05-27-2015, 12:54 AM
Mickey and Erza had arrived late to the party, to say the least. Fashionably.
From their hiding spot, the mouse spotted a man in a red, spandex-looking suit looking up at a tall, hulking green alien. For a second, things looked civil—but then the emerald warrior’s hands clutched the man’s face and squeezed. Hard.
Mickey let out a yelp, and Erza shot a glance back at him. “Shh,” she muttered, though from the expression on her face Mickey could tell that the gruesome sight had affected her just as much as it affected him. He tried, very hard, to convince himself that this was just how the game had to be played—in order to win, the other competitors had to die. At some point, he might even be forced to kill one of them himself. If he and Erza truly were going to get this hammer—if they were going to reveal themselves to this crop of opponents—that moment might come sooner rather than later, unfortunately.
But he couldn’t shake the thought of that red-suited man’s last moments. He lay there, crumpled on the floor, as the alien man got jumped by some hulking monster. The faces of Mickey and his crimson-haired compatriot went just a little paler as the two sparred. Something told them that they were hilariously outmatched by the people who had shown up for this.
With any luck, though, they could still get that hammer. They just had to wait for the opportune moment to strike—preferably after someone had downed that giant pig beast.
Somehow, they had managed to escape with the hammer—Mjolnir, it was called—and now, the pair had decided, by golly, they were going to celebrate.
“This is kinda cold,” the mouse scrunched his face up at the taste of his meal, looking over at Erza, who shrugged. Hers seemed to be working just fine. “Lemme see what I can do,” the mouse muttered, taking his right hand—still armed with the red-and-yellow metallic gauntlet—and holding it underneath the little container of chili.
The little blue light flickered on, and the mouse flexed his fingers for a moment, making sure not to let the energy out of his hand. The glove wasn’t suited perfectly for him—he’d had to snap one of the fingers off to make it fit, given that he had one less finger than humans do—but it sure was useful, whether to threaten people like that hooded guy or to warm up his cold vegetarian chili.
After it had been suitably warmed, Mickey dug into the vegetarian chili, his mind persuaded, for the moment, to stop thinking about the carnage they had just bore witness too. Sure, in the end, they had gotten to play Bonnie and Clyde. Sliding up after everyone else was gone and snatching the prize from that cloaked fella had been—dare he say it—kinda fun, but that did not mean that the whole ordeal hadn’t turned out for the worst.
After all, that boy had died—right?
“This—yum—was such—oh, God—a good idea,” Erza stammered, her mouth full of whatever processed porkchop the producers of Dante’s Abyss had stuck in these little pouches. The crimson-haired girl devoured her MRE rather quickly, and Mickey couldn’t help but try to keep pace with her. He giggled a little bit, entertained by her delight.
“What’s so funny, huh?” she cocked an eyebrow, “You laughin’ at the way I eat, Mick?” Mickey’s eyes darted left to right, and his lips slowly curled into a smile before he burst out in a fit of laughter. Erza quickly joined him, and the pair sat there, just… laughing, for what seemed like forever. Their laughing stopped, however, as Mickey’s gaze fell on the most beautiful sight he had gotten to witness since being on this island: off in the distance, painting the sky beautiful shades of red and orange, the sun was rising on Dante’s Abyss.
Mickey smiled, thankful that he and Erza’s position still enabled them to catch a glimpse of the sun over the beach. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy,” Mickey grinned, staring at it. If he had stopped to look at Erza, he would have seen that her eyes had focused in on it, too.
“Mickey Mouse,” she said, placing an arm around her little comrade, “Maybe this island isn’t going to be so bad after all.” Mickey nodded, sighing audibly. That was a nice thought.
Of course, Erza knew that wasn’t true at all, and so did Mickey. One day soon, the grounds of the island would be stained the same reddish color that the sun now cast across the sky above them. But—for right now, at least—they were having a goshdarn picnic.
And they were going to enjoy it.
From their hiding spot, the mouse spotted a man in a red, spandex-looking suit looking up at a tall, hulking green alien. For a second, things looked civil—but then the emerald warrior’s hands clutched the man’s face and squeezed. Hard.
Mickey let out a yelp, and Erza shot a glance back at him. “Shh,” she muttered, though from the expression on her face Mickey could tell that the gruesome sight had affected her just as much as it affected him. He tried, very hard, to convince himself that this was just how the game had to be played—in order to win, the other competitors had to die. At some point, he might even be forced to kill one of them himself. If he and Erza truly were going to get this hammer—if they were going to reveal themselves to this crop of opponents—that moment might come sooner rather than later, unfortunately.
But he couldn’t shake the thought of that red-suited man’s last moments. He lay there, crumpled on the floor, as the alien man got jumped by some hulking monster. The faces of Mickey and his crimson-haired compatriot went just a little paler as the two sparred. Something told them that they were hilariously outmatched by the people who had shown up for this.
With any luck, though, they could still get that hammer. They just had to wait for the opportune moment to strike—preferably after someone had downed that giant pig beast.
* * *
Somehow, they had managed to escape with the hammer—Mjolnir, it was called—and now, the pair had decided, by golly, they were going to celebrate.
“This is kinda cold,” the mouse scrunched his face up at the taste of his meal, looking over at Erza, who shrugged. Hers seemed to be working just fine. “Lemme see what I can do,” the mouse muttered, taking his right hand—still armed with the red-and-yellow metallic gauntlet—and holding it underneath the little container of chili.
The little blue light flickered on, and the mouse flexed his fingers for a moment, making sure not to let the energy out of his hand. The glove wasn’t suited perfectly for him—he’d had to snap one of the fingers off to make it fit, given that he had one less finger than humans do—but it sure was useful, whether to threaten people like that hooded guy or to warm up his cold vegetarian chili.
After it had been suitably warmed, Mickey dug into the vegetarian chili, his mind persuaded, for the moment, to stop thinking about the carnage they had just bore witness too. Sure, in the end, they had gotten to play Bonnie and Clyde. Sliding up after everyone else was gone and snatching the prize from that cloaked fella had been—dare he say it—kinda fun, but that did not mean that the whole ordeal hadn’t turned out for the worst.
After all, that boy had died—right?
“This—yum—was such—oh, God—a good idea,” Erza stammered, her mouth full of whatever processed porkchop the producers of Dante’s Abyss had stuck in these little pouches. The crimson-haired girl devoured her MRE rather quickly, and Mickey couldn’t help but try to keep pace with her. He giggled a little bit, entertained by her delight.
“What’s so funny, huh?” she cocked an eyebrow, “You laughin’ at the way I eat, Mick?” Mickey’s eyes darted left to right, and his lips slowly curled into a smile before he burst out in a fit of laughter. Erza quickly joined him, and the pair sat there, just… laughing, for what seemed like forever. Their laughing stopped, however, as Mickey’s gaze fell on the most beautiful sight he had gotten to witness since being on this island: off in the distance, painting the sky beautiful shades of red and orange, the sun was rising on Dante’s Abyss.
Mickey smiled, thankful that he and Erza’s position still enabled them to catch a glimpse of the sun over the beach. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy,” Mickey grinned, staring at it. If he had stopped to look at Erza, he would have seen that her eyes had focused in on it, too.
“Mickey Mouse,” she said, placing an arm around her little comrade, “Maybe this island isn’t going to be so bad after all.” Mickey nodded, sighing audibly. That was a nice thought.
Of course, Erza knew that wasn’t true at all, and so did Mickey. One day soon, the grounds of the island would be stained the same reddish color that the sun now cast across the sky above them. But—for right now, at least—they were having a goshdarn picnic.
And they were going to enjoy it.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)