A/N: This story is very different from my Star Fox work, which tends to lean towards the dramatic side of things. This, however, was written solely for the purpose of amusement. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.
Rated T for alcohol, crude humor, and...Snake.
Beer Run
A Super Smash Bros. one-shot by K.S. Reynard
In one of the many hallways of the well-appointed Smash Mansion, Ike could be found outside his room's door, digging through his pockets for his room key while attempting to balance the two large extra-cheese pizzas that he held with his other hand. Fighting through the numerous coins and trinkets within his cloak's right pocket, he eventually managed to locate the glorified plastic card that passed as a Smash Mansion room key. After sliding it into his door slot with a quick grunt of frustration, the lock clicked open, allowing him to enter his suite.
He quickly flipped on the room's lights, revealing the nondescript suite that was designed to be exactly the same as the others in the mansion. His greatsword Ragnell was carefully balanced on two wall mounts on the left side of the room directly above his couch, which faced the flatscreen television on the other side of the room. At the moment, he was alone in his room; but within minutes, his guests would be arriving. Hopefully, they hadn't forgotten to bring the prerequisites for the party-of-sorts that he had proposed.
The quarterfinals for the yearly Smash Bros. tournament had begun, and more than four different matches had been scheduled for tonight. Ike had already completed his match and advanced to the semifinal round by handily defeating Lucas in a one-on-one match the night before. With the semifinals still a week away, all that he could do was train for the upcoming matches and relax.
After becoming indescribably bored by the lack of activity after his quarterfinal victory, he had tracked down three other smashers and invited them to an informal 'Smash Tournament Party' held in his suite. Two of his guests were scheduled to compete in tomorrow night's matches, but they had still agreed to participate in Ike's friendly get-together despite the fact that it was probably a terrible idea for them to do so.
While he waited for his first guest to arrive, Ike placed the pizza boxes on the kitchen counter and set to work preparing napkins and paper plates for his visitors. Just as he had finished setting everything out, a solid 'clunk' could be heard at the door along with an irritated grunt, which was quickly followed by an angry series of knocks on Ike's door.
"Snake," Ike thought to himself as he walked to the door and opened it for the soldier, who was carrying two bags of nachos and three different kinds of dipping sauces for them. Upon entering the kitchen, Snake lost control of one of the salsa jars. It plummeted towards the brilliant, white tile in the kitchen; but before it could hit the ground and leave a nasty stain for the Smash Mansion's housekeeping crew to clean up, Ike deftly reached down and caught it before placing it on the counter next to the pizza boxes.
"Thanks," Snake growled, setting his nachos down on the counter alongside their accompanying dipping sauces.
"No problem. Glad you could make it," Ike replied, placing a stack of paper plates next to the pizza boxes while leaving room for the two remaining party staples that had yet to arrive. After briefly surveying Ike's suite, Snake turned to face his host and asked, "So, who else did you invite?"
While positioning two open boxes of plastic cutlery next to the paper plate stack, Ike answered, "Wolf and Captain Falcon." The mention of the F-Zero racer's name immediately brought a look of disgust to Snake's goateed face.
"Oh great," Snake snapped, "You invited him?"
"Well, yeah," Ike nonchalantly replied. "What? Is there something you don't like about him?"
"No self-respecting man should ever wear tights like his," he snarled in response. "It makes him look like he's compensating for something."
Momentarily, Ike cracked a slight smile in response to Snake's comment. However, within seconds, his face returned to its normal state. "Really, Snake," he retorted, "Come on—look at yourself! How is what you're wearing different from what he's wearing?"
Matter-of-factly, Snake barked, "My stealth suit has a function, unlike his stupid leotard—unless you call trying to look like an out-of-work superhero a function."
Ike was about to fire back with a comment defending Captain Falcon when a harsh knock came at the door. "I'll get it," he said, walking to the door and opening it for his second guest, who was none other than Wolf O'Donnell. He held two boxes of buffalo wings under his left arm, and the powerful smell immediately began to waft through the kitchen as he stepped into Ike's suite and set the boxes down next to Snake's nachos and dip.
Wasting no time in voicing a question that was very pertinent to him, Wolf asked, "Where's the beer?"
"Captain Falcon's bringing it," Ike replied.
The answer was good enough for Wolf, who had only decided to come to Ike's informal party after he had been promised at least two bottles of his favorite kind of beverage. Admiring the sizeable amount of food that had already been brought in, Wolf walked into the living room and flopped down on the couch across from the TV. From the kitchen, Ike yelled, "Let me turn that on for you."
Being the good host that he was, Ike quickly sprinted from the kitchen into the nearby living room and powered on the TV, bringing up the pre-game show for the upcoming match between Kirby and Bowser. Casually observing the screen from the edge of the kitchen, Snake commented, "That pink marshmallow's going to get toasted."
"I don't know, Snake," Ike replied. "That vacuum move he has seems to have a way of getting into his opponents' heads."
Snake became eerily quiet as he recalled his last match with Kirby, in which the "pink marshmallow" inhaled him and then proceeded to hurl grenades at him after stealing his ability. That match was a memory that he quickly wished to forget.
While Wolf took in his surroundings, Snake and Ike once again began to squabble over Captain Falcon's racing suit, with Snake repeatedly insulting the Captain's choice of apparel as 'ridiculous' and 'f***ing retarded' while Ike continued to defend his wardrobe as being 'colorful' and 'unique.'
