Event 14 of Marble League 2023: G-Force Endurance. (Design Credit: Yume)
They’re going to be the first Marble League champions to not win a single event.
It’s as if with every revolution around the bell that statement made its own loop back into their minds, a reminder of what they couldn’t reach four times over this season. At least those saying it admitted to their eventual win come December, but to win without winning? As much as it would have been a feat in some way, it would have been a shame at the same time.
Thankfully, the evergreen statement holds true even near the end: never count out the Savage Speeders.
“They’re not gonna win an event,” Rapidly said while looking at their gold medal with a smile. “I think everyone forgot who we were.”
“I’m not sure how you’d forget about the greatest team to ever breathe, but I’m not opposed to everyone forgetting so they let their guards down and then we remind them we exist in the best way possible,” Velocity replied.
Speedy rolled up to the conversation, clearly overjoyed about something. “The gap to the hosts is nineteen points! There’s absolutely no way we’re not leaving this place without our third trophy!” They got between their sibling and teammate. “Either of you want to help me start planning the victory festivities we’ll see when we get back home? I think we should designate another citywide holiday so everyone can celebrate…”
As the premature victory parade was being discussed, Whizzy elected to stare at their medal. There were no thoughts about parades or holidays in their mind, only the task that was ahead of them next week.
The extremely simple and mundane task to clinch the title before the final event. No big deal.
“Hey,” Swifty greeted. “Are you doing okay?”
Whizzy weakly nodded. “Nineteen points is a lot for them to make up… but what if I blow it? What if they come out of nowhere to win and I falter?”
“You won’t do that,” Swifty assured, “I know you better than anyone. And I know you have what it takes to give us that third trophy, or at the very least make it hard on the others going into the finale if you can’t seal the deal.”
“…are you sure?” They sighed while continuing to stare at their medal. “I wish it wasn’t all up to me. I think I’d be having more fun if it wasn’t.”
Speedy and the others rolled over to Swifty and Whizzy. “You’ve got this,” the captain reassured with a smirk. “After all, the fun’s just begun.”
It has been over four years since the Thunderbolts won an event.
Did that thought zip through Shock’s mind as they started spinning on their side, as all they could see was the G-Force arena spinning around them, save for a fleeting glance of Rapidly flying out of the other corner? It certainly rang in their head, over and over, as the whole team spun back up to hear the JMA’s call.
“This is going to be very close!” shouted Greg. “I think the Savage Speeders held on… they did!”
Was it shocking to be runners-up again? Did they feel anything one way or the other? From the outside the Thunderbolts were nothing but serene stepping up to the podium. Apart from a dedication to a pair of newlywed fans in the stands, the athletes left without saying a word.
Half an hour later, Shock and Bolt had packed up in their locker rooms when they heard arguing outside. Out on the field were the Team Plasma athletes, with Captain Fearo stared down by the team. “We thought you had a plan, Fearo! What were you thinking?” yelled one Plasma marble.
Now Shock remembered how their team advanced past Plasma in the quarterfinals: with four Plasma marbles spun out one after another, and Greg in disbelief. “What on Marblearth,” they had announced. “Did they put their trust in that leading marble, hoping they would find a wall and stay on it… and there’s nothing there!”
It was then just the two Thunderbolts athletes and Fearo next to each other, the rookie Plasma captain needing a second opinion. “I know we’ve never talked… at all, and it’s been over a month here,” said Fearo. “But you guys handled the event like a champ. You just got a bit unlucky at the end. How did you guys stay so calm during all that?”
“Well… some days we get lucky, some days we don’t,” said Bolt. “We’ve been in the League longer than you. You learn, as an athlete, that so much of any event is out of your control. You just stay focused on the best you can do.”
“Bolt’s better at it than me. I’m not good at that,” said Shock. “But our coach taught all of us this one tip, three years ago during Collision. Before you really start to spin at a certain speed, you close your eyes. The world boils down to only you in that one second, and you stand your ground as if no one’s watching you. If you flinch and panic, you lose that one chance to maintain control and not fall out.”
Shock closed their eyes after speaking their thoughts. There were thoughts flashing before them: fantasies of gold medals around their neck this Marble League, or three years ago at the Andromedome, or four years ago at Seven Seas Stadium.
But those thoughts don’t matter. Fantasies were all that they were good for.
“Just tell me the truth, Red Eye,” said Coach White Eye while looking straight at the Captain in front of them. “Do you really want to close both events this Marble League? I know other people put the pressure on you, but we have a Plan B–”
But before the Captain could turn White Eye down yet again, there was banging on the locker room door. “Hey, Coach! Red Eye!” shouted Green Eye outside. “You need to get over here right now. We’re up against the Bumblebees in three minutes!”
Of all the coaches, it was to White Eye for whom the second half of this Marble League felt most like a blur. With three events to go, the team is in another slump and down to eleventh in the standings. It’s been five events straight of the coach playing mediator between every one of their Cat’s Eyes, because every event had two or three of them arguing why they should be chosen and be the one to turn the season around.
In the first round of G-Force Endurance, all White Eye could notice were each athlete’s flaws. Blue Eye tried too hard to speed up at the start and spun off the stage. Red Eye got too aggressive going up against the Bumblebees and spun off after. They could see no rhyme nor rhythm in what Cyan Eye’s doing.
When White Eye would try to give their athletes notes between rounds, they could tell each athlete was only half listening. Yet, despite all this, the team pushed deeper and deeper into the bracket. By the end it was Blue Eye, the marble with whom White Eye found so many flaws, who outlasted all of Team Momo to pip the Bronze.
After the podium ceremony, the Momo athletes were good sports and took the Cat’s Eyes out for afternoon tea. White Eye nibbled on a Buzznyan honey biscuit while banter swirled around the table.
“That event had such bad mojo for Momo, but we know we did our best!” said Momomomo. “The same could be said for you all too! You seemed so coordinated.”
“It may seem like that from the outside,” said Green Eye, “but we were plenty scared as well! But we couldn’t have done it without our Coach, who’s right there. You know, I don’t think they’ve had a full night’s sleep for two weeks as they researched this League’s events.”
“Oh, no, you’re too much,” blurted White Eye, like they snapped out of a daze. “I don’t work nearly half as hard as any of you.”
“NUH-UH!” shouted not just the Cat’s Eyes all together, but all of Team Momo as well. Something clicked inside White Eye. Maybe the issue isn’t with any of them. Maybe it’s with yourself.
Then the Cat’s Eyes coach said something they did not expect: “You know, I think all of us deserve a day off after that event. How about all of you can hang out as much you want? I think I’m in the mood for a nap.”
Rain pours down from the cloudy sky as Em trudges silently homeward, hours after sunset.
They had watched the fourteenth event at a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop; Saffy and Ruu had set up a farewell party, but their usual energy wasn’t there.
Em turns a corner, splashing dejectedly through the deep, murky puddles.
It was impressive that Em had gotten signatures from thirty of the teams in such a short period of time. Thirty was not thirty-two.
A car goes by, driving slowly, spraying Em with a mist of cold rainwater.
Ruu said it was technically thirty-one, since they had gotten signatures from the Hornets. It wasn’t much consolation.
Em coughs as smog pours from the car’s exhaust pipe.
If they hadn’t gotten so excited watching the Relay, they’d have remembered to get an autograph from the winners.
A brilliant thunderclap lights up the foggy night, illuminating the silhouettes of the figures inside the car. Em gasps.
They were so close, but they stumbled, right at the end. No one had expected them to succeed anyways.
Em rubs their eyes, their mind hazy with fatigue as midnight passes, but they’re certain they recognize who’s in that car.
Maybe they would fall short. Just like they always did.
Maybe, if they’re fast enough, they can catch up.
Maybe they would never be good enough.
Maybe, even if it’s a longshot, they still have a chance.
Maybe there was never a chance at all.
Maybe, at the eleventh hour, lightning could strike twice.
Event 13 of Marble League 2023: Elimination Race. (Design Credit: Yume)
As Snowdrift took a long and deliberate breath the contours of their mind began to sharpen. The fuzzy edges of their frenzied flurry towards the finish line became clearer and cleaner. There was no single fatal mistake, but they simply hadn’t kept up in such a field of four that was enough to guarantee elimination.
It wasn’t a medal. But it was progress. Something to show for their efforts. And for next time, they would just have to train more and try harder.
It was Snowfall who came to visit them behind the scenes before the medal order matches played out. A smile wide on their face, they drew Snowdrift into a tight and enthusiastic hug.
“You were amazing,” they proclaimed, “absolutely amazing.” All of their cheering had made their voice hoarse and squeaky.
“At least one of us has to be a credit to the team.” Snowfall winked and beckoned them to the exit. “If we hurry, I can get you to our viewing box for the rest of the matches.”
“I want popcorn,” Snowdrift whined. Now all the adrenaline of the event was wearing off, they were suddenly conscious of just how hungry they were. “Do you have popcorn?”
Snowfall grinned and nudged them affectionately. “Of course. As much popcorn as you want.”
In the spectator box reserved for the other athletes and their teams, Yellah made themself comfortable in the spacious seats as they watched Gloomo and Rojo Uno be hurried to the starting gate by race officials. With the event over and their teams’ congratulations issued they could finally take a breather; a welcome change from another exhausting track run, even if not being able to move higher up the podium stung somewhat.
“So, who do you think’s going to win?” Yellup asked them, leaning over from their own seat.
Yellah was used to them insisting on these sorts of (in their opinion, pointless) wagers. “I don’t know,” they replied. “Either Rojo Uno or Gloomo.”
Unimpressed, Yellup dangled a bag of freshly-roasted pistachios out in front of them. “Fine, if you’re not going to play along I’ll sweeten the deal. Pick correctly and I’ll give you these.”
It was a tempting proposition. “But you already have them, so what’s the catch if I’m wrong?”
Yellup smiled smugly at them. “I get to be real annoying about it.”
This is the dumbest thing ever, Yellah thought to themselves. “You’re on,” they replied. “I pick Uno.”
The smug smile only grew. “I’ll take Gloomo.”
Each trap now reset and the gate primed for opening, Yellah counted the ticks until release in time with their breaths. When it finally broke free Uno and Gloomo sprung from the basin with characteristic speed and competitiveness, seemingly unfettered by the gauntlet of exhausting races they’d just passed through. Through the first few lengths of the course they were almost neck-and-neck. Yet as it continued Yellah watched with vague disappointment as Gloomo increasingly held the lead.
“Told you,” Yellup laughed as Gloomo plunged downwards into the final portion seemingly unabated.
But just as the satisfaction rose in their voice, Gloomo rolled back against a ball bearing chute and was momentarily lodged against the track wall. All of their momentum had vanished. Gravity compelled them to keep moving downwards, but not with speed, and that was all Uno needed. A brief gap opened between them and the wall was swiftly taken advantage of in the form of a final lunge; a single fluid straight-line move that propelled Uno across the line a few fractions of a second faster than Gloomo.
As Yellup remained stunned by what had just unfolded, Yellah seized the pistachios from underneath them.
A feverish mood had overtaken the Rojo Rollers fan stands since Rojo Uno’s miracle move had won them their stand-off with Gloomo at the very last second. Standing alone beneath their roaring fan section for the first time in years, watching the explosion of riotous applause grow louder as they paraded their gold in front of everyone, Rojo Uno couldn’t help but feel utterly exhilarated. They bathed in the excitement and love from their fans until they were unceremoniously bundled off by Rojo Dos and Rojo Cuatro with no word as to where they were going or why.
Even as they went along with it, Uno frowned and complained. “I was enjoying that, you know.”
“Someone special is here,” Cuatro whispered to them, clarifying nothing.
They were hurried into an area of the stadium closed to the public, intended mostly for pre-event meetings between athlete and coach. But Oro wasn’t there- Uno hadn’t seen them since the podium. A voice from behind caught them off guard before they could wonder further; one they remembered but hadn’t heard so clearly for a long time.
“You were incredible,” said Red Number 3. “I wasn’t sure whether to tell you I was here, but after that… Ah, I couldn’t help it,” they added, uncharacteristically bashful.
Uno stood and gawped. What they were seeing was hard to believe.
“I can leave if you want,” Red Number 3 offered, evidently growing nervous.
“No, you’re welcome, it’s just —” Uno began, the words coming together slowly and unsteadily, just to be interrupted by the opening of the door that Dos had shut behind them. Their fellow podium team unnoticed in the low light, Plasma’s Gloomo and Ghosto marched in with Ghost Plasma alongside them.
“-yeah, it was a tough one, but a silver’s better’n losing —” continued Gloomo from a previously unheard conversation, though their words too fell apart when they bumped into Uno once more. Confusion turned into surprise as Ghost Plasma flicked the lights on, filling the room with a fluorescent glow.
