Chapter Text
Penelope Phantom's purple cruiser sped down the road, so smooth that they might as well have been gliding like flying in a dream.
Squidward, Patrick and SpongeBob filled the back, none daring to sit in the passenger seat beside the violinist. Back on the curb, he considered making a run for it; perhaps he could slip his way between a crowd and past a road before anyone could be onto him. He gulped, a prickling sensation in his chest, and banished it to the inert realm of his thoughts.
Patrick sat in the middle, so large and so round that SpongeBob couldn't see Squidward thinking even as he leaned forward to peek around the pink stomach.
‘Aw, man, I'm still hungry,’ the starfish whined, his gut rumbling.
‘At least we got out in one piece,’ SpongeBob said comfortingly.
‘You're right,’ Patrick agreed. ‘It's better to be hungry and still possess the ability to eat than to lose it with your hunger.’
SpongeBob blinked at his best friend. ‘Wow, that was so wise,’ he said in momentary awe.
‘You're lucky you left at all. Any piece of you,’ Penelope said, gently turning the wheel to turn a corner at a green light.
It was a smooth drive. The smoothest any of them had ever experienced. It was as though they were in a magical bus that floated when you sang. Or a ghost boat, whose wheels were made of bubbles.
The driver was no different. SpongeBob could only see the back of her pale head between the headrest and seat, all of which in the vehicle were a velvety purple of the deep blue variety, like the ocean water under a full moon.
‘Um, sorry to ask,’ the poriferan spoke up feebly, ‘but… why did you help us? The Magnate was going to…’
‘Dispose of you?’ Yeah, he was.’ The squid sighed. ‘I helped you because I hate him, and you're my key to his karma.’
That was surprising, as powerful as a grenade exploding and the ringing silence that ensued as everyone recollected themselves from shock, awe and horror.
Squidward butted in. ‘But why?’
Still, SpongeBob couldn't see him. He could only hear his voice… that voice he thought he'd never hear again.
‘And who?’ Patrick added, crossing his arms and lifting his non-existent chin proudly.
Penelope remained silent as she drove, leaving the trio to ponder their questions and consider the possible answers.
Strangely, Squidward was thankful that Patrick was between him and SpongeBob, but in an even stranger way, he hated it. Through his window, he saw a yellow billboard marketing a new brand of kelp cereal and thought of his partner. Neighbour. Co-worker. Friend. Whatever they were now.
And how did SpongeBob annoy the Magnate so badly in New Kelp City that we almost died over it? Squidward shook his head because it was obvious; the poriferan had a way of doing that, making enemies without looking, opening his mouth, or moving, despite how constantly he did all of the above. He seemed to attract negative fish, and he supposed he was proof of that. Like a magnet.
It was when they stopped that Squidward realised where they were. The engine silenced with a futuristic fwoosh and the boat went to sleep in the parking bay. Looking out the window, the trio saw in unison the Cerise, red, bold and as welcoming as the pearly gates at the end of an endless dark tunnel.
Wordlessly, Penelope Phantom stepped out of the boat and waited for them. It only took a few seconds for SpongeBob and Squidward to catch on and join them outside, followed by a slow and struggling Patrick, who barely fit through the sleek door, which rose instead of swinging out.
‘The Cerise?’ SpongeBob asked, reading the sign aloud. This is where Henry McGill wanted to meet them, where they were supposed to be when Squidward stormed off to go home.
Squidward kept his eyes down. ‘Guess we don't have a choice, do we, Penelope?’
Penelope Phantom pointed to the front door. ‘My, you're a fast learner. Now in. Go.’
The Cerise was a bar, but due to its artistic and classy nature in the red-lantern district, it appeared more like a small, locally-owned theatre restaurant.
Examining the street before entering, Squidward found that it looked nothing like it had last night. Then, it was so dark and radiant, lit crimson by lanterns hanging over the street on strings attached to building tops. Now they hung over them, unlit and cold. Then he was inside the Cerise.
Patrick followed.
SpongeBob took a moment to study the building's exterior before Penelope Phantom pushed him toward the door.
The Cerise, on the outside from SpongeBob's observation, looked like a secret. The way two buildings squashed it into the narrow space it occupied, barely wider than a Bikini Bottom alley. The way its red walls felt like a warm kiss and hugs. And warm it was inside, too. Candles burnt away, the water inside smoky, while the lanterns dangling from vines snaking through the rafters bathed every surface with a red sheen, like a fish's sunburnt skin.
The trio and their saviour found themselves in an empty lobby. In the night, Squidward hadn't seen all the knick-knacks and decorations covering the walls like memorabilia of parties, late-night dances and the mellow drinks shared by the quiet, down and lonely souls.
The lobby also had a Hawaiian aesthetic to it. The counter, which the group were facing, was made of bamboo and was unattended. It reminded SpongeBob of the bars along Goo Lagoon. There was a tangy scent in the water, though he couldn't determine whether it was food being prepared or drinks. Or something else entirely.. something familiar. A sweet, sour tanginess that pricked the poriferan's olfactory and reminded him of home. His pineapple.
‘Why is every lobby we go to empty?’ Squudward asked, the cynicism in his voice thick enough to be a New Kelp City accent.
‘Did someone say empty?’ a voice asked, Henry McGill, whose face stuck through the doorway and was followed by his sauntering, white suit-cladden body.
The guitarist strolled through the curtain of strings - rainbow-coloured beads which clicked and clacked as they slid over his shoulders and fluffy golden hair - and stopped when the last string slithered over his shoulder.
‘Hello, all,’ he said, rubbing his hands together as though about to dive into a vault of gilded coins. ‘So, we've decided to stay and take down the Magnate?’
Then he saw the fifth.
‘Ah, Penelope, you haunt us with your presence! Did you sweep these boys off the street and return them to me?’
‘That's exactly what happened,’ she confirmed. ‘Now, are you going to have us wait in here all day?’
They don't know each other? SpongeBob wondered, glancing at Henry McGill, then at Penelope. But… then why did she save us? If they both want to take down Oliver, then why-
‘I see those greasy cogs turning in your head, SpongeBob!’ said McGill, pointing at him, then at the bead-door he came through. ‘Why don't we get those legs turning instead? There's some people I'd like you to meet!’
Almost begrudgingly, SpongeBob stepped towards the door; after a single step, he glanced back at Squidward, whose frown had developed into a grimace and who was now crossing his arms almost disapprovingly. With a gulp, SpongeBob turned back to the door and continued his walk.
The others followed.
The colourful beads parted before him, pushed aside by his square frame, to a room with a long wooden bar, red-cushioned seats along it, and a plethora of pool and other game tables. Beyond the game tables, there were regular tables with sofas circling them to create a maze of booths, and beyond that, the stage which all led to.
