Take Two
A visitor to Kinikolu eventually learned one hard lesson—being alone on the beach required an obscure beach or an inconvenient time. On a good day, the sunrise was quite remarkable, however. Yellah was glad that Mellow agreed with them, and was always happy to join them on a stroll across the empty sands at the crack of dawn.
“Can I be honest with you, coach?”
They’d gotten so far that the hotel was only a line on the horizon, hints at the surrounding tropical foliage now suggestions. Usually they returned earlier, but that morning something compelled Yellah to keep wandering forwards. Mellow always followed without complaint, flower necklace jostling in the slight morning breeze.
“Always!” Mellow replied, painted with their usual amicable smile.
Yellah stopped, feeling the wave-soaked sand crease beneath. “I won’t win this time around. I doubt I’ll even podium,” they said plainly.
Mellow’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, why is that?” they asked.
Turning to the waves, Yellah let out a sigh and leaned into the course of the wind. “It’s too convenient, isn’t it? A ‘redemption season.’ Things only play out that neatly in movies.”
“Team Momo had a redemption season,” countered Mellow.
Yellah chuckled. “Well, I’m not Team Momo. I’m just someone who likes to watch the waves. And when I think about it probabilistically, well, it’s an even worse chance than before.
“I understand,” Mellow replied. “Well, do your best. You have my full support whatever happens, of course.”
Yellah smiled. “Thank you, coach.”
Encore, Encore
The last gasp of an electric guitar. A backing track extinguishing itself. Drumbeats vanishing into silence. All replaced by cheering, unbridled cheering, a chorus of adoring fans full of sound and joy.
“Thank you, everyone! For one night only, this has been Shimmer of the Shining Swarm, coming to you live from Palm Tree Disco!”
Ideally they would have made a swift exit and wandered back out, but of course it was rarely that easy. As they hopped down from the ledge adoring fans mobbed Shimmer, autographable items and phones held aloft in the hope of securing a moment with their idol. It wasn’t anything they weren’t used to.
“Alright, alright. Orderly queue, please!”
–
Going straight from a race to a live concert was one thing, but going straight from a race to a live concert to the airport the next morning was another. Sterling and Glimmer had flown in for the week, and it wouldn’t do to keep them waiting.
“Hey! Missed you two, you know. Your flight alright?”
Glimmer greeted their old M1 partner with a hug, while Sterling stood aside. “Of course,” Sterling said. “You look well. It must be the island air.”
“Funny, because you looked ragged after you came home.”
Sterling laughed. “How cruel! Well, I’ll tell you now that I’m lousy with jealousy over how well you’ve done.”
“Bet you weren’t expecting it,” Shimmer chuckled.
“Of course I expected it. It’s you. Now come here,” Sterling said, pulling Shimmer in for their own warm hug.
Fudged It
A nice warm morning in Kinikolu called for a lazy morning in and a big breakfast to follow. At least that was Fudge’s philosophy, hence the waking up at ten AM and sauntering down to the lobby of the hotel-turned-athletes’ village—where they were promptly pulled aside and handed a package by the receptionist.
“For you,” said the floral-uniformed marble. “Arrived this morning, express.”
The box was made of sturdy brown cardboard, large but not particularly heavy, plastered with high-strength tape and stamped as having originated on Mt. Bonsel. With no Marblearthly clue what it was, Fudge thanked the receptionist and wandered off to their usual table.
It had to be opened with the sharp knife used for cutting meat, which was then taken away by the waiter who took their breakfast order. Once they were past the layer of stuffing, they found inside a tightly-packed collection of sleekly-designed chocolate boxes, alternated in rows with bags of flavored and shaped chocolate candies. All were products of their team—that explained the origin and the quick arrival.
Atop all was a note:
“We sent this the moment the final race ended. Congratulations on your race win, and congratulations on getting this far.
Now, see if you can beat my placement.
– Bonbon”
Aha, Fudge thought. Well, I can’t eat it all… but I don’t have to share it yet, Fudge thought, tucking the box under the table and cracking into a bag of chocolate eggs that smelled just like home.
A Winning Shot
Sometimes, Kinikolu reminded Dash of Aslipi. It had no wild high desert, just city slowly turning to suburbs and blending into the jungle, but when they sat at the seafront and watched the surfers and beachcombers potter about on the sunbleached sand, they were almost back home—at least where had been their home for almost the past decade.
“It’s scary that you can eat the fish raw here. What if it’s poisonous?”
“I think they’d go out of business if they served poisonous fish, you know. Dash? You eaten poisonous fish yet?”
“No.”
For their final week of grand finale preparation, they’d invited Crush and Squirt to visit the island for them, though for what good they weren’t sure. Just like back home, they paid attention only to each other, addressing Dash only when they came to an impasse.
Maybe I should’ve invited Shelly, Dash thought, lounging back against the rickety wicker chair. Frank would just be getting mobbed by fans right now. As they gazed past their teammates to the undulating ocean waves, a vision of the future formed in their mind. Them, atop the final podium as Sea had been, receiving the tournament’s highest honor in front of the massed crowd, achieving the first overall podium in Turtle Sliders history. The bottom two steps weren’t important—they could be anyone. They would be the champion.
“Hey, Dash.” Crush’s voice snapped them out of their trance. “Think you’ll win it?”
Dash chuckled, waving the notion off. “No way.”
Like Flies To Honey
On a quiet avenue near a subway stop in Kinikolu’s beach district was Paradise Cafe, mostly serving day-trippers and locals, and very rarely international sports celebrities.
