Family
Even when the world is against you,
You can always trust family
To tell you the truth.
If we're not around,
Ask your gramps,
o̶r̶ M̶ ̶ !̶e̶
They'll tell you true.
"Are these bonding trips common?" Callie asks, swinging her basket and looking around. "This is, what, our third one since filming started? That seems like a lot." The chirps of the birds remind her of a flute; she loves it, she should write a song like that. She's learned the path now, her third time up, but it's even prettier than usual today. Blue sky and fluffy clouds and trees in full green, though she's sure that at home they'd be... they'd be...
How long has she been away from Inkopolis? The days have flown and dragged all at once, with Callie so busy acting, giving 'concerts,' and making mocking phone calls (some of which feature dialogue she can hear off-set, some which are just pure imagination, depending on what the viewers should know). And when she's not, she's still got Harbor to talk to, or cleaning to do, or songs to practice. When this is over, she's throwing a concert.
And she's giving free tickets to all her coworkers and to... to...
She had a roommate back home, didn't she?
"Dust in your mind, Callie?" Callie snaps back to attention as Harbor peers at her. "Command likes us to do this. Keeps us fit, supports happiness."
Callie rolls her eyes. Even in Octarian, Harbor sometimes speaks strangely. "Well, I'm not complaining. But I didn't think we were that far from Inkopolis. Shouldn't it be autumn?"
Harbor stares at her. "Autumn?"
Callie frowns. She knows she speaks perfectly good Octarian, but—ah. He lived underground until recently. Maybe that wasn't a word he ever had to use. "Seasonal change? Things get colder, and the leaves turn red and yellow and—"
"Oh!" Harbor laughs a little. "That doesn't—it's, uh, too early for that."
It is? It was October when she left Inkopolis. Maybe she's further south than she thought.
It can't have only been a few weeks, can it?
She was sure it would be Squidmas soon. Even if no one else recognizes Thanksquidding, she knows that's commonly just a country thing and not done in cities, it should be squidmas soon! And she could go spend time with her parents and maybe spend a day in Inkopolis turfing and catching up with her old roommate, her... what was her name?
"Look, Callie!" Harbor points to a patch of wildflowers. "Those would look great in your room, wouldn't they?"
They actually would. It's nice of Harbor to cheer her up. She has plenty of other coworkers, but most of them don't talk to her off set. And besides, picking those flowers will give her an excuse.
She trots over to them with him and kneels beside the flowers. They're supposed to bring back anything they think'd look good on set; one of them is collecting leaves, another seems to have a rock collection. Callie leans down and takes a deep breath of... these flowers have no scent.
Neither does the forest, for that matter. But she can breathe fine through her nose. Maybe it's—not all flowers have scents, and she didn't notice the smell of the forest on her way up, she's probably so used to it she doesn't notice it. Perfectly normal. She's just stressed. And this trip, up a mountain full of nature, is helping. It must be helping. The scents she doesn't even think of are helping her relax as much as the flutes and bells of birdsong
Harbor kneels beside her as she picks the flowers (the stems feel curiously thick in her hands, almost squishy, but she's never seen this type of flower before). Callie stops picking and puts a hand on his. "Your name is Harbor Ida, right? Marina's brother?"
Harbor freezes. "I—yes," he says, his voice soft.
Bingo. Callie reaches in her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. "I knew Marina a bit, back in Inkopolis. I mentioned I spoke to you. She would love to see you again." Callie puts the paper in his hand; then, when he stares at her, stunned, she wraps his fingers around it. "That's her address and phone number. When we get down from here, you should call her."
Harbor stares at her, all his tentacles still. "Thank you," he says at last. "It will mean so muchto us, to have her back."
There he goes, with the odd phrases again. "You're welcome." Callie gets to her feet, dusts off her knees. Harbor joins her, but he doesn't seem inclined to talk; he holds the paper in his hand, glancing at it frequently.
Around a bend in the path is a log balanced over a stream, and Harbor smiles. He jumps on it to walk across. Every time they come here, someone does that—Harbor, or the director, or someone. Other days, Callie might follow him, but he may want to be alone.
Only Harbor stops and and turns, halfway across, to say, "You know, bringing you here really was a good idea."