SpongeBob breathed in and that familiar scent was stronger. A clink brought his attention to a small group of fish at the bar. As Henry and the others gathered behind him, he realised the group was none other than Agent Roderick, that white-haired fish who helped them fight the Sharks, a sea cucumber with blonde hair whom he didn't recognise, and…
‘Tina?’ Patrick gasped, running past the poriferan and embracing the sea turtle in a suffocating, spine-cracking bear hug.
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Hours earlier as she explored the city by herself, Tina had come across a shark in a tuxedo. This wasn't any ordinary shark, she quickly observed. She followed him out of the court, away from the fountain, and through the bustling streets. If it wasn't for his height and impressive stature, she would have lost him immediately.
There were a handful of instances where she had lost him, only for the elusive character to wind up waiting at a crossing light or corner, seemingly waiting for something before moving on with his business.
Nothing ever happened.
Once, the sea turtle took out her shellphone and snapped a picture of him; by the time the camera clicked, he was out of the frame and across the street, so she had to hurry across the last ticks of a green light to catch up with him, briskly dodging a whooshing boat.
Then, after seemingly an eternity, he slipped away into the mouth of an alley, disappearing and blending with the shadows.
Tina stepped hesitantly into the dank alley, ducking behind dumpsters, pipes and other rubbish whenever he would cast a stray glance over his shoulder. As a sea turtle, she wasn't nimble and she knew it, suspecting this man might already be aware of her lingering presence.
The tuxedo shark finally paused under a red lamp; bathed in its crimson heat, he appeared much more sinister than before, making Tina question whether this was a mistake and she'd gotten herself in serious danger.
‘It's just a trick of the light,’ she whispered, feeling the first bead of sweat grow on her green brow.
‘It's not,’ he said without turning around.
Grease lightning! she cursed inwardly. He saw me! Guess I better show myself before he attacks me…
She stood and there was another voice and another fish, who joined the tall shark in the red light.
Tina ducked, knocking over an empty tin of Snail-Po and steeling herself to be discovered and plucked from her hiding place like a bowling ball from a pile of paper clips.
They didn't.
The newcomer had a feminine voice. It wasn't the strict kind like Tina's mother, the kind that yelled and scorned whenever you didn't live up to her expectations - no, this feminine voice was compassionate and embracing, though not in a motherly way but a romantic one.
‘Good to see you alive,’ she said in a voice that declared she already knew he'd be alive. ‘You weren't responding.’
When the figure to whom the voice belonged emerged in the red light, Tina mistook them for an elderly fish in a dirty tuxedo due to their white hair, though a slight squint adjusted the assumption to a mid-thirties woman.
‘You too, Agent Fisch,’ the shark said with a sly smile. After a brief moment, he glanced over her shoulders. ‘They here, too?’
‘They're here.’ A nod. ‘Come on out, Mrs Darkness.’
Tina held her breath as a second figure emerged from the darkness, this one tall and thin like a gigantic anchovy. By crimson glow, they were revealed to be a sea pickle with mid-length golden blonde hair. They, too, expectedly, wore a tuxedo, though Tina noted theirs was brown, not black.
‘Hi, Layla,’ the shark said.
‘Hi, Shark,’ “Layla” greeted in return, quickly turning their attention to the white-haired fish. ‘Fish, what's the word now?’
Fish, the white-haired… fish filled the Shark and Layla in with increasingly alarming news.
‘Looks like they've been captured,’ she'd said first.
Behind her rubbish bin, Tina assumed the worst. There's no way she's talking about SpongeBob and Squidward, right? Right?
‘The Magnate got to them,’ Fish added.
Darn it! She's so talking about them! Tina inwardly swore, biting her breath as she listened for more information.
‘The sponge and the squid,’ she then confirmed Tina's worst fears, a chill seizing hold of the turtle's spine and closing its cold fingers around it.
‘He's an octopus,’ Layla interrupted factually. ‘Anyway, how close are we to getting the Magnate? You know my family isn't safe until he's gone.’
‘We're getting close,’ Shark said, dusting some lingering dirt off the shoulder of his blazer. ‘Anyway, they're at the edge of the world, how much danger could they be in, huh, Lay?’
Layla shot daggers at him and he shut up, providing ample time for Fish to finish her briefing.
‘They're at Stinky's Fries ‘N Dogs. I saw the Magnate's goons take them inside.’ Fish whipped her hair, waiting for her partners’ opinions.
‘Well, they're dead,’ Shark confessed without a shred of remorse or grief.
Fish slapped his shoulder and he apologised. ‘Anyway,’ she said, holding her hips, ‘what're we going to do about this? What does the big man want us to do?’
Layla sighed. ‘Why are we staring at me?’
The other two didn't blink; the white-haired woman spoke for the two of them. ‘Because he only tells you stuff. Now that you're here, Mrs Teacher’s Pet.’
‘And I'm supposed to say when someone else is listening?’ the sea cucumber snapped back.
Tina's heart stopped. Her breath rushed out of her in a mutter. ‘Crap!’
‘Yes, crap!’ Shark repeated. ‘Come out, turtle girl. And don't try to run-’
Tina was already running. The garbage-filtered darkness stretched infinitely down the alley, though she knew she was making distance as bins, dumpsters and electric signs darted past her, a blur of colours and a sharp scent that stung her nostrils like a jellyfish zap. She heard a tin can get kicked behind her. Ahead, a shadow blocked the sunlight. She screeched to a halt, bracing to be tackled, but fell face-long into the ditty sand, sliding like a sandboard to a pair of black dress shoes, yelping when lifted by the back of her shirt.
‘You really did follow me, didn't you?’ a gravelly voice, Shark, growled. ‘Right into the sea lion's den…’
‘Please don't eat me!’ Tina cried, hiding behind her arms.
There was silence, then laughter. The three of them, Layla, Shark and Fish, doubled over, howling until they were out of breath.
Tina peeked between her arms, trembling in the water two feet above the dirty alley sand, and whimpered, ‘Am… Am I-I alive?’
Then she was placed on the ground like a toy, a mannequin.
‘We're not going to kill you, if that's what you're asking,’ Fish said, kneeling beside her to match her height, not that there was much of a difference to begin with.
‘So, who are you?’ Shark asked, crossing his arms and jutting a hairy brow. Despite his foreboding, menacing stance, he didn't ask it in a grim tone.
It was one of intrigue, rather.
‘Is there another player in the game?’ he continued asking the turtle, now pointing at her. ‘Is Sir Cecil on the Magnate, too? Actually, I hope not. That guy is annoying!’
‘I… I-I… I…’ Tina stammered, eyes darting between the three standing in a triangle around her.
‘Spit it out, girl,’ the sea cucumber, Layla, ordered.
‘Start with your name. What's your name?’ Fish suggested, sending the other woman a sharp look.
