No one should read this story.
That being said, I promised I'd post it when I got finished writing it. Hence, here is Chapter One of A Marriage of Emblems, A Super Smash Bros. Brawl fanfic, for your reading (dis)pleasure. More chapters will follow, probably next week when I get the chance to write again.
This Story Contains: Hangovers and the ensuing results, Samus in military wear, and copious references to Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance. There's a lot of what we in the know call "crack" going on here. I'm making up the details as I go along, so if anything seems weird feel free to call me on it -- chances are I've justified it somehow. I will probably think of a better title and amusing chapter headers at some point, too.
Forgive me for the ridiculous thing that follows, please.
A Marriage of Emblems
Chapter 1: Rude Awakenings
Ike awoke with a start, to a mouth that was stuffed with beer-soaked cotton balls. Or socks. Boyd’s socks. His lucky ones. The ones he never washed for fear of hot water ruining their goddess-given fortune powers HEY MIST GIVE THEM BACK DON’T TOSS THEM IN THE—
Why was he thinking of this? Why did his head hurt so much? Ike groaned and rolled over, attempting to pull his cloak over his head and shut out the sunlight streaming in through the window by his bed, to no avail. “Traitor,” he muttered into the cloak, and immediately regretted it – the sound of his own voice rattling around inside his head set off what promised to be the biggest and most painful headache of his life. He bit back another groan and tried to burrow deeper into the less-than-comfortable dorm mattress, cursing silently at whomever it was that signed him up for this Brawl gig in the first place.
After a moment, he retracted the curse. Soren would know, even if he was worlds away. They’d actually intended for Kieran to make the trip; but the application had come back saying “Main or Title Characters Only, Please” and by then there’d been no way to get the deposit back, and so it was Ike who was shipped off to the huge, bright yellow dormitory instead of the red-haired Knight of Crimea. Soren had, to his credit, tried to come along as well, but Main or Title Characters Only struck again. Everyone involved was lucky he hadn’t known about Jigglypuff.
Ike lifted the covers enough to peek at the clock at the wall. Light tried to invade his cocoon – he fought it back bravely, General Ike of the Greil Mercenaries once more, now aware that it was 0937, a fact that surprised him since he couldn’t quite remember anything that had happened in the past twelve hours. I must have had one too many Metroid Screwballs last night, he thought, wincing; even thinking hurt. That’s the last time I let Samus buy me anything remotely alcoholic.
He was just attempting to recall what exactly went into a Screwball (he had a vague suspicion that explosives were involved) when a light hand knocked on his door. He winced at the sound.
“Go away,” he muttered through the covers. There was a pause, and soft voices from the hallway, and then another knock, this time more insistent. “Go away,” he said again, louder this time despite his pounding head. “Unless you have water and asprin, I don’t want to see you.”
“Ike?” He recognized that voice – it was Zelda, the princess that reminded him of a disturbing cross between Titania and Elincia. As in, she was beautiful and kind and even a little innocent, but could utterly trounce you in a fair fight. Or even a fight where you had the advantage. Plus, she was some kind of ninja. Just what does being the Princess of Hyrule entail, exactly? “Ike, open the door.”
Ike responded by burrowing deeper into the mattress and wishing for a portal to open under him and drop him somewhere, even that level with the spikes and the hundred Kirbys. He could handle being beaten by dozens of tiny, pink clones of himself. He couldn’t handle Zelda at Hangover o’clock in the morning.
“If you won’t open it yourself, then I’m coming in. You had better be wearing pants.” There was a metallic sound from the hallway, and the doorknob jiggled twice before the lock clicked and the door swung open. Ike had a second to wonder, again, just what Hyrule required of their monarchs when the covers were suddenly and violently removed, and the full brunt of the sun hit him like a train. Or maybe Gatrie when he’s not paying attention to where he’s walking. Ike still had a scar from that particular incident.
“Ah, damn,” he heard another female voice say. He knew that one, too. “He is wearing pants. You win.”
He opened his eyes to see the Princess of Hyrule exchange a half-smirk with Samus Aran. It took him a moment to notice that they were both dressed much, much nicer than he was used to. Well, Zelda always looked like she was ready for a royal ball, but Samus was actually wearing something other than a blue jumpsuit and fifty pounds of power armor. Instead, she was wearing something akin to futuristic military dress, complete with pressed pants with a stripe down the side and knee-high, impossibly shiny boots. She still moved like she was going to kick your a**, but at least she wasn’t bearing down on you with a loaded laser gun and a roundhouse kick to the head. She might still have had a gun hidden somewhere, but it wasn’t anywhere he wanted to risk looking. He still had a scar from that particular incident, too.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Samus said, leaning in. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you, and I’m not letting you sleep through it.”
“Didn’t I tell you to go away?” Ike muttered, half to himself. Samus chuckled; Zelda frowned. “This isn’t about that petition, is it? I told you, I don’t think they’ll change the name even if ‘Smash Siblings’ is more politically correct.”
“It’s not about that,” Zelda said, tapping him hard on the temple. A wave of dizziness struck him; he felt ill. “You do have a big day today, and it’s our job to make sure you get through it. Now get out of bed and help me pick out your nicest clothes.”
