02-08-2016, 09:25 AM
Some people had no sense of gratitude whatsoever.
“Listen, if you don’t want to listen to Teucer’s advice, that’s on you, pal,” Mickey huffed, watching helplessly as Belle stomped away from him. His insistence on her donning armor of the kind Play, Boy suggested clearly perturbed her. But Mickey remained resilient—if they wanted to defeat the big bad guys and get the spirit’s relics back before everyone else, they had to listen to his advice, right?
“Mickey, she’s not wearing anything!” Belle screeched at him, spinning back to look at him. Her face had now flushed completely red. “Jesus Christ. Mickey Mouse is telling me to strip down right now. Who’d have thought?”
Clearly bewildered, the girl stared the mouse down for a few moments. She waited for Mickey to form a response, though the former King knew that practically nothing he could say would be enough to convince her to follow his advice. Play, Boy had taught him that; there were plenty of segments describing the stubborn, impossible demeanors of human women in general.
The mouse had experienced this quite a bit, actually. Throughout his travels with Erza in Dante’s Abyss, he had come to know two sides of her: the side that was his friend, and another side that even he, in all his expertise with angry women, couldn’t contend with. Minnie Mouse could whip herself into a rage, but it paled in comparison to the valiant fury that Erza could muster up at any moment. Certainly, it had helped them in the competition, but Mickey had always been wary that he would be on the receiving end—and how unfortunate would that have been for the tiny, unsuspecting mouse?
Now, he feared the same was about to happen with Belle. She had already released her fury on that dumb-looking guy after he’d shot her. What terror could she have in store for the former King, if he happened to awaken the monster within her like their extremely-overdressed opponent had managed to so quickly?
Finally, she sighed and stomped back over to where he stood, confusedly flipping through the pages of his survival guide.
“Mickey,” she started, “Mickey, look, gimme that—”
“No,” he protested, unusually attached to the book, “It’s mine. Teucer gave it to me! He gave you that pink metal thingy!” Mickey hugged the tome tightly to his chest, turning away from his new companion.
Her cheeks began to redden again, but this time the mouse suspected it wasn’t because of embarrassment (though that reaction had puzzled him anyway) and instead because of fury. She reached for the magazine and managed to grab ahold of it, and before seconds, the two strange-looking pals had begun quite the violent match of tug-of-war over it.
“Give it to me!”
“No, it’s mine!”
“Mickey, I SWEAR TO GOD—”
Riiiiiip!
“Ooof!”
The mouse’s butt landed squarely on the grass. Just a few feet away, Belle also lay sprawled on the ground, her hand clutching a crumpled up page of Play, Boy that she had managed to accidentally rip out. Mickey’s fur grew hot. Now, it was his turn to get angry.
“You tore a page out!” he squealed, lunging for it and snatching it from her pale hand. He quickly unfurled it and began to scan the words to see if it was essential.
Meanwhile, Belle groaned in agony. “Owwww,” she exhaled. The tug-of-war had done a number on her injured arm, opening the wound up again ever so slightly. For the briefest moment, Mickey considered not helping her since she’d been so rude as to try and take his gift away from him. Then, he remembered who the heck he was.
“Lemme see,” the mouse surrendered, straightening out the torn page and making his way over to the redhead. “Lucky you, the page you ripped out has instructions for this exact situation.” He said this with a degree of righteousness in his squeaky little voice. Belle scrunched her brow.
“…it does?” she replied, incredulously.
“Yep,” he smirked. He snuggled up next to his new friend, gently grabbing her arm and laying it across his lap. “Okay,” he breathed, glancing over at Play, Boy, “…gently lubricate the opening…”
“Ughhhh.”
“Listen, if you don’t want to listen to Teucer’s advice, that’s on you, pal,” Mickey huffed, watching helplessly as Belle stomped away from him. His insistence on her donning armor of the kind Play, Boy suggested clearly perturbed her. But Mickey remained resilient—if they wanted to defeat the big bad guys and get the spirit’s relics back before everyone else, they had to listen to his advice, right?
“Mickey, she’s not wearing anything!” Belle screeched at him, spinning back to look at him. Her face had now flushed completely red. “Jesus Christ. Mickey Mouse is telling me to strip down right now. Who’d have thought?”
Clearly bewildered, the girl stared the mouse down for a few moments. She waited for Mickey to form a response, though the former King knew that practically nothing he could say would be enough to convince her to follow his advice. Play, Boy had taught him that; there were plenty of segments describing the stubborn, impossible demeanors of human women in general.
The mouse had experienced this quite a bit, actually. Throughout his travels with Erza in Dante’s Abyss, he had come to know two sides of her: the side that was his friend, and another side that even he, in all his expertise with angry women, couldn’t contend with. Minnie Mouse could whip herself into a rage, but it paled in comparison to the valiant fury that Erza could muster up at any moment. Certainly, it had helped them in the competition, but Mickey had always been wary that he would be on the receiving end—and how unfortunate would that have been for the tiny, unsuspecting mouse?
Now, he feared the same was about to happen with Belle. She had already released her fury on that dumb-looking guy after he’d shot her. What terror could she have in store for the former King, if he happened to awaken the monster within her like their extremely-overdressed opponent had managed to so quickly?
Finally, she sighed and stomped back over to where he stood, confusedly flipping through the pages of his survival guide.
“Mickey,” she started, “Mickey, look, gimme that—”
“No,” he protested, unusually attached to the book, “It’s mine. Teucer gave it to me! He gave you that pink metal thingy!” Mickey hugged the tome tightly to his chest, turning away from his new companion.
Her cheeks began to redden again, but this time the mouse suspected it wasn’t because of embarrassment (though that reaction had puzzled him anyway) and instead because of fury. She reached for the magazine and managed to grab ahold of it, and before seconds, the two strange-looking pals had begun quite the violent match of tug-of-war over it.
“Give it to me!”
“No, it’s mine!”
“Mickey, I SWEAR TO GOD—”
Riiiiiip!
“Ooof!”
The mouse’s butt landed squarely on the grass. Just a few feet away, Belle also lay sprawled on the ground, her hand clutching a crumpled up page of Play, Boy that she had managed to accidentally rip out. Mickey’s fur grew hot. Now, it was his turn to get angry.
“You tore a page out!” he squealed, lunging for it and snatching it from her pale hand. He quickly unfurled it and began to scan the words to see if it was essential.
Meanwhile, Belle groaned in agony. “Owwww,” she exhaled. The tug-of-war had done a number on her injured arm, opening the wound up again ever so slightly. For the briefest moment, Mickey considered not helping her since she’d been so rude as to try and take his gift away from him. Then, he remembered who the heck he was.
“Lemme see,” the mouse surrendered, straightening out the torn page and making his way over to the redhead. “Lucky you, the page you ripped out has instructions for this exact situation.” He said this with a degree of righteousness in his squeaky little voice. Belle scrunched her brow.
“…it does?” she replied, incredulously.
“Yep,” he smirked. He snuggled up next to his new friend, gently grabbing her arm and laying it across his lap. “Okay,” he breathed, glancing over at Play, Boy, “…gently lubricate the opening…”
“Ughhhh.”
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)