Commission from  Foxxy with a story from  Vanessa and Friends

---

Zeydaan was miffed. Having to deal with the city was bad enough, but tacking on the sudden burst of graffiti was going too far.

It had started a few days ago, a sudden burst of activity across the flats where Zeydaan lived. When everyone opened their doors in the morning, they were met with a massive soaking street, painted in two different colors, strewn across every possible surface haphazardly. It barely could have been considered graffiti by then, but an outright paint explosion.

Needless to say, it was a nightmare to clean. Granted, Zeydaan had found that their garden hose could easily wash off the paint—as though it were still wet, and the substance had evaporated upon contact with water—but that wasn’t the point. It was the effort needed to clean what was essentially a literal turf war, the flats cleaned top to bottom, with even the city helping to cover ground.

The neighbors all went to sleep that night apprehensive, yet hopeful. But when they awoke, they were met with a repeat performance: a tidal wave of two paints, different colors this time, soaking every available surface. Another day spent cleaning, another night passed, and another return.

Zeydaan was sick of it. But as the city already had their hands full cleaning, instead of finding a permanent solution, they decided to take matters into their own hands and investigate on their own.

Taking careful steps outside, Zey had walked into the paint. They noticed how thick it was, how sticky. It was like walking in mud, despite being a layer on the ground. Their boots were already caked with multicolored paint, and they hardly passed their own yard. It would be slow moving.

They reached the street, inspecting the empty corridor intently. In this sea of color, it was difficult to find a good lead. Zey sighed; this would be harder than they thought.

But they paused suddenly. Turning their head, they noticed something unusual in the paint—or lack thereof. Yes, it was there! A single circle left unblemished, ripe for inspection. A sewer manhole, in fact. The fact that this singular item was left unpainted was a good sign, Zeydaan realized. It meant, at the time of the painting, the manhole wasn’t in its usual position…and may have acted as an entrance or exit for whatever was behind it.

With some effort, Zeydaan began to yank against the heavy metal disk. It began to slowly lift itself up, Zey pivoting their body around to gently set it down, making a small clanging noise upon impact. They panted briefly, the strain having exhausted them already…Then they began to slide inside the new hole.

Zey landed on the ground carefully, their steps echoing through the tunnel. It was cramped, enough to force Zey to crouch upon entry. But it was still large enough to act as a passageway.

Zey saw some paint on the ground, and they were pleased. Their hunch was correct, the culprits did pass through here. And they even left a trail! How kind; it would make it all the easier for Zey to bust them.

They crept through the sewers cautiously, stooping down so as to properly navigate the maze without hurting themselves on the ceiling. It was dark, lit occasionally by the faint glow of other sewer grates and their tiny windows to the outside world. But the paint shimmered nonetheless, and Zey followed to the best of their abilities.

Eventually they could hear a noise. A faint one, like cheering in the distance, lightly echoing in the chamber. Zey was confused, yet curious. They were getting closer to the identity of the vandals, it seemed.

Then their feet brushed up against something on the ground, and Zey flinched briefly. Their head bumped the ceiling, and they rubbed the wound cautiously, groaning slightly. As they did so, they examined the object closer. Nothing animate, it turned out; it was a discarded T-shirt, it seemed, a white shirt adorned with some writing in a nonsensical language. How utterly bizarre...But it was as good a sign as any that Zey was on the right track, so they picked it up as evidence.

And yet...

The shirt did seem compelling, Zey supposed. Surprisingly large, even, as though made for themselves in the first place. That couldn’t be right, of course, but if it was, surely it wouldn’t hurt to try it on, right? Yes, it was only fair, after all. If they were to mess up their neighborhood, then surely Zey was entitled to wear the sort of clothing the vandals would wear in turn.

They started to slip it on before they knew what they were doing, hardly even considering where it’s been and why they were putting on a shirt they just found in the sewers. It simply felt right to wear, is all. As though it was meant to be.

