05-14-2015, 01:12 AM
“ORDER, I SAY! ORDER IN THIS MEETING! EVERYBODY QUIET!”
The Mayor of Bree clanged his gavel on the lectern violently in his attempts to quiet the rowdy town hall meeting. Rich, poor, and everything in between had come out to weigh in on what to do after the latest orc raid on the town, and it looked like they would be hard pressed to come to any sort of decision civilly.
Mickey, meanwhile, sat near the back of the meeting, hands still clutching the Dante’s Abyss flyer he had picked up the night before, as the battle wound down. He refused to speak on the town’s problems, despite his status as a Prime and, apparently, the importance that came with his words because of it. He had not even planned to stay past the morning, but he felt a pang of guilt that the orcs raided solely because of his prior encounter with the shaman. He decided to stay and help the town recover—at least for a few days—and then leave and continue to search for a way home.
Of course, at this rate, several days would be spent just spitting options back and forth. A couple of the town’s more colorful citizenry had already made total fools of themselves, parading their bravado as they emphasized the necessity of “taking the fight to those b-words.” The idea amused Mickey; a dozen of the creatures had completely incapacitated the town, and they expected to fight a whole tribe of them? Not likely. Something else would have to be done.
“We’ve got to bolster our defense,” Berthe bit back at those proposing an attack, once again proving to be the only person in this town with a sensible head on her shoulders. “We can go throw rocks at them all we want, but what if they’re too much for us? Then we’ve got our soldiers killed and our town’s left totally defenseless.”
“Keep your ma around, buddy,” Mickey said, leaning over to Robbie in the seat next to him, “She’s smarter than any of these losers.” The boy smiled.
Discussion erupted about Berthe’s suggestion. The bartender—who had not shown Mickey an ounce of gratitude for saving his sorry self—stood up and went on a rant about how if they just killed the orcs, they wouldn’t need the defenses. Mickey cringed at the thought of more unnecessary violence; would these people never learn that fighting violence with violence wasn’t the answer to every question? He had annexed the many realms that he now ruled through peace. Gosh, if only someone would let him run this town hall meeting.
“Thank you for your contribution, sir,” the Mayor cut in on the bartender’s rant, seeing as he began talking in circles. “Guard-Captain,” he turned his attention to the hulking woman, “while the idea of strengthening Bree’s defenses is, indeed, a good one, I’m afraid it’s futile. Even if we wanted to improve in that manner, we don’t have the omnilium available for it right now.” Mickey had rarely seen someone look as defeated as Berthe did in that moment.
And that seemed to be the end of it. Berthe returned to her seat, dejected, and the meeting moved on to discussions of what an attack would entail, the risks of it, etc. Mickey zoned out again, his eyes flitting once more to the flyer. Dante’s Abyss—it looked altogether grand, like the old fighting tournaments Philoctetes hosted in the Olympus Coliseum, albeit a bit more violent. And the omnilium prize that it promised the winner… golly, it made him green with envy, and he barely knew what omnilium even was.
Wait.
“Hey!” Mickey exclaimed without thinking, looking up from the flyer. The meeting’s attention turned immediately to him. The Mayor looked over from whomever had been talking to the Prime; he wore the same disdainful expression most humans in this town did when they looked at him. “Um,” the King started, anxiously, “I have a proposal.”
“In order to speak,” the Mayor cocked his head to one side, “you must first be recognized. I’m afraid I haven’t caught your name, mister…?”
Mickey swallowed nervously. “Um, Ears,” he said, deciding to stick with the alias he had given Berthe, “you can just call me Ears.”
“Well, Mister… Ears, we’ll finish this discussion and then move on to you,” the Mayor mustered up a fake smile, and then began to turn his attention back to whatever else had been going on while the mouse had zoned out.
“Mr. Mayor, sir—” Berthe stood up, stepping back into the mid aisle, “Speaking as one of your trusted advisors, you’d be wise to listen to what the little guy had to say. He’s a Prime.”
Hushed discussion erupted through the town hall meeting. Mickey tried his best not to listen to what the people said about him, whether good or bad—he simply looked to Berthe, and at her cue, stepped forward, clutching the flyer in one hand. He made his way to the front of the room, where the other men had been arguing just moments before, and looked around him. None of these people trusted anything he said; heck, most of them did not even like him, and all because he had been born a mouse instead of a human. And yet, somewhere deep in his bones, he wanted to help them.
Gosh, he was way too good a person.
