'Make A Splash!' (Sofia Version)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a cotton candy machine. It's turned on so the circular, metal wheel is filled with aerated sugar while a worker takes a stick to collect the rapidly forming sugar strands. There are remnants of blue cotton candy sticking to the sides, but the bundle forming on the stick is a soft pink. They likely switched the color of the sugar. The title is 'Make a Splash!' in a pink, blue, and white font that was carefully layered by Aelsa to create a popping 3D effect. It's pretty!]

"Hey, are you sleepy? How are you sleepy?! There's games, water balloons, and snacks all around. I even saw Snowdrop in a miniature igloo thingy, so how're you tired? [Name]?"

Something dully prods your side, a poke.

You crack open your eyes to peer down at the excitable bundle of energy who has darted inside the stall. Becca must be busy with a customer to have let her slip past. Judith's cheeky grin is accented by a ring of dissolved sugar that's stained her tongue and tinged her lips a cotton candy blue. She once again tries to poke you with her now empty paper cone while you muster up the energy to let go of the ice pack to block her. "…I'm hot, not tired."

"Oh."

Judith exhales, seeming to consider your well-being for a second, while you press a cool compress back against your forehead to—

"Why don't you eat ice cream?" she sagely suggests. "Or a popsicle? Both! I could get you one? Maybe one of those creamy ones?"

Though her questions are rapid fire, there is care beneath this sugar rush fueled inquiry into how you're doing. She was your first customer at the stand, amazed by how the sugar crystals grew aerated from the machine that produces spun strands. Judith is determined to assemble (and consume) a full rainbow of cotton candy. Her weakened, sugary grin tips you off to how close she is now, two colors left.

She has been your only repeat customer, skipping then jogging and then bouncing up to the stall after having played around the field.

"I can ask Becca to get me another one, if you wanna take a nap?" she asks. "I can leave."

"No, that's okay," you relent. "I'll do it."

Judith squeals in delight following your kind agreement. She places the empty cotton candy cone against her forehead like she's a unicorn and then crushes it in a way that is only mildly concerning. Your surprised stare receives a giggle from her before she's tossing the crumpled cone into a nearby recycling bin.

"Ruby taught me!"

"Of course she did," you knowingly mutter.

The two of you leave the small back area of the open-air stand that has been hand-painted by the Dorrans. This 'Summer Fun Day' is a way to help the community cool off along with raising awareness for how both people and animals can suffer from the heat. Among the slip and slides, water balloon wars, and subsidized snack stalls, there are pamphlets and free sunscreen. Ruby supported Mrs. Dorran's event after she mentioned how Nox's fur color would make him more susceptible to overheating if he was left outside. (Obviously, Ruby would never do that, yet not all pet owners are so mindful.) It has brought a lot of the townsfolk out to cool down.

"I thought you were still on break?" Becca asks before she offers a confused wave to Judith when glancing behind you. "Hi there."

"Heya!"

Becca's eyes comically plead with you while you locate the box of purple hued sugar. You're only young once. Judith's rush is better than a meltdown. You check the machine, pouring the crystals in and letting it start to create its wisps of sweetness that you'll soon get to catch. It's hotter up here from the humming machine and from your ice pack pathetically melting away without offering respite. Think cool thoughts.

"Ruby also said to tell you to come to the dunk tank," Judith shares. "And that, uhm, it was something about a monster"—she falters when Becca knocks over a few cones, helping her pick them up—"thing. What was it…? Oh, it's green—not the monster, but its eyes. I think?"

You focus on watching the growing web of lavender cotton candy rather than on how your thin T-shirt is sticking to you in places. The humid air should be weighing down the fluffy sugar! It was fun to fashion this sweet treat into cute bundles, but as the temperature rose, your patience plummeted. You withhold a sigh.

"Like, a green-eyed monster?" Becca clarifies to fill in your quiet. "Does that sound right?"

"No, Alina has green eyes and Milty. I like both of 'em!"

"That isn't—it's just a saying," Becca quickly explains in the face of Judith's warning look, even holding up her hand to placate her. The frown twisting Judith's lips stands out from the sugar; it's downright surly. "It means jealousy."

