Quinn shuffled his way back into the Plaza in spite of his aching muscles. Yesterdays games had paid out more than he expected, but there was still today's portion of rent to cover. So, here he goes again, getting ready to turf. Step one was to actually eat breakfast today, so he walked over to the cheap vending machine first thing.
...
Nope, the old man wasn't in the grate. Not that Quinn was looking for him, that'd be stupid. It was just some weird old man after all. With a sigh and a small shake of his head, Quinn pushed his G into the coin slot and walked away with a granola bar.
He sat at the same table as yesterday, idly chewing as he looked up at the screen. He scratched under his eye as the news logo flickered on screen, with the usual chirpy jingle & Squid Sister's logo replacing them a few moments later. Suddenly, the screen began to glitch, and the chipper music started to cut in and out. Several people in the usual morning crowd actually shout in surprise.
The graphics on screen shook as the audio suddenly cuts to silence. With one final glitch, the Squid Sister's logo is replaced by Squid Squad's, as drumsticks click out the opening to the band's signature song: Splattack. The camera fades to black after the chorus finishes, before dramatically cutting back in as the song continues. The screen flicks back to life as the camera cuts between close up shots of Ichiya and Nami, two members of Squid Squad, clearly playing the spectacle of the new hosts up as much as possible.
Ichiya is wearing a very casual getup, consisting of only a blue tee with Squid Squad's logo, khaki shorts held up with a belt, and some basic trainers. His blue mantle clearly had no work done to even try and shape it away from it's usual bedhead look. A close shot of his face reveals a not quite bored expression, one that only seems further emphasized by the bottom-heavy shape of his mask. He's leaned back in his chair, not quite out of frame, but clearly not in the space designated for the hosts.
Completely contrast to him, Nami sits completely dressed up in a suit and tie. Her orange mantle is swept to the left, with both bangs being carefully styled to frame her face. The closeup shot continues to hammer in the contract between the two. The doggedly serious glint in her eyes is only enhanced by her abnormal mask shape. The mask didn't connect, the protrusions stopping once they reach the lift of her nose. In addition the usual encirclement, Nami's mask also has three "eyelashes" that protrude from the bottom of the mask. She sits completely upright, hands folded neatly in her lap.
When the camera was done with it's over-dramatizing of the hosts, it reset to the usual view of the chairs and the TV, Ichiya lounges on the left, replacing Callie, while Nami sits on the right, replacing Marie.
A few seconds pass before Nami moves first. Her voice is crisp, clear, and a bit lower pitched than you'd expect from someone her size. "Hold on to your tentacles..."
"..." After no follow up, Nami turns a scorching glare to Ichiya. For his part, he only flails off-balance for a few seconds before righting himself and smiling to the camera. "It's Inkopolis News time!" he finally follows up, his nasally voice much less formal than Nami's.
"Hello Inkopolis!" Nami brightly smiles at the camera. "The lovely Squid Sisters are away on tour at the moment, so we're here to help cover the news while they're gone! I'm Master Namida Cardaren, but you can call me Nami."
"Ichiya Naureed," Ichiya calls out as he begins to recline. "If you know us, it'd be from Squid Squad's music." He returns to leaning back in his chair, despite the death glare from Nami. "Some of the most popular music on the radio right now, real big hit in turf wars."
Quinn breaks his gaze from the TV. The crowd seem endeared to the rookie host's efforts. Personally, he doesn't see the charm. He sighed, idly scratching at that spot under his right eye. At least the news never takes more than a few minutes. His gaze swept over towards the Tower, eyes set on the doors to the Battle Lobb-hey wait a damn second.
Quinn's eyes snap to the right. Because standing under the grate, was the same old man. Same hat, same patchwork shirt, same shaking hand, same bulging eyes, but this time, they were Staring straight at him. Quinn's not playing around this time, dead sprint across the plaza.
He makes it about 1/3 of the way across, before the old man winks at him, ka-thunk, and drops the grate. Quinn skids to a stop on top of it seconds later, but again he's too late. He growls in frustration, bending over and hooking his fingers under the grate, intent to life it. His brain catches up a in time, and instead, he lets up, falling to the ground and landing in a sitting position.
What the hell is up with this old man? Is he just fucking with me? Why the hell is he in the sewers? Lacking any real options, Quinn stood up with another growl and very slowly stepped out of the nook. A side glance at the TV showed the news was wrapping up.
"Eh, are we supposed to do the pose?" Ichiya asks while half-heartedly holding one of his arms up with his hands bent at the wrist.
Nami opens her mouth but stops before saying anything. She puts her finger on her chin, breaking the hyper-professional facade for presumably the first time in the broadcast. "I think it's copyrighted..."
