05-30-2015, 09:51 AM
Try as he might, Mickey could not sleep.
Harry seemed to slip into slumber rather easily, but all the mouse could only lay there, wrapped in his worries. The medical supplies—and, he guessed, the Diet Mountain Dew—had put them squarely back on their feet, but something still tugged at the back of his mind. It’s been twenty-four hours and now twenty percent of you are dead. Mickey had trouble with that; they had survived for a whole day, but at the expense of so many other people. And now, he knew, one of their fellow competitors’ blood had stained their hands.
That poor, poor pink-haired boy; they had come upon him, and he had been so terrified of them and their big guns that he had lashed out at them. Samus had been left with no choice, he supposed; at that point, she could either kill him or risk one of her friends getting hurt. She had chosen them, and the mouse supposed that he should be happy about that, but he could not reconcile himself with the idea that they had gained from the boy’s death. Something about that just made him feel all un-fuzzy inside, and it kept him awake; even in the dead of night, after being up and going for almost twenty-four hours.
The image danced around his brain—Samus’ flak cannon destroying the transforming boy—and so he kept his eyes open, staring at the stalactites on the ceiling. Cold water dripped occasionally from them, mostly missing the mouse, but occasionally plopping down on him. At one point, a little droplet fell directly on his perfectly round, black nose, and his face scrunched up upon impact. He heard Erza’s familiar laugh from a few yards away.
He sat up abruptly, seeing the red-haired girl leaning against one of the cave walls not too far away from him. Glancing around her, he saw Samus still sitting at the entrance to the cave, eyes focused on the darkness outside. Her orange suit glistened just a bit in the moonlight, though otherwise it had grown nearly impossible to see anything outside the cave. Mickey wondered, briefly, why Erza had left the watch, but she answered before he could ask. “Just checking on you guys,” she said, smiling at her little mouse buddy. Mickey smiled back—of everyone here in this damp cavern, he knew he could count Erza as a friend. The pair had been through almost everything in this gosh-awful game together, so even after a day, he trusted her with his life.
“You feeling okay?” the red-haired girl asked, her armor clinking as she walked over to the mouse. As she passed each of them, she spared a glance for Harry and the Pepsiman. They seemed nicely at rest. “I saw your face when that boy died,” Erza noted, squatting down next to her little friend. Mickey averted his glance, slightly ashamed.
“It’s…” he started, but he couldn’t figure out how to say it without sounding extremely stupid. He knew there should be no time for remorse or conscience in a game like this, but he just couldn’t help it. Back where he came from, death was not something one had to deal with regularly. Time in the Disney Realms was… relative, to say the least. “…it’s just sad, that’s all,” he finished his thought, and immediately regretted it. How stupid that had to sound—him being sad about the pink-haired boy’s death. Heck, it had been necessary.
…hadn’t it?
“I know it’s sad, Mickey,” Erza agreed, and the King could tell by her face that she agreed very much with him. Nobody in this group liked death, he supposed, though perhaps Samus and Harry were more comfortable with the idea of killing in times of necessity than he or even Erza was. “No use dwelling on it, though,” she continued, although Mickey didn’t know if she was talking to him or to herself, “after all, if we keep thinking about it, we’ll never stop.” Mickey supposed that she was right—if he kept the pink-haired boy or the red spandex-clad man in his mind, then he knew he would probably go crazy before this game ended. And with so much on the line, he had no time for insanity.
Erza smiled a simple smile, and nodded to Mickey, reaching out and touching his shoulder gently. Mickey reached up and touched her hand with his own gloved one, and smiled back at her. Their smiles were sad ones, but they knew that they had to keep on pushing. They had come so far, there was no way they could back down now. This game would not beat them, not for one second.
The armor-clad girl headed back for her post. Mickey was about to lay back down once again, to try and fall asleep, when suddenly he heard a rustling over where Pepsiman lay.
