Chapter Text
It took a week for Ravioli to figure out how to return to normal. In that time, she was exempt from school, and spent her time in the house either sleeping or trying to move in her new body. It was awkward work, and for the most part she was just shamefully crawling around.
Stroganoff was busy, and apologised to Ravioli when she asked if they could go out. His workshop was littered with pieces of metal, mostly cutlery and kitchenweaponware, and the sounds of his tools at work filled the house.
Cookie, on the other hand, was more than happy to take Ravioli out on field trips. The young squid said nothing but squirmed as she was taken out of the house in a little basket. The fear and sadness knowing that Cookie hated inklings loomed over Ravioli’s head. The squid felt quietly uncomfortable being alone with the older woman as they went shopping.
The marketplace was loud and bustling as ever. Beautiful hand drawn signs filled the air, while the scent of cooked food enticed Ravioli. Cookie was looking for fresh ingredients, and soon Ravioli was helping take note of spices and salts that filled the basket with her.
One thing Ravioli was learning from all of this was the difference between Cookie and her father. Her father treated the marketplace like a race, getting what he needed and leaving.
Cookie instead liked the meander. She would walk into an antique store just to admire the odd items on sale, asking Ravioli’s opinion on everything before wandering to the next store. It was an odd experience, and Ravioli couldn’t help but feel tired despite the fact that she wasn’t moving. It was just a lot more chit chat than she was used to.
Cookie also liked to go “what’s that?” and investigate, usually discovering some inventor peddling his items, or a performer showing off her swimming routine. It was through Cookie’s curiosity did she and Ravioli find themselves sitting on chairs in front of a makeshift classroom.
Cookie was politely denying letting anyone move the basket Ravioli was in, letting the young squid have her own seat.
The thing that stood out the most was the overhead projector in the middle of the room. Most folks were turning up just for the thrill of seeing it in action, and not for the actual class.
Once enough people had settled down, a rather meek looking salmonid with a large mane of hair approached the front. He stumbled over his words but was pleased to share “Advancements and discoveries in archaeology.” Ravioli understood none of it, while Cookie muttered that it was about “old stuff”.
He explained how there was an ancient advanced species of fish known as mermaids. While not much is known about them outside of possibly having an omnivorous diet ( “What’s an omnomvorbus?” “That means they ate everything.”), a mermaid fossil had been recently discovered in the far west.
This was when everyone grew interested in the teacher’s words. Not because they actually were curious about the recent breakthroughs in science, but because he was heading to the projector. The lights were turned off, and in front of the makeshift class there was a drawing of bones.
Ravioli was old enough to not be scared of skeletons, but the odd, malformed bones she now saw were eerie. The skull was flattened, like it had rammed into a door too many times, and its fins looked like they were tentacles before forming into proper fins.
The teacher rambled on, far too confusing for Ravioli to follow, before putting another drawing on the projector.
It was a guess as to how mermaids had looked, where their gill plates rested, what their bony fins and two tailed bottoms would have looked like. The only thing Ravioli could think of was how her feet looked similar to the mermaid’s two-tails. And if her legs looked like mermaid two-tails, then inklings had similar legs. And if inklings had similar legs, then was Cookie mad at being shown something that reminded her of inklings?
The rest of the lesson, Ravioli was worried about Cookie's reaction, that the goldie was now in a foul mood.
The lesson ended and everyone else left, apart from Ravioli and Cookie.
“What’s the matter dearie?” Cookie asked. Ravioli didn’t realise she was tense in the basket, and relaxed.
“Nothing!”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing. What’s on your mind dearie? I won’t tell anyone if it’s a secret.”
Ravioli was quiet, and Cookie patiently smiled at her.
“Are you mad at me?”
The question took Cookie aback.
“M-mad? Dearie, why do you think I’d be mad at you?”
“I know you hate inklings.”
“Who told you that?” Cookie’s smile faltered, a frown forming in its place.
“I heard you and dad talking about it. You said you hated inklings.”
Cookie cocked her head to the side, frowning as she tried to recall what conversation she had where that had been brought up. It dawned on her when exactly she had shared those words, and gasped. “You-you heard all that?” The old woman’s voice grew quiet.
Ravioli said nothing, just quietly sat in the basket. She was trying not to cry, and failing.
“Oh dearie.” Cookie scooped Ravioli out of the basket, holding the squid in her arms. Ravioli’s eyes started to weep, while Cookie lightly stroked her head.
“I was hurt really badly. I felt like I lost part of myself. For a long time, I was sad about what happened.”
Ravioli said nothing. Cookie pulled Ravioli into a hug and sighed.
“I… I don’t want to lie to you dearie. Cause I can’t take back what I said, and I don’t want to. There’s so much bad in the world, my only fear is being hurt again.” Cookie paused. “But I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you. I hold a grudge against someone who tried to hurt me, and anyone who would do the same to anyone else I love. Dearie, there is no way you can hurt me, because I know you won't. And I can never hate you. Do you know why?”
Ravioli looked up at Cookie. Both of them were crying.
“You’re my baby. You’ll always be my baby. What happened to me isn’t important. The only thing important is that you are here, and I love you.”
There was silence, as Ravioli embraced her mom.