"But why?" she wonders. "That's dumb."

"Because… Okay, I don't actually know why, but it's a thing, like: 'don't count your chickens before they hatch'. Or maybe that's an adage?"

"Sofia would know," Judith says before a flicker of realization crosses her features before she hops closer. "I got it! Ruby said: 'Any green-eyed monster would be slain—slayed?—by Sofia.'"

That draws your attention away from the cotton candy machine once you've finished her mini-bundle. (It's closer to a generous lollipop than a full serving.) Judith gleefully accepts her treat. Her grin receives a slight smile from you that softens when Becca gestures for you to go. "I'll just be gone for a little—"

"I can handle things here," she interrupts. "You need to take a break; you've been out longer."

"I'll help!"

Judith's offer comes out muffled from sugar fluff, but her words still make Becca freeze.

"Uh, we've got to make and bag the cotton candy for other people. We can't eat it."

"Can we add sprinkles? What about flavors?"

With that, you leave the two of them behind to venture out into the onslaught of the midday heat. Unlike most of the townsfolk, you don't have a sheen of cooling water, a glaze of sugar or snacks, and definitely not the shiny novelty of marveling at the event. It's just you and the direct sun rays. Each one steadily beats down, whereas Judith's message gently prods at you.

What could Ruby mean?

It's tame in comparison to everything else.

You continue to pick your path across the field by sticking to the patches of shade and barely dipping into the stray sprinkler spray until you get doused. Water directly pelts the center of your chest, a chilled yet targeted beam. Its source is no other than the Verner heir who isn't smirking at you, waving you over instead.

"There you are."

"I'm not the one in a damn swimsuit, Ruby," you complain. Startled reaction aside, it actually does feel better to have the cool water slowly dripping off of you. "Why send Jud—?"

"Sofia is," she interjects. "I thought she would have stuck to face painting, but no."

You glance at where she's pointedly looking at the dunk tank that must be borrowed from one of the exhibits at the Fall Festival. It's massive, a porthole-like window and aged iron facade would make it more at home in a questionable laboratory. There are even clunky gauges and tubing on its sides that clash with the balloons tethered to them to brighten things. The seat itself is high, less of a quick 'dunk' and more of a steep 'plunge'. Your eyes are guided ever higher to who calmly sits on its metal seat, except that's interrupted by a dumb comment.

"So, how many tattoos do you have? You must be fond of something so… permanent."

Charles's voice paired with Ruby's knowing look is enough to spike your tired frustration.

"I could never," he concludes. "But I'm curious; they look better on your type—the artsy ones."

"Are you going to buy another ball?"

Sofia's question is delivered so blankly that it's difficult to hear it over Charles unzipping his wallet to handover a high-value bill to another volunteer. It wasn't for a single ball, but for a whole bucket full of them that must be counted out. He smiles prettily as the volunteer sets up his 'chances' to knock Sofia into the tank.

"I guess I'll just have to figure it out for myself."

His insinuation is clear from how he regards Sofia who must be in a blue one piece swimsuit beneath a T-shirt; you can spy the halter style straps. Her head is reclined back against her raised arms. She could almost be relaxing on the beach. You aren't jealous because Sofia appears utterly disinterested in Charles's commentary, but red might be more your color than green if he keeps talking to her like that. "Let me borrow your water gun," you request. "It'll be quick."

Ruby stepping back when you reach for her water gun would irritate you if not for her reply.

"It's too impersonal. He is playing with you."

"Well, I'm too hot for his games—and if I throw a softball at him, Bowers will probably arrest me."

BANG!

Charles's first throw misses the target when the ball impacts a pole instead, rebounding.

"Char, aim for the colors—the extremely vibrant circles," Ruby condescendingly advises him in the same breath as clapping. "I believe in you."

"My cheerleader." Charles matches her tone in a second, equal parts patronizing with a veneer of snappy banter, but his smile broadens into a grin when he turns to see you've arrived. He extends a softball to you. "Would you like a whirl with her? I'm buying"—he pointedly kicks the bucket of balls, jostling it—"obviously."

You dislike how he's talking…

It isn't outright demeaning, yet very needling.

"[Name] would have a better chance."

