05-26-2015, 11:36 AM
The fluttering of helicopter rotors abruptly woke him up.
“Alright, loser,” a voice said over the deafening sound of the engine, “Time to get going.” Mickey picked himself up off the ground, looking up at the man who had clambered out of the co-pilot’s seat. He held the mouse’s duffel bag, and looked at the King with a gleeful sadism.
What was going on? The mouse vaguely remembered having some sort of episode in his barracks room, and then all of a sudden, he had fallen unconscious. The next thing he remembered was right now.
“Smile for the cameras, mouse-boy!” the co-pilot chuckled, tossing the bag at Mickey. The duffel hit the mouse with much more force than he had expected, and he noticed that it was quite a lot heavier than he remembered it being in the barracks room. The force sent the King stumbling back, and a few steps later, no longer did he have anything underneath his feet.
All of a sudden, he was falling, falling—
“Hey, snap out of it.”
Mickey did not know how long ago he had stopped walking. It could not have been too long ago, since the red-haired girl was only a few yards ahead—unless, of course, she stood there staring for longer than Mickey expected she had. The mouse shook off the memory; there was no use dwelling on the past now. He had signed up for the game, and now he was in the thick of it. No turning back, unfortunately. All he could do was stick to his morals.
“Sorry,” the mouse squeaked, picking up his pace and reuniting with the girl. They had been silent for most of the trip so far, though admittedly they had only been walking together for only an hour or so. He knew that he probably shouldn’t trust her, but he had been happy to see that she, too, wasn’t eager to get in a fight. He had been very, very nervous that the first person he ran into would force his hand, but this girl, like him, seemed all too content to not immediately meet violence with violence. At least, for the moment.
Eventually, though, they both would be forced to test that conviction. Even as he walked, that realization sent Mickey’s gaze straight to the ground and he let out a sigh. Out of the corner of his big eyes, he could see the girl look over at him.
She, too, took a breath. “I know it’s hard,” she said, stopping for a second and looking down at him. The mouse stared up at her, trying to think of a response. But he didn’t really know what to say. The awkwardness lingered in the air, and the red-haired girl’s lips pursed uncomfortably. She nodded once, and turned to keep walking, trying to make the best out of this weird situation. Mickey followed her.
It struck him suddenly that he did not know what to call his knew travel buddy. “Uh, hey,” he spoke up, looking up at the armored girl, “what’s your name, anyway?”
The crimson-haired girl halted again, casting a nervous glance down at her diminutive companion. The mouse realized that she must be just as nervous about him as he was about her. He would offer a show of good faith, then. “Mickey Mouse,” he introduced himself, putting on the best smile he could manage in this gruesome situation and offering up one of his gloved hands for her to shake.
She stared at it for a second, then tentatively took it. “Erza,” she smiled. “Erza Scarlet.”
“Alright, loser,” a voice said over the deafening sound of the engine, “Time to get going.” Mickey picked himself up off the ground, looking up at the man who had clambered out of the co-pilot’s seat. He held the mouse’s duffel bag, and looked at the King with a gleeful sadism.
What was going on? The mouse vaguely remembered having some sort of episode in his barracks room, and then all of a sudden, he had fallen unconscious. The next thing he remembered was right now.
“Smile for the cameras, mouse-boy!” the co-pilot chuckled, tossing the bag at Mickey. The duffel hit the mouse with much more force than he had expected, and he noticed that it was quite a lot heavier than he remembered it being in the barracks room. The force sent the King stumbling back, and a few steps later, no longer did he have anything underneath his feet.
All of a sudden, he was falling, falling—
“Hey, snap out of it.”
Mickey did not know how long ago he had stopped walking. It could not have been too long ago, since the red-haired girl was only a few yards ahead—unless, of course, she stood there staring for longer than Mickey expected she had. The mouse shook off the memory; there was no use dwelling on the past now. He had signed up for the game, and now he was in the thick of it. No turning back, unfortunately. All he could do was stick to his morals.
“Sorry,” the mouse squeaked, picking up his pace and reuniting with the girl. They had been silent for most of the trip so far, though admittedly they had only been walking together for only an hour or so. He knew that he probably shouldn’t trust her, but he had been happy to see that she, too, wasn’t eager to get in a fight. He had been very, very nervous that the first person he ran into would force his hand, but this girl, like him, seemed all too content to not immediately meet violence with violence. At least, for the moment.
Eventually, though, they both would be forced to test that conviction. Even as he walked, that realization sent Mickey’s gaze straight to the ground and he let out a sigh. Out of the corner of his big eyes, he could see the girl look over at him.
She, too, took a breath. “I know it’s hard,” she said, stopping for a second and looking down at him. The mouse stared up at her, trying to think of a response. But he didn’t really know what to say. The awkwardness lingered in the air, and the red-haired girl’s lips pursed uncomfortably. She nodded once, and turned to keep walking, trying to make the best out of this weird situation. Mickey followed her.
It struck him suddenly that he did not know what to call his knew travel buddy. “Uh, hey,” he spoke up, looking up at the armored girl, “what’s your name, anyway?”
The crimson-haired girl halted again, casting a nervous glance down at her diminutive companion. The mouse realized that she must be just as nervous about him as he was about her. He would offer a show of good faith, then. “Mickey Mouse,” he introduced himself, putting on the best smile he could manage in this gruesome situation and offering up one of his gloved hands for her to shake.
She stared at it for a second, then tentatively took it. “Erza,” she smiled. “Erza Scarlet.”
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)