Author's Note: Hello, and welcome to Selah Ex Animo's screwed insights on life! LOL, J/K (by the way, that was a warning... o.O). Anyway, it has always been my personal aspiration to write something serious concerning Roy, Marth and Link, and I believe I have succeeded with this one-shot (though some may argue the overall declaration of seriousness). I hope all peruse it find it enjoyable. : ) Thanks for reading.
- Selah
By Selah Ex Animo
"Heeheehee..."
Roy was giggling already, and neither Marth nor Link knew why. No sorry jokes had been told or sad puns disclosed; no unfortunate persons were discerned to stumble arbitrarily down the stairs or were spotted laughing at something random as if they had no purpose in life. Roy certainly was laughing as if he had no purpose in life. Perhaps he was one of these people.
"Roy, what are you laughing at?" Marth muttered in an irritable tone, as the trio strolled leisurely down the cobblestoned walks of Tourney Village. It was a fine summer's day: the sun was merciful, and the village at its normal bustling pace—no uncomfortable crowds consisting of pinheaded idiots whose only purpose in life was to seriously pique the sane packed the streets; no annoying bands of people shuffling in wide-spread groups, dressed in skin-tight garb, torn shirts or sagging pants hogged the sidewalks. Several of their kind where discerned however. Marth was strongly against these fashions.
"I fail to comprehend why these immodest fools persist in dressing as they do," he was wont to snarl, gesturing violently in the direction of someone clad in this attire. Once it had been at two indecorously dressed young girls. They had noticed his gesticulations, and their faces had broken into wide beams of pleasure and adoration. Marth had begun to rant and the trio turned away, but the girls followed, having interpreted Marth's gesticulations wrongly, and were now stalking them as every loyal fangirl should. "I mean, who in the name of decency would want to have an inclusive view of another's skin?" Marth had continued, oblivious to the horror, as Roy, nervous in these types of situations, had watched the fangirls nervously. "And who would want anyone to have an inclusive view of their skin?"
"Perhaps it's a practise of declaration," Link offered in a wry tone, "an assertion of the wearer's being—'this is who I am; see me for who I am.'"
"Link—!" Marth began, but seeing an alleged truth in the elf's words was forced to pause, contemplate and finally simmer in his anger. A suitable argument might've been, "But what of the wearer's being? Perhaps their garb is not an assertion; an embodiment of their character, rather, something society has forced upon them, and something they have conformed too." But Marth did not know this, simply because it was hot and he had been cogitating in a narrow vein for far too long. Heat made Marth angry. In fact, our friend was easily angered, as things not to his liking infuriated him. He detested dissent, bedlam, and even trivial disorder, and was apt to scream and rant if a dish in the dishwasher was found to be still greasy, or someone believed that green curtains would look far nicer on certain windows, rather than blue, which was Marth's favourite colour. He always carried a small container of aspirin with him, and was never one to fail at seeking out a place where Roy could not find him, so that he could scream and rail against the world in private. Link, unfortunately, always managed to find him, and Marth seriously considered founding a sect against Link's unnatural elfish senses, which were annoying. But Link was kind, and Marth never founded the sect. But now I digress.
We shall return to Marth's earlier inquiry towards Roy, the latter of whom was still giggling. "Roy, I demand to know what you are laughing at," Marth commanded, his tone terse, for he never liked to be left out of a joke. Even a shoddy one.
"Oh... gosh... nothing..." Roy's words were broken, interposed by bursts of "hahahaha". From Link's expression the elf found this amusing. Marth did not.
"There's always a reason Roy," he said threateningly. Roy blanched, but this may have been from his increasing laugher.
"Well... it was just... something... something stupid Zelda—hahahaha—yeah Zelda... something Zelda told me..."
Link grinned, and did eyebrows. Fortunately Roy did not notice.
"She... she said she was reading the newspaper one day... yeah, the newspaper... and then Pikachu walked into the room, and he tripped over some toy the kids left on the floor... and then he... and then he—" here a fit of hysterics interposed— "he picked up the doll, and he was screaming and swearing... and he was gonna throw it... and then the body came off, 'cause someone loosened it... and he was like 'AAAGH!!!', and he threw the head... ha-ha-ha... and then Zelda was like, 'Remember what your doctor said Pikachu: 'In order to keep your blood pressure down you must abstain from anger and violence.' And then Pikachu was like... he was like... 'The doctor... the doctor don't know—AH-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Unable to finish the account, Roy stopped walking, and leaned against a stairway rail for support, still in hysterics. Tears were leaking from his scrunched up eyes, and Marth turned to Link sorrowfully, pretending not the notice the unnaturally wide grin on the elf's face.