“No way,” Ghosto squeaked, “it’s like a little reunion in here!”
For a moment Ghost Plasma and Red looked between each other, bewildered until the onset of reality. Then they smiled in mutual acknowledgement.
“Happy with the silver, then?” Red teased gently.
“Of course. I’m sure you’re happy with the last minute overtake for the gold,” Plasma replied. Beside them, Uno and Gloomo exchanged a mutual eye-roll.
Uno fake-coughed loudly. “Um, it was actually us on the course, so this has nothing to do with your rivalry, alright?”
“Nice to see you both, but Uno’s right,” agreed Gloomo.
Red Number 3 smiled. “Forgive me if I implied anything different. It’s just hard not to be proud.”
Ghost Plasma nodded. “Likewise. If you’d be open to celebrating together, it’d be on me.”
Between the turning of heads and exchanging of glances, the room was awash with silent agreement.
“That settles it, then.”
The sun is just dipping below the horizon as Em enters Vespa’s Diner.
“Ah, there you are! My favorite riddle master!” Vespa chirps. “We’ve got thirty ’til the party shows!”
Em sometimes helps out at the diner, usually washing dishes, particularly around the holidays. Vespa makes sure to compensate them with an endless supply of snacks and more than a little pocket change.
Vespa ushers Em into the kitchen, where a plain vanilla cake sits on a turntable.
“I need you to decorate this thing,” Vespa explains. “I’m gonna prepare the other food, gotcha?”
Em looks at Vespa quizzically. “I can’t do that,” they protest. “Remember how many dishes I’ve dropped?”
“Eh, dishes are meant to be broken. I trust you on this.”
Em rubs their eyes, baffled by Vespa’s endless optimism, but they shakily pick up the icing bag regardless. They use a simple pattern, alternating yellow and black frosting along the sides, mimicking the times they’ve seen Vespa do the same. Finally, they create a small flower design on the top and nestle a small sugar bee inside of it.
They exhale, and look up to see Vespa grinning like a proud parent. “Looks great!”
“It’s not perfect,” Em replies.
“Who said it had to be? They’re gonna love it.”
“And who is… they?”
“Well, I have some friends that I’ve heard you wanted to meet.” With a cheeky smile, Vespa leads Em back into the seating area where three bees and a pair of hornets are waiting.
Event 12 of Marble League 2023: Legion March Wave. (Design Credit: Yume)
One left, two rights. A full rotation and back to the left.
Even now, they can remember it as clearly as day.
“I need you to take over the team,” Rosa had asked, quiet and resolute. “My resignation letter is on Promise’s desk.”
To say they hadn’t seen the resignation coming would be a lie. Rosa had been the obvious candidate for captaincy, but they weren’t the right one. Their closest confidante even amongst the team of long-time friends, Pinky Toe had seen all of Rosa’s late nights crying over paperwork, the half-finished training schedules, the despair at the overwhelming failure of their 2020 season. They’d seen the writing on the wall as it was being written.
But to be named as the replacement—
“I can’t be captain. I can’t, Rosa.” Too shy, too nervous, too introverted.
“Who else?”
Who else? There was nobody else. Nobody who hadn’t refused the first time. Rosa had nothing left but to hope for someone to understand why they couldn’t continue. And without that person, there would be no more Pinkies.
That job, they could do. An actual captaincy could come later.
“I don’t know,” they murmured. “I’ll do it. I promise.”
Three twirls, a pause, a flourish and then back to neutral.
Reality comes back all at once. Captain Pinky Toe, donning a gold medal, dancing in front of a mirror in the quiet of their room. No matter how often they were on the podium nowadays, it still overwhelmed them. Being in captain mode even longer than usual was draining and withdrawing from everything afterwards was liberating.
But they had done it, hadn’t they? With twenty-five more points added to their total, last year’s victory was beginning to look less and less like the fluke it was accused of being. Difficult as it might be, all they had to do was keep going.
A good captain can handle that, can’t they?
“You like your new medal, don’t you?”
Mimo didn’t look away from the medal despite hearing Momo’s voice. “Yeah! It’s been so long since I’ve been able to hold a medal for something that’s not Marbula One… it feels so good,” they replied as they continued to admire their reflection within the silver, soon seeing the reflections of their teammates joining their own.
“This has been a long time coming for us,” Momo said pridefully. “I’m so happy this day has finally come.”
Mimo put the medal down. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Well, think about every time we’ve medaled as a team,” they began. “If you count the number of team members involved, it’s always been four. For seven years it’s been that way… but today it wasn’t four.”
Mimo continued their confused staring. “I don’t get it.”
Momo rolled their eyes at the reply. “I’m trying to say that it’s never been all five of us on the podium. It was never like that until today. I guess history repeats itself even in moments that have never happened before.”
“Huh?”
Momo rolled to their side. “The last time you stood on a team event podium was 2017. The year you saved our season by stepping up in the face of uncertainty and tragedy. And while this season hasn’t been any of that, you’re doing it again. You’re a crucial part in saving a season that felt so uncertain, a season where it felt like hope was dwindling… I hope you realize how important that is to us. How important you are to us.”
Blinking away tears, Mimo looked at the silver medal again. “But I’ve never given us gold… silver isn’t enough to repay you all for changing my life all those years ago—”
Not even a second passed before Mimo found themselves in the center of a group hug courtesy of their teammates. “You don’t need to win every event for us to love you,” Momo whispered. “We love you because you’re a part of our family. Getting to celebrate what my family can do and being able to celebrate with them? That’ll always mean more than a medal of any color.” The other team members hummed out their agreements.
Swallowing down any fighting words, Mimo smiled into the embrace. “Thank you,” they managed to squeak out.
“So, Alpine. How are we going to celebrate this occasion?” Rojo Uno asked a pondering Alpine.
The Gliding Glaciers and Rojo Rollers decided to celebrate their success from their particular heats, as they got 4th and 3rd respectively. They agreed that a food fest was in order. They had been stuck in a loop of suggestions, however.
“I think we should have ice cream to celebrate a well-fought battle!”, Frost shouted from behind Alpine.
“Y’know, that isn’t a bad suggestion.” Rojo Tres mused as they considered the flavors of ice cream they could eat.
However, Rojo Dos in a more bashful shade of red than usual, murmurs “Um… I don’t think I can eat something with milk. Milk is gross to eat, if I’m being honest.”
Alpine sighed, “Welp, sorry Frost, but we cannot get ice cream.”
“It’s not like we can have chili anyway. I’m sure your recipe tastes good, but I don’t think Polar can tolerate spice…” Sheet interjected, sounding rather disappointed that they cannot try this new food. “Man, if only we didn’t do that agreement.”
Sheet recalled how both Alpine and Rojo Uno made a wager that if one of them won the whole event from their heat, they would eat something, as long as all of the Rojo Rollers and Gliding Glaciers could enjoy it. However, their battle benefitted both of them, so they decided to do it regardless. So far, they have yet to be proven successful with how different their tastes are. They have suggested many things, but it is revealed that at least one team member dislikes the food.
Iceberg was thinking out loud, “I saw this flier for Vespa’s Diner, and it has a lot of items on its menu. Maybe we can go there?”
Rojo Cuatro nodded. It was obvious that they were tired of thinking of other foods that they could collectively agree upon.
Rojo Cinco added, “We could simply say that the food we shared is Vespa’s Diner, but have different foods that we could order. Personally, I like their baklava.”
“That’s fine by me. I’m more for their soup though. I especially like the hexagon bowls.” Polar said with a smile across their face.
“Then, I guess it’s settled!” Rojo Dos started racing towards Vespa’s Diner.
As soon as Rojo Dos shouted that the last marble had to pay for everyone’s meals, everyone in the group started racing to Vespa’s. Rojo Uno and Alpine stayed behind, however.
“Hey, thank you.” Rojo Uno told Alpine. “Thank you for being friendly with us. I know our impression when we first met in 2021 probably wasn’t great, but thanks for looking past that.”
“Don’t worry, Uno. We don’t judge people for their mistakes here.” Alpine replied. Both of the marbles seem to be elated just from this exchange, as their bond as team captains has strengthened.
“Anyways, are you gonna pay for us, Rojo Uno?” Alpine teased as they started rolling towards the diner.
“Hey, wait!”
Em sits at a small table in the athlete’s village, across from Mallard and Indie.
“Sorry to cut things short, but we’ve got to go now, or else we’re going to miss scrutineering,” Mallard says apologetically. “But I’m so glad I got to meet you in person.”
Indie nods. “Like we said, your story really resonated with us and our teams.”
“It was an honor talking with you,” Em says, trying their hardest to keep their voice steady. “You’re a huge inspiration to me.”
“Fans like you are our biggest inspiration, too,” Mallard says with a wide smile. “I’ll get my team to win the Relay for you, alright?”
“Yeah, well, my team’s gonna win the whole Showdown for you,” Indie quips.
“In your dreams,” Mallard replies, laughing.
“Oh, and we didn’t forget about your mission,” Indie adds. “Take this.”
They hand Em a postcard depicting four marbles in a lush, dense forest, illuminated by moonlight and five purple stars shining in the night sky. “Even when it doesn’t feel like it, it’s gonna be okay” was printed in neat handwriting, and it was signed by each member of the Ducks and the Stars.
The three marbles say their goodbyes, and Em stands from the table. They make their way to the entrance, holding the postcard delicately as if it could dissolve into the air at any moment.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
Em turns to see Mallard smiling back tears.
“Tell your parents you love them for me, alright?”
Event 11 of Marble League 2023: Maze Run. (Design Credit: Yume)
Under the fluorescent lights of the Superhive’s changing rooms, Kinnowin’s gold medal shone like the sun. Their entire team had gathered to celebrate its acquisition before they’d even made it back to the athletes’ village.
“It’s a nice little reclaim, isn’t it?” hummed Tangerin, watching it bob as Kinnowin held it proudly aloft.
“Of what? We’ve never done this before,” Orangin replied.
“Amazing Maze Race. Back in 2018, remember?” added Clementin, swooping in to compare it to their own Hurdles bronze. “We came second. But I guess you weren’t on the main team back then.”
Mandarin interjected with a friendly nudge to Kinnowin, who responded in kind. “Who was and wasn’t doing things back then doesn’t matter,” they added, “it’s our captain who deserves our congratulations now, right?”
Agreeable murmurs spread throughout the room.
“Wish it coulda been a team event, but you all did mighty fine cheering me on from the sidelines. When we get back I’ll hang it up in the dining room, alright?”
Amidst the increasing cheer, Mandarin took Kinnowin briefly to the side. “A word, if that’s alright.”
“Of course.”
“It’s good we’re facing renewed prospects. So I owe you my thanks. But I’m worried about how we’ve been trending compared to… Well, I don’t have to tell you who.”
Kinnowin brushed away the concern with a smile. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’ve seen time and time again that there’s nothing the Speeders can do to make themselves unbeatable.”
“But can we beat them?” Mandarin replied sharply. But Kinnowin, wrapped in the lightness and joy of their newly-acquired gold, seemed to float above the gravity of Mandarin’s words.
“We’ve got five events to do it in. Well, if you ask me, I don’t mind those odds one bit.”
Post-event parties were more fun when it was a whole-team affair — when everyone was on the same page and nobody was uniquely exhausted. There probably really were athletes out there who could launch from a podium position to being the guest of honor without skipping a beat, but Astron suspected they weren’t amongst them. They also suspected it was something of a faux pas to leave a party held in your own honor much earlier than everyone else — but that it was probably even worse to pass out in the middle of it. So they’d tapped out.
The Astron of hours earlier had turned their lights off before they left. The Astron of now didn’t bother turning them back on as they slunk, tired to their core, into the comfort of their bed. All they did was hang the medal up where a raincoat or umbrella might otherwise go.
It had not been a kind League to them; not initially. An inglorious 13th had been made no better by Greg’s making an example of the few fragments of a second that divided them from both Iceberg and one more precious point, and they remained the only member of Team Galactic to have never won a Marble League medal.
It wasn’t something that upset them- mostly, at least. Individual medals weren’t everything. If Team Galactic could succeed, that was good enough. And it was perhaps easier to withstand being in the background as a member of Team Galactic. As had been the case for years, nothing short of a miracle season could challenge Starry’s reputation as their most beloved teammate. It was probably even worse to be Cosmo, whose captaincy was perpetually challenged in their favor by well-meaning fans.
So it was fine, really.
And yet… There it was, reflecting the last of the light left in the darkened room; a Marble League silver medal. Tired as they were, they couldn’t move their gaze from it.
They had the medals they’d earned as a part of a team. They had their overall bronze. They had seen Marblearth from the vast and infinite darkness of space. How silly it is, then, to care so much about one particular shiny circle, Astron thought.