All three of you turn to face Sofia following her steadfast vote of confidence in you—well, your ability to dunk her in a scary-deep tank. She has lowered her arms, no longer at ease reclining in the rigid, steel seat. Her long legs couldn't even allow her feet to dangle in the water far below; however, Sofia is at ease while watching you with a comforting certainty. Somehow, you're on her level despite how she is seated so high above. It's like she's asking you to be the one to do it—to take away this satisfaction from Charles.

"Is that your idea of heckling?" Charles asks with a laugh. He tosses you a ball without any forewarning, except you manage to catch it.

"The pole did that for me," Sofia flatly reasons.

This time he does actually hit the tarp around the bull's eye that has been placed in front of the old lever mechanism. The impact was in the upper left corner, a white section. You're able to catch Ruby's scoff of muted laughter.

"You would still be pretty wearing glasses," she snidely reassures him. "It's a common misconception of beauty… Or simply forfeit."

"I can see the target just fine, thanks."

"Then is it your hand-eye coordination?"

Charles doesn't pause in snatching up another softball, not even when you step up into place beside him on the pitching line. He looks past you to where Ruby stands. "I'd ask you to join us, Rubes, but your arm might flare up…" He gives her a brief pout of affected sympathy, running his thumb over the stitches on the ball. "It was how many stitches again? I think you're still 'pretty' too. Let's not risk that."

Ruby rolls her eyes, no quick-witted retort leaves her following his low-blow reference.

"It was her left arm, so you're wrong," Sofia asserts. "Wait your turn, or I'll leave the stand."

Sofia's tone leaving its typical calm cadence alerts you to the fact she's only going to give Charles a reaction if he's rude to you or Ruby. She doesn't care otherwise—too secure in herself and aware of his tactics. That isn't enough to prevent you from visualizing his face on the target. You dig your nails into the leather casing of the softball. "Step back."

"Still, not the usual heckling, but at least this is entertaining," Charles concedes after taking a purposefully slow step away. "I thought she'd want a book to read while up there… Go for it."

You hurl your softball with a touch too much force, impacting the outermost black band of the tarp hard enough for it to ripple and pull.

"You're warming up—it's fine."

"I guess words of encouragement are the new heckling?" Charles questions Sofia in a mocking slant. "Okay, sure, everyone wins. It's like those participation medals—so unrealistic."

"She actually likes me," you simply reply. "That's the difference."

He tosses you another ball without any heads-up, although you again easily catch it from intuition rather than coordination. (Yes, your emotions might be helping things.) His gaze darts between you and your right hand in clear puzzlement and disappointment before that's masked by an eyebrow raise. It isn't as perfect as Ruby's and far less playful; it's a challenge.

"Oh, that must mean you can answer my question about her tattoos then?"

He murmurs that after joining you on the line to take his next turn, unusually close to your side to make a point. His expensive sunscreen provides a subtle sheen to his sun-kissed skin and his hair is attractively damp from the water games. Summer looks infuriatingly good on Charles Schade—from his hugging, cutoff jean shorts to his lack of shirt that shows off his glistening physique. Why isn't he sweltering too?! There's an ease present that irritates you further. His elbow nearly brushes you when he gets ready to lob the softball, a full wind-up type of pitch.

Your barely-there pause counts as an answer.

Sofia's tattoos remain a mystery because the two of you haven't gone that far for—

"Aww, I thought so," he smugly concludes before raising his voice once more to repeat your earlier order. "Now: step back."

Before he can even think of hurling his ball, you launch yours after hardly sparing a glance at the target that caves from the bull's eye impact. The lever flips backwards with a metallic whine that's overtaken by a crashingly loud splash. Still, Charles's face is priceless—the shock and outrage—because he's still in a pitcher's form before stomping his foot down.

"What the hell!? It was my turn."

"[Surname] was making up for your first one."

"That isn't how it works."

"You were always one round ahead, Char," Ruby counters him. "It more than 'works.'"