He held up the flyer. “This is a paper,” he started, “advertising for a reality TV show called Dante’s Abyss.” He looked around; recognition flashed across the faces of most of the townspeople. They had seen the flyers around, certainly. “It’s a competition—a fighting competition, and it promises a huge omnilium reward for the winner. I was thinking… well, I figured maybe someone could go and win the stuff, and you guys could use it to follow Berthe’s—er, the Guard-Captain’s plan to build up the defenses.”
More discussion, but Mickey could not tell what the people around him thought. He looked to Berthe, who beamed, happy to have his support, and then up at the Mayor. “Mr. Ears,” he droned, “while that is a… fun suggestion, I’m afraid it is only too implausible. No resident of this town is a match for anybody that’s going to be in that competition. It’s all Primes who have had much bigger fish to fry in their lives than a simple group of orc raiders.”
“I know,” Mickey nodded, “That’s why… I was gonna do it.”
Berthe’s face went pale. The Mayor’s eyebrows raised as high as they could. The townspeople were talking even more, and much more intensely than before. The Mayor spoke up again, voicing what everyone wanted to say. “Oh?” he asked, “Really?”
“Yep,” Mickey smiled, placing his hands on his hips, “I’m volunteering. I want to enter Dante’s Abyss and win the stuff for you guys.”
“Oh brother—what did I get myself into?”
“I have no goddamn idea,” Berthe crossed her arms, looking around at all the fighters lined up for the tournament. Mickey, too, observed the other Primes from his perch on the Guard-Captain’s shoulder; much more intimidating fare than he expected, to say the very least. “You stood up there and volunteered yourself for this, and I said, ‘boy, that little mouse is absolutely fucking nuts.’”
“Language, Berthe,” Mickey scolded her. She waited with him as the line dwindled down further, occasionally leaning over with commentary about his potential future competitors. After a while, Mickey’s attention focused on the large tent at the end of the line; it reminded him of a big top—like from a circus—and it made him wonder if, perhaps, he had made a huge mistake signing himself up for this.
No, he had to do this, to prove to the citizens of Bree that they could trust him. Even if he didn’t win—even if he went in and was hilariously outmatched by everyone else there—at least he would go in and give it his all. He would try to win, and all of it would be for them.
…well, and a little bit for himself. He had to admit that this competition had peaked his curiosity after about the twenty-seventh time he had read the flyer all the way through. Perhaps, by participating in or winning this contest, he could discover some more about his new home, this ‘Omniverse.’ Perhaps, if he did well enough, he might be able to find a lead to how he could get home. Perhaps, this competition could help him get back to his friends—and the love of his life, of course.
Mickey reached into the pocket of his red shorts and found the photograph of Minnie he had conjured up that very first day. He didn’t look at it often, but in times of particular trouble, he always knew where to find it. Back home, she had been there to get him out of a mess—she could do the same here, even if it wasn’t quite in the same way.
Eventually, the mouse’s turn came. He said good-bye to Berthe, promising to be back in Bree as soon as the competition was over. “I’m gonna win, Berthe,” he assured the Guard-Captain as she began the trek back toward the village. She nodded, smiling, and Mickey could tell that she wanted to believe him. I’m gonna win.
Mickey filled out all the necessary forms and stepped inside the Big Top, but he did not find what he expected. Instead, a woman—and one who looked like nothing special—sat a few feet away from a very large television camera. Mickey bit his lip, and headed toward her.
“I’m sorry, is this where I’m supposed to be?” he asked, heading across the big emptiness toward the girl.
“Of course,” she smiled a super perky smile. To most, her overt good mood might’ve been a cause of annoyance, but to Mickey, it was a breath of fresh air from all the hostility he had so far encountered. “Take a seat, Mister… Ears? Oh, I can see where you get that name,” the girl giggled, and Mickey climbed up onto the seat, plopping down and letting his legs swing. “Let me just adjust the camera a bit for your size, and—oh, yep, there we are. Do you mind me recording a little questionnaire for the viewers at home, Mr. Ears? Just so if you’re selected for the competition, we can show them a little snippet, so they can get to know you.”
“Uh… sure,” Mickey nodded. “Oh boy,” he said quietly, his nerves beginning to creep in.
“Good,” she smiled, “Here we go.” She clicked a button, and Mickey could hear the camera’s gears starting to work. “Alright, Ears… first question. Why are you here today?”
Because I’m trying to prove myself. Because I want to help people. Because I want to go home. “Because it looked fun,” the mouse smiled, “I’m all about a good time.” He let his grin get a bit wider, and the girl nodded, but her smile wavered just a bit. Mickey could already tell that she felt bad for him—that she knew this tournament was not going to be a “good time” if he got selected. She put on her game face, though, and leaned toward him for the next question.
“Good,” she smiled, “now—what makes you special, little guy?”