But for once it was theirs, and theirs alone, and nobody could take that away from them.
—
“It’s not exactly challenging what people are saying, is it? ’Solid at the individual events, but melting in the team events’,” Snowy quoted from Buzzyna’s own marble sports coverage outlet.
Snowblast forced a stubborn smile. “Better than when people said we wouldn’t qualify. And better than when they said we’d do poorly at everything. You know —”
Snowy made a vague conciliatory gesture. “I think I get your point,” they mumbled.
In the post-event frenzy haze they had ended up in one of Buzzyna’s late-night cafes. Minus the Glaciers this time, who were far from in the mood to join them. In celebration of their own first Marble League medal Snowblast had ordered the most lavish drink on the menu; an indulgent double-cream vanilla milkshake decorated with a towering mount of whipped cream and white chocolate shavings, which cast a parodical shadow over Snowy’s austere black coffee.
Snowblast sipped defiantly from the signature curly straw provided. Their captain’s inexplicable poor mood wasn’t going to ruin their own. Even if they were considering upping and leaving for the pastry counter where everyone else had gathered until it improved.
Perhaps Snowy could somehow pick up on that, because their gaze was drawn wordlessly to the other group of three.
“You know, if Snow and Snowflake were still around, we’d have a League or Showdown medal each.”
Snowblast winced. “Snowfall and Snowdrift can probably hear you from here.”
Snowy slumped in their seat. “Just an observation.”
If it was an observation it was certainly a pointed one. It seemed more like something they’d dwelled on for a while.
“Have some of my milkshake,” Snowblast offered. What talking couldn’t fix sugar might help.
“Gross. You’ve already been drinking from it.”
“There’s two straws, actually.” Which probably indicated that it was not meant for one marble, but it was too late to dwell on that.
Snowy picked the more straightforward twin straw out from underneath the heaping of whipped cream and sipped, at first tentatively, then with enthusiasm.
“Not so bad, is it?” laughed Snowblast, punctuated with a sigh. “…I know you’re worried about our team performances. But this is my first medal. It’d mean the world to me if you were a little less gloomy.”
A little whipped cream sitting above their mouth—Snowblast didn’t dare point it out—Snowy returned the sigh. “Sorry. You did good. I mean it.”
“Thanks, cap.”
Saturday
“A lifetime ban seems pretty excessive to me,” Mary says.
“It’s regulation,” the security guard replies. “Zero tolerance for trespassing.”
“They’re just a kid! Surely you can make an exception…”
The security guard hesitates. “Fine. I’ll let them off with a warning. Once.”
Mary turns to the kid with a conspiratorial grin. “So, I heard you wanted an autograph?
Sunday
Yoga helped clear Yeller’s mind when they felt stuck in place, and eased the soreness that came with intense training. They figured they wouldn’t be recognized at a small, out-of-the-way studio, especially since they weren’t a very well-known member of the team.
They were pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong.
Monday
ONE DAY ONLY!!!!
BEGINNER FRIENDLY SURFING LESSON
with guest student: Bay from the Oceanics!!!
Learn how to stay upright when riding the waves!
FREE ADMISSION – FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE!
SurfCrash Indoor Surf Facility – 24 Memorbee Lane
Tuesday
It was silent when I stepped out of the karaoke bar that night. I was quickly accosted by a fascinating young fellow. They explained they deduced I’d be here at this time by reading interviews and social media posts. It’s not easy tracking down the master detective; this kid was good…
Wednesday
LUSTER: Welcome back to the MarBeat Mania trivia segment! One of our loyal listeners can win some signed Swarm swag if they answer our question correctly!
…
LUSTER: So, you’re interested in sports medicine?
…
LUSTER: Well, doctor in training, here’s your question: What’s the clinical term for Momomomo’s injury in 2017?
Event 10 of Marble League 2023: 5 Meter Relay. (Design Credit: Yume)
A silver medal finish would be worthy of celebration to many. It wasn’t gold by any means, but to have beaten fourteen other teams and given the chance to stand on the podium was usually just enough to drown out the woes of what could have been.
Usually, anyways; if you happened to be Thunder after the relay, there would be no celebration.
Team Momo had graciously offered the Thunderbolts the chance to escape the presses and unwind at their place within the athletes’ village. And while Thunder appreciated the gesture, it stung. Of course the event winners by the slimmest of margins had to be the ones to show them kindness.
“Are you alright?” Momomo suddenly asked. “You seem so… out of it.”
“Just fine,” Thunder lied. “Congrats on the gold. Would have been nice…”
The rest of the Team Momo members rolled a little closer as did the other Thunderbolts. “Are you upset over the results?” asked Momo.
Thunder looked away; an indirect yes towards the other captain.
“It’s alright to be down, I get it. It always hurts to think of what could have been, but–”
“You don’t get it,” Thunder interrupted, “it’s been five years since we’ve gotten to stand atop the podium. The last time this team got to do that was with the roster that’s not even competing anymore. Me and the rest of the team are happy for you, don’t get me wrong… but it’s so frustrating to lose out like that. A silver medal can’t even get us out of last place!” They sighed. “Pain.”
After a bit of silence, they received another bump. “The season isn’t over, right?” Momomomo asked. “There’s six more events. Who knows, you could get six gold medals in a row and win the whole thing. Silver may hurt now, but trust me when I say it’ll give you needed momentum and the experience that came with it will mean more than the color of the medal.”
Thunder looked at the Team Momo members curiously. “What experience are you talking about?”
“Beating the Speeders in this event,” Mo blurted out. “I mean, ten of us did that… but it never hurts to have a little hardware to make it feel that much better and much more real.”
For the first time since the event concluded, Thunder laughed. “Y’know what? You’re right. Better watch out for when we get our revenge and you’re the ones wearing silver!”
All the marbles in the room toasted to the declaration, Thunder now unbothered at seeing long overdue gold around the green marbles.
A few hours had passed since the end of the relay, and Team Galactic had retired back to their space within the athletes’ village to celebrate their long-awaited first medal of the season with tea and snacks. A subdued celebration suited them much better than a loud party, particularly when it was a medal earned by the whole team. Nursing a steaming teacup under the lamplight, playing a no-stakes card game, and listening to music from back home in Polaria was the sort of relaxation worthy of finally beating their medal drought.
“I was getting worried, honestly,” Cosmo commented offhandedly, sacrificing a few cards to the pile in the middle thanks to a clever move from Pulsar. “We’re no strangers to droughts, after all.”
“And yet you said the opposite. We won’t go medalless. Something’s going to fall into place soon. Right?” replied Starry.
True to Starry’s impressive memory, it was a direct quotation. Cosmo immediately remembered speaking those exact words after their disappointing Triathlon finish, just a few days prior.
“Well, that’s true…”
Pouring more hot water from the kettle until another teabag was submerged, Starry continued. “You weren’t sure of that — of course you weren’t. It’s impossible. But after failing to repeat one of last year’s medals, you said it just to encourage us.”
Embarrassed, Cosmo could only avert their gaze. “I just don’t want us to lose our nerve.”
“It’s not a criticism. I knew you couldn’t truly promise us a medal, but hearing you sound so confident cheered me enough to give my all… In a way, you were able to make that statement come true.”
“Starry’s right,” added Pulsar, shifting in their beanbag. “Yeah, I was beginning to lose confidence too, but I figured if you’re that if you’re not worried, why worry?”
“It can’t be as simple as manifesting a medal,” Cosmo objected.
“Of course not. That’s unscientific. But you have less to worry about if you truly believe things are going to fall into place.”
“So, Cosmo just has to tell us that we’re going to get a medal every event?” asked Quasar playfully.
“No, that’s not what I…nevermind. You understand, don’t you?” Starry replied.
Cosmo took a warm sip of the tea, dark as the night sky. “I think I do.”
“Good, because we’ll be looking for your encouragement even more from now on.”
Seldom did marbles stay at the stadium long after the day’s event and celebrations have concluded. Most times anyone staying long after the lights went down was an incredibly lost fan or an athlete who had gotten devastatingly swept up in post-event press.
Speedy was none of that.
They knew where they were and why; they were looking out at the relay course from the Speeders fan section near the ending of the track, a prime view for fans to have witnessed the best to ever run the relay fall flat in the heats.
They all saw it.
They all saw what would soon become an unsightly blemish on their legacy when it came to this event. They all saw hope for their third title swing back to the hosts. They all saw a horrific showing that would likely never be forgotten for years.
Superhive Stadium carried with it a much different atmosphere now that lights gave way to darkness and the usual buzz of the crowd was now complete silence. At least it made for reflecting on mistakes that should have never occurred easier and–
“Speedy?”
Speedy didn’t tear their gaze from the track. They knew it was Bumble from voice alone, but maybe if they ignored them they’d go away.
“What are you doing here?” Bumble asked as they got next to them. “You know it’s getting late, right?”
Still nothing from the Speeders captain.
“Are you okay? I know you’re probably mad about the results, but–”
“I’m not mad,” Speedy snapped. They finally turned away from the track and asked, “what do you want?”
“I just wanted to ask if you were interested in attending a party me and the rest of the Bumblebees are hosting. I think it’s exciting that every team now has a medal this early in the season, so I wanna celebrate all of us rolling away as winners no matter what happens the rest of the season!” The look in their eyes was one of excitement. “Every other team said yes, so I wanna know if your team would like to —”
They started to roll away from the conversation and towards the nearest exit.
“Hey, can you at least answer me before storming off?” Bumble asked, trying to keep pace with them. “You wanna come or not?”
Speedy paused and shot a glare at Bumble. “We’re winning your Marble League. I refuse to waste my time on your premature victory parade.”
“It’s not —”
Before Bumble could finish their statement they rolled away once more, the stadium returning to silence.
Event 9 of Marble League 2023: Triathlon. (Design Credit: Yume)
“…so, as I was saying, we have this giant festival that takes place at one of our lakes, and if you go there you’ll see motorbikes for miles, everyone lined up in the mud and strolling between the rows talking. It’s awesome.”
“Damn. You’re speaking my language.”
“And if you buy the weekend ticket, you get free entry into the music festival they host alongside it. Mostly rock but with some punk and metal.”
“And you go every summer?”
“Yeah. Missed it in 2022 because I was doing M1, though.”
“Nice. Y’know, I’m overdue for visiting Helarve anyway…”
“You should go! It’d be fun.”
Just as they were on the cusp of making a potentially unkeepable promise to Wuspy, the ringtone of Stinger’s phone interrupted them. They glanced down at the screen. Their anxiety rose when they realized it was Queen calling, and they quickly picked up.
“Hey, coach-”
“Where on Marblearth are you!?” So loud was their voice through the speaker that it was almost as if they were yelling at them in person. “Half an hour since the podium and you’ve completely vanished!”
Stinger glanced back at Wuspy, who’d taken on a sheepish expression. Had they really been continuing their post-heats conversation for that long?
“Uh, I got caught up in… Something. I’ll be down soon, alright?”
“Make it quick,” Queen grunted, impatient. Stinger hung up, in no mood to attract more of their coaches’ ire.
“I gotta make a break for it. But tell me more later, yeah?” Stinger asked.
Wuspy laughed. “No problem. And congrats again on the silver.”
The triathlon required mastery of three elements; circuit track, sand track, and water track.
Snowstorm was most confident on the circuit track. They’d never been the M1 partner they knew Snowy deserved, but they remembered the fundamentals. And though their history on the sand was storied, Snowy had taught them the strategies they’d employed in the 2022 Sand Rally—taking risky lines and using confrontation to their advantage—and their confidence had improved significantly.
Thus the only unknown was the underwater portion. But they weren’t going to let it stand in their way. They’d spent as much time as possible practicing in the submerged tank, which had resulted in a few lectures from Snowblast about tracking water inside the athletes’ village. But their effort had paid off in the form of a shiny gold medal—their first-ever individual Marble League medal.
The line through to their parents’ home in Snoronto was unstable, but Snowstorm could just about make everything out. It would have helped if their four younger siblings weren’t all speaking at once.
“Alright, alright, everyone calm down. And take turns with your questions!”
“Me first, me first!” Snowbank cried out, waving eagerly through the webcam’s eye. “Is it real gold?”
Snowstorm shrugged. “It’s as good as real gold to me.”
“What does it taste like?” asked Snowcap, their youngest sibling.
“I’m not going to taste it,” Snowstorm replied, sticking their tongue out in disgust. “Probably bad.”
Snowcap stuck their tongue out too, just before Snowdrop waved shyly out from behind them.
“Are you going to get another one?” they asked.
Snowstorm couldn’t say anything for sure. “I’ll work hard, I promise.”
Snowmelt, still the smallest, peeped out. “Can I touch it? Please?”
A knock on their door from behind interrupted the sound of chatter through the speakers. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta hang up.”
