05-30-2018, 04:07 PM
To tell the truth, that was kind of a lie.
Mickey Mouse didn’t ‘know’ Wartortle, in the traditional sense; moreso, they had simply both been contestants on the same insanely violent death match game show a few years back. If his memory served, the mouse king had never even met the vulgar turtle in combat during the tourney. He, by no means, would claim to be an expert on the Poképerson; quite the opposite, in fact. Most of Mickey’s knowledge of this new adversary came from rumors and whispers and torturing himself with rerun viewings of his own time in Dante’s Abyss.
Nevertheless, this limited experience seemed to satisfy Bartram and the crazy cast of characters that made up Cinnabon Island’s council. He didn’t know if desperation was a factor in their decision, but these shadowy figures—who still had mostly yet to reveal their true identities to him—seemed to trust what little knowledge the mouse had. That puzzled Mickey even more: these creatures, by far, knew more about the mysteriously terrifying leader of a band of rogue, rebel Pokér players than he would ever even pretend to know, and yet somehow, they’d decided that he would be the right fit for this job.
Maybe they were just trying to get rid of him. Or, maybe they hoped he would succeed, but had doubts. It crossed the mouse’s mind that maybe they just needed someone expendable and were setting him up; that, perhaps, the fact that he was a prime, and most of them weren’t, made him more suited to walking into this dumpster fire of a mission that, almost certainly, would end awfully. But they couldn’t be that mean, right?
“Mickey,” Minnie muttered as a cabal of big, huge Poképeople led them away from the amphitheater, “you absolutely can’t do this. They’re setting you up. They just need someone expendable.”
What the heck? Mickey thought, turning and looking as his wife put into words his exact thoughts, Is everyone telepathic these days?
Minnie, can you hear me?
“Why are you squinting at me like that instead of responding?” the lady mouse growled, a scowl sharpening the normally rotund features of her face. Mickey shuddered a bit. She’d been pretty angry at him in recent months, but he didn’t know how long it had been since she’d been this angry at him.
“Look, I’m sorry that I just volunteered to go—”
“—and insisted on going alone—”
“—and insisted on going alone, yes,” Mickey sputtered, “but you set all this up. You’re the one who wants us to get in good with the Cinnabon peeps, let me do my thing and get us in good, Minnie.” Besides, the mouse remembered all too well how Minnie had gone and continued to stay in contact with potential allies while he twiddled his thumbs on their picturesque island; as nervous as he’d been about potential threats looming just beyond the horizon, he would have been happy to spend the rest of his days living in peace with his wife. But even she knew that was too much to hope.
“So what are you gonna do? Just waltz up to the Pokemon Liberation Front’s front doors and say hey?” she snarled sarcastically, “You can’t catch everyone with your endless perky charisma, Mickey Mouse. Most people are immune to it, and I’m even building up a tolerance myself.” She crossed her arms, stopping in her tracks.
Mickey paused too, musing over the question. What, exactly, was his plan? Wartortle wasn’t the type of guy to be messed with lightly, and if he were being real, his trademark was an unusually light touch. From the outside, this mission didn’t really seem to be in his wheelhouse. But the Cinnabon guys had thought he’d be good at it, and he certainly was inclined to try to save a trapped soul from the hands of a madman—or mad-Pokéman, as it were. But was he just going to find out where the PLF made their current home and… show up?
Unless someone could give him a better idea, then… yeah.
“But, uh, your Majesty, Mick,” Genie piped up behind them, “how will you know where to find him? They say he just wanders aimlessly around the Deep, messing with anyone who accidentally crosses his path.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to cross his path, huh?” Mickey grinned, suddenly swelling with confidence. Yes, he was out of practice—yes, he hadn’t fought for real in a dang long time. But if there was one thing he was good at, it was drawing attention to himself; and once Wartortle was in his sights, he knew he’d be able to charm the shell off that turtle in no time. How bad of a guy could he be, right?
“Your Majesty,” Simba interjected, sitting on his haunches and pausing their procession. “That sounds like it might take quite a while. Wartortle’s dangerous, but all the rumors describe him as quite lazy sometimes, too. It could take months—even years—to find him.” Mickey’s brow scrunched up and he turned around to look at his lieutenant; the lion might have a point, but he’d find some other way to attract the vulgar turtle to him. He’d already waited years for more adventure—he wasn’t about to wait much longer for some excitement.
