Joyride

Both the moon and the upcoming splat zones tournament loom over Vintage's head as he drives. He's out far, far too late, his focus on the road collapsing under fatigue. He was not expecting to be miles away from home the night before the tournament, but his ballpoint just HAD to break earlier that week, didn't it? It would have taken too long for Sheldon to schedule in a repair, and so he's had to last minute seek out some third party with a specialty in chargers and splatlings, and now he's driving back from their house, his car chugging away under the stars.

And then he feels the engine start to splutter, and slow down. Oh. Oh no.

He pulls the car to the side of the road just in time for it to stop entirely. Cod. Dammit. Was there anything else that could make this tournament even MORE stressful? He pulls out his phone and slowly dials the number for a breakdown service. They tell him they'll be there shortly.

He hangs up, and lets his head fall into his hands and then back out of them as his fingers drift up to his bangs. Part of him wishes he could just fall asleep, and forget all about the tournament. But then he looks up in his rear view mirror, his weapon secured to the back seats, and remembers his responsibilities. He'll be there for them, whatever it takes.

Turns out it takes fifteen minutes of waiting, bored, doing his best to ignore his phone to preserve battery. The night is quiet, a mix of artificial lights and pure darkness, and the cold keeps him uncomfortably alert. The repair guy comes, assesses the situation, and gives Vintage the worst news he could have received: they'll have to tow his car to a nearby garage and repair it in the morning, and for now he'll have to find a lift the rest of the way home.

Vintage is in such exhausted despair he almost laughs in the poor service man's face. It's so late now, much closer to 1am than 12, and he knows his team will be asleep. Red Sole was out like a light before he'd even left, Omega would be responsible enough to sleep at a decent time, and even Double Egg had seemed to be looking forward to an early night. It was only him up this late: just him, and the long, long way home.

He wonders who else would be up this late. Are Blue Team the type to stay up late, or does Goggles sleep early? Does that talkative dualie player stay awake into the night, or is it cooler to go to bed at a decent time? Would Emperor and Prince be asleep, tucked away under silk sheets in some fancy mansion somewhere? Who knows what the S4 get up to.

The S4. Ah. There is a number in his phone he hasn't thought about using until he remembers those four S+ rankers. Army's probably asleep (he strikes Vintage as the responsible type), but Mask and Aloha could easily be up late, indulging in whatever eccentric stupidity they get up to.

And then there's Skull.

Vintage doesn't even realise he's got his contacts open and is staring right at the number until he's already hit it in desperation. After they made up, Skull said he could call him anytime if he needed anything. Time to test exactly what 'anytime' extended to.

Halfway across Inkopolis, all of the S4 are awake - Mask has them plugged into the TV engaged in game night, but it's starting to drag to a close. Army's about to pass out, and Aviators decides to head up to bed at the same time, giving Skull one last big hug before plodding up the stairs to his room. Mask and Aloha are left, still arguing over victories and what counts as cheating, and Skull watches over them, an empty ice cream bowl sat in his lap. Despite their dumb arguing, he can tell his last remaining fellow captains are getting tired, and he pulls his arms up and stretches. Time to call it a night.

He's just about to get up and leave when his phone rings. Unusual, considering it's just past 1am. He reaches over and spies the caller ID.

What is HE doing up this late?