“Unnnnnnghhhh,” the man groaned, and the mouse slowly got up from where he sat and headed over to where their new ally writhed in pain. His wounds had been patched up by the medkit, but the pain still coursed throughout his spandex-clad boy. He groaned a few more times, and Mickey Mouse placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.
“Shh, pal,” the mouse soothed the Pepsiman, trying his best to quiet the man’s groaning. A quick glance at the door showed Erza and Samus had noticed the noise. “I’ve got him, you keep watching,” the mouse loudly whispered, waving them off. After holding the glance for just a second, the two women turned back to their post, and Mickey turned back to their new buddy. “Hey, guy, how ya feeling?”
“Unnnnngh… refreshed,” he started, rubbing the spot on his abdomen where he had been slashed, “…but also not refreshed. Can’t… sleep…”
Mickey nodded. “Me neither, pal,” he giggled. “Me neither.”
The Pepsiman looked up at him. “Would you like some… cool, refreshing Pepsi to help you get to sleep?” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh a little bit—he didn’t know much about this “Pepsi,” but if it was anything like that green elixir Samus had consumed earlier, he doubted it would help him sleep; he figured, if anything, it would just make him more awake. The Pepsiman, however, did not see the humor in the situation, and continued to stare at his ally (and, Mickey supposed, potential customer in his mind).
The mouse sighed. “Nah, we’ve got enough water dropping from the ceiling, I think I’ll stay nice and not thirsty.” He grinned at the Pepsiman, who almost seemed disappointed. The mouse leaned his head back, opening his mouth as another little droplet of cave water fell off the stalactites above. Below him, the Pepsiman struggled to lift up a hand, and wave his fingers around for a second. When the droplet of water hit his tongue, it fizzed a bit—and tasted nothing like water. Mickey’s eyes fell down to the man in blue spandex.
“…did you just turn that water into Pepsi?” he asked incredulously.
“Absolutely,” the Pepsiman nodded weakly, “how else would Pepsiman’s new friend get replenished?”
Harry seemed to slip into slumber rather easily, but all the mouse could only lay there, wrapped in his worries. The medical supplies—and, he guessed, the Diet Mountain Dew—had put them squarely back on their feet, but something still tugged at the back of his mind. It’s been twenty-four hours and now twenty percent of you are dead. Mickey had trouble with that; they had survived for a whole day, but at the expense of so many other people. And now, he knew, one of their fellow competitors’ blood had stained their hands.
That poor, poor pink-haired boy; they had come upon him, and he had been so terrified of them and their big guns that he had lashed out at them. Samus had been left with no choice, he supposed; at that point, she could either kill him or risk one of her friends getting hurt. She had chosen them, and the mouse supposed that he should be happy about that, but he could not reconcile himself with the idea that they had gained from the boy’s death. Something about that just made him feel all un-fuzzy inside, and it kept him awake; even in the dead of night, after being up and going for almost twenty-four hours.
The image danced around his brain—Samus’ flak cannon destroying the transforming boy—and so he kept his eyes open, staring at the stalactites on the ceiling. Cold water dripped occasionally from them, mostly missing the mouse, but occasionally plopping down on him. At one point, a little droplet fell directly on his perfectly round, black nose, and his face scrunched up upon impact. He heard Erza’s familiar laugh from a few yards away.
He sat up abruptly, seeing the red-haired girl leaning against one of the cave walls not too far away from him. Glancing around her, he saw Samus still sitting at the entrance to the cave, eyes focused on the darkness outside. Her orange suit glistened just a bit in the moonlight, though otherwise it had grown nearly impossible to see anything outside the cave. Mickey wondered, briefly, why Erza had left the watch, but she answered before he could ask. “Just checking on you guys,” she said, smiling at her little mouse buddy. Mickey smiled back—of everyone here in this damp cavern, he knew he could count Erza as a friend. The pair had been through almost everything in this gosh-awful game together, so even after a day, he trusted her with his life.