“Awwwwww,” their siblings sighed.
“I’ll see you soon, okay? And I’ll mail you some sweets from Buzznya.”
In the midst of the ensuing sweets-induced excitement, Snowstorm hung up. They took another second to breathe before opening the door.
As with Snowy’s medal, both the Snowballs and the Gliding Glaciers were waiting to congratulate them. Amidst the cheers, Snowy leaned in and whispered to them. “Little sibs still as loud as ever?”
“Yep. Snowscape’s still in their goth phase, supporting the Blackjacks instead of us.”
“You’ll change their mind eventually. Anyway, are you hungry? Because dinner’s on the Glaciers.”
“You don’t even know,” Snowstorm said, surveying the crowd assembled. “Hey, where’s Frost?”
“Oh, Frost? Glide said that something came up, but they’d be back later…”
“So, you want to go to the same donut place as last time?”
“Actually, Clem… this time, I think I just want to call it a night. I’m sorry.”
“Oh?” Clementin said, surprised by the proposed break in tradition. “Well… I guess that’s fine.”
The sound of a dejected Clementin always tugged on Orangin’s heartstrings, but they had already made their mind up. “I promise we’ll do something together tomorrow, alright?”
Their promise seemed to cheer them somewhat. “Sounds good. Take it easy, yeah?” Clementin said. Orangin nodded silently as they left.
It was terribly guilt-inducing, to keep secrets from Clementin. Usually they could tell each other anything. But now, Clementin might not understand what they needed to do. As silent as possible, they snuck off to where they had last seen Frost; near the Snowballs’ spectator stand.
They were still there, thankfully, but they didn’t look happy to see Orangin. Orangin couldn’t blame them.
“Hi,” they mumbled. They weren’t sure exactly what they wanted to say. There was nothing to apologize for—the refs had made their decision—but they still felt guilty.
“…I feel really bad about the photo finish. Do you want to get donuts together?”
“I…” Frost replied hesitantly. “I don’t know. Donuts are more Polar’s thing. And I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, either.”
They didn’t seem particularly enthused. Orangin winced, beginning to regret their plan. “I just want to make things up to you. We don’t have to get donuts if you don’t want.”
Frost paused for a second, clearly considering their options. For Orangin, it felt like an eternity was passing.
Finally, they spoke. “If you really want to, I guess it’s fine. I hear Buzznya has really good baklava.”
It wasn’t Orangin’s original plan, but it still felt like a win.
Across from the place where they’d gotten donuts after Clementin’s Sprint medal was a cute old traditional sweet shop that served baklava. Orangin was thankful they’d made a mental note of its shimmering gold-plated window display.
Seemingly slightly more at ease, Frost took the seat across from them on a small, shaky table. A smartly dressed waiter laid a slice of fresh, warm baklava laden with glistening honey and crushed pistachios in front of them both.
“Wow,” Frost exclaimed. “It’s actually… kind of beautiful.”
The tension of earlier had melted away. For that, Orangin was thankful. Silently, they speared their own piece of pastry with a fork.
“Oh, and no hard feelings, right?” Frost added.
“Yeah. No hard feelings,” Orangin replied, smiling.
Demure was on everyone’s face in the locker room, especially Lightning’s.
“It happens to all of us,” said Bolt, trying to lighten the mood.
Lightning’s expression did not change. To them, it felt like there was a storm cloud over them, raining nonstop.
A long sigh left Lightning as they stood next to their locker. “This was my one shot,” Lightning commented, “All my hard work, just to run into a wall.”
“You’ll get them next time,” added Thunder. “Don’t beat yourself up, at least you didn’t get punted off the track.”
“He, yeah. But, I wanted to be in this event so badly, I wanted to show off my skills, I begged Thunderstorm to put me in… All just to get distracted by Rizzy- I mean, run into a wall,” Lightning responded.
Bolt pulled out a box of cookies from their locker. They opened the box, which had 6 cookies. Lightning peered in, and saw that the cookies had depictions of 😃👍 on them.
Thunderstorm then rolled into the room, holding a box. They laid it on the table and stopped in front of the whiteboard.
“Alright team, I know this event was… not the result we were expecting, but I found something that should cheer everyone up,” said Thunderstorm. They reached into the box and pulled out a videotape. “I dug around our facility, and I found some long-lost Efmo footage!”
The team perked up hearing that name. Thunderstorm grabbed a marker and started drawing on the board.
“Our next event is the Relay, and I have the perfect strategy.” They wrote a word in big blue letters. “Goedspeed!”
The team went nuts like they had just won the Marble League.
Em bursts out their front door, a compass in one hand, and a letter in a bright blue envelope in the other. “DON’T OPEN UNTIL TRIATHLON” is scrawled across the front of it.
Dear Em,
Thanks for your letter. It’s always a joy to hear from such enthusiastic fans! We usually don’t have time to respond to every piece of fan mail, but your story was particularly inspiring.
I’ve signed a Zuro postcard. After asking around, Snowstorm, Rojo Tres, and Tumult all agreed to sign it as well.
You said you were a fan of puzzles, and as luck would have it, I am too. So, I’ve hidden the postcard somewhere, and I’ve set up a series of puzzles to help you find it. (If you’ve opened this before the triathlon, the last few steps won’t be ready. I warned you!)
If you ever need help, I gave Vespa some extra hints, since you’re a regular at the diner. I’m sure you won’t need them, though!
“Geez, it sure took a long time to get here… Did we have to be blindfolded the whole way?”
“It wouldn’t have taken so long if Tangerin had just listened to the GPS.”
“There was a road closure! I wasn’t going to bust down a fence to cut five minutes off our trip.”
“You should have let me drive.”
“Okay, that’s enough spoiling the mood out of the two of you. Rango, if you’d be so kind as to let our racing duo see their reward?”
“Certainly.”
What Clementin and Orangin saw as their blindfolds were removed and their vision returned was a room decked out in black-and-orange decorations; classic O’rangers banners and glittery Halloween baubles blending together seamlessly in the low light. The centerpiece of it all was a squat black table stacked high with handsomely-sized pumpkins, each tagged with a name like a Glassmas present arrived two months early. To the side was a toolbox’s worth of pumpkin-carving equipment, ready for slicing and gutting and all other techniques of true pumpkin artistry. Also provided was a veritable buffet of Orlangian snacks, the likes of which they hadn’t seen since departing their home region.
“No way!” exclaimed Clementin, rushing towards the haphazard pile with an unabashed grin. “I thought for sure we weren’t even going to celebrate this year.”
Orangin was a little more cool-tempered, but even they couldn’t completely constrain their excitement. “Helarvians don’t even have pumpkins on Halloween. How did you get these?”
As they herded Kinnowin and Tangerin to the pile, Mandarin shrugged knowingly. “I always get my way,” they replied cryptically, and Orangin knew it to be true. The best pumpkins had been reserved for the two racers, with Orangin’s so heavy that they were almost tired just carrying it to the sanitary mat which was laid out on the floor. Meanwhile, Clementin loaded up two bowls of snacks, one for them and one for Orangin.
When they sat down Orangin was already hard at work, carefully marking out an arcane plan on their pumpkin’s orange exterior. Clementin, meanwhile, got straight to the disemboweling, filled with a single-minded vision of their pumpkin’s fate. Hunks of pumpkin gore fell wetly to the ground until an orange heap formed out of skin, spare flesh, and seeds. The two worked together in mostly-wordless unity, gnawing occasionally on the snacks provided.
Midway through a chocolate snack cake, Clementin looked around the empty room. Having the entire family in one place again was nice, but it was all almost too much for the six of them to enjoy in a single night. “We should have had a party,” they mumbled, quietly dismayed.
Orangin shook their head dismissively. “Nobody would have come.”
“There was one last year, during the league,” Clementin protested. At that party the entire team had dressed up in tabby-cat costumes and gone around knocking things off of tables and other high surfaces; a joke only appreciated by the joker.
Orangin didn’t concede. “It’s different. This late in the season everyone is your enemy. Playing nice is only possible when you forget what’s at stake,” they mused as they put the finishing touches on their O’rangers-themed pumpkin.
“What if… We only invited the teams that are doing badly?” suggested Clementin. Their own design was long-finished, the stereotypical Halloween pumpkin with its haunting grin and triangular eyes, though with the addition of a whimsical mustache above.
“Parties are always the best when everyone there is existentially frustrated and ready to fight each other for scraps,” Orangin countered sarcastically. “Oh, and the Balls of Chaos and Team Primary are both there too.”
“Okay, okay!” Clementin laughed, though a certain tension underlied it. “Only a suggestion.”
Orangin drooped to face the floor. “Sorry… I feel weird. I’ve got so much ground to make up if we want a shot at the podium, and when I think about it, I just can’t imagine enjoying being around the other teams.”
“Yeah… I get what you mean, I think,” Clementin replied, nodding.
“That, and I’m not happy with my season. Everything but the race win was meh. That’s not what our fans expect of us, and it’s not what I expect of myself,” surmised Orangin.
Clementin nodded again. “But success always comes and goes, doesn’t it? You could be Royal… or Aryp. The way I see it, at the end of this season, we’re still going to be the only team to go blow-for-blow with the Crazy Cat’s Eyes at full power and win. That has to be worth something.”
“Well, will we be?” Orangin asked, speaking to the elephant in the room.
Clementin chuckled. “…I suppose that depends on how much faith you have in Mallard. Hey, how about we bet a month of chores on it?”
“Two weeks,” Orangin countered.
“Deal,” Clementin replied, and they shook on it.
Snowballs
It was a long time since Snowy had last been to Helarve. In those three years the city hadn’t changed much, if at all, and they followed the same paths to the same hotel they’d stayed in the last go-around without issue. Not that it made much difference, as since the incident in Dunduei three weeks prior they’d gotten into the habit of not going out if they didn’t have to.
Instead, it was Snowstorm handling the team’s publicity for the day, taking interviews about their prospects for a first-ever team podium before attending a fan gathering and meeting with the Gliding Glaciers in nearby Vanillsinki. At least that was the schedule as had been briefly communicated over text. Though they’d never said it outright, Snowy knew what was going on – whenever possible, Snowstorm was avoiding them. But it was fine. Once they were on the podium together, they’d get over it, and soon everyone else would follow. An audience could judge and jeer to their heart’s content, but there was no such thing as a medal for good sportsmarbship.
Still, there wasn’t much to do alone in a hotel room. Over the past few weeks they’d exhausted their collection of favorite films on streaming, and now they were left to browse their phone endlessly between showers and eating room service at their leisure. Sometimes they glanced outside, watching a wet morning’s rainfall sputter on the city below.
It was just as they put their phone down to pace around the room that it began to ring.
“Is this Room 181?” asked the speaker. They picked it up expecting the call to be from Snowstorm or Blizzard, but the caller’s voice was unfamiliar, as was the number.
“Who is this?” Snowy asked, tensing up.
“Oh, sorry. It’s the front desk at the Grand Helarve. There’s a visitor for you, saying that Snowstorm sent them.”
Snowy let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Snowstorm was just ordering takeout for them again, they thought. “Send them up, thanks,” they mumbled, hanging up right after. For lack of anything better to do, they sat motionless at the foot of their bed and anticipated the knock on the door.
When it came they opened the door expecting an anonymous deliverymarble, but at the turn of the doorhandle they were greeted by a face that, even after two years of separation and a change of uniform, was recognizable enough to send Snowy’s blood running cold.
“Snowflake?” they gasped, more an animal noise than a conscious expression, and the marble at their door smiled back.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” That their voice hadn’t changed a lick made Snowy’s heart race. They welcomed Snowflake inside eagerly, cautious to shut the door in their stead. Ever since the incident at the Hivedrive with Glide, Snowflake had weighed endlessly on their mind. All of the pain and dysfunction of years was theirs to take away, and now they were back.
Snowy spoke through held-back tears. “I’m so glad you’re here! I have so much to tell you about,” Snowy exclaimed, their voice at fever pitch, as they eagerly guided Snowflake over to their desk. “You’ve been watching the season so far, right? Pretty great, huh?”
Snowflake smiled, and Snowy immediately mirrored them. “It’s been fantastic, Snowy. I told you it wasn’t over, and I’m glad you took that to heart.”
“Yeah!” Snowy squeaked, now overflowing with pride. “I knew we weren’t actually going to be down and out forever after Season 2. It was just that we weren’t getting the recognition we deserved – and look how well things are going now we are!” Snowy declared, their mouth running away from their thoughts. Nevermind that they had said and thought all that before – Snowflake was back and everything was different.
Slightly uneasy – not that Snowy noticed – Snowflake nodded. “It’s very impressive.”
Snowy continued, unabashed. “Now things are actually going our way, I bet I could get Blizzard to put you back on the team again – have you been training? You’d love -”
“Snowy, wait a moment,” Snowflake interjected. “You’re talking too fast.”