"It's so sad it's funny," he muttered, then frowning, turned aside. "No, scratch that—it's not even funny." He glanced toward a building beside them. "Look, there's that tavern reconstruction I told you two about. Let's go in; it's sweltering out here."
"Far from it," said Link languidly, and they entered the "tavern".
It was dark in the restaurant, and the staff ran about the place in period costumes. The three went up to the desk. Roy had stopped laughing, but continued to wipe tears of merriment from his eyes in such a way that the casual observer might think he had been crying. Marth looked at him darkly.
"A table for three," he said to the lady at the desk.
She smiled shyly at him, and self-consciously straightened her skirt. "Three?" she murmured, and scooped up several menus. "This way please."
They followed her at a demure pace toward an empty table by the window, and here she laid out the menus and stood back with a bashful air. Roy slid wildly into a seat, and due to his lack of self-control continued to slide and crashed into the next one; Marth sat ceremoniously, and pretended he did not know Roy, and Link sat like a regular person for, in the light of Roy's lack of discipline and Marth's rigid manner, he was one. Seeing as they were seated, the girl smiled diffidently and moved away.
"Roy, do us a favour and act like a normal person," said Marth coldly.
"I am acting like a normal person!" the red-haired swordsman protested.
"Yeah, like a normal person on perpetual sugar-high," muttered Link, and Marth smiled in ruthless triumph. Roy "hmped", and managed to simultaneously knock the salt and pepper shakers over by unknown means. Marth's hand went for the aspirin.
"Look at all the cool drinks they have!" Roy cried after a while, ignoring the fallen shakers and staring down at his menu. "Soave, Mount Rose, Rochelle—"
"Wrong page Roy," said Link patiently, and calmly turned from the wine list, like a unwearied parent directing their child in the path of righteousness. Roy needed an unfathomable amount of direction.
"Oh," said Roy, and scanned the other available drinks. "Hey, cool, they've got ale, cider, chocolate, coffee—ooh, me like coffee—and... hey! Look Link!" He pointed. "They're bashing milk!"
Link frowned (this perhaps being his most violent portrayal of emotion), and leaned over to look. "'May cause head aches, sore eyes and rheum,'" he read aloud, and pulled back looking aghast. "Now that—!" he began vehemently, then consulted his own menu. "'Just pulling your leg!'" he continued. "'This was a common conception in the Middle Ages, and we thought it would be amusing to include this in our menu.'" He set down the menu, his frown deepening. "That's not particularly amusing," he murmured, looking with a serious air out the window. Roy grinned.
"Yeah, it can hard to see the staple product in your girlfriend's business bashed," he said in a sly tone. Link glared at him.
"Roy..." he said warningly. Roy merely laughed.
Their waitress finally arrived. She was a big, buxom woman, with a sonorous tone of voice and a deep, rumbling laugh. Her drawstring top was stretched over an ample bosom, her skirt gathered at the waist, and tucked into a wide leather belt. She wore her hair up.
"Mornin' me lads!" she said, setting a basket of meslin biscuits on the table and beaming around at them all. "I'll be yer waitress for today—Janet is the name; don' wear it out. Canna get ch'you anything to drink?"
"Oh yeah!" said Roy jubilantly, and indicated his menu with an emphatic movement. "Coffee, if you please!" She nodded, and wrote it down.
"Anythin' else?" she asked.
"I'll have a glass of milk," said Link.
"And I'll have some mead," Marth concluded. Janet nodded again.
"All righty then," she said, and with another grand smile, left the table. Roy promptly made a grab for a biscuit, hit the basket and sent it skidding off the table into Marth's lap. Marth looked at him for a long, long time.
"Sorry," Roy muttered, and found interest in the polished wood surface of the table. He glanced up at Marth after few seconds. "Can I have a biscuit now?"
Marth, with ceremonious rigidity, set the basket back on the table. He brought out the little container of aspirin.
Roy ignored this gesture and grabbed a biscuit, saturating it in an almost unseemly amount of butter in one, simultaneous movement. Link watched him with dry amusement.
"How do you do it Roy?" he murmured. "Kirby should take lessons from you."
"What do you mean?" Roy said through a mouthful of bread. "Kirby's a master—I should be taking lessons from him." He licked his fingers, and looked appreciatively at the packet of butter. "Thank God, this one's real," he said. "And it's good too." He licked off the butter still coating his knife. Marth's countenance went slightly green.
"Didn't they ever teach you manners at home Roy?" Link asked, his eyes rolled heavenward. Roy grinned.
"Mmm, not really," he said, and applied another heap of butter to a second biscuit. "Phaere's court is sorta wild, and the one at Ostia, when the professors aren't around, can be too." He glanced at Marth. "Martha here would find it unbearable, wouldn't you Marthie? You'd probably resort to homicide to restore order..."