Then they continued their investigation.

The noise grew louder by the second, each footstep bringing Zey closer to their destination. The light came next, a bright shine around the corner. The outside? But no; by Zey’s internal compass, they were deep underground, far away from any river or harbor exit. Well into the mainland, in other words. Then where was the light coming from?

Within minutes, Zey had their answer: a massive cavern underground, an entire civilization! Zey gasped in awe as they saw the many ramshackle homes built around the walls, stacked together like building blocks, seconds from falling yet still firmly attached and constructed. At the center was an arena of sorts, but a strange one at that. Paint-coated, splattered with two different colors in a haphazard format. And they were rapidly changing; it was difficult to tell, but shapes were moving down below, and where they moved, new paint formed. Yellow coating purple, purple coating yellow. Rapidly back and forth, in a competition of sorts. Another turf war, just like the one on the surface.

Zey could then hear a whistle from the arena, and the painting stopped. Silence for a few moments, then cheering from one half of the arena. One half of the team one, it seemed, and Zey could see there was indeed more purple than yellow. So, it was a game, then. Both teams tried to overtake the other in terms of paint splatter, and the winner was the one who had coated the majority of the arena in their color. Amusing, really. They just wished they would have a less destructive method of play.

But what even were they?

Zey’s question was swiftly answered when they were lightly bumped into. They stumbled briefly, catching themselves.

“Ah, sorry, I was in the way,” Zey responded. They looked down, seeing what had bumped them. A shorter child-esque creature stood nearby, a smile on their face, staring up at the wolf. The creature seemed to have ears akin to a squid’s limbs, oddly enough, colored blue. They certainly weren’t human, between the ears to their proportions to their tiny fanged teeth.

The squid kid said something incomprehensible to Zey, some foreign language that sounded like it was underwater. They couldn’t even make head or tails of what was being said, but based on the body language and the creature’s face, it was possible this was an act of forgiveness.

Then they noticed the shirt on Zey’s body, smiling brightly. It said something excitedly, pointing directly at Zey.

“I don’t follow...” Zey said, tilting their head. Then the creature gently took their hand, leading Zey along. “Hey now...”

The creature was enthusiastic as it led Zey down into the hidden town, past the ramshackle lodgings. There were other squid kids down here as well, plenty of them. Some lounging, some painting their walls, some listening to their version of music on a music player. A kind of pop band, perhaps? The lyrics were still illegible to Zey, the language barrier a severe roadblock to figuring out what they were and why they were going out into the city streets. And, to make matters worse, they were being led to who-knows-where by a hyperactive representative of this species.

Eventually their destination came into sight: the gates to the massive arena in the center. The squid kid tugged on Zey’s hand, pulling them closer to the entrance. They could hazard a guess as to what was being suggested.

“Listen, I’m not much for your game...” they tried to say. The squid didn’t listen, or didn’t understand. “I just want to know why you keep going topside.”

The squid, naturally, did not listen, merely chatting away excitedly, nudging Zey into the stadium. Other squid kids were present as well, milling about in equipped gear, some wielding what appeared to be squirt guns, some holding buckets or paint rollers. They seemed excited to see Zey’s approach, and wasted no time in handing them some spare gear of their own.

Zey had to admit, the squids really enjoyed whatever game it was they played. It seemed to be their major, perhaps only, livelihoods, a sad state of affairs when one lives in the sewers under Britain. They certainly seemed excited to have a guest around, and had encouraged Zey to participate in celebration of a new arrival to the shelter. Zey supposed one round wouldn’t hurt, just to fill their excitement.

It was around then that Zey had blacked out temporarily, the next several minutes a blur in their mind. It wasn’t that they wanted to forget it, but the ensuing chaos from the moment the starting siren blared was too much for their senses to comprehend it safely. All they could see was paint, flung in all directions, blasting all over, the other squids ducking and weaving to avoid paint splatters as they fired their own.