“You feeling okay?” the red-haired girl asked, her armor clinking as she walked over to the mouse. As she passed each of them, she spared a glance for Harry and the Pepsiman. They seemed nicely at rest. “I saw your face when that boy died,” Erza noted, squatting down next to her little friend. Mickey averted his glance, slightly ashamed.
“It’s…” he started, but he couldn’t figure out how to say it without sounding extremely stupid. He knew there should be no time for remorse or conscience in a game like this, but he just couldn’t help it. Back where he came from, death was not something one had to deal with regularly. Time in the Disney Realms was… relative, to say the least. “…it’s just sad, that’s all,” he finished his thought, and immediately regretted it. How stupid that had to sound—him being sad about the pink-haired boy’s death. Heck, it had been necessary.
…hadn’t it?
“I know it’s sad, Mickey,” Erza agreed, and the King could tell by her face that she agreed very much with him. Nobody in this group liked death, he supposed, though perhaps Samus and Harry were more comfortable with the idea of killing in times of necessity than he or even Erza was. “No use dwelling on it, though,” she continued, although Mickey didn’t know if she was talking to him or to herself, “after all, if we keep thinking about it, we’ll never stop.” Mickey supposed that she was right—if he kept the pink-haired boy or the red spandex-clad man in his mind, then he knew he would probably go crazy before this game ended. And with so much on the line, he had no time for insanity.
Erza smiled a simple smile, and nodded to Mickey, reaching out and touching his shoulder gently. Mickey reached up and touched her hand with his own gloved one, and smiled back at her. Their smiles were sad ones, but they knew that they had to keep on pushing. They had come so far, there was no way they could back down now. This game would not beat them, not for one second.
The armor-clad girl headed back for her post. Mickey was about to lay back down once again, to try and fall asleep, when suddenly he heard a rustling over where Pepsiman lay.
“Unnnnnnghhhh,” the man groaned, and the mouse slowly got up from where he sat and headed over to where their new ally writhed in pain. His wounds had been patched up by the medkit, but the pain still coursed throughout his spandex-clad boy. He groaned a few more times, and Mickey Mouse placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.
“Shh, pal,” the mouse soothed the Pepsiman, trying his best to quiet the man’s groaning. A quick glance at the door showed Erza and Samus had noticed the noise. “I’ve got him, you keep watching,” the mouse loudly whispered, waving them off. After holding the glance for just a second, the two women turned back to their post, and Mickey turned back to their new buddy. “Hey, guy, how ya feeling?”
“Unnnnngh… refreshed,” he started, rubbing the spot on his abdomen where he had been slashed, “…but also not refreshed. Can’t… sleep…”
Mickey nodded. “Me neither, pal,” he giggled. “Me neither.”
The Pepsiman looked up at him. “Would you like some… cool, refreshing Pepsi to help you get to sleep?” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh a little bit—he didn’t know much about this “Pepsi,” but if it was anything like that green elixir Samus had consumed earlier, he doubted it would help him sleep; he figured, if anything, it would just make him more awake. The Pepsiman, however, did not see the humor in the situation, and continued to stare at his ally (and, Mickey supposed, potential customer in his mind).
The mouse sighed. “Nah, we’ve got enough water dropping from the ceiling, I think I’ll stay nice and not thirsty.” He grinned at the Pepsiman, who almost seemed disappointed. The mouse leaned his head back, opening his mouth as another little droplet of cave water fell off the stalactites above. Below him, the Pepsiman struggled to lift up a hand, and wave his fingers around for a second. When the droplet of water hit his tongue, it fizzed a bit—and tasted nothing like water. Mickey’s eyes fell down to the man in blue spandex.
“…did you just turn that water into Pepsi?” he asked incredulously.
“Absolutely,” the Pepsiman nodded weakly, “how else would Pepsiman’s new friend get replenished?”
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)