“Oh.” Even mild criticism was a dagger through the heart coming from Snowflake. “Sorry.”
Snowflake took a shallow breath and averted their gaze. “I’m not going to rejoin the team, Snowy. That’s not what I’m here for.” Hearing that sent Snowy’s stomach lurching. “I said I’m really proud of you, and I am. Really, I should have told you sooner. But I’m also worried about you.”
Snowy scoffed at the ridiculous sentiment. “Worried? I’m doing amazingly! I’m finally on the right track. I’m finally winning again.”
“You know there’s more to it than that,” Snowflake countered. “Snowstorm is worried too; that’s why they asked me to come.”
“Worried about what?” Snowy laughed. “I told you, I’m fine. Better than ever, now you’re here.”
“You’re starting public arguments that nearly get physical with other athletes. You’re desperate to win things, and you break down if you don’t. You bully your own teammates, sometimes you disappear randomly without telling anyone where you’re going, and when anyone tries to call you out on anything, you just deny it.” As they spoke they began to sniffle, teardrops building. “Snowstorm said… they said you miss me; that if you won’t listen to anyone else you might listen to me.”
Snowy’s expression went blank. For once, they had no answer, and the gulf between what they had wanted to say and what could bring Snowflake around to them yawned into the distance. In their absence of retort they were paralyzed, facing an old friend who could not face them back.
“You lost everything to me, Snowflake. Everything you worked to build. I’m trying to protect it for you.” Everything was unraveling before Snowy, and they were rambling more than talking. “I’m trying to make you happy.”
“So when you and everyone around you are miserable, how exactly will it make me happy?”
It’s not like that, Snowy wanted to say, but the words never came.
“I don’t know.”
Hazers
Fittingly for the host city of the Midnight Wisps, Helarve’s night life was teeming with activity, so Misty appreciated Cloudy’s company as they glided through the streets together.
There was no goal, just some wandering around in the crisp autumn air, relying on their honed navigational sense to lead them back to the hotel whenever they were ready. There was no goal, and yet, Misty felt themselves being drawn to the clock tower in the distance, so they’d gone and snuck onto the racetrack grounds. It was a fairly simple matter, and Misty wasn’t sure whether that said more about the Hazers’ stealth or the Wisps’ security.
The track loomed high above them, casting long shadows across their forms as they threaded underneath the support beams.
“The moon’s so bright,” Cloudy said, entranced by its soft glow. “It’s a night race, right? It’s already so pretty from down here, it’ll look even better from the track.” They skipped ahead of them into a patch of moonlight, avoiding the cracks in the pavement in a spontaneous child’s game, but Misty slowed to a halt.
Misty hummed in agreement, still clearly distracted. “It’s pretty.” The fresh air had done wonders, but the daunting task before them – now visibly laid out above them – still weighed on their mind. Helarve’s chill was from latitude and sea breeze, not altitude and mountain breeze, but their breath fogged up the air all the same.
Cloudy’s face fell. “You know I could have vouched for you, right?” they fretted. “I could’ve taken Midnight Bay, you could’ve taken the bronze in Accellaise, or at least – ‘cause that track’s easy, we’ve run a different racer each time and we keep getting top five.” They declared that last part with a Smoggy-like certainty, and Misty smiled a little.
“Don’t say that, you’ll get a lecture on humility from Coach,” Misty warned playfully. The Speeders wouldn’t be happy to hear it either. “It’s just that… this is where it all started, right?”
They’d only seen the aftermath the first time: a barely perceptible infection of doubt in every movement from then on, which grew more and more until Misty was left thinking they could pick up the pieces, with them having made a final gambit to pass the torch. And now they were here just as they once were, about to undergo the same trial.
Cloudy fell silent, lost in memories themselves.
“The cycle I mentioned last year… I thought it was over,” Misty said. “I thought it was over after what I did last Showdown, or in Sotsevsa, but it’s not.” Helarve’s harsh cyan lights left an afterimage, inverting into the red glow of Fantum whenever they shut their eyes, so they stayed in the shade. “And now I’m here, where it all started, and I have to complete it.”
Cynicism was a familiar, bitter poison, but it was the best shield they’d ever known. It wasn’t something they expressed outright anymore for the sake of team morale, but Midnight Bay was their personal stage to collapse on.
“Misty…”
“I’m scared,” they admitted softly, embarrassment and fear welling up in their voice.
It hadn’t been too long ago when they were standing numb under the lights of Casino Square, reeling from what they’d just done. They must have felt something similar here.
“But I want it to end,” they whispered. The night is silent; they may as well have shouted it. They shook their head, a different memory resurfacing: Murky, desperately trying to suppress all signs of terror as they took their place on the Honeydome starting grid. They wondered what they looked like right now. “You’re with me, right?”
They didn’t dare hope again. They had to. They couldn’t. They would.
“I’m with you all the way,” Cloudy promised, smiling at them with determined, earnest loyalty, and Misty let themselves be pulled into the moonlight.
At the base of Mt. Huaze there laid a pile of stacked stone.
“Base” was relative; specifically, the cairn was just several lengths away from the secret trailhead up to the supposed summit, acting as both a landmark for the start of the climbing route and as the cenotaph it was intended to be.
No one remembered when it was built: the dawn of time, perhaps. They were old stones, carved with tiny, wind-weathered names, each one rendered illegible by the passage of time. Nowadays, the fallen were engraved on small silver discs and draped across the stones to immortalize them. Though freed from the threat of wind erosion, they could not escape the fog, which corroded them away anyway – names upon names, most of them erased, none yet forgotten, and all of them ultimately a footnote in the long, long history of one of Marblearth’s last unconquered peaks.
How many more attempts will it take, how many more torches will be passed, will it all be worth it in the end…
“You’re not coming back for Buzzpig? But it would fix everything – I can’t replace you. I can’t be like you, I’ve tried.”
There was something painful in their expression when Misty said that. For a moment they seemed to struggle to answer them, but then they simply replied, “Well…you’re not me. You’ll succeed where I couldn’t.”
“You really believe that? Even after everything?”
They nodded unwaveringly. “I trust you.”
Interlude – Kobalts & Raspberry Racers
A Halloween market had been set up in the city center, framed by a distant view of the famous clock tower. After a vigorous session of afternoon shopping both teams had now retired to a second-floor restaurant overlooking the glowing lights below. From a heated balcony, they watched some of the first light snows of the colder season fall on the shoppers below.
“You know, I never saw real snow until I was an adult,” Cerulean mused, gazing out onto the crowds below. “We have some fake snow centers, but it’s not the same.”
Royal pushed a forkful of herby cream pasta around in their dish. “It’s gorgeous, but it’s a world away from Zuro in September… I can’t believe the season’s almost over. Or, well, it’s over for me.”
“And me,” Ruzzy chirped. “So now I can eat whatever I want!” they exclaimed, laughing before they took another bite of their reindeer burger.
“You were doing that the entire season anyway,” Razzy corrected in vain – though they did get a laugh out of Cerulean and Royal alike.
Cerulean pushed their winter salad around with their fork. “I can’t say I’m not jealous. I made Sapphire draw up a list of the food I should be eating before the race, and it definitely doesn’t have ‘burgers’ on it. Even this tastes too good to be allowed.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” proclaimed Razzy. “You’re basically unbeatable at Midnight Bay.”
“Except the two times I got beaten,” Cerulean corrected them.
“Yeah, but you’ve gone super-Cerulean mode now, so you’ll be fine,” followed Ruzzy. Cerulean had to hold back a laugh.
“You’ll do great as well, Razzy,” they added instead. “It’s been a good season for you two. I was… Well, I don’t want to say surprised, but–”
“It’s fine. I know it’s unexpected. But I feel better than ever. And I want to end it on a high,” they declared.
Cerulean nodded. “We’ll have to give everyone a taste of Season 2, then. Maybe this time without a Speeders win.”
“How about a toast, then?” followed Royal. Everyone looked around the table in agreement before holding their glasses aloft, peach-toned champagne swirling around as they clinked.
“To Midnight Bay!” Cerulean declared, and everyone followed, cheering.
Green Ducks
A gray sky opened up to blue in patches, the sun obscured through gauzy clouds, as if a great sheet had been hung over the world. Most of the day it had been raining at a steady and unrelenting pace, and even now that it was dry, they’d had to lay down towels to sit on the picnic bench outside of the cabin. Water still dripped from the wooden eaves, though Bombay only made the mistake of leaving their mug of tea perfectly placed to catch the runoff once. Meanwhile, Mallard and Billy had already left the decking for the holiday park’s beach, pristine and otherwise empty in its sloping towards the sea.
“It’s typical, isn’t it?” Bombay quipped, one eye on the twins and one eye on their tea. “First day of your holiday and it’s raining until it’s too late to go anywhere.”
“Look on the bright side – we didn’t have to drive anywhere with them,” laughed Gadwall. They followed Bombay’s gaze to Billy and Mallard, who by now were mere dark specks on the horizon. “Besides, they’re having fun. And we have a few more hours of sunlight for the barbecue.”
Unconvinced by Gadwall’s optimism, Bombay grumbled under their breath. “And if it turns again?”
“We’ll order a pizza, then. I get a break from work, you get a break from cooking. That’s only fair, isn’t it?”
Bombay did not reply. Their gaze was now fully cast out to the water; to where Mallard and Billy were leaving tracks in the pearl-toned sand.
Gadwall let out a pronounced cough. “Is something wrong? Be honest with me.”
Bombay turned reluctantly and sighed. “It’s not worth worrying you about,” they replied, failing to meet their gaze. Gadwall had been able to sense the oddness they were carrying since the day before the drive, and they’d taken it for pre-trip anxiety. Clearly it had not been alleviated.
Gadwall nudged them encouragingly. “A problem shared is a problem halved.”
Bombay nodded. “Fair enough,” they said, and produced an opened letter from their bag. Gadwall had never seen it before, though it was addressed to the both of them. On one corner of the envelope was written PRIVATE in ominous block text. “It came the day before we left. I couldn’t get the time to talk to you about it alone.”
Gadwall’s brow caved with concern. “What is it?”
“It’s from the school. It’s, um – about the bullying stuff.” Bombay spoke hesitantly, and Gadwall knew already that the news was nothing good. “They, ah – there’s nothing they can do about the perpetrators, and they won’t cover the cost of what got broken. And they recommended a school transfer for Billy if we ‘still believe there’s a problem.’”
“Unbelievable,” Gadwall exclaimed, briefly losing control of their volume. “They’ve got some nerve to suggest that we’re at fault here.”
Bombay let out a soft sigh. “There’s a reason I didn’t bring it up.”
“We can’t have them separated. It’s ridiculous.” In the distance, Mallard and Billy had reached the water, leaping and playing in the surf together. “We’re not going along with it.”
“We could transfer them both,” Bombay uneasily proposed. “I suppose we don’t have to worry about it until September, but…” they added, trailing off at the end.
Gadwall lowered their gaze. “Right. We paid good money for this trip, and there’s nothing we can do about it over the summer.”
–
Evening turned slowly into night, and the gentle pitter-patter of rain outside returned alongside the darkness. Fireplace crackle and the rustic warmth of burning wood permeated the confines of the small cabin, pizza long since devoured and Bombay already in bed. Mallard was cuddled up to Gadwall, whose new book was illuminated by the fire’s distant glow.
“Hey. Heeeeeey. Between me and Billy, who’s older?” Mallard chirped through the silence.
“You’re twins,” Gadwall replied, sterner.
“Twins can be older and younger,” objected Mallard. “That’s what someone at school said, anyway.”
Gadwall considered the proposition for a second. Across the room was Billy, back to constructing an elaborate tower of blocks by the fireplace. “Well, that’s true,” they eventually conceded, pulling Mallard ever-so-slightly closer.
“Okay,” replied Mallard, and they glanced towards Billy with an expression of curiosity, as if they were trying to guess for themself. “So, which one of us is the oldest?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Gadwall declared.
Mallard groaned a warbling aaaaaa noise in protest. “Why not?”
“Why do you want to know?”
The question caught Mallard off guard. “…I dunno.”
“If I tell you who’s the oldest,” Gadwall began, “you might think I’m telling you who’s better, or who matters more, or who should be in charge. But I don’t want you to make comparisons. Even if you don’t always get along, you joined this world at the same time. Being together is the most precious gift you’ll ever have.”
“Um… okay, whatever,” Mallard mumbled, pouting and still clearly unsatisfied. Gadwall patted them gently and repressed a sigh. They’re probably too young to understand, they thought, looking back over to Billy.
“Just take care of Billy, alright? I know they’ll do the same for you.”
Mallard glanced over to their sibling, and then they spoke quietly. “Alright.”