He had to hand it to her; Zelda certainly knew how to bully a man out of bed. He wondered vaguely just where she got that skill (like he wondered how she got all her skills, secret ninja-princess training aside) as he blearily watched her march to his wardrobe and pull open the doors. She frowned. “Ugh, you’re worse than Link,” she declared, and set to work digging through his clothes.
“C’mon, kid, up you go,” Samus said, pulling on his arm. Succumbing to peer pressure, Ike sat up, fighting back the urge to be sick all over the floor. “You’ll feel better once you’ve got this out of your system.”
“I doubt it,” Ike said, hiccupping on the last syllable. His stomach churned, giving him a three-second warning before he jumped up and made a dash for the bathroom. A few moment later, he felt twenty pounds lighter, and his stomach ceased its protests enough for him to groan and rest his head against the cool porcelain toilet bowl. “Thank Ashera for indoor plumbing,” he mumbled to himself. Behind him, he heard Zelda clucking her tongue.
“I’ve had enough. Come over here, and I’ll take care of this.” Once again, Samus hauled him to his feet and held him upright, enough for the princess to start examining his pupils and feeling his forehead. “Honestly, you boys are all the same. I can bet every other man in this dorm is suffering, too. It serves you right, you know, overindulging like you all did.”
“You’re lucky you’ve got two ladies like us to get you up and ready for your big day,” Samus chimed in, grinning. “Where would you be without us?”
“Still in bed,” he groaned as Zelda whispered something under her breath, soft light gathering around her fingertips. “And would someone please tell me what this ‘big day’ you keep talking about is?”
“What, you don’t remember?” He caught another glance between the two women, and as Zelda’s spell washed over him, taking away the headache and the nausea and leaving behind a profound feeling of peace and serenity (not to mention a pleasant lemony smell), Samus said “Ike,” without the humor of before and an utterly serious, I’m-going-to-kick-some-space-pirate-a** look on her face, “Ike, you… You’re getting married.”
There was an unbelieving “Guh?” followed closely by a heavy thud, as Ike found himself out cold for the second time in twelve hours.
Zelda and Samus stared down at the young man sprawled on the floor, limbs akimbo. “That went well,” Samus said after a moment. Zelda sighed.
“Just pick him up. I have his dress uniform, and we’re going to be late,” she said, sweeping out the door. Samus watched her go and shrugged.
“At least this is an amusing way to spend the day,” she said, before hefting Ike over one shoulder. “And you, kid, had better not puke all over my outfit. Do you know how long I spent ironing the pants this morning?”
That being said, I promised I'd post it when I got finished writing it. Hence, here is Chapter One of A Marriage of Emblems, A Super Smash Bros. Brawl fanfic, for your reading (dis)pleasure. More chapters will follow, probably next week when I get the chance to write again.
This Story Contains: Hangovers and the ensuing results, Samus in military wear, and copious references to Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance. There's a lot of what we in the know call "crack" going on here. I'm making up the details as I go along, so if anything seems weird feel free to call me on it -- chances are I've justified it somehow. I will probably think of a better title and amusing chapter headers at some point, too.
Forgive me for the ridiculous thing that follows, please.
A Marriage of Emblems
Chapter 1: Rude Awakenings
Ike awoke with a start, to a mouth that was stuffed with beer-soaked cotton balls. Or socks. Boyd’s socks. His lucky ones. The ones he never washed for fear of hot water ruining their goddess-given fortune powers HEY MIST GIVE THEM BACK DON’T TOSS THEM IN THE—
Why was he thinking of this? Why did his head hurt so much? Ike groaned and rolled over, attempting to pull his cloak over his head and shut out the sunlight streaming in through the window by his bed, to no avail. “Traitor,” he muttered into the cloak, and immediately regretted it – the sound of his own voice rattling around inside his head set off what promised to be the biggest and most painful headache of his life. He bit back another groan and tried to burrow deeper into the less-than-comfortable dorm mattress, cursing silently at whomever it was that signed him up for this Brawl gig in the first place.
After a moment, he retracted the curse. Soren would know, even if he was worlds away. They’d actually intended for Kieran to make the trip; but the application had come back saying “Main or Title Characters Only, Please” and by then there’d been no way to get the deposit back, and so it was Ike who was shipped off to the huge, bright yellow dormitory instead of the red-haired Knight of Crimea. Soren had, to his credit, tried to come along as well, but Main or Title Characters Only struck again. Everyone involved was lucky he hadn’t known about Jigglypuff.
Ike lifted the covers enough to peek at the clock at the wall. Light tried to invade his cocoon – he fought it back bravely, General Ike of the Greil Mercenaries once more, now aware that it was 0937, a fact that surprised him since he couldn’t quite remember anything that had happened in the past twelve hours. I must have had one too many Metroid Screwballs last night, he thought, wincing; even thinking hurt. That’s the last time I let Samus buy me anything remotely alcoholic.
He was just attempting to recall what exactly went into a Screwball (he had a vague suspicion that explosives were involved) when a light hand knocked on his door. He winced at the sound.
