Day One: Part 1

[Mickey Mouse]

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!”

“Hold still!” Erza spat. She lightly dabbed the dampened map on one of Mickey’s burns, trying her best to soothe the mouse’s wounds. The pair had gotten lucky; being so near the coast, they had easy access to some relatively cool water. Unfortunately, the mouse had not taken very well to the treatment, but then again, situations like this were not exactly his forte. He tried to avoid violence as much as possible, and in the rare occasions where he had to fight people, he had always been able to rely on his keyblade. With that missing, adaptation came less easy.

“Who even was that guy?” Erza asked, trying to steer Mickey’s attention off of the pain for a few seconds. With any luck, she’d be able to help out if he could put his mind somewhere else.

“I don’t know,” the mouse shrugged, “but he knocked over my chili.” The mouse frowned as he looked down at the charred MRE. He had been able to eat most of it before the weird pale guy had snuck up on them, but not quite all of it—and every last bit counted! He had been hungry, goshdarnit.

Mickey’s gaze shifted to where the mysterious man had slipped back out of sight. They had certainly beaten him down, but… where had he gone? He had sent that flurry of energy blasts at them, and by the time the pair had released each other from their defensive embrace, he had disappeared without a trace. A team with a penchant for violence might have pursued their enemy, but Mickey and Erza had, instead, focused on making sure each other was okay.

The mouse glanced up at his partner, who had been bravely dabbing at his wounds for several minutes now. He had barely even noticed that every movement she made caused her to wince in pain from her own burns.

“Here, Erza,” the King offered, gently taking the wet map from her, “my turn to help you out, okay?” He smiled at his companion, standing up and gesturing for Erza to plop down where he had been. Hesitantly, the crimson-haired warrior took a seat on the ground—criss-cross apple-sauce, once again—and flinched as Mickey started to try and ease her pain.

“You know what, Mick?” Erza groaned, rubbing her jaw, still sore from where the black-haired man had kicked her, “I’m already starting to get tired of this.” Mickey had to laugh—they had been here for maybe half a day, and only met up with their fellow, more violent competitors twice. Surely fate would have many more encounters in store for them, and in the back of his mind, the mouse knew that things would probably get more exciting (and dangerous) the farther they got into this murder game. Still, he couldn’t help but echo Erza’s sentiments.

“Me too, pal,” he frowned, “me too.”