Mickey blinked. I’m a King.
“Uh,” he shook his head, “You know, we’re all special in our own way, but… I’m a very special little mouse. I don’t want to brag, though.”
“Please, Mr. Ears,” the girl encouraged, “go ahead.”
“Well, firstly, I’m a mouse that can talk,” Mickey looked from the girl into the camera, winking, “and secondly… well…” He took a deep breath, and then stood up in the chair. Here we go, he thought, and in one quick motion he backflipped over the chair, landed on the ground, and swung one of his yellow-shoe’d feet at it, kicking it high into the air. He pulled his keyblade out from his belt, took aim, and shot a Pearl at the chair. The little orb flew at high speed toward the seat and collided with it, engulfing it in bright, white light until it disintegrated. “…I can do that,” the King finished, smiling.
“I guess we’ll need to get a new chair,” the girl giggled again, and then she held out her hand toward the portal behind her. It was not as pretty a portal as the one from the Nexus to Camelot was. “You can go ahead in, Mr. Ears. Thank you,” she told him, shutting off the camera. Mickey grinned at her, and then headed for the portal. Along the way, she caught him by the scruff of his shirt. “Oh, off the record,” she looked around to make sure no one was listening, “If you get picked, be careful out there. You’re cute.”
Mickey scoffed. “Sorry, miss—I’m a married mouse.”
He headed in.
The Mayor of Bree clanged his gavel on the lectern violently in his attempts to quiet the rowdy town hall meeting. Rich, poor, and everything in between had come out to weigh in on what to do after the latest orc raid on the town, and it looked like they would be hard pressed to come to any sort of decision civilly.
Mickey, meanwhile, sat near the back of the meeting, hands still clutching the Dante’s Abyss flyer he had picked up the night before, as the battle wound down. He refused to speak on the town’s problems, despite his status as a Prime and, apparently, the importance that came with his words because of it. He had not even planned to stay past the morning, but he felt a pang of guilt that the orcs raided solely because of his prior encounter with the shaman. He decided to stay and help the town recover—at least for a few days—and then leave and continue to search for a way home.
Of course, at this rate, several days would be spent just spitting options back and forth. A couple of the town’s more colorful citizenry had already made total fools of themselves, parading their bravado as they emphasized the necessity of “taking the fight to those b-words.” The idea amused Mickey; a dozen of the creatures had completely incapacitated the town, and they expected to fight a whole tribe of them? Not likely. Something else would have to be done.
“We’ve got to bolster our defense,” Berthe bit back at those proposing an attack, once again proving to be the only person in this town with a sensible head on her shoulders. “We can go throw rocks at them all we want, but what if they’re too much for us? Then we’ve got our soldiers killed and our town’s left totally defenseless.”
“Keep your ma around, buddy,” Mickey said, leaning over to Robbie in the seat next to him, “She’s smarter than any of these losers.” The boy smiled.
Discussion erupted about Berthe’s suggestion. The bartender—who had not shown Mickey an ounce of gratitude for saving his sorry self—stood up and went on a rant about how if they just killed the orcs, they wouldn’t need the defenses. Mickey cringed at the thought of more unnecessary violence; would these people never learn that fighting violence with violence wasn’t the answer to every question? He had annexed the many realms that he now ruled through peace. Gosh, if only someone would let him run this town hall meeting.
“Thank you for your contribution, sir,” the Mayor cut in on the bartender’s rant, seeing as he began talking in circles. “Guard-Captain,” he turned his attention to the hulking woman, “while the idea of strengthening Bree’s defenses is, indeed, a good one, I’m afraid it’s futile. Even if we wanted to improve in that manner, we don’t have the omnilium available for it right now.” Mickey had rarely seen someone look as defeated as Berthe did in that moment.
And that seemed to be the end of it. Berthe returned to her seat, dejected, and the meeting moved on to discussions of what an attack would entail, the risks of it, etc. Mickey zoned out again, his eyes flitting once more to the flyer. Dante’s Abyss—it looked altogether grand, like the old fighting tournaments Philoctetes hosted in the Olympus Coliseum, albeit a bit more violent. And the omnilium prize that it promised the winner… golly, it made him green with envy, and he barely knew what omnilium even was.
Wait.
“Hey!” Mickey exclaimed without thinking, looking up from the flyer. The meeting’s attention turned immediately to him. The Mayor looked over from whomever had been talking to the Prime; he wore the same disdainful expression most humans in this town did when they looked at him. “Um,” the King started, anxiously, “I have a proposal.”
“In order to speak,” the Mayor cocked his head to one side, “you must first be recognized. I’m afraid I haven’t caught your name, mister…?”
