A/N:
Before you get invested in this story, I feel obligated to give you, gentle reader, fair warning of...
What this story is NOT:
1) A point-to-point retelling of SNK cannon-lore.
2) A novelization of any particular video game.
What this story IS:
1) An idea-to-idea retelling of SNK cannon-lore.
2) A collapsing of many SNK franchises into a single continuity with a KOF look and feel.
3) Deeper than what appears on the surface.
Edit (7/15/2014):
Thanks to our efforts, the admins have added King as a selectable character in the search criteria. I added King as soon as I got their email, making this the first recognized King fanfiction on this site! You guys Rock!
—WE.
The Savateuse
Act 1: Act in accordance with time and change.
Dethroned
"Haoh Shou'kouken!"
The woman named King cradled her belly as she lay on the ground. Her diaphragm spasmed in her struggle to regain the wind that was knocked out of her.
What the hell was that?
She forced her eyes open, and her tear-blurred vision came into focus on her opponent that towered over her. All she could make of him was his odd raiment: an orange karate gi.
I've got to get up! Her trembling legs failed her. It was as if her entire nervous system had been short-circuited. The best she could manage was to roll upright onto her knees. She shook the dizziness out of her head. Sounds from the outside world finally started to trickle in.
"... Seven... Eight... Nine... "
She clenched her jaw; a tear rolled down her cheek. I'm sorry, Jean. I failed.
"Winner: Ryo Sakazaki!"
The crowd was in an uproar. King rose to her feet. Though she felt her strength returning, her body still reeled from her attacker's onslaught. The man in the orange gi approached, and she instinctively steeled herself for another attack.
Her vision blurred again, so when she felt something heavy drape over her slight shoulders, she swatted blindly. "ALLEZ VOUS-EN!"
The man in orange hopped back out of range. He raised his arms in a placatory gesture, saying, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were a—"
She stilled upon meeting his gentle gaze, remembering her english. "A what?"
"That you're a girl."
I-I can't believe I lost to this... "Imbécile!" She then gasped, How does he know that I'm a woman?
Her attention then turned to the crowd. The din of their fury was laced with jeers and catcalls. Her eyes followed their many fingers that pointed down to her chest, and her face turned beet red. Her blouse had been torn apart, exposing her deceptively ample breasts stuffed into a bra one cup size too small.
Humiliated, she regarded the thick orange gi top that her opponent had thrown over her unawaress. She drew the fabric in to cover her exposed chest and fled from the makeshift arena. Her heart raced; it's Thailand all over again.
She didn't bother to retrieve her gear, though there wasn't anything worth keeping, and left through the back exit. She found herself in the alley behind the seedy tavern. The door's close dulled the noises inspired by her defeat. She stepped lightly on the damp concrete to minimize the loud clomp of her shoes. The cool night air nipped at the nape of her neck, and she pulled the orange piece of uniform tighter around her body; it was marked heavily with its owner's scent.
King paused when she sensed that she was not alone.
A figure stepped out from the corner of the building where the alley met the side walk. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, he reached into the pocket inside his leather trench coat and retrieved a lighter. He thumbed the flint and lit the fag in his mouth. "So, you were Mr. Big's secret weapon. It looks like all of your secrets have been exposed, yeah?"
"Billy Kane," King greeted in recognition of his British accent. "I thought Geese kept a tighter leash on his lapdogs."
He grinned. "Well, you know how it is with the King of Fighters tourney and all."
"What do you want, Billy?"
"The Boss has always had a keen eye for investment opportunities. He knows that you're the reason that club L'Amor became Big's most profitable front. In fact, it could've gone legit if Big hadn't gotten greedy. If you come over to Howard Connection, you'll work directly under Geese—all above board."
"Thanks, but after I quit working for Big, I adopted a strict no-more-assholes policy."
The native Briton was not impressed. "Too bad you lost to that karate bloke, then. I imagine the prize money would've come in real handy, considering how expensive your brother's treatments are." He took a long protracted drag from his cigarette, saying as he exhaled, "`Ow is Jan doing these days, besides?"
"His name is Jean." King let her arms fall loosely at her sides with her fists clenched, unconcerned about her state of dress. "And don't you talk about him!"
Billy sneered. "Relax. All's I'm saying is, career opportunities like this don't sprout up every day, love." He reached into his coat.
King started to brush past him when her advanced was halted by a thin flash of red; Billy's cudgel had stopped short of smashing her nose. She remained calm and accepted the calling card that was balanced expertly on the end of his crimson colored fighting staff.