“Go away,” he muttered through the covers. There was a pause, and soft voices from the hallway, and then another knock, this time more insistent. “Go away,” he said again, louder this time despite his pounding head. “Unless you have water and asprin, I don’t want to see you.”
“Ike?” He recognized that voice – it was Zelda, the princess that reminded him of a disturbing cross between Titania and Elincia. As in, she was beautiful and kind and even a little innocent, but could utterly trounce you in a fair fight. Or even a fight where you had the advantage. Plus, she was some kind of ninja. Just what does being the Princess of Hyrule entail, exactly? “Ike, open the door.”
Ike responded by burrowing deeper into the mattress and wishing for a portal to open under him and drop him somewhere, even that level with the spikes and the hundred Kirbys. He could handle being beaten by dozens of tiny, pink clones of himself. He couldn’t handle Zelda at Hangover o’clock in the morning.
“If you won’t open it yourself, then I’m coming in. You had better be wearing pants.” There was a metallic sound from the hallway, and the doorknob jiggled twice before the lock clicked and the door swung open. Ike had a second to wonder, again, just what Hyrule required of their monarchs when the covers were suddenly and violently removed, and the full brunt of the sun hit him like a train. Or maybe Gatrie when he’s not paying attention to where he’s walking. Ike still had a scar from that particular incident.
“Ah, damn,” he heard another female voice say. He knew that one, too. “He is wearing pants. You win.”
He opened his eyes to see the Princess of Hyrule exchange a half-smirk with Samus Aran. It took him a moment to notice that they were both dressed much, much nicer than he was used to. Well, Zelda always looked like she was ready for a royal ball, but Samus was actually wearing something other than a blue jumpsuit and fifty pounds of power armor. Instead, she was wearing something akin to futuristic military dress, complete with pressed pants with a stripe down the side and knee-high, impossibly shiny boots. She still moved like she was going to kick your a**, but at least she wasn’t bearing down on you with a loaded laser gun and a roundhouse kick to the head. She might still have had a gun hidden somewhere, but it wasn’t anywhere he wanted to risk looking. He still had a scar from that particular incident, too.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Samus said, leaning in. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you, and I’m not letting you sleep through it.”
“Didn’t I tell you to go away?” Ike muttered, half to himself. Samus chuckled; Zelda frowned. “This isn’t about that petition, is it? I told you, I don’t think they’ll change the name even if ‘Smash Siblings’ is more politically correct.”
“It’s not about that,” Zelda said, tapping him hard on the temple. A wave of dizziness struck him; he felt ill. “You do have a big day today, and it’s our job to make sure you get through it. Now get out of bed and help me pick out your nicest clothes.”
He had to hand it to her; Zelda certainly knew how to bully a man out of bed. He wondered vaguely just where she got that skill (like he wondered how she got all her skills, secret ninja-princess training aside) as he blearily watched her march to his wardrobe and pull open the doors. She frowned. “Ugh, you’re worse than Link,” she declared, and set to work digging through his clothes.
“C’mon, kid, up you go,” Samus said, pulling on his arm. Succumbing to peer pressure, Ike sat up, fighting back the urge to be sick all over the floor. “You’ll feel better once you’ve got this out of your system.”
“I doubt it,” Ike said, hiccupping on the last syllable. His stomach churned, giving him a three-second warning before he jumped up and made a dash for the bathroom. A few moment later, he felt twenty pounds lighter, and his stomach ceased its protests enough for him to groan and rest his head against the cool porcelain toilet bowl. “Thank Ashera for indoor plumbing,” he mumbled to himself. Behind him, he heard Zelda clucking her tongue.
“I’ve had enough. Come over here, and I’ll take care of this.” Once again, Samus hauled him to his feet and held him upright, enough for the princess to start examining his pupils and feeling his forehead. “Honestly, you boys are all the same. I can bet every other man in this dorm is suffering, too. It serves you right, you know, overindulging like you all did.”
“You’re lucky you’ve got two ladies like us to get you up and ready for your big day,” Samus chimed in, grinning. “Where would you be without us?”
“Still in bed,” he groaned as Zelda whispered something under her breath, soft light gathering around her fingertips. “And would someone please tell me what this ‘big day’ you keep talking about is?”
“What, you don’t remember?” He caught another glance between the two women, and as Zelda’s spell washed over him, taking away the headache and the nausea and leaving behind a profound feeling of peace and serenity (not to mention a pleasant lemony smell), Samus said “Ike,” without the humor of before and an utterly serious, I’m-going-to-kick-some-space-pirate-a** look on her face, “Ike, you… You’re getting married.”
There was an unbelieving “Guh?” followed closely by a heavy thud, as Ike found himself out cold for the second time in twelve hours.
Zelda and Samus stared down at the young man sprawled on the floor, limbs akimbo. “That went well,” Samus said after a moment. Zelda sighed.
“Just pick him up. I have his dress uniform, and we’re going to be late,” she said, sweeping out the door. Samus watched her go and shrugged.
“At least this is an amusing way to spend the day,” she said, before hefting Ike over one shoulder. “And you, kid, had better not puke all over my outfit. Do you know how long I spent ironing the pants this morning?”
To Be Continued