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‘Tina!’ Patrick shouted again, embracing the sea turtle nearly tightly enough to crack her small shell, which went over her oversized tuxedo like a tough backpack made and full of rocks.
‘Patrick!’ she squealed. ‘You're alive!’
He set her back down and stepped aside, revealing SpongeBob and Squidward.
Tina leapt in the air. ‘You found them! You did it, Patrick!’
‘Found who?’ Patrick questioned, stunned. ‘Oh, oh! Tina, I'd like you to introduce you to SpongeBob. SpongeBob, Tina. Tina, SpongeBob.’
‘We've already met, actually,’ SpongeBob said, scooting forward and shaking her hand, surprised by the hug she hurled at him.
‘Oh my grease!’ she nearly wept. ‘I never thought we'd find you! We came all this way to find you and we did it! First, Patrick and I…’
SpongeBob noticed Agent Roderick sitting at the bar, alongside Agent Fisch and a familiar sea cucumber…
‘Is that Kenzie Grahams?’ Squidward asked while SpongeBob was flying towards her for a hug.
Only it wasn't who they thought it was, because what would Kenzie Grahams, owner of the Crystal Gulch petting zoo, be doing all the way over here? But, if not her, then who…
‘Kenzie!’ the poriferan cried, latching onto the sea cucumber like a parasite of affection.
The mop of blonde hair was familiar, only this person's was shorter. And instead of the warm smile marking their face, there was a stern neutral expression. In other words, this wasn’t the McKenzie Grahams from Crystal Gulch…
‘Kenzie?’ the sea cucumber asked, their neutral expression twisting into confusion. ‘How do you know that name?’
Squidward ran up to them and pulled SpongeBob off of them, placing the poriferan beside himself and patting his head. ‘We, uh, she’s just a friend! You look like her, is all. Like, a lot.’
‘Practically identical,’ Patrick confirmed. ‘Like lost twins. Like… clones-‘
Squidward put a tentacle over the starfish’s lips (had he any) and instantly regretted it, as his tentacle slipped inside the slobbery mouth. With a shriek, he pulled it out and wiped it up and down on his shirt until the skin was burned off with friction. It was like babysitting two twit-nits, and it was already beginning to get on his nerves.
I thought these days were over, he sighed inwardly, hoping that the new connection formed between himself and SpongeBob at Crystal Gulch had put an end to the days of his neighbours annoying him. Before he could contemplate it any further, he was met with a force. It launched at him, knocking him to the floor with a thud loud enough to shake the old, antique walls. It was the sea cucumber, he realised, as she straddled him and choked him by his collar.
‘How do you know that name?’ she yelled into his face, the spittle striking him hard as pellets of ice.
Squidward’s face began to grow blue and hot and shouts became indistinct. His heartbeat slowed and his vision blurred, but it was still clear enough to see the yellow shape agitating against the green rectangle he knew to be the sea cucumber attacking him.
Then, before it all went black, water flooded his lungs and he sat up gasping like a fish out of water. His swimming vision settled, becoming one. The sea cucumber sat up off of him, muttered something that sounded like an apology, and stepped back. The yellow shape, grown in detail as his eyes focused, had become SpongeBob, who had knelt to prop him up.
‘Are you okay, Squidward?’ he asked, the baby blue in his eyes shimmering with a rumour of tears.
‘He’s dying!’ Patrick shouted, pointing at Squidward’s face.
Only now did the cephalopod realise how hot and blue it was. Again. Shaking his head, he slapped SpongeBob’s hand out of the way and got to his feet on his own.
The poriferan shrank back, glancing nervously at the group around them - friends, spies and musicians.
‘Of course you know SpongeBob,’ Agent Roderick groaned. ‘And here I thought you were a top-grade spy like us. That would’ve been too exciting, I suppose.’
‘Yeah,’ Fish (who Tina now knew was called Fisch with a C) added. ‘You’re dressed like one. Whoever picked that out for you to wear must’ve been a masterclass fashionista.’
Patrick smiled, not understanding the words but the sentiment of the compliment.
‘Would someone catch me up on all this?’ Henry McGill asked, gesturing to the whole gang at large. ‘We’re racing against a tickin’ timebomb, case y’all went an’ forgot.’
Agent Roderick took the spotlight, his deep and velvety voice filling the musty water. ‘When meeting up with the boys, I mean the mates - Fisch and Layla, I noticed this one following me. I indicated to the guys with a triple wink with my left eye, the third one being delayed, that-‘
‘Nice going,’ Fisch interrupted, ‘you just gave away our secret code.’
‘Code-schmode,’ the shark mocked, ‘they probably knew anyways. Besides-‘
‘That’s beside the point,’ Henry McGill corrected. ‘Layla, how about you finish up the story, seein’ as ya get to the point, however sharp it may be.’
‘Always getting interrupted,’ Roderick whined under his breath as Nancy Fisch giggled.
Layla hadn’t taken her eyes off Squidward yet. She had to know the answer to her question, even if it meant choking the life out of his thin blue neck.
‘We caught this one,’ she said pointing at Tina, who shrank into her shell before her acknowledgement, feeling suddenly very unsuitable for her tuxedo, ‘when we met up. She couldn’t tell us anything other than her name.’
‘I already know all this, Layla,’ the guitarist interrupted rudely. ‘I was talking to her.’
Penelope Phantom.
The violinist was already behind the bar, mixing a cocktail. The clinks and poured liquid seemed so loud in the silent room, speaking of which Squidward hadn’t had time yet to introduce himself to, on account of all the tomfoolery occurring. He now took the time to wait while they waited for her response.
It wasn’t just a room with a loaded bar, but a theatre, too. There was a small stage, big enough to fit three or four fish (including their equipment) and enough chairs and tables to house thirty, maybe as high as fifty, heads. He imagined it would get crowded here at night. Loud. It appeared nice in his head, the atmosphere quaint and cosy, even.
Finally, Penelope had finished mixing her cocktail and turned toward the expectant faces. ‘Henry,’ she said without changing expression, ‘I don’t care.’
The Krusty Duo - now quatrio - turned their heads in unison to Henry, who they expected to be angry. Instead, he chuckled.
‘We’ll see about that after a few drinks. On the house, of course. Fact, all of you can drink on the house tonight. It’s going to be a ball tonight.’
A ball? Squidward asked inwardly, realising how crowded it will be.
A ball?! SpongeBob rejoiced, distracted from his sudden moodiness. ‘Will there be lights, cameras and pants?’
‘Definitely lights,’ Henry confirmed. ‘Cameras, too. Not sure about pants, though. You’ll most definitely need extra pairs, though!’
‘Nights get wild here, boy,’ Roderick whispered, Nancy nodding behind him.
‘How… wild?’ Tina asked, looking horrified.
‘Wild!’ Henry snapped giddily. ‘Wild, girl, wild! Tell ‘em, Pen!’