"Sick." Ichiya turns to the camera, and snaps his fingers into a finger gun. "See ya later then." he says with a lazy smile. Nami turns to him, her arm begins to raise as it looks like she lunges, but the camera cuts out before anything concrete can be seen.
Quinn glared daggers at the grate before ultimately joining the crowd heading into the battle lobby.
If Quinn thought he was being watched yesterday, he was sure he was today. Even up high on Moray towers he was sure. He couldn't see through either the waiting lobby or the nearby buildings from the stage, save for from a few spots. Unfortunately, those few spots weren't exactly a safe place to stand to scrutinize the people behind windows. Two completely unnecessary splats later Quinn gave up on trying to find whatever it was he was looking for.
Today's team were three other solo players like himself. They managed to find a groove after a few rough starting matches, and ultimately broke even at four wins to four losses.
Quinn scratched the underside of his eye as he walked from the Battle Lobby. It was an annoying habit, caused by a damaged nerve right under his eye. It never itched, more it was like a small but unrelenting tingle that he subconsciously zoned in on whenever he wasn't completely distracted. It wasn't really anything more than annoying, but the scratching habit's been around as long as he could remember.
[I might remove this scratching description in favor of an alternate explanation later in the story]
Ka-thunk.
Damn it all.
Without hesitating, Quinn bolted to the left to stare at the grate. Empty as almost always, bow he was sure that old man was fucking with him. Well, if he wanted to play games, Quinn was more than down to game.
The next morning, Quinn arrived at the plaza earlier than normal. While the place was still mostly empty, he ran over to the grate and opened it. A very quiet squeaking sound was his reward. Gently he set the grate down, before walking away. As easy as it would be to lay some kind of trap, he didn't want to actually hurt the old man, he just wanted some answers.
He picked a new place to wait, now resting against the columns outside the Inkopolis Café's. This position made it a bit harder to see the grate, but in turn it also made him harder to see. He was closer, so he could hopefully hear the squeak of the grate opening, or at least not have to sprint as far.
Except, staking out was rather boring, so Quinn found himself looking around the plaza only a few minutes into his watch. He'd turn his attention back to the grate when the news started anyway, and he was still listening for the squeak, so it should be fine.
Idly he watched people around the plaza. It was early enough that the place wasn't filled with Inkfish, but there were still a solid number of inklings and octolings around. Most of them just hung around like he did, some solo like him, but most were broken off into small groups. A few other species made their way through the still-open Plaza, namely some jellyfish and a few crabs.
Quinn turned his gaze to Booyah Base. Through the glass front of Cooler Heads he could see Annie and Moe, arguing about something. Shrimp Kicks had it's usual crowd in front of it. To his left, a surprising number of people were still crowded around the Squid Sister's studio, despite them being out of the country. A bit further out in the plaza, an old man walked out of Ammo Knights carrying a yellow case by the handle. He stood in the doorway, still presumably talking with Sheldon inside.
Wait. Ammo Knights is supposed to be closed right now, nothing in the Plaza is open yet. Quinn was about to brush it off as nothing, until the old man turned and started walking in his direction. And oh, if that old man didn't look a whole hell of a lot like the one Quinn was looking for.
He was tall, but very hunched over. His few remaining tentacles were pulled into a small ponytail, with an otherwise bald head. He walked with a bamboo cane, arms shaking with every step. No, the really interesting things were his bulging eyes hiding behind black square frame glasses, bushy eyebrows, and long beard. He wasn't wearing the bizarre military(ish) outfit Quinn's old man did, instead he wore a blue Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and sandals.
Quinn didn't make a move, yet. He wanted to see where the old man was going. The man made his way across the plaza at his own slow, unbothered pace. The few people also walking around stepped around him to make sure he wasn't being crowded. Quinn's eyes squinted as they traced his trajectory, he was pointed right for the grate. Did it work? Did his 'hiding spot' actually trick the old man? Quinn didn't stop the small smirk from forming as he watched the old man hobble forward.
What a surprise then, when the old man turned right mere moments before he reached the grate. Quinn nearly slipped off the pillar. The old man didn't even seem to register that Quinn was there, instead hobbling his way down the side alley where Spyke had set up shop.
Quinn just watched. Maybe it wasn't actually his guy. The old man didn't even seem to see him, where the old man in the grate seemed to be seeking him out deliberately. That guy also wore classes while the grate guy didn't. He was so thrown off balance by this play, he spent several minutes just replaying what he saw. He was jolted out of his thoughts by the news, and the same logo and theme fake out from the previous day played. He paid it no mind. What his mind did pay towards was the very quiet squeaking sound coming from behind him.
Slowly, Quinn turned his head to the right, peering at the grate. The old man, the one with the weird hat and patchwork clothes again resided within. Quinn started forward slowly, idly noting what appeared to be a slew of metals affixed to the front of the left side of the shirt.