Zey could only vaguely recall their own actions, but their own prior adventures had conditioned them into responding accordingly. They assumed they had ducked and weaved themselves, firing their own paint gun and working the best they could in supporting their team. Painting their colors.

And they were laughing.

That part was crystal clear even through the fog, Zeydaan knew. They were laughing, and they enjoyed the game, the thrill of the sport. To be in the thick of things, such an intense battle, and all for fun. Perhaps this was what they were missing, the little bit of context that went into these squids’ minds when they held a turf war. And Zey supposed, to a race that celebrated such an event, to be able to do this in a larger arena, one with less restrictions and more open space to play within, would be a dream come true. So why not come up onto Oxford and play there?

Before Zey knew it, the ending whistle blew out, and the winners were being declared in the turf war. Zey barely even paid attention, still allowing their head to recover from the sights and sounds of battle, until the cheers of the crowd and the enthusiastic nudging of their team-squids jarred Zey from their recovery. The squids tried lifting Zey’s arms in victory, much to their surprise. And…based on their reactions, was Zey in fact the most valuable player in that game?

They smiled lightly, amused at the turn of events. For a newcomer to this civilization, they did pretty good for themselves, they supposed. With all the cheering, and the enthusiasm, it was clear the squids liked Zey and appreciated their company. And, they found, they appreciated them in turn. Maybe they weren’t so bad at all.

One more round wouldn’t hurt, they supposed.

…

Eight hours later, when Zey finally tired themselves out from participating in the turf wars, they were led to a guest home to rest, Zey’s own cottage too far to walk through the sewers to return to. Zey appreciated the lodgings in turn, the kindness reassuring.

This culture of theirs was beginning to make sense to them. “Inklings”, that was the proper term for the squid kids. They weren’t necessarily “kids”, however; as to how one would classify age or maturity, they were unsure as of yet, but to have a precise name on them was a good start. Some of the language was finally rubbing off on them too. Minor details, some realized from context clues. “Yes”, “no”, and the sort.

And “woomy” was a major word. It seemed to be a term of endearment, of excitement. Based on how often they said “woomy” around Zey, they supposed they should be flattered.

Such was their exhaustion that they had scarcely noticed how they had changed. Perhaps a side effect of the flung paint, or Zey’s own internal powers silently manifesting to adapt, but their hair had started to change, becoming shiny. More akin to a tentacle than hair, even. Further, their height had dropped slightly, half a foot. Not enough to recognize fully any outside changes, but enough to make a difference all the same.

Zey rested in the bed, wearily drifting to sleep. Dreaming of squids, or paint.

Tomorrow they would uncover the mystery of these kids.

…

Morning rose, or what passed for it in a subterranean paradise anyway. Zey could hear movement outside of the shack, passerby walking around, milling about their day. They soon got up themselves, rubbing their eyes, stretching from the night’s sleep. The previous day’s events slowly raised themselves to their consciousness, and they recalled what had happened and how they had gotten there.

Something felt off, however. Something different than their usual state of being, a sense of being off-balance. Just to be sure, Zey examined themselves carefully.

They were surprised, then, when they saw the changes that had already transpired. Their hair, now tentacles. Their height, shortened. Drastic changes as part of their body, an effect of being close to the inklings. Or perhaps that was their own subconscious desires?

Zey shook their head briefly, expressing mild irritation at the wet sounds their new tentacle dreads made upon colliding with their head. Best not to get too distracted with the culture, fun as it was. They were still a wolf, mostly, with the remaining fur in place, the pointy ears, the tail. None of that was going away, and as long as they were in control of themselves and didn’t give in, that would remain the case.

And yet...

There was something about that arena that Zey especially liked, bizarre as most of it was a blur even now. How exciting it was, the thrill.