Penelope didn’t look amused. ‘Yeah, wild, girl.’
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‘But we nearly… The Magnate, he nearly… It was almost over for good…’ Squidward wept fearlessly into his palms, sitting at a corner-bound booth while hammering, sawing and drilling sounds boomed from the stage.
Stagehands buzzed back and forth, carrying equipment from the door to the stage. Between the slim, muscular and earthy-coloured fish were breaks of yellow, pink and green. SpongeBob, Patrick and Tina assisted the hands, helping them set up the stage while Squidward kept to himself.
When the cephalopod asked Henry and the spies what their plan was, he was met with disregard. He hoped there was a grand plan to bear the Magnate and get out of this city in one piece - in fact, it was all he could think of. For now, he watched the spies talk amongst themselves at the bar, giggling and sniggering as though nothing had happened. As though they hadn’t nearly bit the bullet…
‘You mind if I join you?’ a voice asked.
He looked up.
Penelope stood above him, her black dress as dark as the drink in her hand. ‘Well, octopus?’
‘My name is Squid-‘
‘Thanks, octopus.’ She sat on the other side of the booth, setting her glass of black liquor on the table with an icy thud. ‘So, what are you brooding about?’
Squidward sat up, offended. ‘Me? I’m not brooding. I-‘
‘Save it for the party,’ she said.
That was the last time they spoke to each other. Soon, after many shared glances between sponge and octopus, they were at last introduced to the rooms they would be staying in for the night. The gang, SpongeBob, Squidward, Patrick, Tina and Penelope Phantom were led upstairs in a tight stairway and corridor - so narrow Patrick’s sides were red from chafing the walls - to a set of ten rooms as tiny as the corridor was narrow.
The gang spent the next ten minutes getting acquainted with their rooms, finding the wardrobe full of clothes picked right out of their own dressers - without fail, they seemed to fit them to an almost alarming degree. It made one think, how much did their host know about them? Not Patrick, though, as his was only sand and one pair of shorts. SpongeBob shuffled through endless white shirts, brown pants, red ties, his red and blue striped socks and all the Hawaiian variations known to fishkind. Squidward shuffled through multiple brown shirts, some of varying shades, a vast array of red, lavender and pastel purple nightgowns and bathrobes and… At that exact moment, SpongeBob came across his Santa costume reserved for the wildest of wild Christmas parties and felt his eyes peel wide open. He turned sharply in the still water, hearing Squidward’s gasp through the plastered brick wall and Patrick’s scream, followed by Tina’s shriek, and dashed into the corridor.
Squidward came out first, unnerved. ‘I think they broke into my house and stole my clothes!’
Tina was next: ‘They stole my clothes! And my extra shells!
Then Patrick.
The starfish stumbled out of his room in a dizzied state and fell to the floor, shaking the walls. SpongeBob slid on his knees. ‘What happened, buddy?’ he asked, shaking the triangular pink head until the eyes opened and focused on him.
‘They…’ he muttered.
‘They what, Pat? They what!’
‘They stole my rock…’
‘Your rock?’ Squidward interjected, imposing himself upon the two. ‘That’s not even possible-’ Silenced by a peep into the starfish’s room, which did, indeed, house his neighbour’s rock-house-whatever-it-is. It engulfed the middle of the room, leaving no space for any other furniture, not that the owner would need any.
‘I see you’ve noticed your belongings,’ Henry McGill said from the other end of the narrow hallway. A short melody of guitar strings seemed to announce his position, though no guitars were anywhere to be seen. Dim red light lit the brim of his Stetson western hat, then his eyes when he lifted his head with a nigh-malign squint of a man in a showdown to the death. A man who would do anything to win. To survive.
Squidward felt his throat numb as he lifted a tentacle placatively. ‘Yes, sir, but we were… Were…’
‘Were wondering why you stole our belongings?’ SpongeBob asked, stealing the words right out of his co-worker’s mouth and carrying them to the finish line.
‘Stole?’ Henry asked, strutting towards them with his midwestern flair. ‘Boys, d’ya think I done stole from ya? Boys… Tch, tch, tch!’ He stopped before them, grinning widely. ‘Hah, I merely transported it for ya! Seein’ as your time here might be your last an’ all.’
‘Our last?’ Tina asked, looking around at the others, unaware of the Magnate’s threat and the near elimination of her friends.
‘Anywho,’ Henry said with a nonchalant whistle and twirling on his heel. ‘If you’re gonna die, you’re not gonna be buried in those rags, that’s for sure. Follow me, fellas!’ Seeing as they had no choice, they followed him back down the narrow corridor. ‘You’re going to love it!’ he shouted, his voice echoing forwards and backwards in the narrow spaces.
‘Buried?’ Tina whispered. Oh, Tony, what have I gotten myself into?
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It was a five-block walk. At one point or another, it crossed their minds that Henry might be leading them to their doom. Perhaps back to the Magnate to bargain a deal? It flew out of their minds, like a flock of startled birds, the moment they turned and saw it…
It was just like Jules’ Fashion Parlour. Only bigger. Minimalistic as opposed to her antique and old-fashioned outlet, with rows of suits standing against the bright, long strips of windows. It was a sleek black building with a white stripe falling down the centre, swallowing the glass doors. Black circles, the metal frames of windows, followed the middle line of the white stripe. To the right, a square of black encased a tip of white, much like a handkerchief resting in a tuxedo’s suit pocket. And then it hit Squidward…
‘The whole building is a tuxedo!’ he cried.
SpongeBob let out an ‘Ohhhhh’ while Patrick squinted harder at it. ‘Must be for a really big guy,’ he muttered.
‘A suit, yes!’ Henry McGill averred. ‘Right on the money, Squidward!’ He strided towards it with long, confident steps and pushed one of the glass doors open, gesturing with his free arm for them to enter.
‘I guess we don’t have a choice,’ Squidward said, still neglecting to acknowledge SpongeBob. The Phantom Squidward in the poriferan’s brain chuckled ever louder, and he too himself chuckled nervously to cover and hint of unease as the group entered the tuxedo building. It was a jungle of shirts, ties and suits from white to black and the entire colour spectrum between - purples there, oranges here, pinks too and blues everywhere. It was a kaleidoscope of colours, of fabrics, of styles, of sizes - every colour split into different compartments of slightly varying shades, then those shades into further varying ones. Belts hung from racks like snakes from jungle branches while ties dangled like vines from the treetops.
