They are standing on the beach of Koh Tarutao island.
The sun casts a warm, golden light across the beach. Princess Lizzy stands confidently on the sand, her red heels digging in just slightly. In front of her is Clawdius, the wise old commander of the hermit crabs, listening closely to what she has to say.

Lizzy: Clawdius, on behalf of my friends and the entire Gecko Kingdom, I am so happy we could bring these empty shells for you. The Moken were so generous to give you all the shells they collected over many years.

Clawdius: (Bows as low as his shell will allow, his eyestalks quivering with emotion) Your Highness, “happy” is a word too small for this occasion. This is… liberation. This is dignity. You have not just brought us homes; you have brought us back our self-respect.

Lizzy: I’m glad. But for my friends who don’t understand, could you explain? Why is it so important to have a shell? You aren’t born with one, like a turtle?

Clawdius: (Straightens up, adopting the tone of a seasoned leader) An excellent question, Your Highness. Please take a quick look. (He carefully exposes a small part of his soft, coiled abdomen). We hermit crabs are born into this world with a significant vulnerability. Our posteriors are soft, squishy, and frankly, a rather inviting-looking snack for any passing seabird. We are born without armor. Thus, our first and most vital mission in life is to procure a mobile fortress.

Lizzy: A mobile fortress. I like that. So where do you normally find them? Is there a shell shop on the beach?

Clawdius: (Chuckles, a dry, sandy sound) If only, Your Highness. No, we are proprietors of the world’s oldest second-hand market. Our homes are the cast-offs of the sea snails. When a snail outgrows its home or… moves on to the Great Spiral in the Sky, it leaves behind a perfectly crafted, move-in-ready residence. We then hold the Great Shell Swap.

Lizzy: The Great Shell Swap?

Clawdius: It is our most sacred tradition! We line up from largest to smallest. The largest crab moves into the newest, biggest empty shell. That leaves his old shell empty. The next crab in line moves in, and so on, down the line. It is a glorious symphony of clinks and shuffles, a perfect chain of upward mobility! Or it was.

Lizzy: It was? Why? What happened?

Clawdius: (His eyestalks droop. He gestures with a pincer towards the crabs in the bottle caps) Progress, Your Highness. Or what the humans call “progress”. Fewer sea snails, fewer shells. We faced a housing crisis of unprecedented scale. Our young ones were growing, their starter homes pinching terribly. But there was no inventory on the market. We had to… improvise.

Lizzy: Improvise? You mean the trash.

Clawdius: (Sighs, a sound like sand skittering across rock) Alas, the trash. It started with my third cousin, Sheldon. He found a small, smooth plastic container. It was not ideal, but it offered cover. But then… the big brands arrived on our beaches.

Lizzy: (Leans forward, intrigued) The big brands?

Clawdius: The big brands, Your Highness. Suddenly, the beach was not just littered with trash; it was littered with famous logos. My own nephew, Barnaby, a fine young crab with a bright future, is currently residing in a fiery red Coca-Cola cap. It pinches him terribly, and the color is simply garish against his natural complexion. His best friend, Penelope, is living in a faded blue Pepsi cap. They look like a walking, clanking commercial!

Lizzy: Walking commercials? That’s awful!

Clawdius: It is a humiliation! We have become unpaid, unwilling advertising boards! We scuttle along the sand, not as noble hermit crabs, but as mobile promotions for sugary drinks we cannot even drink! Do these big brand global corporations send us royalties? No! Not even a single drop of the cool drinks for our troubles! We are exploited labour! There is even a turf war brewing between the Pepsi-wearers and the Sprite-dwellers over by the mangrove roots. It’s degrading!

Clawdius begins pacing back and forth, his pincers clicking with agitation.

Clawdius: And the questions, Your Highness, the sheer embarrassment of the questions! Just the other day, a squirrel, a perfectly nice fellow, scampered down and asked my son, “Excuse me boy, your shell is a lovely shade of green with a compelling yellow dot. Where might I procure a ‘Sprite’?”

Lizzy: (Tries to stifle a giggle) What did he say?

Clawdius: What could he say?! He is a hermit crab, not a convenience store! He had to inform the squirrel that despite his housing colours, he had no knowledge of any local vendors! The squirrel looked so disappointed. He probably thinks my son is hoarding all the Sprite for himself! This, Your Highness, is the heart of the legal and ethical quandary we face.

Lizzy: There’s a legal side to this?

Clawdius: Of course! Under Section 4, Paragraph 2 of Hermit Crab Law, engaging in misleading or deceptive advertising is a Class-Three Misdemeanor! We are advertising products we cannot provide, creating false hope among the jungle populace. We are accessories to a marketing crime, and it stains the honor of our entire community! Can you imagine my shame? A commander of his hermits, forced to live a lie because our only housing option is a dented Fanta can, or a Sprite, Coke or Pepsi cap?

He stops his pacing, his voice dropping, full of genuine pain.

Clawdius: It’s not just the shame, Princess. It’s the discomfort. The sharp edge of a broken light bulb used as a house. The way sound echoes inside a metal can, making every wave crash sound like a thunderclap. The slick, unnatural feel of plastic. A home should smell of salt and the sea. These… these caps smell of factories and sugar. It breaks the spirit of the hermit crabs.

He turns and looks at the pile of beautiful, natural shells. A single drop of saltwater wells up and trickles from one of his eyestalks.

Clawdius: But you… you brought us these new shells from the Moken people. You brought us homes that whisper when the wind blows. Homes that feel warm in the sun. Homes that feel… right. You have ended our age of embarrassment. You have allowed us to be crabs again, not scuffling commercials. For this, my pincers, and the pincers of all my crabbies, are ready to serve you. We will help you fight Mackie, we will help you stand against Gingga. With our strong pinchers we will be your fortress, because you have given us back our homes.

Lizzy: (Her own eyes are misty. She reaches out and gently pats his large shell.) Thank you, Clawdius. When my parents are well and I take my place as Queen, I promise you this: we will organize a beach clean-up every single month. And we will make it a law that no crab should ever have to live in a bottle cap again. A home should feel like the sea, not a factory.

Clawdius: (Straightens to his full height, a true commander once more) A noble policy, Your Highness. A very noble policy indeed.

He clicks his pincers in a crisp salute, and a joyful, resonant symphony of clinks and shuffles rises from the crabs behind him as they begin the first, true Great Shell Swap in a very long time.