“No, focus,” Zey told themselves, shaking their head once more. As fun as it was, they had a job to do down here. If they were to actually do it, then they had to put aside any trivial activities and sports--

They were already walking towards the arena again, much to their bemusement. They considered pulling back, trying to rein in their urges. But they paused their thoughts. Part of their changes? Or did they sincerely just want to blow off their mission in favor of such an exciting game? Zey wasn’t quite sure which one was the case, and didn’t particularly mind after all.

The inklings nearby seemed excited to see Zeydaan approach, and waved enthusiastically, nudging them along. Their star player had arrived, after all, and they were eager to continue their sport. Zey, for their part, was slightly hesitant but far less than the previous day.

It had occurred to Zey that, to their procrastinating mind, the arena matches would act as the best conduit to learn more about the inklings. How better to learn about a culture than to participate in their activities? The same was true through their dimension hopping, and the same would surely be the case when playing a turf war once more.

It wasn’t just slacking off, right?

…

Zey did not return to the surface for several days, having elected to spend three additional nights with the inkling civilization to learn more, and not to just goof off with a paint-based sport filled with high intensity matches. Nor were they going native, surely.

Granted, Zey had to admit that prolonged exposure to inklings, and their own heightened excitement, had stimulated their changes further. They had shrunk even more now, a full foot and a half shorter than their initial height. Their tail had started to shrink, sinking into their body and gradually beginning to vanish. Nor was that the only thing to vanish; some patches of fur had started to recede, leaving naught but exposed skin, slimy like aquatic life. Which, Zey thought, was the point.

As far as positives went, Zey was making astounding progress in decoding the inkling language. Words came easily now, and they could feasibly communicate with the residents, barring some stumbles and accent issues. Even that was being rectified, as whenever Zey spoke now, there was a small waver to their voice. It was like speaking underwater, yet audible all the same, the typical inkling form of communication. And, strangely, it turned out that this language was very, very close to English. Why hadn’t they discovered that prior?

The only snag Zey had discovered—beyond turning into an inkling, naturally—was their gender. They had felt some parts start to shrink, and while their chest was still flat, that meant nothing. Not one of the female inklings had any semblance of breasts, yet could still be marked as female, and based on their current anatomy they were starting to approach that end result as well. They did, however, now possess a small marking across their face where their eyes rested, a sort of mask-like coloration. Only the females had them, it seemed.

Still, it was a small hiccup, nothing to worry about. Zey could still fix this, after grabbing some fresh clothes.

As Zey looked around the shack, which was essentially theirs—no one else laid claim to it, and it began to feel like a vacation home—they had considered all that had transpired so far. The discovery, the sports. It all started with the shirt they were currently wearing, the white decal design. Talk about “fresh”, they thought. So fresh, that they were practically out of the water.

They walked out, checking the underground sights. To their surprise, however, the vast majority of the inklings were rushing to the arena, far more than the prior days had drawn out. Some spotlights were flashing from the arena as well, lit in both a light blue-green and purple. Something about those colors specifically elicited pure excitement from the inklings.

Curious, Zey briefly stopped one rushing inkling gently. By now they were rather fluent in the language, enough to hold lengthy conversations with their neighbors. The caveat was a loosening grip on their original English language, but that would be a battle for another day. Getting immersed inside a form was always tricky, doubly so when they enjoyed said form, but they would recover, they were sure.

”<What’s the rush?>” Zey asked the inking.

“<It’s the big show!>” the inkling cheered. “<The Squid Sisters are performing tonight!>”

As the inkling resumed its running, Zey followed cautiously. The Squid Sisters...The name sounded familiar, but they couldn’t exactly place when and where they had heard it, at least as first. As they walked, they did recall something familiar. The music, that was it. The very first bits of music they had heard when they first arrived in the community, coming from a boombox some random inking was listening to on their stoop. In hindsight, it did sound like some pretty good music. The textbook definition of “fresh”.

Zey was not about to pass up such an opportunity.