It was unlike anything any of them had ever seen. Like anyone in Bikini Bottom had ever seen… It was a businessman’s dream. Unfortunately, none of them were businessmen or intended to ever be one. The prospect was undeniably, irrefutably, and unabashedly a boring, horrible one to every member of the group. SpongeBob loved his job at the Krusty Krab, and Squidward dreamed of being an artist of the highest magnitude, while even Patrick loved his job of unemployment too much to consider sitting at a desk all day talking about numbers. And Tina… As she looked around, growing increasingly nervous at the idea of a future, she knew in her heart of hearts that she didn’t want to be in an office for the rest of her life - whatever it is she will do, whatever it may be, she knew it would be something exciting. Something fulfilling. Something…
Her thought was broken by a humming. Not loud, not incessant. Quiet, humbling. It drew the group towards them, Henry at the back, until they came across a tall ladder reaching the highest of the high shelves. At the very peak was a swordfish with green-grey skin and a very sharp and very pointy sword of a nose. They slid down the moment they heard the group approach.
If a tuxedo and a tuxedo had come to life and birthed a baby with each other, that is what this swordfish would be - dapper beyond belief, excruciating swagger and dilapidating charm. He was a thin specimen with bright green eyes that darted to and fro across the group, his eyes settling on the one in the back.
‘Surprised to see you,’ the swordfish man said, all jittery and squeaky. ‘Didn’t know you were coming. Did you stain it again?’
The musician made his way to the front to greet him. ‘Heaven’s no, Barnabus! I’m here to introduce you to my new friends. Friends, this is Barnabus. Barnabus, this is SpongeBob.’
SpongeBob smiled up at the thin fish, managing to avoid looking at the sword on his face. ‘Hi, I’m Sponge-‘
‘And this is Squidward,’ Henry cut in, gesturing to him. ‘This tall load of sour bread isn’t one to talk, but he’s got a good heart.’
‘Is that what he calls it?’ muttered the octopus.
‘And this lovely, round specimen is Patrick Star.’
The bright green eyes lit up. In them was wonder, astonishment and a sight for grandeur fogging them like coming tears. ‘Patrick Star,’ he grinned, shaking the starfish’s hand reverently. ‘It is a pleasure!’
‘Bikini Bottomites,’ Henry announced with a sweeping gesture to include all (except the one he hadn’t introduced) and turned back round to the swordfish, ‘this is Sir Barnabus Barnie.’
Barnabus bowed before them, his nose poking a hole in the black carpet. ‘A pleasure.’ He rose. ‘Now, Mr McGill, what is it I have the pleasure of doing for you today?’
‘It’s not what you can do for me,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder mischievously, ‘it’s what you can do for them…’
Squidward gulped. Not another makeover…
It was another makeover. The group were allowed to split up and wander the shop while Barnabus called them one by one to have their fitting intake and dress assembled - much too similar to their time in Jules’ parlour. It reminded Squidward too much of their time in Crystal Gulch, when everything was flipped upside down like a Krabby Patty on the grill. Now nothing was normal…
Squidward was the first to be called. Terror shredded down his spine, clawing him in equal thirds as Barnabus led him to an open space where each wall consisted of rows of articles of clothing: one to jackets and pants, another to shoes, another to shirts, and one entirely to endless ties and belts. One third of him was reminded by the fancy suits, particularly the sparklingly white shirts, of his father and the grand ambitions pushed onto him since childhood. Another was the thought that he wasn’t good enough for them, being a dirty cashier - despite the insistence of his ego, he thought lower of himself than anyone else. The last third was horrified that SpongeBob would see him in it… the possible reactions tormented him… and that he’d see SpongeBob in one. He gulped as Barnabus readied his measuring tape and white pencil.
Meanwhile, SpongeBob and Patrick had gotten lost from the rest. Tina and Henry McGill were nowhere to be seen. ‘Where are we, Sponge?’ the starfish asked, though SpongeBob was in a world of his own, lost amongst the racks of suits.
He ran his yellow hand across them, feeling the velvety material. He was too distracted to notice Patrick stop behind him and gawk at something. When he turned around, ready to answer his best friend’s question, there was no pink or starfish to be seen. ‘Pat?’ he asked. ‘Pat, where’d you go?’
‘Leave me alone,’ Squidward said before disappearing into a rack of suits.
‘Squidward? I thought you were with- Wait for me, Squid!’ SpongeBob shouted, chasing the slippery octopus through the rack.
He was nowhere to be seen. Why did Squidward want to be left alone? He had to know. But where did he go?’
‘Why don’t you ever just go away?’ that nasally voice spat.
SpongeBob turned left and saw turquoise tentacles slip through another rack. Without a thought, he chased - something had to be wrong! Squidward needed his help!
Yet through the rack, in the aisle of suits, SpongeBob saw nothing. Again.
‘You ruin everything!’ Squidward complained from the right, then disappeared into another row of suits. SpongeBob followed. And yet…
‘Nothing,’ the sponge breathed, glancing around. ‘Nothing but suits.’ With every turn of his square head, there was the slight and subtle swish of bubbles, accentuating the silence. ‘I guess Grandpa SquarePants was right… all sponges lose their marbles.’ He reached into his pocket, feeling the glass orbs - his marbles - clinking in his pocket. ‘Guess I still have them, actually!’
‘I hate you,’ Squidward said from behind him venomously.
Before SpongeBob could turn, the octopus was already through the row of suits. He leapt after his co-worker, hurt at the words but too anxious to process them, and caught onto something - he was real!
‘I knew I hadn’t lost my marbles!’ SpongeBob yelled triumphantly, tumbling to the aisle through the row of suits with Squidward.
But it wasn’t Squidward he fell onto the floor with. It was…
‘Rose?’ SpongeBob asked, blinking to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating the shark. Rose crawled to his feet and scrambled away, disappearing through a row of suits as though they were people crowding a street. ‘Wait, Rose!’ the poriferan cried after him to no avail. Startled, confused, and anxious, he stared at the spot where the carcharadon had disappeared. ‘I guess I have lost my marbles after all…’ he mumbled, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, too shocked to acknowledge the dagger wedged deep in his heart.
Elsewhere in the labyrinthine maze of suits, Tina was lost on her own. As she strolled down an aisle, she felt crummy. Dirty. Like the stacked rows of fresh, clean and shiny suits were all glaring down at her, scorning the rags hanging from her frame. The ones Patrick had stolen for her. At first, she felt confident in them - thinking of herself as a spy, much like Agent Fisch and the others. Now, seeing these garments, she felt like nothing but an impoverished turtle again. The one everyone made fun of her as. Then she saw it, nearly falling over as she gawked at it…
A green tuxedo. Dark and shiny, slim-fitted at the waist with long tailcoats. It looked just like her - if she were a piece of clothing. Or rather, the piece of clothing of her dreams.
Her dream self.
Tina walked towards it, drawn like a moth to a flame. It was on a mannequin in a clearing in the suit-forest, a bright light spotlighting it, illuminating its importance. It’s perfection-
BUMP!
She walked into someone else…
‘Patrick? Where’d you come from?’ she asked.