Mickey swallowed nervously. “Um, Ears,” he said, deciding to stick with the alias he had given Berthe, “you can just call me Ears.”
“Well, Mister… Ears, we’ll finish this discussion and then move on to you,” the Mayor mustered up a fake smile, and then began to turn his attention back to whatever else had been going on while the mouse had zoned out.
“Mr. Mayor, sir—” Berthe stood up, stepping back into the mid aisle, “Speaking as one of your trusted advisors, you’d be wise to listen to what the little guy had to say. He’s a Prime.”
Hushed discussion erupted through the town hall meeting. Mickey tried his best not to listen to what the people said about him, whether good or bad—he simply looked to Berthe, and at her cue, stepped forward, clutching the flyer in one hand. He made his way to the front of the room, where the other men had been arguing just moments before, and looked around him. None of these people trusted anything he said; heck, most of them did not even like him, and all because he had been born a mouse instead of a human. And yet, somewhere deep in his bones, he wanted to help them.
Gosh, he was way too good a person.
He held up the flyer. “This is a paper,” he started, “advertising for a reality TV show called Dante’s Abyss.” He looked around; recognition flashed across the faces of most of the townspeople. They had seen the flyers around, certainly. “It’s a competition—a fighting competition, and it promises a huge omnilium reward for the winner. I was thinking… well, I figured maybe someone could go and win the stuff, and you guys could use it to follow Berthe’s—er, the Guard-Captain’s plan to build up the defenses.”
More discussion, but Mickey could not tell what the people around him thought. He looked to Berthe, who beamed, happy to have his support, and then up at the Mayor. “Mr. Ears,” he droned, “while that is a… fun suggestion, I’m afraid it is only too implausible. No resident of this town is a match for anybody that’s going to be in that competition. It’s all Primes who have had much bigger fish to fry in their lives than a simple group of orc raiders.”
“I know,” Mickey nodded, “That’s why… I was gonna do it.”
Berthe’s face went pale. The Mayor’s eyebrows raised as high as they could. The townspeople were talking even more, and much more intensely than before. The Mayor spoke up again, voicing what everyone wanted to say. “Oh?” he asked, “Really?”
“Yep,” Mickey smiled, placing his hands on his hips, “I’m volunteering. I want to enter Dante’s Abyss and win the stuff for you guys.”
* * *
“Oh brother—what did I get myself into?”
“I have no goddamn idea,” Berthe crossed her arms, looking around at all the fighters lined up for the tournament. Mickey, too, observed the other Primes from his perch on the Guard-Captain’s shoulder; much more intimidating fare than he expected, to say the very least. “You stood up there and volunteered yourself for this, and I said, ‘boy, that little mouse is absolutely fucking nuts.’”
“Language, Berthe,” Mickey scolded her. She waited with him as the line dwindled down further, occasionally leaning over with commentary about his potential future competitors. After a while, Mickey’s attention focused on the large tent at the end of the line; it reminded him of a big top—like from a circus—and it made him wonder if, perhaps, he had made a huge mistake signing himself up for this.
No, he had to do this, to prove to the citizens of Bree that they could trust him. Even if he didn’t win—even if he went in and was hilariously outmatched by everyone else there—at least he would go in and give it his all. He would try to win, and all of it would be for them.
…well, and a little bit for himself. He had to admit that this competition had peaked his curiosity after about the twenty-seventh time he had read the flyer all the way through. Perhaps, by participating in or winning this contest, he could discover some more about his new home, this ‘Omniverse.’ Perhaps, if he did well enough, he might be able to find a lead to how he could get home. Perhaps, this competition could help him get back to his friends—and the love of his life, of course.
Mickey reached into the pocket of his red shorts and found the photograph of Minnie he had conjured up that very first day. He didn’t look at it often, but in times of particular trouble, he always knew where to find it. Back home, she had been there to get him out of a mess—she could do the same here, even if it wasn’t quite in the same way.
Eventually, the mouse’s turn came. He said good-bye to Berthe, promising to be back in Bree as soon as the competition was over. “I’m gonna win, Berthe,” he assured the Guard-Captain as she began the trek back toward the village. She nodded, smiling, and Mickey could tell that she wanted to believe him. I’m gonna win.
Mickey filled out all the necessary forms and stepped inside the Big Top, but he did not find what he expected. Instead, a woman—and one who looked like nothing special—sat a few feet away from a very large television camera. Mickey bit his lip, and headed toward her.
“I’m sorry, is this where I’m supposed to be?” he asked, heading across the big emptiness toward the girl.
