05-16-2015, 12:01 PM
After his excursion to the Olive Garden, the mouse set out to continue exploring the Recreation Dome. It astounded him just how much the Dante’s Abyss producers managed to pack in to such a small space. This place had everything: restaurants, game rooms, bars, more restaurants… say what he may about this competition’s rather morbid conceit, the people in charge sure knew how to keep the contestants happy.
He could not bear to walk around and do too much, though. His stomach had been overly-filled by the unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks at the Olive Garden. He started to feel sluggish, so he decided to try and find something more stationary to keep himself occupied for the next indeterminate amount of time.
Eventually, after wandering around for a while, he reached the tippy-top floor of the Dome. This floor housed a state-of-the-art movie theater; at least, it advertised itself as “state of the art” on all the signs. To be honest, Mickey didn’t really know what a 3D movie (and especially not an IMAX movie) was, so he could not really judge whether or not this stuff was actually cool and futuristic. However, seeing a movie seemed to be exactly what the doctor ordered as he started to feel more and more lethargic, and so without really thinking about it, he walked into the first theater he saw, not taking the time to see what film was playing. He liked surprises.
Wow, the mouse mused as he entered, looking around. It had been a while since he had been in a movie theatre, but this certainly wasn’t what he remembered. Instead of normal seats, there were recliners, and in front of each row was a long, grey table, the purpose of which he could not discern. Did these people encourage you to put your feet up during the film? How avant-garde of them!
He took a seat in one of the recliners, and post-haste another little waitress came hurrying up to him, asking for his order. He waved her off; he was much too full to eat anything else, no matter how cool the prospect of having a meal during his movie was.
“Well, can I at least interest you in a glass of wine?”
Mickey’s face contorted in disgust again, and he looked at the lady. “Do I really look like someone who wants a glass of wine?”
The waitress shrugged. “I don’t know, but lots of potential competitors like to have at least one the night before the competition. You know, relaxes their nerves and everything. But if you don’t want to…”
“Wait,” Mickey huffed, “…everybody’s doing it? Is it that helpful?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say everybody,” the girl explained, “But certainly one drink could only help you, not hurt you, right?” She smiled a big, hopeful smile. Mickey sighed—she was a good salesperson.
“Fine,” he shook his head, “I’ll have one, okay?” The girl nodded and skipped off to go get him a glass of the theater’s best wine. Within a few minutes, she had returned, and sat the reddish liquid in front of him. The mouse felt increasingly nervous about this; he had never touched a drop of alcohol before. The girl seemed all too eager to share this moment with him, too, because as he observed the concoction she had just sat before him, she stood behind him, watching his every move. Deciding that it would be best to just get it over with, the mouse clumsily picked up the goblet and took a large sip.
Mmmmmm.
It tasted… good. Mickey snapped back, surprised at how much he actually liked the stuff. He turned around and nodded to the waitress, and she happily hurried away. He took another sip—still just as good—and resigned himself to the fact that, just this once, he would partake in a glass of wine, and nobody at home would have to know about it. With that in mind, he eased back in his chair and let the night take hold as the film began to play.
The film being played was in black-and-white, and seemed to be a silent film, too. The film was about a little mouse—not unlike himself, though much, much younger—who wanted to build an airplane. He giggled a little bit, fondly remembering the time he himself had tried to build an airplane; that had been his first date with Minnie. As the film continued, though, a young girl joined the little mouse in his first flight… just like Minnie had… and then, all of a sudden, the realization dawned on the King: this was he and Minnie’s first date! The little mouse was himself, and the girl was—
“Minnie!” he yelled, and the theater collectively shushed him. He slid down in his seat, not exactly sure what was going on, and took another sip of wine.
The sign outside the theatre read “Plane Crazy.”
A whole movie and three glasses of wine later, and Mickey was in disrepair.
“N-no, t-that’s my wife!” he yelled as the young waitress from before helped him out of the theater. He stumbled out the front doors, trying his best to keep his composure, but he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.
Behind him, the manager of the movie theater whispered to the girl, “why the hell did you give that thing alcohol? He’s two feet tall!”
“Two feet, three inches!” the mouse hiccuped.
“I don’t know, you told us to sell it,” she protested, but the manager continued to scold her about how she should have known the mouse would not be able to hold his liquor. “I—I’m sorry!” she kept saying over and over again, and eventually the tipsy mouse got tired of eavesdropping and started to head out of the theatre, though he had a mighty difficult time of it.
When he got to the stairs, he lost all hope. He tried to take a few steps down, but eventually the idea of getting all the way down the stairs in one fell swoop seemed like a pipe dream, and he decided to take a seat for a minute. Plopping down on a step about halfway down, the mouse leaned against the wall, finally letting loose with the tears. That had been Minnie in that movie. That had been his wife—oh, golly, he missed her so goshdarn much it hurt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his photograph of her, planting a gentle kiss on it and then just staring at it for a second as he sobbed.