–
From a slim porthole window on the side of their descending plane, Mallard observed the surrounding Helarve-Vanillsinki region stretched out before them. It wasn’t much different from the Brace Isles, flat green fields broken up by hills and residential areas, though in the darkness it was itself only cold and vast darkness, illuminated by the warm homes others kept.
The plane landed with practiced precision, though rain rendered the runway black and slick. Mallard descended the short staircase down once everything had come to a complete stop, followed by Bombay, the rest of the Green Ducks, and finally Billy, who still donned the vintage goggle-scarf combo they wore each time they flew.
“Word from air traffic control: we’ve got a crowd awaiting us,” Billy said, a smile beaming from their face. “Ready to go and face the music?”
“I still can’t believe you can actually fly a plane,” Mallard replied. “You bet, though. I’m glad we went to go and visit the gravesite… But we didn’t come this far just to go back home.”
Billy nodded. “We’ll be fine. It’s you, and I know you can do it.”
Crazy Cat’s Eyes
Every time they looked at the standings, the numbers wouldn’t change.
136. 117. 112. 111.
19. That’s all that stood between a second title and returning home empty handed.
Yellow Eye sighed as they took another look at the top of the standings; why they were still so fixated on this was beyond them. Maybe a part of them possessed a bleak hope that something, anything would change if they stared long enough – but the numbers unceasingly stared back no matter how long they looked.
This wasn’t their first time on the track. They’ve been here before. Midnight Bay was familiar territory. There was no reason to be a scaredy-cat about something so familiar to them; but here they were, sitting in silence with their fear. IBit was the only thing they knew how to feel in the face of one more race either making or breaking a championship.
“Yellow?”
Yellow Eye finally quit the self-imposed staring contest they were having with the standings and turned to face the voice. Expectedly, it was Red Eye. Seeing their beloved teammate brought comfort to them, but at the same time made the unease from within them that more potent.
“Oh! You look… happy,” Yellow Eye pointed out. Despite being Red Eye’s teammate for what felt like ages now, seeing them adorning a joyful look was a rare sight. “I, uhh… I hope that continues into next week… or something like that.”
Red Eye was silent for a moment before quietly laughing. “You know I don’t need to hope and pray for that sort of thing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We’re leading the championship as we should. It would take the team right below us second at a minimum to beat us. Really, all you have to do is show up and we’re bringing our rightful title back home,” they explained, the confidence in their words unwavering.
Yellow Eye kept staring at their teammate. “But I still have to race well–”
“I said, all you need to do is show up to the track.” They gave a light nudge to their teammate. “After all, you showing up and success is as synonymous as it gets around here.”
Any rebuttal they might have had fizzled out of existence. They opened their mouth hoping that something, anything would come out about how Red Eye was wrong and being much too assumptive about a race that hadn’t happened yet; but the pair was only met with uncomfortable silence as nothing came out.
How could they be the very definition of success if their first season back after being forced out was nothing of the sort? They had no medals to their name and no awe-inspiring performances that fans would remember for years to come – their “shining moment” this season was blowing a commanding lead to some rookie they’d never met until the season’s youth back after the Momotorway red flag.
In what world could they finally bring a victory back to Felynia when failing to do so before was the reason they’d been shunned away from the circuit a year ago in the first place?
“But… what if I fail?” Yellow Eye finally managed. “W-what if I blow it like I always do and one of the racers threatening to take this away from you does enough and everyone hates me and you hate me too and want me gone again–”
Red Eye gave them a strong bump to the side; it was one of those bumps they only reserved for when team discussions got considerably heated. “Yellow, why would I want you gone again? You and I know well that I don’t want that for you –”
“Then what do you want from me!?” they shouted, their voice breaking. “Someone like you who only knows victory should have rejoiced when the coach rightfully threw me out a year ago! I bet you were disgusted to see that I was coming back to drag the team down again! But here you are, trusting someone like me to do something I’ve never been able to do and have proven so many times I can’t do…!”
“Yellow, please–”
Yellow Eye weakly fell forward into Red Eye’s grasp. “I… I just wanna be someone you can finally say you’re proud to race alongside…”
Where they’d usually expect an immediate counter from Red Eye never came; quiet once again invited itself between the two whenever it wasn’t drowned out by quiet and hollow sobs that did nothing to remedy how oppressive the silence had grown between the two racers.
“…don’t say you’re dragging us down. You never have,” Red Eye whispered after an eternity. “No matter what happens out there, I’m going to be so proud of you. If anything, I think this is going to be the best season I’ve ever shared with you.”
“B-but… we didn’t clinch anything again. You’re still in danger of losing your third individual title…” Yellow Eye weakly looked up at their teammate, blinking away tears. “So why say that? Are you just that confident I can do something I’ve never been able to do for you before? Are you just that happy about leading the standings?”
The gaze they were met with was one they seldom saw from their teammate – it was perhaps the softest and most sincere smile they’d ever seen from anyone.
“It’s because you’re here again, where you’ve always belonged.” Red Eye’s smile went from one of gentleness to one of confidence. “Now let’s give the world a show they’ll never forget.”
In Dunduei, a scenic tourist trail ringed the less urban western side of the port, passing lazily through cultivated public gardens and occasionally looking out onto the bay and the steadily-busying beaches directly across. Yellup had rejected the idea of going to the beach out of hand. It was much too public, they’d already been to the beach twice in the season, and just the idea of Yellup being in Dunduei turned everyone into a comedian. But the mid-spring weather was irresistible to Yellow, and the two had compromised on a relaxing stroll through one of the less-trafficked parts of the city. Yellup suspected they owed them for taking the track, anyway.
“Stop for a minute,” Yellow asked, for what was perhaps the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. Yellup continued on for a pointed few seconds before coming to a reluctant halt.
Glancing back, they saw Yellow with their rented binoculars arched towards the upper boughs of a tree. “Another bird?” they asked, suspecting they already knew the answer.
Yellow didn’t deign to reply until their binoculars were fully adjusted. “I think it has a nest,” they murmured. “I didn’t even know a bird could be that green.”
Yellup huffed, rolling their eyes. “What’s so special about a bird that looks like a Limer?”
Yellow didn’t deign them an answer, lost to a zen state. Dunduei had some interesting wildlife, but a bird could only ever be worth so much attention, Yellup thought. “Caw caw! Caw caw!” they called, a poor imitation of a bird. But it came out unexpectedly loud.
Startled by the sudden noise, a shimmering ball of feathers burst through the greenery from whence it had previously gone undetected. Yellup filled with alarm when Yellow turned to them, visibly frustrated.
“Seriously?” Yellow scolded. “What’s gotten into you?”
It had seemed funny in the moment. Now Yellup began to feel embarrassment set in. “It was just a bird,” they mumbled, though even then it felt a lazy excuse.
“But you’ve had this crappy attitude the entire time we’ve been here. What was all the big talk about coming to Dunduei to confront your demons for, huh?”
Yellup cringed at the sound of their own words repeated back to them. Their fault, they conceded to themself; Yellow’s memory was photographic, and they never forgot. “Oh, it’s fine for the bird to leave when things get hairy, but not me?”
“Forget about the bird. Look, I’m not making you hang out with me, so go back to the hotel if you want to stay inside.”
“Well, you wanted it, and I’m sick of disappointing you!” Yellup barked, only to quickly wish they could take it back. “And by that I mean-”
“Look, let’s leave it. This place is too public, anyway,” Yellow conceded. “Just be honest with me if you’re in a bad mood, m’kay?”
“Yeah, okay. This city just messes with my head. Anything I can do to make it up to you?”
“How about you take my photo with that bird?” replied Yellow, gesturing to a not-too-distant statue of a giant flightless bird in the middle of the park.
Yellup laughed, the first time they’d laughed since arriving. “Can do,” they replied, pulling out their phone and waiting for Yellow to get in position in front.
Just as the camera had finished its blurring and adjusting, finally putting Yellow in focus in front of the statue, but before Yellup could snap a photo, the phone jolted with a notification. It was Yellup’s turn to be startled, tapping onto the message instead of the camera button.
Yeller:you seen this? Yeller:absolutely insane 😭 Yellerattached a Rollstagram post.
(Design Credit: Yume)
“Wait, it’s not loading…”
“What’s the hold-up, Yellup?”
–
The video opened to the interior of a bar filled with blue island-themed furnishings. Blinds over the windows obscured the room to the outside while still allowing slits of light in. Over half the paddock was crammed inside, sectioned into their own small groups, some concentrated in cushy booths while others stood or surrounded the bar. One such figure at the bar was Red Eye, who the camera was intently focused on. Surrounding Red Eye was Yellow Eye, Pinky Panther, Mallard and Ruzzy, but most notably Snowy, who was not seated – rather, they and Red Eye were in the midst of a confrontation.
“-because you’re not so perfect now, are you?” barked Snowy, the first part of their confrontation clipped by the filmer’s delay. It’s really heating up, mumbled a quiet voice from behind the camera, audible now the rest of the room was quieting. “Yeah, you think you’re the most important marble out there, but you’re not! And I know you think I’m going to lie down and give up so you can feel special, but think again!”
“Snowy,” came a frustrated voice from the background, clearly Snowstorm’s, but Snowy was deaf to it. They leered further into Red Eye’s space and the two locked eyes. Despite Snowy’s acidic words, Red Eye remained unperturbed as they pushed their drink to the side. Snowy kept one eye on it.
Adjacent to the anonymous POV, a voice with a distinct Hunluese cadence muttered half-audible commands to the filmer: zoom in, don’t let them miss the reaction.
A few moments of silent consideration followed, Snowy’s imposing posture maintained. “I don’t think this is an argument we need to have,” concluded Red Eye eventually, turning towards the silent bartender and away from Snowy’s heated gaze.
That’s it? grumbled the filmer’s accomplice. And for a moment, it looked as if it might have been. But just as the tension dissipated, Snowy seized Red Eye’s drink from the counter and poured it over them, provoking an enraged hiss as they were left completely drenched.
The silenced room broke out into a furore of stunned chatter, but one voice was still heard over them all – “I told you you wouldn’t forget about the Snowballs in a hurry, huh?”
Fantum (19/10/24)
“Hey, everything alright?” asked Razzy, after Billy had stopped following after them while they were departing the track. They were in the tunnel leading to the starting gate, where only racers and coaches were normally allowed post-race, late to leave after a post-race catch-up.
“Hold on a second.” Someone had dropped a handkerchief on the floor. Billy gingerly picked it up. “Is this yours?” they asked.
“A handkerchief? Nope,” answered Razzy. “Maybe ask the racer group chat.”
“It’s been shut since the incident, remember?” replied Billy.
“Oh yeah… Well, maybe it’s Snowstorm’s? They were in a real hurry to leave…”
–
Snowstorm met Billy’s approach with a skeptical glare. “I’m not going to talk about last week, sorry.”
“That’s understandable. Um, I was just wondering if this is yours…” Billy said, gingerly presenting the handkerchief for Snowstorm’s inspection. Snowstorm barely looked before shaking their head.
“Sorry. Not mine.” They squinted. “Does anyone actually even use a handkerchief anymore?”
Dejected, Billy returned it to their bag.
“I guess maybe the Hazers do. I don’t think they have game consoles up there, so it’s probably the next most exciting thing.”
Billy could certainly fault their logic, but they had no better lead. “Alright.”
–
If Snowstorm had been in a mournful mood, Misty was almost frozen in grief. When Billy met them Cloudy was keeping a dutiful protective watch over their personal space, and as they received the nod of permission Billy felt as if they were being admitted to an exclusive club.
“Yours?” Billy asked, producing the handkerchief for Misty to inspect. They inspected it with a glassy, distant expression, empty of any recognition. Billy wasn’t surprised to see them frown and sigh.
“Sorry. I haven’t… It looks really nice, though. Maybe it’s Yellow Eye’s?” they suggested instead.
“Thanks anyway, Misty,” Billy replied.
–
Yellow Eye was much trickier to track down than Snowstorm and Misty. White Eye kept their racers on a short leash post-race, guarded from a press eager to trip them up, and never more so than when the day had not gone to plan. Billy also got the distinct sense that they in particular were a persona non-grata at the penthouse office. Fortunately, Yellow Eye’s silver-tongued hospitality seemed to override White Eye’s hostility.
“Um, a handkerchief? Cute, but a little outdated,” they mused. Billy was about to make a hasty exit before Yellow Eye unexpectedly continued. “Try Stinger – see, I heard this rumor…”
–
“Absolutely no way, not in a million years, not on your life, not on Bombay’s life, not on Bumble’s life -”
“Hey!” Bumble interjected.
“- is that fancy little thing mine!” barked Stinger, scowling. Just the suggestion – which they seemed to take as an accusation – sent them blushing beet-red, an impressive feat for a black-and-yellow marble.