The starfish rubbed his head. ‘Uhhh…’ A shrug. ‘I was with SpongeBob. Then I saw it…’
‘Saw… what?’ Tina asked, intrigued.
‘It,’ he muttered after glancing around nervously. ‘It didn’t see me, though.’
Tina was now hooked. She leaned on her toes, curiosity and imagination rising to her head and lifting her like a hot air balloon ready to burst.
‘A monster!’ he exclaimed, shaking his pink hands in the air to imply its towering height. ‘It was all furry and panting like a mad worm and had a long tail and one sharp, pointy claw on each foot! And worst of all… it had a sword on its face!’
Tina gasped, biting her nails. ‘Oh, Neptune! What are we going to do? We should warn SpongeBob and Squidward about the monster!’
‘That’s right!’ he asserted as if it were his own idea. ‘We should warn SpongeBob and that skinny guy about the monster!’
‘But…’ Tina trailed off.
‘But…’ Patrick echoed.
‘Where are they?’ she asked.
‘Where are we?’ he asked.
They glanced at each other. They were lost.
•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ
SpongeBob found himself in a hallway of changing rooms that opened to a room with a checkout and a colonnade of mannequins lining the wall with various-coloured suits, some with tailcoats and some with boxy shoulders - some modern and some vintage, their years of wear worn with pride in their seams, their washed colours. Then there was a low grunt behind him; he turned and sprang into the air, eyes exploding in their sockets. ‘Ahhh!!! A monster!!!’ he cried, landing on his shoes and getting ready to run like hell.
The monster, a spherical creature with layers of shiny pelts, two spiky toenails on each foot and a sword-like horn coming out of its face, screamed like a fish. Its fur-like cover was flung into the air, like a sea snake shedding its old skin. Before SpongeBob could dart away, a pelt of the monster’s fur fell on his face and he realised it was just a…
‘A suit?’ he asked, his fear replaced with confusion.
‘Not just any suit,’ said a nasally voice - one identical to Squidward’s, the owner of it pulling the suit off of SpongeBob’s face and dusting it. ‘But a Lue Carlo nearly one hundred years old!’
To SpongeBob’s surprise, it was a swordfish, eerily similar to- ‘Barnabus, is that you? You don’t look so good…’
The swordfish sighed, pinching the bridge of his sword-nose. ‘No, I’m not Barnabus’ - this name he said with contempt - ‘I’m Reginald. His older brother. Though he hasn’t been around for a long time, that flaker. And to make it all worse, someone keeps moving around my stuff! I put the rainbow suits over here and they wind up over there. It’s infuriating!’
Now it was clear. His brother was the spitting image of him, only younger, more youthful and less wrinkly.
‘Reginald?’ the poriferan repeated. Then it struck him. ‘Oh! I’m looking for my friends, could you help me find them?’
After a deep breath in from the old swordfish and a long pause, he declined and began gathering the discarded suits.
‘Aw, why not? I really need to find them, I’ve been looking everywhere.’
Reginald did not respond.
At a loss, SpongeBob knelt and assisted him with the mess.
He sighed. ‘Stop helping.’
SpongeBob did not respond.
‘Fine,’ he agreed, albeit begrudgingly. ‘What do they look like?’
SpongeBob dropped the suits he was holding to count his fingers as he listed his friends. ‘One is pink and round - he’s a starfish and his name is Patrick. He looooves Krabby Patties and Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy! Oh, then there’s Tina - she’s a sea turtle. I don’t know much about her but she’s Tony’s nephew - he’s a sea turtle, too, which makes sense when you think about it-‘
‘Back that way,’ Reginald interrupted, pointing over his shoulder. ‘Take a left at the gilded vests and another left at the party section.’
‘Thanks!’ SpongeBob was about to reach out to shake his hand when he glanced down and saw the blazers he’d dropped. ‘Um… anyway! Thank you, Reginald!’ he shouted over his shoulder with gratitude so palpable it was in the way he ran.
‘Kids…’ the swordfish muttered before continuing to gather the suits like a worker in a kelp field.
•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ
Two days, Squidward repeated endlessly in his mind. Two days until the Hero Mania parade… He shuddered, afraid of the event that was sure to set a sonic boom throughout the city. One, in its association with his neighbour, but two, because he had a feeling the Magnate had something to do with it. A major part of his plan.
‘Are you ninety, Mr Squidward?’ Barnabus asked, glancing back at him.
Squidward caught up to him, feeling quite strapping in his suit. ‘Of course, Barnabus!’
The swordfish took a left turn down an identical aisle of draped suits, and at this point, they were starting to look like a solid wall, so dense they were in number and so alike in appearance.
Squidward looked at his shoes as he walked - he’d never seen it before, but this tailor had the kind that could fit an octopus - without squishing the ends of his feet. It was a miracle. He smiled, imagining his father seeing him now - then he frowned, realising it was just a suit and nothing more. Nothing less. Just fabric wrapping his frame. His unsuccessful frame. This city had wonders in it; it made wonders; could he become a wonder here? Here, where art is the backbone of society, a pillar-
‘You’re thinking too much,’ Barnabus commented in his astute tone. ‘It’s seeping into the suit. It’s not fitting. Think less, won’t you?’
‘R-Right,’ he stuttered, strangely enough finding silence from then on.
When they returned to the others, there were only Patrick and Tina left. No yellow. No baby blue eyes gawking at him, those buck teeth showing in a mouth that’s fallen to the floor. Squidward didn’t know why; in fact, it made him angry in his typical bitter fashion that SpongeBob wasn’t here. Where was he? What was more important? Squidward tried to convince himself it made him happy that the yellow nuisance was gone, but couldn’t bring himself to smile at the thought of it. It made him feel sick, a nausea he’d never felt before. Until the morning after they’d returned to Bikini Bottom from Crystal Gulch…
‘Wow, Squidward!’ Tina exclaimed. ‘Is that you? You look amazing!’
Patrick stared at him. Squidward awaited something, but nothing came. Then the starfish walked up to him, suspect in the way he squirmed his eyes and pursed his lip, and circled the octopus, humming thoughtfully to himself. ‘Nice to meet you!’ he shouted too loudly, extending a hand to shake.
Squidward didn’t shake it. ‘Nice to meet you too,’ he said. ‘Where’s SpongeBob? Not that I care. I just thought he’d be with you.’
Tina shrugged.
Patrick, however, recounted the moment he parted ways with his best friend…
•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ
The rows of suits, endless and identical, became treadmills on either side, dark and blurred in SpongeBob’s peripheral vision as he ran and ran. He stopped, bent over panting out of breath, and stood up straight, realising he was lost…
•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ
Patrick, meanwhile, had just finished recounting his story, describing the monster in descriptive horror. Tina shivered in her timbers, but Squidward didn’t believe that there was a monster lurking in these corridors of suits and pants.
‘There have been strange happenings,’ Barnabus noted, nodding, giving credibility to Patrick’s story.