The arena had been rearranged for the occasion, the walls and ramps that typically filled the space reorganized and pushed away, all to make room for the biggest feature on the floor. A massive stage now was in place, glorious in design and display, perfect for a concert. None of the inklings were in the stands, either; most electing to stand close by to the stage itself, eagerly awaiting their idols to appear in the spotlight.

Zey had edged deeper into the crowd, blending easily with the others, despite their remaining details from their prior form. They, too, stared at the stage in anticipation, excited to see the singing sensations that took this community by storm, regardless of why they came down in the first place. Why was that, anyway? What inspired them to come down into the sewers again? Something about a turf war...But the sport was so fun, they were half convinced they came down solely to join, and not to investigate.

Before any further introspection could begin, the lights suddenly dimmed in the arena, darkening the entire stage. The crowd swiftly hushed themselves, waiting with bated breath.

Then, when the lights suddenly turned back on again, two Inkling girls were posing on the stage, one adorned with a hot pink and black color scheme, the other with a lime green and black design. The crowd immediately went berserk, cheering and applauding for the show to begin.

“<What is UP, everyone?>” the pink one said. “<Comin’ at cha’ direct from Inkopolis, I’m Callie...>”

“<And I’m Marie,>” the green one said.

“<And you know what we make together!>” Callie called out, before they announced, in unison:

“<THE SQUID SISTERS!>”

Another uproarious cheer from the crowd; even Zey found themselves making some enthusiastic noise at the sight, losing themselves in the thrill of the moment. And they hadn’t even begun to play yet!

“<We know what all you want,>” Callie said. “<All our fans out here, staying fresh for us. And we’ll get right to it, won’t we?>”

“<We’re starting off with our big song,>” Marie explained. “<The one you all know and love: Calamari Inkantation!>”

This drew the loudest cheer of them all, even as Callie called out numbers to get on-beat for their song. Then, they began to sing, the same song Zey had heard on the boombox several days ago. The limited capacity of a music player did not do the Squid Sisters justice, they felt; the authentic article was incredible, with a heavenly pair of voices and a rock anthem that screamed into their soul. It was...

It was euphoric, really.

As Zey swayed heavily to the music, slowly starting to dance amongst the crowd, they had completely surrendered themselves to their developing Inkling form. What remained of their wolfish face had shrunk into a proper Inkling shape; their muzzle retracting itself into their body, although their mouth retained tiny fangs. Their fur vanished outright, leaving exposed slimy skin, as any remaining shimmers of gray were instead turning into orange to compliment the tentacle hair. Their eyes shifted, as did their thoughts, immersed so deeply into the song, into the environment, that Zey’s prior consciousness was temporarily repressed outright in favor of a typical Inkling girl.

Within minutes, and by the time the opening song had finished, Zey’s prior form had completed its metamorphosis, and they were cheering along with the crowd at their idols. What were they so worried about before? They had great friends, great hobbies, and got to see their idols in concert. Life was good!

They partied through the rest of the performance without stop.

…

It wasn’t long before night fell upon Oxford once more, the rows of houses sleeping once again. Residents had, hesitantly, resigned themselves to the paint splatterings they had continuously encountered, with the exception of one such resident who had been awfully quiet through the whole affair. Or missing outright, that wolf.

One of the sewer grates opened itself, and Zey peeked out into the crisp open air. They smiled at the unblemished streets, admiring the houses. None of it inspired them, of course, save for how they would be splatted in due time.

It turns out the ink was indeed a night-time turf war with a larger arena to play in, and when the humans went to sleep, the Inklings could play. And Zey WAS an Inkling, at least for now, heedless of the vandalism they would be committing in the name of their new species.

As they waved along their compatriots, clambering out of the sewers in favor of the surface, they gently rubbed their squirt gun with pride and anticipation, the Inkling girl excited for the night-time brawl.

Oxford, like it or not, would soon be fresh themselves.