“Okay, so it’s not yours -” Billy began, but they were quickly interrupted.
“I mean, seriously, why would you even think that? That’s more… Lemonlime’s vibe, right? I’m super punk, right? Hey! Look me in the eyes!”
“Uh… no.”
Billy quickly left, but not without a lead.
–
Billy found Lemonlime at a canal-side cafe, drinking tea.
“This is what passes for a waterside view in Fantum,” they sighed. “Are you joining me?”
Billy bowed apologetically. “Sorry, I can’t. Did you lose this?” they asked, displaying the handkerchief.
Lemonlime inspected it so intensely and fondly that hope began to rise in Billy’s stomach. Then they sighed again.
“It’s pure silk… I couldn’t afford having something like this around with me. I bet Starry would love it, though.”
Billy was about to leave, until Lemonlime piped back up.
“Uh… If you don’t find the owner, can I have it?”
–
It was just Billy’s luck to interrupt their second coach-racer meeting of the day, this time between Starry and Black Hole. Though the mood was clearly tense, they were greeted with a smile.
“A handkerchief? Let me have a closer look…”
Even with dark circles and frustration lines carved into their face, Starry was perfectly intimidating, and Billy had to fight the urge to clam up with every ounce of confidence in their body.
“S-sure…”
Starry inspected it carefully for what felt like hours. Eventually, they came to their conclusion – “It says ‘made in Zuro’. Maybe try the Kobalts?”
“O-okay.”
–
Billy found Royal alone in the hotel’s buffet, lost in thought and gnawing on a lamb chop.
“Oh, hey Billy. Did you reconsider the club idea?”
“Sorry… I get you want to raise awareness, but it’s too visible for me, and I don’t know who’d join aside from us.”
Royal leaned back and sighed. “That’s fair.”
“Anyway, I came to talk about something else. Is this yours?” they asked, and showed Royal the handkerchief.
“Oh, that? It’s not mine. But they’re sold in Zuro gift shops,” Royal said. “I saw Anarchy buy one. See, they’re made like this, with a…”
–
By the time Billy escaped Royal’s long-winded explanation of the production process the sun had set, and the blinking lights of the distant mining operations were joined by a chorus of warm city streetlights. Billy found Anarchy at a nearby, doing a Q&A for a hometown audience.
“Now, a question from… Billy? Why are you-”
This was their chance. They held the handkerchief up. “Did you lose this?”
Anarchy checked their bag. “No, mine’s still here… Uh, I did buy one as a gift for… Someone.”
“Who?”
Anarchy’s expression turned icy. “Um… Well, I’m not telling you! So there!”
–
Billy did not consider themself a great guesser, but the identity of Anarchy’s embarrassing mysterious giftee felt like a fairly sure bet. After no luck with Aryp and Rima, they moved on to the Pinkies, speaking to Pinky Toe while Pinky Panther was on a gaming call.
“You wouldn’t have found my-”
“Handkerchief?” Billy replied.
Pinky Toe’s face lit up. “Oh! Do you have it?”
Oh, finally, Billy thought as they handed the handkerchief to a grateful Pinky Toe.
“I can’t believe I lost it. Thank you so much!” they exclaimed, rewarding Billy with a warm hug.
It was quiet throughout the city of Rubow. Now that the Marbula One season was wrapping, the city’s marbles had gone back to tending to their duties. As the team was already relegated to the bottom 5 of the table the week prior, excitement slowly died down as life returned to normalcy.
The Raspberry Racers had dealt with hardships before, but not quite like the recent Marbula One season. Despite Rubow’s hype upon their return from a one year hiatus, their home performance only amassed a single point, with the rest of the season following a similar trend, ultimately ending with 5 scoreless races. This was the team’s first dead last performance.
Razzy and Rizzy hoped to put M1 behind them for good as they rejoined their fellow teammates in Marble League preparation. As captain, Razzy was used to constant criticism. After all, it was their job to look out for their teammates and help them all move on. Even so, 37th in the standings had stung more than anything in their career so far, including their blue flag incident at the Raceforest in M1 season 2.
As for Rizzy, this was an all time low. Finishing low in circuit events was nothing new to them, as they had dealt with a 15th place in Marblocross in 2021. But back then, they had an amazing Marble League season, ending in silver, to comfort them. Now, it was a tie for overall last. Though trying all they could to put the season behind them, every minor mistake in training only led to increasing frustration. The pair needed to reboot, and Razzy knew exactly what they needed.
–
The announcement of Starbula One came as a shock to the whole Marble League circuit. Those at the top of the M1 standings acknowledged it, but ultimately carried on with their celebrations. Meanwhile, those who weren’t invited to M1 were downright ecstatic at the prospect of competing again. Yet there was one group who ultimately could not feel much about this announcement: the bottom half of the M1 table.
Some teams, such as the Pinkies and Shining Swarm, saw less than optimal results and ultimately blended into the background. Others like the Thunderbolts and Bumblebees sat near the bottom of the standings, but at least had a medal to call their own, as well as all the publicity that came with the achievement. However, for the Wolfpack and Chocolatiers, the season brought nothing but disappointment. And now it came with the burden of missing an all new experience in the marble sports world.
Choc and Mocha weren’t taking the season’s results very well. Choc decided to pull out some fan mail in order to lift their spirits and remind themselves of who they’re competing for.
“I mean, just look at all of this!” Choc said as they took a bite of a chocolate treat gifted by a fan, “This Marbula One stuff may not be our thing, but we’ve got a whole Marble League ahead of us. We’re coming off of two straight qualifications, so let’s put our efforts into making it 3!”
“But all of these people, they were counting on us,” replied a disheartened Mocha. “They brought me back over Bonbon who won a race! And I repaid their support with-“
Mocha’s eyes were drawn to a pink envelope signed by Razzy. They immediately opened and read the letter while Choc stayed inquisitively quiet.
“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed Mocha.
“What’s going on?” replied Choc
“The Raspberry Racers have invited us to their training facility!”
“What? That’s impossible. Why would they choose to train with us over their usual friends?”
“Because it’s not a training session. It turns out they’ve invited us for a watch party of the Starbula One finale! And it’s not just us, it seems they’ve also invited…”
–
The Wolfpack marbles ducked and weaved through the fields of Tumbletown. Fenrir and Sirius were tired of being stuck on the asphalt circuits and longed for a good run like this. Their excitement was not misplaced, as for once they had been invited to participate in an offseason event with another team, even if it was just a watch party.
“Ah, it’s such a beautiful day! We may be down but we’re not out!” exclaimed an excited Fenrir.
“I mean, technically we are out of both competitions. But at least this gives us a chance to get up again, right?” panted a tired yet undeterred Sirius.
“Haha! Right you are!” retorted Fenrir. “If the moon has been guiding us right, we should be getting there… now!”
Despite it being broad daylight, the duo miraculously emerged from the tree line right by the front entrance of the training facility, much to the shock of the Chocolatier pair waiting there already.
“Oh, it’s just you two,” exclaimed Choc, trying to lower their heart rate.
The pairs needed no introduction, as they had raced alongside one another for the entire M1 season. After a few minutes, Razzy appeared.
“Welcome to the best facility this side of Tumbletown! So glad you all could make it!”
Razzy guided the competitors through their state of the art facility. They passed a few boardrooms and a room devoted to their team history before eventually arriving at their various preparation areas, some of which were being actively used by Rezzy, Rozzy, and Ruzzy. Razzy asked that their guests avert their eyes, which Choc and Mocha respectfully did. Fenrir, however, showed no concern.
“Oh don’t mind Sirius and I. Us Pack members don’t need all of this fancy technology stuff in order to improve. As long as we have the open world and the moon as our guide, we have all we need to win.”
“You two sure do love running through the forest, huh?” inquired Mocha, remembering the pair bursting through the trees a few minutes prior.
“Well of course. How do you think the league found us?” retorted Fenrir.
But Mocha was only half-listening. They and Sirius had stopped to stare in sheer amazement at the Raspberry Racers’ Marble League championship trophy. They were mesmerized by a shine that revealed perfect reflections of themselvesbefore being pulled away by their teammates.
Eventually, they arrived at their destination.“Welcome to our lounge!” declared Razzy.
The room contained a few couches, tables, lockers, and a television with pre-race coverage already turned on. Rizzy had just finished setting up the room, and quickly scrambled to grab the treat basket they had prepared.
“With how seriously you guys take this competition, I’m surprised you decided to add such a place,” pondered Choc.
“With all of the tickets we sold at both Razzway Grands Prix, could you blame us?” panted Rizzy as they had finally finished prep. They offered their basket. “Would any of you care for a freshly picked raspberry? We have Tumbletown’s best!”
Choc and Mocha took a few before presenting their own chocolate treats. Meanwhile, Fenrir and Sirius stood there awkwardly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know we were expected to bring snacks,” sighed a worried Sirius.
“That’s alright,” assured Razzy. “You’ll get used to team traditions as you spend more time on the circuit. And then you get to experience the fun of creating your own.”
The marbles had a great time snacking and chatting about their careers. After a few minutes of discussing the recent M1 season, Choc had finally asked Razzy why they and Wolfpack specifically were invited.
“Well, you see, we’re no strangers to having downturns in performance. The end of 2020 was especially rough on us, as it felt like we were hammered with 15th place finishes. But then, out of nowhere, the Green Ducks had sent our team an invitation to hang out at a pond in the Brace Isles. As it turns out, our battle the year prior was the most fun they had in their careers, and they wanted to make sure we weren’t discouraged. And that day still remains one of my favorite in my career.”
“But of course, we’re still competitors,” interjected Rizzy. “We still have a rivalry, just not the kind we have with the Limers. If you know what I mean.”
The group nodded in agreement.
“The point is that we know how it feels to be discouraged in competition. We wouldn’t wish it on anyone. And now that this Starbula One competition is going on, we wanted to make sure no team was left behind.”
The feeling of gratitude quickly spread throughout the room. Even Rizzy felt inspired by their captain at that moment. Discussion of the highs and lows of the recent M1 season went on for about an hour until the pre-race coverage wrapped up. From that point on, the marbles were glued to the TV.
The watch party was an amazing time full of cheering and gasping, with the occasional howling every time the camera panned to the night sky. This was until Aqua’s elimination, where the camera held on a small group of Oceanics fans holding up a “Noceanics” sign.
“Come on! Who keeps inviting these fair-weather fans to events?” shouted a ticked off Choc.
“I feel so bad for the athletes, they were doing amazing these last few events. But hey, it happens to the best of us” replied Razzy. “Hey Rizzy, remember that one time a reporter said we had ‘Limers withdrawal’ in 2020?”
The Racers marbles and Choc had a good laugh before quickly diving into a conversation about how they’d approach the Starbula One event. Mocha sat quietly next to Choc, as they had nothing to say. This was until they turned their head to see Fenrir and Sirius sitting alone and keeping to themselves. Sirius especially looked extremely discouraged. Mocha decided to move closer to the pair.
“So, how are you guys enjoying this event?” they asked. But Sirius barely heard any of it.
“Their own fans would turn on them? Even after one event? What does that mean for us? We had 7 scoreless performances! Our fanbase is already so small…”
This was all Sirius could mutter as they tried to hold back tears. Fenrir could only bring Sirius in closer. Despite being the more talkative of the two, they had nothing to say.
“I know what you mean. My team has been there a lot of times. Heck, we’ve been called the ‘Choke-latiers’ more than we’d like to admit. We thought missing Marble League 2020 would’ve been our undoing, but Choc wouldn’t let us down.” Mocha took a look over at Choc, who was still cheerfully discussing the event with the Racers.
“Under their newfound captaincy, we bounced back and finished 3rd in the showdown! And they love giving us mail from our fans to cheer us up.” Mocha’s face lit up as they said that, the morning playing out again in their head. Choc knew what they were doing, now it was their turn.
“So yeah, sometimes you may feel like you’ve let your fans down, but remember they’re your fans for a reason. They’ll stick with you through thick and thin. And while you’ll have the occasional doubter, the vast majority are there for the long run. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to have supportive teammates too.”
Fenrir perked up at these comments. “You know what, you’re right! We’ve been a Pack as long as I can remember, and our fans are just as big a part of it! That’s what Coach Akela has been telling us for the longest time, haven’t they, Sirius?”
Sirius was able to muster a little smile. “Yeah, you’re right, Fenrir.”
“I always try to be,” replied Fenrir, trying to help further cheer up their teammate.
“And thank you, Mocha. We really needed this” added Sirius.
“Don’t worry, I did too,” answered Mocha.
“Wow! Snowy is FLYING down this track!” cheered Razzy.
“I guess the legends you tell are true!” Rizzy shouted back.