“Come on, Simba, where’s your sense of optimism?” the mouse smirked.
“Oh, I believe in you, sir,” the lion nodded, “which is why I’d like to suggest a… quicker option of earning repute.”
Simba gestured with his nose toward one of the shanty shacks that lined the road they walked on; it looked altogether ramshackle and abandoned, but some freshly-printed posters hung on the walls: Dante’s Abyss 2018. Sign up today!
Minnie’s face went pale. “No,” she shook her head vigorously, “Absolutely not.” She grasped Mickey’s hand, trying to silently urge him to ignore the lieutenant’s suggestion, and to be honest, his first instinct was to flat out shut down the idea.
Dante’s Abyss, the last time through, had not been pretty. Mickey had, in the span of less than five days, made some incredible friends, and then watched them all suffer and brutally die until he was the last one left, before he, too, had been murdered by that space marine. For two years, the mouse had lived peacefully ignorant of the inner workings of Syntech and Karl Jak, not paying much attention to the two other Abyss iterations that had occurred in the interim. Deep inside, though, he’d always felt like that was a mistake. Certainly, he didn’t know if his body could take any more carnage—and self-care was important. But he’d struggled with whether or not it was more important than stopping the evil of Jak and his cronies.
He’d stood up to so many people during his time in the Omniverse, and defeated most of them. The Warlock holding Teucer under guard, Gilgamesh and his New Babylonians… the battles he had under his belt were impressive, but he hadn’t dared to take on Jak again, after the trauma of the first time.
Did he dare now? Was he brave enough?
If nothing else, entry into the competition might alert Wartortle to his presence—and then he could steal the Watergleam back for the people of Cinnabon Island. He glanced back at his wife, and solemnly dropped her hand, walking toward the poster and ripping it off the wall. Behind him, he heard the muffled sniffles of Minnie Mouse as she realized that her husband was about to make a decision that might alter their lives in the Omniverse for the foreseeable future.
Mickey turned back to his queen and his two advisors.
“Okey-dokey, everybody,” he giggled, “Let’s get ready.”
Mickey Mouse didn’t ‘know’ Wartortle, in the traditional sense; moreso, they had simply both been contestants on the same insanely violent death match game show a few years back. If his memory served, the mouse king had never even met the vulgar turtle in combat during the tourney. He, by no means, would claim to be an expert on the Poképerson; quite the opposite, in fact. Most of Mickey’s knowledge of this new adversary came from rumors and whispers and torturing himself with rerun viewings of his own time in Dante’s Abyss.
Nevertheless, this limited experience seemed to satisfy Bartram and the crazy cast of characters that made up Cinnabon Island’s council. He didn’t know if desperation was a factor in their decision, but these shadowy figures—who still had mostly yet to reveal their true identities to him—seemed to trust what little knowledge the mouse had. That puzzled Mickey even more: these creatures, by far, knew more about the mysteriously terrifying leader of a band of rogue, rebel Pokér players than he would ever even pretend to know, and yet somehow, they’d decided that he would be the right fit for this job.
Maybe they were just trying to get rid of him. Or, maybe they hoped he would succeed, but had doubts. It crossed the mouse’s mind that maybe they just needed someone expendable and were setting him up; that, perhaps, the fact that he was a prime, and most of them weren’t, made him more suited to walking into this dumpster fire of a mission that, almost certainly, would end awfully. But they couldn’t be that mean, right?
“Mickey,” Minnie muttered as a cabal of big, huge Poképeople led them away from the amphitheater, “you absolutely can’t do this. They’re setting you up. They just need someone expendable.”
What the heck? Mickey thought, turning and looking as his wife put into words his exact thoughts, Is everyone telepathic these days?
Minnie, can you hear me?
“Why are you squinting at me like that instead of responding?” the lady mouse growled, a scowl sharpening the normally rotund features of her face. Mickey shuddered a bit. She’d been pretty angry at him in recent months, but he didn’t know how long it had been since she’d been this angry at him.