It hadn’t intentionally become Swax’s favourite, but it served good food at prices Queen couldn’t complain about, and they were often taking the subway to hike the nature trails. A few things had changed since last season—new staff, new menu items, new pictures on the wall—but otherwise, it was familiar. Wind rustled the foliage through the broad front windows, and the vintage clock in the corner quietly ticked the hours away.
“Been a while,” said the waiter delivering their omelette.
“I thought you quit,” Swax replied. They knew this marble—they’d served them during most of their visits last season, but they’d been mysteriously absent all month.
“I did. I’m just picking up a shift for one of my old coworkers.”
Swax smiled, recalling their previous ninety-eight days of conversation. “How did your final exams go?”
“Great! I’ll be working downtown soon.”
“Well, congratulations! Really, I’m thrilled,” Swax exclaimed. “Come on, have a drink with me.”
The waiter laughed. “I’m working, aren’t I?”
“Not anymore you’re not,” Swax said, beckoning for the seat opposite. “I’m the only one here, they’ll live.”
After some cajoling, Swax was obliged, their old friend accepting the offer graciously. “I’ll have to serve someone if they come in, you know.”
“So what?” Swax laughed. “Get a soda. I have to toast to good fortune with someone.”
Miracle Star
Hello and welcome to KBA’s five P.M. sports broadcast, coming to you live from downtown. In marble sports news, yesterday was the semi-final of the second season of the Marble Survival tournament here on the island. Wispy, Misty, and Hop were eliminated, and the finale of the day’s first race is viral on social media right now.
Diego didn’t need to watch their race to relieve it in their mind. They’d thought of it and only it from the second they’d left the track—while they ate, before they slept, as they did reaction-speed exercises. Hopelessness stuck like tar, they thought. Impossible to wash off.
Such an embarrassing race was their own fault. Near-DNFing at the start, stumbling at each chance for redemption. Forcing the Stars fan section to watch them struggle past simple roadblocks. Rezzy had been cheering while they passed the Raspberry Racers section, but no matter how sincere they’d seemed, Diego couldn’t believe they were still hopeful. Nobody was. But Wispy was being held up…
Oh, this is within sight! The Midnight Wisps might have a chance here!
Going for Wispy was mandatory. Their best move was to knock them off course and slow their finish by forcing them to hit the funnel walls.
And they do! Right at the end, getting by Wispy, Diego! Snatches advancement from the jaws of elimination!
Diego sighed and switched the TV off. They’d finished top three twice after that. They had to think of that.
They had to win.
Gno For The Gold
“—listen, don’t let this get to you. You were right to come here, and you know that now.”
“I suppose we’ll never know what might have happened had we picked someone else…”
“Enough. This self-effacement helps nobody.”
“Right.” A brief pause. “I should go. Take care, and congratulations.”
From their concealed vantage point behind a heavy electronics closet door, Gnome watched Misty ghost away from their under-the-table prep room meeting with Smokey. Tracking a Hazer down was nightmarishly tricky, but it was worth it to confirm their suspicions. Even now, Smokey was speaking with the Hazers.
Smokey had unintentionally chosen a good location for a confrontation; no exits other than the hallway they’d hid in. With Misty gone, Gnome lurched out. “Hello, coach,” they drawled, thick with villainous emphasis.
For once, Smokey appeared genuinely startled, though they rapidly recomposed themself. “Hello,” they echoed, unaffected.
“Why are you talking to Misty?” Gnome blurted jealously. “I- I’m in the final eight! And you’re my coach, not theirs.”
Smokey frowned, their brow furrowed. “We had… a short conversation. We’ll talk more later. Strategy, and…”
“In your head you’re still the Hazers’ coach, aren’t you?”
Smokey’s face flashed briefly with indistinguishable emotion. Sensing they’d gotten somewhere, Gnome struck again. “And you wish it was Misty here now, too.”
“That’s preposterous. And this entire confrontation is deeply unprofessional,” Smokey barked.
“Whatever,” Gnome snarled, turning their back on Smokey, imagining their guilty face. “When I win—- and I will—- it’ll be no thanks to you.”
Pinky Persistent
The penultimate races of the tournament had concluded, and from then until the finale, there was nothing that could be done to change the odds save for training and keeping well. Boat rides didn’t come recommended as part of either, but it wasn’t going to stop Pinky Panther.
The small tropical-patterned pink motorboat bobbed like a rubber duck atop the tiny waves, piloted by Pinky Promise with all the experience of a summer job at a theme park decades ago. So long had they been on the boat that the sun had begun to set over the horizon, painting the sky a warm and rosy orange-pink. And Panther was ignoring it all, fixated on their phone.
Speedy: But what I admire about you is really your resilience. You’re tough.
Speedy: Being tough might be better than being great.
panther: i dunno, is it?
Speedy: I think it’s yours this time.
Panther typed and deleted a response, stumbling over their words as they tried to articulate their feelings. They groaned, frustrated—had Speedy made it as far as them, they would be able to say it to their face. Texting felt pointless, ineffectual.
“Hey. Panther.” From the other side of the boat, Promise reached over and tapped their star athlete gently. “Put the phone down and enjoy the sunset.”
Panther glanced up from the screen and towards the sky, where a thousand colours melted into one another, and wispy grey clouds left streaks of ash across the sky.
“Right,” Panther replied. “Sorry.”
Credits
- Writers: Millim
- Copyeditors/Editors: Evolution, Toffeeshop
- Reference: Elimination Marble Race: Marble Survival S2 – E7 [Race 22 – 24]
- Release: 25/04/2025
Project Marblearth 