“Now, let’s get back to what we came here for!” exclaimed Mocha.
As the event progressed, the lounging marbles enjoyed a night of snacks, stories, and an event like no other. And despite their professional athlete status, they couldn’t help but to scream like little kids at the intense photo finish to end off the Starbula One tournament.
Once the event concluded and their basket of treats was reduced to crumbs, the Raspberry Racers showed their guests to the door.
“Are you all ok with making your way back home? I know it’s very late, and we could set something up for you,” asked a concerned Rizzy.
Fenrir showed no concern back, as they responded “Oh please, the night is the best time to travel! With the moon as our guide, we’ll be back by morning! C’mon, Sirius!”
Fenrir took off into the forest. Sirius stopped for a second to turn back and wave to their new friends before bolting after their teammate.
“…Do they even live on this continent?” asked a very confused Razzy.
“That team might just be the weirdest one I’ve seen in all my days” muttered Choc.
It was Mocha who broke the state of utter confusion. “You know what? After today, I think they’ll be just fine. Ready to go back to our hotel?”
“I sure am. Thanks again for the invite! It was a blast!” called Choc to the Racers.
“It was our pleasure!” acknowledged Razzy. “See you at the qualifiers!”
Just like that, the Chocolatiers’ athletes walked into the night. After a few minutes, Mocha broke the silence.
“I think we need to do a better job at being a pack, y’know? I want what we had back in 2020, where we don’t feel like we need to fight one another for success.”
Choc was quite surprised to hear this response, but ultimately understood. They had spent the whole night chatting with another team.
“I can see what you mean, and I guess that’s partly my fault too. I can’t say I know what to fix, but I’ll do what I can to be your captain when we get back home.”
That answer was good enough for now, but only time would tell what would happen when the Marble League season started back up. However, for the Raspberry Racers, they found what they lost during the last few months.
“Are you feeling better after tonight?” asked Razzy.
“I think so” answered Rizzy. “It’s nice to be reminded that there are some really friendly competitors out there. Which… I guess that was the point of Starbula One.”
“Right you are. Now, let’s be sure to get some good sleep tonight. I know that if Berry doesn’t make us train extra tomorrow, our teammates sure will.”
The two laughed it off. They knew Marble League 2023 would be a tough one, but tonight, all of that didn’t matter.
Rosaka was overstimulating at the best of times, but Ruzzy had an apparent knack for picking the loudest and brightest spots in the entire city. First was a comics convention, second was a busy cafe, now was an arcade in the middle of the city. Not practiced enough to play anything on their own, Cloudy had mostly stood by and watched Ruzzy win. Another time it might have annoyed them, but following a pole and a bronze, they were on cloud nine.
As the two turned down another long corridor and past rows of UFO catchers, a machine caught Cloudy’s eye. Piled high in the glass cage were cartoonish plush sheep, each obscenely fluffy and rotund. Sheep fared too poorly on Mt. Huaze to be kept, but they’d been allowed to pet the free-roamers at the O’Marble property, and suffice to say they were now obsessed. Cloudy pressed up close and gazed inside, twinkly-eyed, until Ruzzy nudged them aside.
“Don’t even worry,” Ruzzy quipped, smiling. “I’ll get you one, even if I have to spend my entire race winnings on it.”
When Bumble was invited to a game of Marbles & Monoliths, they hadn’t known what to expect, but more and more the experience was beginning to feel atypical anyways. The four of them were crowded into Panther’s tiny Rosakan flat, and though the requisite game board was there, the usual characters had been substituted with Panther’s figure collection, so that the fight was between Hanasune Biiku, several giant robots, a cat plushie and a figure of Panther themself.
“Alright, now that Bumble’s cast their guaranteed-hit spell… I’m going to strike with my longsword,” Nereid proclaimed, weighty with the self-assured confidence of an experienced player.
“Go ahead,” Cerulean said with a nod, and Nereid cast their twelve-sided die. It clattered along the playmat, an entire table’s worth of attention turned to it as it gradually lost its momentum and settled on a single face.
10.
“With a vicious strike you plunge your sword into the chest of the beast -” pronounced Cerulean – “leaving it effortlessly slain. Congratulations, adventurers!”
Constrained excitement arose amongst the group, sucked far enough into the fantasy of their characters and their grand unified quest that they’d forgotten their real-life divisions.
“And you know what that means?” continued Cerulean.
“Loot and experience points?” quoted Bumble, from the Explorer’s Guidebook.
Cerulean nodded. “That and a fifteen-minute break. In real life,” they clarified.
Small chatter emerged around the table as Bumble took from their seat and to the doors leading out to the balcony of Panther’s home. Though the game was going well- they thought, anyway- they’d been eyeing the balcony all night. What Panther’s flat lacked in space was made up for tenfold with its view over the city. Tens of stories high and almost unobstructed, Bumble hadn’t had a view like it since Hunluen. So transfixed were they by the skyline that they failed to notice Panther joining them, drink in hand.
“Not so crummy anymore, is it?” laughed Panther, a jab at an earlier comment of theirs. Bumble flustered.
“I was only joking,” they protested, “and besides, you were complete dead weight in that fight, so…”
“Master Meowgical has a very specific set of skills that aren’t always very useful,” retorted Panther, mouthily mumbling through the last part. “Anyway… I lost an auto-qualification to you without any hard feelings, so insult my home all you want.”
Bumble turned their gaze downwards; seemingly-infinite empty space between them, the railing, and the pavement. It was oddly somber, and Bumble knew almost immediately they wouldn’t be able to stomach such an atomized existence themself. “We do seem to run into each other a lot. Literally. Usually Red Eye is somewhere, though…”
Panther tutted and leaned back. “What do you think we were fighting a giant on-fire lion for? Symbolism, Bumble, symbolism.”
“Unsubtle symbolism,” Bumble replied, pretending to have noticed. They glanced back inside through the doors and saw Cerulean and Nereid wrapped up in their own lively conversation. “You know, if I have to run into someone all the time, you’re not a bad choice.”
“Same to you. You’re like a low-stress version of Starry.” Both winced silently at the mention of Starry, whose struggles remained an eerie black box over the season.
“And you’re like a Red Eye that I can beat sometimes,” agreed Bumble.
“I’ll take it,” Panther said, chuckling under their breath. “Hey, if you’re going to refill your drink, could you get me one?”
Bumble circled the last of their peach soda around in the glass. “Sure,” they replied, heading back inside to the warmth. Nereid and Cerulean were enraptured with each other still, oblivious to Bumble fetching two cans from Panther’s diminutive fridge.
“-it was a massive blue marblin, must’ve been about two metres long, and the boat nearly capsized with it on board, but I got things under control,” narrated Nereid, full of passion.
“That’s amazing. I’ve, um… I’ve never actually been on a boat…”
“No way! You’ll be racing Limelight Harbour too, right?”
Cerulean nodded.
“That’ll be the perfect time. We can go out, just you and me!”
“I… If you don’t mind, yeah!”
Bumble grinned and kept quiet as they slinked back out again. It was probably best to give them their space.
The sky in Rosaka had long been black and starless, but back in Van Gotterdam the sun was only beginning to set. Aryp fished their phone out from beneath their pillow and dialed the third saved number. It rang only briefly before being picked up.
“Oh. Hey, Aryp.”
Aryp took a deep breath. “Have you watched the race yet?” they asked, dispensing with any niceties. A brief, brutal silence followed.
“Yeah. Me and Mary, we… I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Aryp countered. “I don’t even know why I’m calling. I guess I just want to hear your voice.”
“Well, you know I’m always glad to hear from you too.” Somewhere in the background a familiar microwave dinged. They’d interrupted dinner from a few thousand miles away. Just great.
Aryp sucked in another jagged breath. Now they were already being selfish they might as well go all the way. “Listen… The tax and business forms for the season, could you take them off my hands? You’re good at this. I can’t- something has to give.” As if they hadn’t left the training and management to them already. But-
“Leave it to me. Take care of yourself, yeah?”
In the darkness, Aryp could almost imagine Imar being right there alongside them. “You too,” they replied, another weight off their back. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Imar mirrored, and the silence returned.
Sotsevsa (5/10/24)
Misty had seen Sostevsa before only in pictures: white buildings with green accents sprawled alongside the sea, complemented by lush hills and steep limestone cliffs. There had been an air of tranquility in those pictures, a promise of dappled sunlight and a light ocean breeze.
Suffice to say that their expectations were misplaced. As they finished checking their phone, a thunderous cheer rose up from the harbor, accompanied by rapid flashes of light in every color of the rainbow. A marble had just backflipped into the water. Misty winced – they’d only just finished blinking out a set of afterimages from their vision.
The Sostevsa in the pictures was still there underneath the coat of festivities set up for the M1 circus, tucked away in meticulous pavement patterns and artistically trimmed shrubbery and architectural details Misty didn’t have the vocabulary to describe. And now, as they walked along the docks, it was in the pristine rows of sailboats and their wavering reflections in the water, the sort of view that would make Rima scramble for their watercolor set.
“-sty!”
The call had been halfway drowned out by the unrelenting music from the parties, but there was no mistaking Ruzzy’s cheerful wave, nor the sight of Billy carrying their shopping for them.
“I like your hat,” Misty offered as they drew closer. Ruzzy pouted up at them from beneath a lime-green brim.
Billy was trying not to smile. “It’s their disguise.”
“It’s temporary,” Ruzzy groused. “Besides, I can use it to prank Razzy later.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Misty, who could only imagine Razzy’s reaction to having Limers merchandise sneak into their luggage. They shifted nervously. “I’m grateful for the invitation, really, but are you sure? I don’t know anything about sailing.”
“Billy’s good at sailing, and Clem’s coming too,” Ruzzy said. Behind them, Billy shuffled shyly at the praise. “C’mon, podium party! Also, there’s not that many options tonight; it’s just hotel, party, or boat.”
As if on cue, the other two marbles flinched as an airhorn blasted through the air, followed by another whirlwind dance of lights and a pulse of bass from the loudspeakers.
“Boat, please.”
By the time Billy maneuvered the sailboat out of the harbor, the sky had faded from sunset to dusk, clinging onto only the faintest glimmers of sunlight. The hectic symphony of the party had also dampened with distance, reduced to a low thrum amidst the gentle lapping of waves against the hull.
“So, what’ll it be?” asked Clementin, rummaging through the cooler. They had been the first to arrive on the boat, and was subsequently in charge of drinks. “We have water, Non-Descript Soda, limeade…” They waved a bottle at Ruzzy, who stared at it disdainfully. Misty reached for it in their place.
“Cerulean looked well,” they said absentmindedly, fiddling with the cap. The newly crowned victor had been spotted as a passenger aboard Nereid’s rental while they were en route out of the port, their sailing vessels passing each other at a distance suited only for enthusiastic waving.
Clementin plucked a soda out of the cooler. “Jealous?”
Misty felt themselves adopt the indiscernible expression they usually reserved for media obligations. “That’s not it. I’m happy for them.” They twisted open their limeade, the evening light glinting off the lid as it released a satisfying hiss. “Four-way fights are never predictable.”
Ruzzy nudged Billy, who jumped a little from where they were focused on steering. “Was it anything like Arctic Circuit?”
“I guess?” they stammered. They considered the question thoughtfully, their voice taking on a note of nostalgia. “But in Halifern we had an eight-way snowball fight later…”
Misty blinked. “Eight-way snowball fight?”
“Billy won that too,” Ruzzy lamented.
“I needed to avenge Mallard,” Billy protested, wavering between apologetic and proud. “Besides, Razzy got you too.”
“It was an accident! They were aiming for Orangin.”
“Is that what they told you?”
Misty normally would have been content with sitting back and quietly listening to the other three reminisce, but this time, an inevitable question coalesced in the back of their mind. “What about…” they trailed off, not wanting to interrupt, but the implication of what they were about to ask lingered in the breeze.
“Your teammates eliminated each other immediately,” Clementin informed them with a laugh. “Nearly tagged me too in the process, but Orangin rescued me…and then they betrayed me, but that’s beside the point.”
They let out a sigh that was equal parts amused, exasperated, and wistful. “That sounds about right. No wonder they ‘forgot’ to mention it.”
The other three marbles shared a glance, then Ruzzy grinned wickedly at them. “Want to know anything else?”
The part of Misty that had resigned themselves to responsibility refused. Gossip was impolite, and not only would it be unwise to probe into such potentially painful memories, it would also be terribly hypocritical for them to pry into the stories of others when they were so guarded about their own. But the night was young, and the boat had been cradled away so far from the harbor that the party lights were a mere suggestion, swallowed up by the shadowed outlines of limestone cliffs. The Sotsevsa breeze swirled peacefully around them, tasting of salt and tang. There was plenty of time.
Project Marblearth 