And here’s your present! It isn’t a Christmas short, sorry, but it’s one that makes me smile<3 I hope it makes you smile, as well! And I wish you all a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, and a lovely new year!
Atlanti frowns in concentration as she looks at the paper in front of her. She’s wanted to do this for SO long, and finally she talked Technico into letting her do it, only… “It’s so hard!” she complains, throwing her hands in the air. The pen she’d been holding is flung across the room. “Someone write it for me.”
“I’ll write it,” Massteria says with a leer in his voice. “It starts out, ‘My lovely, sexy as hell, Raindance,’” he says, earning a chorus of laughter from the rest of the Cape Cell chat line. “I think you’re swell.”
“Nobody uses the word ‘swell’ anymore, Massteria,” Mimic says.
“And I won’t be writing the ‘sexy as hell’ part, thank you,” Atlanti says. “My love for Raindance is pure! She is the living embodiment of the ocean, a thing of beauty and grace—“
“Did anyone see that video of her in the hot dog eating competition?” Deathblow asks. “That chick can eat more than I can.”
“Oh, shut up, Deathblow,” Atlanti snaps. “This is serious! She’s the only one who might understand how I feel about what humans are doing to our ocean! We’re like—like sisters! And the ocean is our mother!”
“But she IS sexy,” Massteria says, still stuck on that fact. “Tell me I’m wrong, here.”
“You’re not wrong,” every other male in the cells say—including the guards.
“What do her looks have to do with anything?” Atlanti asks.
“She’s not denying it, you notice,” Massteria says, smugly. “Even Atlanti thinks she’s sexy!”
“Oh get off of it, Massteria,” Atlanti says. “I’ll write my own fan letter, you all are useless!” She walks over, picking up her pen and staring at it, and then getting distracted by the octopus in the tank on her wall. “Ooooh, look at my little baby!” she coos, touching the glass. “Hi, Baby, does you want to come out and spend some time with mommy?”
“Can we mute her when she does the whole baby talk thing?” Deathblow asks. “She’s giving me a headache.”
“You ARE a headache,” she says in a sing-song tone because she doesn’t want to scare her octopus away. She touches a panel next to the glass and a door opens. The octopus comes out, wrapping around her wrist in a hug. “That’s my pretty girl!” she says, patting it.
“You realize it’s not a real octopus, don’t you?” Mimic says. “He gave us all robots for pets. They’re probably broadcasting this conversation even now.”
“I don’t care,” Atlanti says, rubbing the octopus with her cheek. “He doesn’t need Baby to broadcast, he’s already got us all on video. Oh! Technico, write my fan letter for me, would you?” she demands to the camera.
“I don’t write fan letters to my little sisters,” Nico replies. “And you’ve got the anaconda wrapped around your neck right now, so you don’t seem to care about it being an A.I. either.”
“What can I say, it gets me,” Mimic says.
“Why won’t anyone help me with this?” Atlanti demands, childishly, and sits down on her bed with the octopus in her arms. “Computer! Show me the video of the Darlin’s cleaning the ocean, again!” she demands, pointing at the wall.
It lights up, showing several different videos to choose from. There’s even a new one, with Century, not the Darlin’s. “Wait, what’s that doing up there?” she demands. “I don’t want to see some stupid hero! Computer, delete—“
“Watch it, first,” Nico says, and the video starts playing.
“We have here a demand from the Deadly Darlin’s,” Century says, holding up a note that looks like it was written in crayon. “They say that Raindance is not happy with the state of HER ocean right now. So the Darlin’s have decided to stop people from swimming unless…” he looks a bit sheepish, “well, they demand that everyone come out and clean up the beaches for the next few weeks, otherwise they’ll do something drastic.”
“Do you know what that drastic thing is?” the reporter asks.
“Not exactly, but they do have a little drawing of them surfing on a wave—at least I think it’s them,” he admits, showing a glimpse of the paper before taking it away. It’s too fast for the norms to read, but Atlanti reads it just fine.
It says, in childish scrawl, “I love surfing! I’m sorry I almost created a tsunami, but I fixed it! People should fix their bad things they do to the ocean too, it’s my mommy, and I love it. XOXO, Raindance.”
She stares, her jaw dropping to the ground, as Century goes on. “So we, the South Hall, will be hosting a week long ‘Ocean cleaning’ party at all our local oceans. We can’t risk another tsunami, folks! And we really can’t have the Darlin’s unhappy. It’s bad enough when they’re robbing toy stores. It starts this Saturday and goes through next, we’ll be offering autographs and free water, along with a raffle of some of our Deadly Darlin’ paraphernalia. We have quite a lot of their squirt guns on hand, so make sure you bring the kids!”
The video stops, and Atlanti closes her mouth, thinking it over for a long moment. “That wasn’t what the letter said,” she says.
“But it’s what Century used it for,” Nico says. “Still want that video deleted?”
“No… you can leave it,” she says, “but I want to see what happens.”
“I’ll do that,” he says. She moves her octopus so she’s sitting on her head and heads for the desk again, a little smile playing on her lips.
“Dear Raindance,” she writes, “My name is Atlanti, and I think we might have some things in common. First of all, I would like to say thank you.”