"I would not resort to homicide to restore any type of order Roy," said Marth tersely. "And I will not tolerate any of your abominable Marth/Martha jokes." Roy shrugged.
"Whatever you say Martha," he murmured, and crammed the biscuit into his mouth. Marth gritted his teeth, in the vain hope of suppressing his outrage, and began to unscrew the cap of the aspirin bottle.
"Here're yer drinks me laddies," the waitress called out suddenly, sweeping over to them and depositing three monstrous tankards upon the table. "Here's your mead... and your coffee... and here's your milk." She sorted the drinks out accordingly, then stood back, as if to admire some grand masterpiece. "Canna take your order now?"
"Not just yet," said Link, and picked up his menu.
"Excuse me, but could I have a glass of water?" interposed Marth suddenly. She nodded.
"I'll go get it. And I'll come back when yer ready order," she said and went off. Roy abruptly began to giggle.
"For God's sake, now what?" snapped Marth.
"Who... whoever heard of coffee in a tankard? Hahaha... coffee in a tankard... ahhahahaha...!" Roy's head sank onto the table, and he laughed as if this discovery where a highly amusing thing. They heard him murmur, "Heeheehee, big coffee..."
"Sometimes I wish I could just slap him down," Marth muttered through gritted teeth. Link grinned.
"No one's stopping you," he said, and Marth took this into consideration. Yes, it was possible...
The waitress returned, and gave Marth his water. Roy was guzzling his coffee. The former watched him with disapproval.
"Really, he acts as if his coffee has been inundated with a strong helping of liqueur," Marth muttered to Link. "Is he inebriated, or this just his nature?"
"I would assume it's the latter," Link rejoined wryly. "If you will recall, he's always been a bit hectic."
"It must be due to the fact he's a pyromaniac," Marth muttered, and sipped his mead darkly. "Fire is a chaotic thing, with no sense of order, and his being infused with it might cause him to display similar erratic behaviours."
"Look who's getting philosophical," said Link, grinning, and Marth glared at him.
"I'm not a pyromaniac," said Roy in a whiny, protesting tone. "I just like fire, and can do stuff with it, that's all." He muttered this final phrase into his cup, and swallowed down some more liquid.
"Speaking of which," said Link, as he lazily flipped through his menu, "are either of you scheduled for any fights this week?"
"No," said Marth, but Roy nodded his head.
"Yeah, I've got a battle coming up this week—Wednesday—against Jigglypuff and Kirby."
"They're still classing you with the little pink puffballs are they?" said Link wryly. Roy made a face.
"It's not that funny when your actually out there on the battlefield," he said, turning to gaze gloomily out the window. "Kirby is a monster—he fights like those computerized nines—and Jigglypuff can be a bit difficult to avoid, especially when your falling, and she's below you singing. And then you fall asleep and Kirby finishes the job..." He drifted off with a grimace. "My bruises from the last fight I had with Kirby are still visible," he murmured, then grinned suddenly. "But Jigglypuff isn't the world's wisest Pokemon—it's hilarious to watch her standing at the other side of the stage, singing as if that's gonna do something, and all the action is fifty years removed from her." The grin suddenly left his face. "But then you've got Kirby storming down from behind you like Armageddon's come..." He fell silent. Marth looked overjoyed.
"But you still have your fire power," Link said in a prompting tone. Roy lit up.
"Oh yeah," he said, then added dreamily, "if I could just get away from them for a few seconds, so that I could charge up my Flare Blade move, then I could at least send Jigglypuff flying."
"Why not Kirby?"
"Oh... he'd have done some complicated move or gotten out of the way already." Link chuckled.
"Look on the bright side," he said. "Next week Master Hand categorizes us by our fighting prowess again—just think, you do your best in your next fight and you just might move up a notch—intermediate."
Marth looked horrified. "Intermediate?" he asked. "But the means he'll be practising with us."
"Yes Marth," said Link calmly. Roy glared at the blue-haired prince.
"What's wrong with that?" he asked indignantly. Marth ignored him.
"Zelda said she doesn't think she'll be moving up," Link murmured. "She hasn't been feeling too well this quarter, and had a to forfeit a few fights." He grimaced. "And when she did fight..."
"One might've mistaken Jigglypuff to be a computerized nine, the way Zelda lost to her last week," said Marth complacently.
"Zelda's an intermediate?" asked Roy.
"Yes."
Roy smiled, and took a swig of coffee.
"Samus might be moving up to Master," said Link, going back to his menu. "She's already excelled in Advanced." Marth muttered incomprehensibly.
"What did you say?"
Marth scowled. "Nothing."
"Martha's still angry at his tremendous defeat at the hands of Samus," said Roy cheerfully, and giggled. Link grinned.
"You hush up," said Marth, indicating Roy with a scowl. Roy grinned.