‘Strange?’ Squidward asked, intrigued. ‘Are you telling me that there may be a monster?’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ the swordfish contradicted himself. ‘Things have been moving around the store. I put the rainbow blazers here, and tomorrow they’re suddenly over there. It’s very strange, indeed… almost as though there’s another man - a ghost! - messing with me.’
You might just have a terrible memory, the cashier thought.
‘Anywho,’ Barnabus recollected himself, ‘who was next? Aha, you!’
He had pointed at Patrick.
‘Me?’ the starfish asked, lost in a maze of his own stupidity and ignorance.
‘Yes, you!’ the swordfish proclaimed, eyes lighting up and energy soaring like a child on Christmas morning. Without another word, he grabbed Patrick by his hand and dragged him towards the dressing chamber, where he had previously taken Squidward, leaving Tina, Squidward and the deafening silence to their own devices.
One, maybe two, instances occurred where the supposed co-workers interacted. One was a breath from Tina, a drawing of water that would naturally have been followed by words, perhaps long enough to form a sentence, and the second being a glance at each other, then a turn of the eyes in the opposite direction. It was a dire event, one so withdrawn from the collaboration of socialising that it could be considered a desert. Patrick and Barnabus returned not long after.
He was unrecognisable. Save the stupid look on his flat face. From top to bottom, a pin-striped suit of black and grey covered his round frame. A purple bow tie accentuated his purple socks, which peeked out from under the crop of the pants. The shoulders were boxy, and with the jacket buttoned, brought his waist together and created a rather unusual slimming silhouette. An odd sight for Patrick, who was known as one of Bikini Bottom’s resident big fellows.
‘Wow, Patrick!’ Tina rejoiced, running up to him. ‘You look amazing! I can’t believe it! You look so tough and strong and cool!’
‘Oh, you better believe it,’ the starfish smirked calmly and confidently, flexing in a pitch-perfect pose.
‘You’re a natural model!’ Barnabus exclaimed gleefully. ‘One not seen in decades! Oh, my brother would love this! Had he not run away…’
‘Yeah,’ Squidward rolled his eyes, ‘a real beauty.’ He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he thought his second-most-annoying neighbour looked dapper. Muscular, even, as though behind the fabric his fat formed muscles. Not as good as me, though, he thought, egotistically to himself, then remembered who he was and ended the thought before any further, parodic self-worship could ensue.
Barnabus stepped back, eyeing the group. ‘Fabulous,’ he sighed, waking backwards as though to achieve a greater view of them, ‘stunning, indeed. Mr McGill will be happy. Very happy-‘
BUMP!
Something fast, something wheezing - something yellow - ran into him and all at once Squidward realised who it was. ‘SpongeBob?’ he whispered, feeling his collar tighten around his neck like a sea snake constricting its prey.
‘SpongeBob!’ Parrick shouted, breaking out of his model persona and running towards his buddy and delivering the poor sponge a fearsome bear hug - that, had he a spine, would most definitely have obliterated it into a tiny million pieces.
‘Wow… Pat…’ he wheezed, lungs squashed, ‘you look… fantas…tic…’
Just as SoongeBob was released and Patrick struck another pose that beckoned admiration, Barnabus recollected himself and turned around. ‘Ah, I knew I was forgetting someone…’
Tina felt invisible in her oversized and baggy rag of a suit.
‘…the sponge!’ the swordfish reminded himself. ‘Come with me, sponge, and we’ll sort you out with something. Matter of fact,’ he said, pushing him towards the dressing area too quickly for him to see Squidward, ‘I have something in mind already…’
The reading area, the same one Squidward and Patrick had been taken to, was now SpongeBob’s to call home. For the next half an hour, at least. While sitting on a waiting bench, where one would usually try on shoes, Barnabus was busy shuffling through a rack of alternative clothes, ones that looked like they belonged in a high fashion parlour, not a formal shop of suits such as this one. Maybe in Jules’. ‘I didn’t know you had a brother,’ he said, swinging his short legs to and fro.
Barnabus paused, then continued his work. ‘I don’t. Not anymore.’
SpongeBob frowned. He’d found them, Barnabus and the others - and though he’d seen Squidward as a blur in his peripheral vision as Patrick had nearly killed him, he didn’t see any details. Only the vague shape of him. He frowned at that, too, but pushed past it to ask his tailor, ‘What happened?’
Barnabus spun on his heel, presenting a green suit with a pattern of little squares in one hand and a pair of brown shoes in the other. ‘Why don’t we try this out on you?’ he asked and the other nodded.
It didn’t feel right. It was a beautiful suit, a bright, vivid colour that spoke to his bright, vivid personality. And with all that said, he didn’t feel himself in it. Maybe, just maybe, it was because he didn’t know who he was anymore? Nah, green’s just not your colour, he told himself, putting on a smile for his tailor.
‘It’s not quite right…’ the swordfish muttered, turning back to sift through the rack.
SpongeBob turned around to head back to the waiting bench but stopped dead in his tracks at a screech. One unexpectedly womanly from Barnabus.
‘It’s perfect!’ he proclaimed, practically slipping on the spot. ‘Oh, sweet Poseidon, it’s absolutely marvellous!’
‘What is?’ SpongeBob asked him.
‘This!’ he proclaimed, presenting it.
A purple-blue dress, short by a fish’s standards but just right for SpongeBob’s height, and pleated at the hem. Shiny as day, absorbing as night, it shone from the coat hanger like a bunch of diamonds. It really was…
‘Perfect!’ Barnabus wept, admiring it on his customer. ‘Oh, dear me, I might just faint!’
SpongeBob examined it, turning this way and that to absorb every angle of it. Then he spun, and he might’ve imagined it, but he could’ve sworn he heard a crystalline jingle, almost as though it had tiny little gems hanging from the hem that delicately struck like flint on stone to create the spark of majesty.
‘My magnum opus,’ Barnabus said, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘First the starfish, now this… If only my brother were here to see this…’
SpongeBob twirled again, the high of the fashion overtaking a potential response. He felt alive. It was just fabric, very shiny fabric, with a big bow over the breast, but it felt as much like home as a piece of fabric could, and it brought a smile to his face. This high followed him like an apparition as Barnabus proudly led him back to the others. It didn’t take long to fade, though. The thought of Squidward seeing him in something so brazen, so bold, so… girly made him feel bad. The kind of bad that made his imagination cruel and judgmental, the kind of thoughts he wouldn’t allow in his sleep. Ew, what is that? he imagined the octopus whining with disgust, are you a child? That colour is hideous! Even for you.
And so, as they turned the corner to meet up with the rest of the group, SpongeBob heard the Phantom Squidward in his head mock him with those very words. Mocking him; taunting him; ridiculing him. Then he turned the corner and was presented by the tailor, and was met with silence and gawking eyes.
