse and stands the rest of the way, clutching one of the overhead handles. It's only three more stops, and then Callie's off again, emerging into the sunlight of the plaza. It's muted, another cloud, and Callie makes her way around the edges to give each statue its usual good-morning pat before she goes to the studio at last.
Seems a little darker in here than usual. Maybe a bulb burnt out. An intern scurries by her, carrying something, and by the time she's at the dressing room it's normal again.
Marie's locked the door, as usual. Callie rolls her eyes and knocks in warning before she opens the door. Inside is their room, twin vanities and tiny kitchenette and just enough space for a couple couches and tables to relax on. "It's such a beautiful day!" Callie chirps, hanging up her jacket. "We should use our free time to go shopping."
Marie snorts. "What free time? We'll probably be spending every second High Tide Era isn't live showing them where things are and introducing them and making sure their dressing room is set up."
"Aw, I'm sure they'll get it in an hour," Callie says. pulling down her hair. "Play hooky with me, I wanna enjoy the sunshine." She wants to get out there and walk Inkopolis with her own two feet, poke her nose into every corner, and live it. It's just that sort of day.
Marie shakes her head, putting in her bookmark with a sigh. "Next week. That'll be our first Friday without work, of any sort. We'll go wherever you want."
"Yeah!" Callie cheers, and bounces into her seat. Make-up first, then their outfits, then her tentacles.
Marie laughs as Callie leans towards the mirror to put on some blush. "You goof," she says, and grabs at Callie's face. Callie pulls back, spots dancing in front of her eyes. "You can't do your make-up with sunglasses on."
When the spots clear, sure enough, Marie's got a pair of shades in her hands. Callie laughs, too. "I honestly forgot I was wearing them," she confesses, taking them from Marie and putting them in the spot reserved specifically for her shades. "Aren't they fresh? They were a fest gift."
"Super fresh," Marie agrees, sitting at her own vanity, "but if you wear shades on the news, they'll stop working as a disguise."
That's true, and Callie'd never want to wear them for the cameras anyway, but as they do their make-up Callie's eyes keep wandering back over to the shades.
She wants to put them back on. And she will, soon. Maybe they'll take their lunch outside. Or she'll wear them going home.
Soon.