Their conversation falls away once you hurry over to the large viewing window on the tank to find Sofia inside the dimly lit water. Sunlight penetrates the metal, barrel-like interior that has chains and manacles along its side that glint more than the dark metal. The vibe is too sinister for summer fun. You're about to peer deeper when Sofia splays her hand against the glass, flattening out her palm so that you press yours against it too. She swam over to you as if emerging from the gloom after the plunge. It helps you to better see her. Her close-lipped smile speaks to how she's very proud of you, whereas you're caught up in how her braided hair ethereally floats some in the water. The dyed strands are a fitting sea green. There is a fluidity to her movements, floating to remain on your level without hardly making an obvious effort. The sunrays you previously despised highlight her beautiful skin, statuesque build, and how Sofia is intently admiring you through the viewing window, no matter her lack of air.

She gestures to the rungs on the tank's far side.

"Okay," you needlessly reply.

Sofia angles to swim away, letting her hand that's almost pressed up against yours be the last part of her to leave. You linger there for a moment to watch her go. She'll have to climb out, so you turn away to locate the point of exit after collecting a nearby towel from a chair. It's a fluffy, full body one that still might come up short on her tall frame. Charles is still being placated by Ruby, which is preferable to you having to deal with him. They seem mostly fine.

Sofia has finished climbing down a ladder, one that resembles a lifeguard stand's, when you find her. She tugs off her band T-shirt to wring out the water saturating the cotton right when you think it's a spectacular idea to hold open the towel for her… Oh. There you stand with your arms spread wide with the towel a big rectangle for her to step into. Sofia turning around gives you a better glimpse of the warm pride accentuating her tender smile for you. She doesn't pause, unlike how your fingers froze in the towel, nonchalantly stepping into your kind gesture. Instead of you hugging her, Sofia is the one to hug you close as the stray water from her plunge offers cooling relief to you. It isn't the real reason why your mood improves.

"I knew you'd beat him."

She murmurs that softly, pulling back to let you gauge how you've only partially wrapped her in the towel. Sofia is too tall for it. Still, she stays in your arms, letting you feel the coolness before it evaporates from her skin, while you admire her in her swimsuit. It's the tattoo nesting along her left collarbone that you notice most.

It's a small quote.

But what Charles said comes back to you—his tone—so you drag your eyes higher. Sofia will tell you about them when she's ready, not from you directly asking to spite a nuisance. Still, it's hard not to wonder who's penmanship that is: the tattoo artist's or someone else's they transferred.

"I also considered beating him with a softball," you shamelessly admit to stoke some quiet mirth into how she regards you. "Violence isn't always wrong, you know. He's so annoying."

"It's just rarely right," she points out while whisking some water from your cheek. It would seem nonchalant if Sofia's swift touch hadn't lingered. The back of her knuckles skim along the side of your face, tracing it and grounding you. "I take it that wasn't just beginner's luck?

She knows.

Of course, she knows…

"You were glaring more at him than at the target."

"Because he deserved it," you reply. "It wasn't—I was low-key about it, honestly. It's been a long and hot day, then how he was talking to you irritated me. What he said to Ruby was out of line too. Also, he isn't even sweating…? Who does that? It felt right—natural—to do it."

Sofia patiently waits for you to finish letting off steam that should be super-heated by now. She listens to your every word—from the complaints to your reasoning—while staying close by to offer a counterbalance in the form of her steady presence. Your frustration starts to ebb.

She doesn't add to it, nor does she try to fix it with a quick word, letting you process instead.

"Let's take a break together," Sofia suggests. "Because that's what I think you deserve."

There is so much you could say to that—to her compassion that asks for nothing in return—but you hug her again. She's still cool from the dunk tank, yet you would do this in the sweltering weather too. Sofia only lets go after you do.

"Judith recommended I have a popsicle, a creamy one," you share after linking your hands. "Oh, also that Snowdrop is in a mini-igloo." Interest flickers across her features at the mention of the rabbit you once visited together. (It's adorable.) "We can visit him too."

"So, like a dreamsicle?" Sofia confirms. "We could do that or create our own. Alina is making them to order. Ruby 'found' her a blast chiller."

She 'found' the youngest Corvin top-of-the-line chef equipment to make custom popsicles for a single day event? "I'm not even surprised," you joke. "I bet she'll let us blend our own."

The two of you venture into the field to enjoy the 'fun' part of this Summer Fun Day together.