“Look, I’m sorry that I just volunteered to go—”
“—and insisted on going alone—”
“—and insisted on going alone, yes,” Mickey sputtered, “but you set all this up. You’re the one who wants us to get in good with the Cinnabon peeps, let me do my thing and get us in good, Minnie.” Besides, the mouse remembered all too well how Minnie had gone and continued to stay in contact with potential allies while he twiddled his thumbs on their picturesque island; as nervous as he’d been about potential threats looming just beyond the horizon, he would have been happy to spend the rest of his days living in peace with his wife. But even she knew that was too much to hope.
“So what are you gonna do? Just waltz up to the Pokemon Liberation Front’s front doors and say hey?” she snarled sarcastically, “You can’t catch everyone with your endless perky charisma, Mickey Mouse. Most people are immune to it, and I’m even building up a tolerance myself.” She crossed her arms, stopping in her tracks.
Mickey paused too, musing over the question. What, exactly, was his plan? Wartortle wasn’t the type of guy to be messed with lightly, and if he were being real, his trademark was an unusually light touch. From the outside, this mission didn’t really seem to be in his wheelhouse. But the Cinnabon guys had thought he’d be good at it, and he certainly was inclined to try to save a trapped soul from the hands of a madman—or mad-Pokéman, as it were. But was he just going to find out where the PLF made their current home and… show up?
Unless someone could give him a better idea, then… yeah.
“But, uh, your Majesty, Mick,” Genie piped up behind them, “how will you know where to find him? They say he just wanders aimlessly around the Deep, messing with anyone who accidentally crosses his path.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to cross his path, huh?” Mickey grinned, suddenly swelling with confidence. Yes, he was out of practice—yes, he hadn’t fought for real in a dang long time. But if there was one thing he was good at, it was drawing attention to himself; and once Wartortle was in his sights, he knew he’d be able to charm the shell off that turtle in no time. How bad of a guy could he be, right?
“Your Majesty,” Simba interjected, sitting on his haunches and pausing their procession. “That sounds like it might take quite a while. Wartortle’s dangerous, but all the rumors describe him as quite lazy sometimes, too. It could take months—even years—to find him.” Mickey’s brow scrunched up and he turned around to look at his lieutenant; the lion might have a point, but he’d find some other way to attract the vulgar turtle to him. He’d already waited years for more adventure—he wasn’t about to wait much longer for some excitement.
“Come on, Simba, where’s your sense of optimism?” the mouse smirked.
“Oh, I believe in you, sir,” the lion nodded, “which is why I’d like to suggest a… quicker option of earning repute.”
Simba gestured with his nose toward one of the shanty shacks that lined the road they walked on; it looked altogether ramshackle and abandoned, but some freshly-printed posters hung on the walls: Dante’s Abyss 2018. Sign up today!
Minnie’s face went pale. “No,” she shook her head vigorously, “Absolutely not.” She grasped Mickey’s hand, trying to silently urge him to ignore the lieutenant’s suggestion, and to be honest, his first instinct was to flat out shut down the idea.
Dante’s Abyss, the last time through, had not been pretty. Mickey had, in the span of less than five days, made some incredible friends, and then watched them all suffer and brutally die until he was the last one left, before he, too, had been murdered by that space marine. For two years, the mouse had lived peacefully ignorant of the inner workings of Syntech and Karl Jak, not paying much attention to the two other Abyss iterations that had occurred in the interim. Deep inside, though, he’d always felt like that was a mistake. Certainly, he didn’t know if his body could take any more carnage—and self-care was important. But he’d struggled with whether or not it was more important than stopping the evil of Jak and his cronies.
He’d stood up to so many people during his time in the Omniverse, and defeated most of them. The Warlock holding Teucer under guard, Gilgamesh and his New Babylonians… the battles he had under his belt were impressive, but he hadn’t dared to take on Jak again, after the trauma of the first time.
Did he dare now? Was he brave enough?
If nothing else, entry into the competition might alert Wartortle to his presence—and then he could steal the Watergleam back for the people of Cinnabon Island. He glanced back at his wife, and solemnly dropped her hand, walking toward the poster and ripping it off the wall. Behind him, he heard the muffled sniffles of Minnie Mouse as she realized that her husband was about to make a decision that might alter their lives in the Omniverse for the foreseeable future.
Mickey turned back to his queen and his two advisors.
“Okey-dokey, everybody,” he giggled, “Let’s get ready.”
Quote:To be continued in the Dante Verse.
QUEST: "A Little Peace and Quiet"
Words (This Post): 1,298
Words (Quest Total): 5,658
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)