"Think about it, yeah?" With a practised flick of his wrist, Billy's cudgel collapsed neatly back into the lining of his coat. He left without further pretense.
It was a long bus ride back to King's apartment in East Southtown. She entered the modest dwelling to find her elderly babysitter reading quietly on the sofa. It was a convenient arrangement: Old Mrs. Cranston lived just down the hall and worked for cheap. She wasn't qualified to handle Jean's special needs, but the medication kept most of his symptoms at bay, and a phone call could be made if his condition flared up. King paid Mrs. Cranston with the last of her cash, noting the old lady's grimace before she left.
King went to the bathroom, tossing her borrowed orange blouse along the way, and examined her face in the mirror. A purple patch of skin started to swell above her left eye. She cleaned herself up and placed one of Jean's fever pads over the bruise.
Having tended to her injuries, she decided to check in on her baby brother. She opened the door to his room, but his bed was empty.
"Jean?"
There was no answer. She checked the other rooms, ending her search in the living room. When she turned on the light, she spied a glint of light reflected from a piece of metal that jutted out from behind the sofa at the far corner of the room.
Stifling a snicker, she noisily sat herself at the other end of the sectional.
King put her face in her hands and pretended to sob. "Oh là là! What am I going to do now that Jean has left me? I want to cry."
"Don't cry, sis." Jean giggled as he came out from behind the sofa "I am here!"
"Jean!" King exclaimed in faux surprise. "Where did you come from?"
"I was hiding, silly." Balancing his arms against the back of the sofa, Jean managed to his feet without the use of his cane.
"You are getting better. I couldn't sense you at all."
"I have learned stealth and patience like a ninja." Jean said with pride. "One day I will become a great fighter like you, big sister."
"That you shall, mon grand. But first you must go to school and become smart like maman and papa."
King offered Jean her arm as they made their way to his bedroom. His leg braces squeaked as he walked; King made a mental note to clean them in the morning. She eased him into bed and helped him remove his braces.
"Sis, I miss maman and papa... It's becoming harder and harder to remember."
"For me too."
"Will you tell me another story about them from when you were my age?"
"Some other time, mon gran. I am tired."
"You look like maman..." Jean smiled as he closed his eyes, recalling a faded memory. "She was pretty, non?"
"Oui." She blushed and kissed his forehead. "Good night."
After tucking Jean in, King went to the wine cupboard and poured herself a generous glass of her favorite Merlot. She sat on the sofa and put her feet up; the worries of tomorrow would have to wait. The sounds of the nine-thirty train clacking along the tracks just outside her window lulled her to sleep.
—oOo—
A loud ringing jolted King out of her peaceful slumber. She reached out blindly for the alarm and knocked over the empty wineglass. Another volley of rings assaulted her ears, and she realized it wasn't the alarm, but the telephone. She sat up and banged her heel on the edge of the coffee table, another reminder that she was in the living room, not the bedroom.
"PUTAIN DE MERDE!" She grabbed the phone. "What do you want?"
There was a brief silence on the other end. "Uh... Ms. King?"
"Yeah?"
"This is Southtown Hospital calling to schedule Jan's surgery."
She blinked. "It's Jean. And I don't understand: I lost the tournament; I don't have the money to pay the doctor."
"The procedure has already been paid in full, ma'am."
"By whom?" King snapped.
"I don't know, ma'am." The receptionist's voice sounded like she was getting annoyed. "So, would you like to schedule a time for the procedure now?"
"I'll call you back."
King hung up the phone and sauntered to the kitchen to investigate the smells of coffee and poached eggs. She was not surprised to find Jean busy at work. King's late night schedule meant that she often did not get up early enough to make breakfast. Therefore, Jean had grown to be self sufficient and got around quite well in spite of his leg braces.
He smiled, being used to King's morning grumpiness. "You slept on the couch again. Your breakfast is getting cold."
"Thank you, mon grand." She came over and kissed the top of his head before pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Have any strangers been by our apartment recently?"
"No, sis."
"Have there been any calls?"
"No, sis."
She fumbled through her wallet and found the crumpled calling card. "Will you be all right by yourself for a few hours?"
"What's wrong?" Jean questioned, sensing the trepidation in his sister's voice.
"Nothing."
"I thought you were off today?"
"Jean, please," King's reply brooked no further discussion. She was definitely not a morning person. "I promise I won't be long."
Jean frowned. "Of course I'll manage. I'm not a baby."