“Of course,” she smiled a super perky smile. To most, her overt good mood might’ve been a cause of annoyance, but to Mickey, it was a breath of fresh air from all the hostility he had so far encountered. “Take a seat, Mister… Ears? Oh, I can see where you get that name,” the girl giggled, and Mickey climbed up onto the seat, plopping down and letting his legs swing. “Let me just adjust the camera a bit for your size, and—oh, yep, there we are. Do you mind me recording a little questionnaire for the viewers at home, Mr. Ears? Just so if you’re selected for the competition, we can show them a little snippet, so they can get to know you.”
“Uh… sure,” Mickey nodded. “Oh boy,” he said quietly, his nerves beginning to creep in.
“Good,” she smiled, “Here we go.” She clicked a button, and Mickey could hear the camera’s gears starting to work. “Alright, Ears… first question. Why are you here today?”
Because I’m trying to prove myself. Because I want to help people. Because I want to go home. “Because it looked fun,” the mouse smiled, “I’m all about a good time.” He let his grin get a bit wider, and the girl nodded, but her smile wavered just a bit. Mickey could already tell that she felt bad for him—that she knew this tournament was not going to be a “good time” if he got selected. She put on her game face, though, and leaned toward him for the next question.
“Good,” she smiled, “now—what makes you special, little guy?”
Mickey blinked. I’m a King.
“Uh,” he shook his head, “You know, we’re all special in our own way, but… I’m a very special little mouse. I don’t want to brag, though.”
“Please, Mr. Ears,” the girl encouraged, “go ahead.”
“Well, firstly, I’m a mouse that can talk,” Mickey looked from the girl into the camera, winking, “and secondly… well…” He took a deep breath, and then stood up in the chair. Here we go, he thought, and in one quick motion he backflipped over the chair, landed on the ground, and swung one of his yellow-shoe’d feet at it, kicking it high into the air. He pulled his keyblade out from his belt, took aim, and shot a Pearl at the chair. The little orb flew at high speed toward the seat and collided with it, engulfing it in bright, white light until it disintegrated. “…I can do that,” the King finished, smiling.
“I guess we’ll need to get a new chair,” the girl giggled again, and then she held out her hand toward the portal behind her. It was not as pretty a portal as the one from the Nexus to Camelot was. “You can go ahead in, Mr. Ears. Thank you,” she told him, shutting off the camera. Mickey grinned at her, and then headed for the portal. Along the way, she caught him by the scruff of his shirt. “Oh, off the record,” she looked around to make sure no one was listening, “If you get picked, be careful out there. You’re cute.”
Mickey scoffed. “Sorry, miss—I’m a married mouse.”
He headed in.
Quote:Appearance – Here ya go!
Personality – Mickey is, above all things, an inherently good person. He tries his best to be trustworthy and to always choose the "right thing to do" in any sort of moral dilemma. He holds a strange sense of responsibility for the people around him, and in a pinch will always try to keep them safe, even if sometimes he has to put himself in a dangerous spot to do it.
He's also infectiously fun, always looking for the light moments in a dreary world, especially the Omniverse, which has proven to be absolutely no fun at all so far. He is intensely curious and, sometimes, this curiosity combined with his relentless need for fun and adventure can get him into trouble.
Possible Reactions – Mickey has entered the competition in an effort to not only win the prize omnilium to help bolster the defenses of a local Camelot village, but he also is in constant search of a way home. He misses his friends, especially his wife Minnie, tremendously, and they will probably be on his mind a lot.
As far as the competition goes, Mickey isn't interested in violence. He will protect himself if he has to -- and he thinks he's pretty darn good at it, thank you very much -- but given the opportunity to use non-lethal force, he will always take that road. He doesn't like killing, and goes into the competition telling himself that he will only do it if he is absolutely forced to. He will try to make friends where possible and will do his best to survive while avoiding conflict.
Relationships – None.
‘Combat’ Style – Like stated above, Mickey does not like killing, but that doesn't mean that he's a bad fighter. He trained for years as a swordsman in the Country of Musketeers and though he won't have his keyblade on him, if he gets a melee weapon you can be sure he's going to know how to use it.
His best asset in a fight, though, is his technique. Mickey is a graceful fighter, and is best at evading his opponents and finding creative angles to counter-attack them. He doesn't generally attack head on unless it's a sure thing.
Eligible Powers – Master Acrobat.
Moves – None.
Extra – Mickey is extremely short at two feet, three inches tall. At this point, he does not use foul language -- ever -- and will chastise any companions he has that frequent it.
Quotes –
"Oh boy!"
"Oh brother."
"Are you nuts?!"
"En garde!"
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)