"By the way, what is that your drinking?" he asked.
Marth glanced down at his cup. "Mead," he said loftily.
"Can I try some?"
"You don't have a cup."
"I do!" cried Roy indignantly, "and its empty too. Can I try some please?"
Marth heaved great sigh. "All right, but only a little," he said, and poured a few drops into Roy's outstretched mug. Roy glanced down at it, frowned, then looked back at Marth.
"Can I try some please?" he repeated, holding out his cup. Marth groaned. He obligingly poured in an ample amount, and Roy went to imbibing it cheerfully. After the first gulp he suddenly choked, slamming his tankard on the table and pounding at his chest with a fist. The few people patronising the tavern glanced over at their table, much to Marth's infinite mortification.
"What in the name of Altea is wrong with you Roy?" he hissed, and glanced nervously at an elderly couple watching them in suspicion.
"Good God this is sweet!" Roy gasped.
"Of course it's sweet: it's fermented honey!" Marth snapped. "What did you expect?" Roy looked at him weakly.
"Your honey obsession has gone way too far Martha," he said, straightening, then promptly throwing himself against the back of his chair. "Way too far. You're drinking fermented honey? By Phaere that needs help..."
"Well for a while there you were drinking fermented honey," growled Marth. "You didn't have to make a scene."
"But I was dying!" ejaculated Roy loudly. Link found interest in his menu, and Marth's hand went for the glass of water. An aspirin was discerned to appear in the other.
"Aw, take your stupid aspirin," said Roy snidely, "I don't care."
"And I don't care that you don't care," snarled Marth. He took it. Roy haughtily turned away, and commenced to peruse his menu. Marth did too, after a while.
Their waitress came back, and the trio ordered their meals. All three had steak (though Marth insisted his be filet mignon), and two of them ordered a mix of greens on the side. Marth got a salad.
"I hope the service is prompt," he said, picking at his nails. "I'm famished." He was speaking carefully, and avoiding Roy's eye. Roy was self-important.
"Yeah... I hope it comes quickly too," said Link, fiddling with his tankard. "Milk isn't enough to sustain me."
Their food came finally, and Janet inquired if they wanted anything else. Marth said no, answering for all, and she left them with a satisfied nod, and went to wait on the elderly couple. The boys prayed, then dug in, and silence reigned at their table. Roy was becoming bored with the hush, and as he ate played with the salt and pepper shakers. Marth glanced at him disapprovingly, then said abruptly, "Roy, could you please pass me the salt?"
His plan was to salvage the shakers from Roy's childish amusement.
Roy looked up with a grin. "Here you go," he said, and passed the salt. Marth stared at it.
"You're supposed to pass the pepper too," he said slowly.
"But you asked for the salt!" said Roy cheerfully. Link was grinning.
"True, but proper manners require that both shakers be passed," said Marth stiffly.
Roy beamed—he was hard put to continue in an aloof manner, despite disagreements or ire. "To the rats with proper manners!" he cried.
"Roy, this is a breach on manners," Marth rejoined, and struggled with a smile. Roy's joviality was unfortunately infectious.
Roy considered. "Who cares?" he said, then put the pepper under the table. "Tell you what? I'll give you the pepper if you'll be my friend again and stop taking aspirin." He held out a hand over the table.
"This is rather reminiscent of Barney," Marth muttered.
"I don't remember aspirin on Barney," Link replied. Marth rolled his eyes.
"Sure, I'll be your friend again, but I won't stop taking my aspirin," he said, directing his words at Roy. "And you must promise to stop making scenes that will embarrass me."
"It this my deal or what?" asked Roy, confused.
"Never mind," said Marth, and shook the other's hand. Roy beamed.
"Goodie, now we're friends again!" he cried. "Here's the pepper. Catch!"
He tossed the pepper into the air, and Marth wondered why he even tried to subdue the boy's erratic behaviour. The shaker collided violently with Marth's head, fell to the ground and rolled away from them. The elderly couple snapped around, and glared hatefully at the three.
Link was laughing. Roy began to apologise ("Oh God Marth, I didn't mean that! I'm so sorry...") and Marth groped blindly for his aspirin, muttering. His inner conscience was yelling at him, asking how in the world he could have allowed such a thing to happen, but deeper down, in the recesses of his mind, he knew he wasn't offended. Yes, Roy's inconsistency, wildness and collective raison d'être was confoundedly annoying, but it was all for the greater good. The world needs a little chaos. Or else, we'd hate order.
The End
Additional A/N: ::Sigh:: I've been reading far too much George Eliot. Anyway, like it? Hate it? Tell me! As Dr. Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) once said, "I'd rather be attacked than unnoticed. For the worst thing you can do to an author is to be silent as to his (or her) works." So review away! I'll try and return the favour.
- Selah