For his part, the old man hefted the grate lid with ease, and looked over to Quinn's usual seat. He frowned slightly when he didn't see him. Then he looked left and saw Quinn. His eyebrows rose as his expression changed to one of pleasant surprise. Quinn couldn't tell if it was fake or not.
"Hey!" Quinn called out to him, stopping about 10 steps from the grate. "Who are you? Why are you in the sewers!?"
The old man stares him down for a few seconds, before nodding to himself. Quinn takes a slow step forward. The old man catches his eye, winks, and drops the grate.
Ka-thunk.
"Damn it!" Quinn peels forward, with a growl of frustration. This time he was able to see the old man's swim form for half a second, riding the ink that traveled through the pipes.
Quinn played several very aggressive games of turf, ending the day five wins to two losses. The grate ka-thunk'd shut as he walked out of the Battle Lobby that evening, same as it had the same two days prior.
Today, Quinn was going to win. No more games, no more winks, no more surprises. He wants answers. He starts for the Plaza even earlier than before, so early that the streetlights were still turned off for the curfew. That old bastard wasn't getting the jump on him again. Quinn was confident this time, he had a plan.
Even at the early hour he strode into the Plaza at, he wasn't the first to arrive. A few other inkfish were already set up near the front of the Battle Lobby. Quinn pause for a moment, the absurdity of his actions weighing on him as he watched the fellow early birds sleep leaned against the wall. The screens that usually display ads are all dark. Shaking his head, he strode forward, determined to see this through.
Quinn marched right into the nook with the grate. He paused just long enough to get the morning's granola bar from the vending machine, before jumping on top of the nearby line of trashcans. It took a moment to find the right spot, but soon Quinn sat atop the can, waiting. He didn't care how long it would take, nor how stupid he looked to the people passing by. This old guy's been fucking with him for days now, Quinn's ready to get answers.
And so he sits, waiting. He staves off the first wave of boredom with the granola bar, slipping the wrapper into the trash can's opening between his legs when he's done eating. The second he fends off by wiping down his splattershot and ink tank, something he had been meaning to do for a few days at this point. He loaded a bit of ink into the splattershot as a precaution, before setting it down and putting his tank back on his back. He looks out into the Plaza as the curfew lifts. Lights around the edge of the Plaza kick on, as well as some of the smaller store displays and some of screens in the area. That doesn't stay entertaining for long.
When the third wave hits, Quinn uses it to redouble his efforts. He mentally checks through every time he knows the old man was messing with him. He's seen the old man in the grate every morning, and the old man has singled out his attention on Quinn every morning. Ok, absolutely sure about that. There was the grate closing exactly as he left the Battle Lobby the past three days as well, though he's only heard that, so it could theoretically be something else. Unlikely. Then there was the suspiciously similar looking old man in leaving Ammo Knights yesterday. He was sure it was the same guy, but he couldn't prove it. Maybe he had a brother or something. The things he was least certain about were his turf matches. He felt like he was being watched sure, but he never actually for sure saw the old man anywhere while he was out. Someone with a similar silhouette was leaning against the railing, looking down at one of his matches at Arowana mall, but again, Quinn couldn't be sure it was him.
He waited and waited, occasionally scratching under his eye as his thoughts stewed. The closer the clock inched to the start of the news, the more scrutinous Quinn's gaze became. The TV screen flicked to the news logo, and Quinn drew up, ready to move. The music started, and a quiet slosh echoed from within the grate. Quinn perched on the edge of the trash can, splattershot held at his side.
Right as the Squid Squad members started talking, Quinn sees it, hands reaching up from underneath the grate. There were no sounds, save for the quiet sloshing of ink and the quiet squeak of the grate as the old man pushed it up.
Quinn waited a sacred few seconds as the old man propped himself up like he had all three mornings prior. As the old man started to scan the Plaza, Quinn jumped from the trash can, peeling around the grate, wedging one hand under it to hold it open. He set his splattershot on the ground beside him, staring down at the old man.
The old man was surprised, genuinely surprised this time. His eyes widened in shock and he instinctually moved back, though he didn't let go of the grate. Then, his eyes lit up, not with fear, worry, or any other emotion that would have made sense. No, the old man's gaze was elated. " Haha! Good job bucko! I couldn't be prouder!"
For a moment, all the drive Quinn had built vanished, leaving confusion in it's place. "Huh?"
The old man winked at him. "Come, come." he said with a casual tone and a wave, before letting go of the grate, and dropping into the ink.
Quinn's anger took control. "Shit!" He grabs his splattershot and quickly flipped himself under the grate. Without giving a moment to think about anything, he changes into swim form, dropping into the flowing stream of brown ink below.
The last thing he heard, was the dull ka-thud of the grate closing behind him.