“I’m c-comin’ home,” he promised through the tears.
All of a sudden, he didn’t know if he believed himself.
He could not bear to walk around and do too much, though. His stomach had been overly-filled by the unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks at the Olive Garden. He started to feel sluggish, so he decided to try and find something more stationary to keep himself occupied for the next indeterminate amount of time.
Eventually, after wandering around for a while, he reached the tippy-top floor of the Dome. This floor housed a state-of-the-art movie theater; at least, it advertised itself as “state of the art” on all the signs. To be honest, Mickey didn’t really know what a 3D movie (and especially not an IMAX movie) was, so he could not really judge whether or not this stuff was actually cool and futuristic. However, seeing a movie seemed to be exactly what the doctor ordered as he started to feel more and more lethargic, and so without really thinking about it, he walked into the first theater he saw, not taking the time to see what film was playing. He liked surprises.
Wow, the mouse mused as he entered, looking around. It had been a while since he had been in a movie theatre, but this certainly wasn’t what he remembered. Instead of normal seats, there were recliners, and in front of each row was a long, grey table, the purpose of which he could not discern. Did these people encourage you to put your feet up during the film? How avant-garde of them!
He took a seat in one of the recliners, and post-haste another little waitress came hurrying up to him, asking for his order. He waved her off; he was much too full to eat anything else, no matter how cool the prospect of having a meal during his movie was.
“Well, can I at least interest you in a glass of wine?”
Mickey’s face contorted in disgust again, and he looked at the lady. “Do I really look like someone who wants a glass of wine?”
The waitress shrugged. “I don’t know, but lots of potential competitors like to have at least one the night before the competition. You know, relaxes their nerves and everything. But if you don’t want to…”
“Wait,” Mickey huffed, “…everybody’s doing it? Is it that helpful?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say everybody,” the girl explained, “But certainly one drink could only help you, not hurt you, right?” She smiled a big, hopeful smile. Mickey sighed—she was a good salesperson.
“Fine,” he shook his head, “I’ll have one, okay?” The girl nodded and skipped off to go get him a glass of the theater’s best wine. Within a few minutes, she had returned, and sat the reddish liquid in front of him. The mouse felt increasingly nervous about this; he had never touched a drop of alcohol before. The girl seemed all too eager to share this moment with him, too, because as he observed the concoction she had just sat before him, she stood behind him, watching his every move. Deciding that it would be best to just get it over with, the mouse clumsily picked up the goblet and took a large sip.
Mmmmmm.
It tasted… good. Mickey snapped back, surprised at how much he actually liked the stuff. He turned around and nodded to the waitress, and she happily hurried away. He took another sip—still just as good—and resigned himself to the fact that, just this once, he would partake in a glass of wine, and nobody at home would have to know about it. With that in mind, he eased back in his chair and let the night take hold as the film began to play.
The film being played was in black-and-white, and seemed to be a silent film, too. The film was about a little mouse—not unlike himself, though much, much younger—who wanted to build an airplane. He giggled a little bit, fondly remembering the time he himself had tried to build an airplane; that had been his first date with Minnie. As the film continued, though, a young girl joined the little mouse in his first flight… just like Minnie had… and then, all of a sudden, the realization dawned on the King: this was he and Minnie’s first date! The little mouse was himself, and the girl was—
“Minnie!” he yelled, and the theater collectively shushed him. He slid down in his seat, not exactly sure what was going on, and took another sip of wine.
The sign outside the theatre read “Plane Crazy.”
* * *
A whole movie and three glasses of wine later, and Mickey was in disrepair.
“N-no, t-that’s my wife!” he yelled as the young waitress from before helped him out of the theater. He stumbled out the front doors, trying his best to keep his composure, but he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.
Behind him, the manager of the movie theater whispered to the girl, “why the hell did you give that thing alcohol? He’s two feet tall!”
“Two feet, three inches!” the mouse hiccuped.
“I don’t know, you told us to sell it,” she protested, but the manager continued to scold her about how she should have known the mouse would not be able to hold his liquor. “I—I’m sorry!” she kept saying over and over again, and eventually the tipsy mouse got tired of eavesdropping and started to head out of the theatre, though he had a mighty difficult time of it.
When he got to the stairs, he lost all hope. He tried to take a few steps down, but eventually the idea of getting all the way down the stairs in one fell swoop seemed like a pipe dream, and he decided to take a seat for a minute. Plopping down on a step about halfway down, the mouse leaned against the wall, finally letting loose with the tears. That had been Minnie in that movie. That had been his wife—oh, golly, he missed her so goshdarn much it hurt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his photograph of her, planting a gentle kiss on it and then just staring at it for a second as he sobbed.
“I’m c-comin’ home,” he promised through the tears.
All of a sudden, he didn’t know if he believed himself.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)