Squidward’s eyes.
Tina was in shock. Patrick aghast. SpongeBob’s dress was blue, falling from his chest to his ankles. It was firm, but flowing. Soft. It reflected the light, shining a sort of teal, like sunlight in the water. A bow, matching in colour, was fastened where usually his red tie would hang. It looked…
Squidward turned away. Why does it actually look good on him?
SpongeBob tried to smile, but with his partner looking away, how could he? Did it look bad on him? He had no time to ponder, as Henry McGill reappeared, clapping.
‘Wonderful! Wonderful, y’all!’ the guitarist praised. ‘Especially you, Patrick. Why, in that suit, you should be on the stage with me! Scratch that,’ he said, patting the starfish on his padded shoulders, ‘stay away from showbiz, you’d steal all my fans! Isn’t that right, Barnabus?’
‘Quite!’ Barnabus responded.
‘Fantastic work as usual, my man.’ He shook the swordfish’s hand, crunching it. Slipping a wad of cash into Barnabus’s pocket, he whispered something into his ear, then turned back to the group - Patrick, Squidward, SpongeBob, and undressed Tina, and announced their imminent return to the Cerise.
‘But I haven’t-‘ Tina managed to speak out feebly.
‘There seems to be something that demands our attention,’ Henry warned. ‘Especially you two,’ he said, pointing at SpongeBob and Squidward.’
Me? the sponge and octopus thought, minds racing with possibilities. Imaginations let loose, anxiety on the prowl.
•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ
The Cerise was smoky and dimly lit. SpongeBob coughed as they walked through the reception room to the bar. Even dim, it retained its Hawaiian charm. The low light brought on an element of romance swirling in the water, of safety on the verge of spoiling into danger.
The three spies were crowding one end of the bar with Penelope Phantom nowhere to be seen. Accurate to her name, she had disappeared. The spies turned in unison upon their arrival, and Agent Nancy Fisch spoke up. ‘We’ve received troubling news from a colleague of yours,’ she said.
‘Ours?’ SpongeBob asked, feeling the confidence of his new dress take rise.
Colleague? Squidward wondered.
Henry walked behind the bar, leaving them with the spies, as though to silently inform them to engage in conversation.
‘Beautiful dress, SpongeBob,’ Roderick said, trying not to laugh.
‘Thank you!’ SpongeBob smiled, his red cheeks blushing.
Yeah… Beautiful, Squidward thought, finding himself believing the sarcastic words in his head more than he would’ve liked.
‘Don’t tease him!’ Nancy chided the tall shark, elbowing him sharply in the ribs, earning a yelp and a quiet apology. ‘It is beautiful, SpongeBob. You look radiant.’
SpongeBob rubbed his hands together, blushing.
‘Anyway,’ Nancy said, regaining composure, ‘it’s about you two.’
She’d pointed at SpongeBob and Squidward.
‘Well, spit it out,’ the octopus demanded. ‘We’ve been dying to know!’
Nancy turned her head to Henry McGill before answering and ordered a drink. Amused, the guitarist nodded and began making her cocktail, a tropical grape sunrise with a dash of lime juice and a recyclable kelp paper straw. ‘It’s about your parents,’ she finally told the two. ‘They’re in danger.’
‘Our parents?’ Squidward echoed.
‘Danger?’ SpongeBob echoed.
They glanced at each other, blinked, then back at the white-haired fish. ‘That’s right,’ she confirmed. ‘Danger. Capital D, gents.’
‘Capital D with a capital,’ Roderick said, pouting and eyeing them with huge, glassy eyes.
‘What kind of danger?’ the fry cook asked, tapping his fingers together anxiously. He loved his parents dearly, almost more than anything - even his job at the Krusty Krab! This was present, as bright as day and as broad as the sky in his expression, posture, and tone.
Nancy made quick work of putting out the fire she’d lit with her mysterious statement. ‘But they’re safe,’ she said. ‘The Magnate is eyeing them, we think.’
‘What’s this about a source?’ Patrick interrupted.
Finally, Squidward thought, the starfish said something worthwhile… Because what, or who, was this source she had spoken of? And what credibility did they hold?
Nancy maintained eye contact with Squidward, despite Patrick having been the one to ask. ‘Squilliam Fancyson,’ she said. ‘He called.’
Squidward felt relief. Of course it was Squilliam. He always wanted to live in Jetsam City… It made sense he’d stick his tentacles in the Magnate’s pie. And, after all they’d been through - as partners of both a romantic and platonic nature, he was glad to have his help, however it arrived. But what danger was his parents- his one parent in? This question seemed to linger until Henry McGill, who had just finished making Nancy’s drink, set it on the bar before her, answered.
‘It appears,’ he informed them, ‘that the Magnate has put a bounty on your parents. He’d liked them to be parent-napped and brought to his lair, which we now know is Stinky’s Dogs N’ Fries, thanks to the two of you and your endless bravery.’ He chuckled to himself, raising his fins placatively. ‘I know, I know. How do I know this, you ask? While you were getting suited, I received a phone call from our very own Layla here. Seems Mr. Squilliam’s henchman, a one Perch Perkins, dropped by for a phone call. He didn’t tell us his source, but he told us enough. Oh, and rest assured, they already have the best of the best on the case…’
Tina, herself, had almost forgotten she was there. She felt very left out, standing the furthest from the congregation - at any rate, she would slip into the shades and never be seen again, or shrink and slip between the gaps in the floor. She listened, hoping her newfound friends’ parents would be safe.
‘So,’ Patrick said, arms crossed, ‘where’s this sauce?’
Then, and only then, did Squidward realise the starfish was talking about sauce. Condiments. He facepalmed, and it echoed in the silent barroom.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ
In Bikini Bottom…
Night had fallen. Stars emerged, watching from beyond the moon as a sea sponge watered her garden. From the open door of the house, a round, dark orange structure with white frills hanging over the edge, like fondant icing on a cake, came a deep and restrained voice.
‘Are you joining me for dinner, honey?’ they called.
The sea sponge outside stood up and dusted her skirt, taking her time taking off their rubber gardening gloves. ‘All in a hard day’s work,’ she said with a smile on her face, before turning to the house. ‘Coming, Harold!’
As she strolled into the golden light of the open door, the warmth of a home filled with love and the scent of freshly baked cookies, a dark shadow emerged over her.
Loud cackling boomed, sending the sea sponge to her knees and shrieking. ‘Harold, someone’s here! Help!!!’
Harold, an old sea sponge with a grey moustache and a pair of thick glasses, filled the doorway and gasped at the figure standing over his wife. ‘Margaret!’
A man, six feet tall, stood over Margaret, revelling in the fear with a fixed grin and glowing red eyes. ‘Mwuahaha! Yes, drown in your fear, fools! For it is I, Man-Ray!’