The silence was soon broken by a muffled sound outside the door.
"Falcon Kick!"
In a flash of fire in the shape of a hawk's head, Captain Falcon burst through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges with the fury of his powerful Falcon Kick. He finished his attack on Ike's door by landing in a crouch with his right arm fully extended and his fingers repeatedly curling back towards him. This motion was accompanied by the short catchphrase "Come on!"
Snake sneered in disgust and folded his arms, looking elsewhere in the room to avoid having to gaze upon the figure of Captain Falcon.
"Glad you could make it, Captain," Ike warmly said, greeting the racer with a firm handshake.
"My pleasure," Captain Falcon replied, taking stock of the food items that were neatly set up on the counter in front of Ike's kitchen sink. "This is going to be great," he thought to himself. Ever the optimist, Captain Falcon's upbeat persona was the polar opposite of Snake's surly, irritated demeanor.
However, Captain Falcon's lighthearted mood was about to be completely and utterly demolished.
Having noticed Captain Falcon's entry (of course, it would have been truly impossible to miss, even from the next room), Wolf shot up from his seat with a twinkle in his eye and walked towards the kitchen, where he expected to find at least two packs of beer bottles. However, the last remaining empty spot on the countertop was still unoccupied. Captain Falcon had forgotten the beer, and Wolf was not pleased. Not in the least.
"Where's the beer?" Wolf grunted, obviously irritated by Captain Falcon's snafu.
"What? Beer? I thought Snake was supposed to get that!" the racer nervously exclaimed, raising his hands in self-defense as if he was about to be attacked for his forgetfulness.
"No, dumbass," Snake snapped. "That was your job."
Captain Falcon looked to Ike for sympathy, but he immediately realized that he would get none from him. "Come on, Captain," said Ike, "Admit it—you forgot. It's fine; we all do it."
In the background, Snake could faintly be heard muttering, "Yeah, sure we do. Idiot."
Ignoring Snake, Ike continued, "The matches don't start for another fifteen minutes. If you hurry, you might be able to make it to the mini-mart and come back with the beer in time for the start."
"Okay, I'll be right back," Captain Falcon replied, turning on his heel and preparing to sprint out the door, which was still open following the overzealous Falcon Kick that he had performed on it. However, before he could leave, Wolf spoke up and said, "Hey—get me a pack of beef jerky while you're out."
Falcon made no reply. In the blink of an eye, he dashed out of Ike's suite and rapidly initiated his exit from the building.
Closing the door and sighing with relief when it clicked shut (meaning that Captain Falcon hadn't broken it), Ike muttered, "I didn't get any sleep until three last night; and this isn't helping anything."
"Loud neighbors?" Wolf grunted in reply.
"Yeah," Ike wearily answered, "Whoever is next door must've brought in their significant other last night for some 'late night action.' They were loud, too. Whenever I thought they were done doing whatever they were doing in there, the walls would start vibrating again. They finally stopped at around 2:30."
"Try having a room next to Lucario," Snake commented, rolling his eyes in repulsion. "I'm going to have to find a way to shut that thing up."
Confused, Ike asked Snake, "What do you mean? Lucario is pretty quiet from what I've seen."
"You have no idea," Snake replied. "It's hell living next to that thing. Every night, I hear it saying weird stuff in its sleep like 'I have the Aura'. Creepy."
"Isn't Lucario supposed to go back into a Poké ball?" Ike suggested.
"Normally, yes; but that one is free to mind its own freaking business whenever it wants," Snake snarled, clenching his fists in frustration.
"I've got a Poké ball…" Wolf added. "Do you want it?"
Surprised that Wolf had a Pokémon-themed item in his possession, Snake replied, "Absolutely." Shortly afterwards, a cruel smile crossed his lips. Finally, he had found a way to silence his obnoxious neighbor.
Meanwhile, Captain Falcon could be found frantically descending the Smash Mansion's East Wing staircase as quickly as he possibly could. The elevator was too slow. Running was faster. Or so he thought. Bursting through the doors on the ground floor, the racer shot out into the dimly-lit parking lot, where the various vehicles owned by the smashers could be found. He remembered that he had parked his Blue Falcon close to a maple tree on the left side of the parking lot, as far away from the other vehicles as possible in order to prevent anyone from possibly scratching its flawless blue finish.
Falcon's expression dropped when he saw his car parked between Snake's gas-guzzling AM General SUV and Wolf's oversized Landmaster tank. Numerous expletives spewed from his mouth as he stomped across the asphalt to where his car was located. Upon closer examination, he noticed an obvious scratch on the right side panel that had been caused by Snake losing control of his car door while fumbling with his nachos and dip. "I'll get him for that in tomorrow's match," he muttered under his breath as he unlocked the BlueFalcon's canopy and leapt into its single driver's seat, still seething after discovering Snake's scratch on the side of his beloved racecar. After firing the engines and fastening his racing harness, the Captain gunned the throttle and raced out of the Smash Mansion's parking lot like Wario with a basket full of garlic. The Blue Falcon practically exploded onto the city street just outside the parking lot, causing several drivers to panic and hit their horns in protest of the Captain's belligerent driving.
The mini-mart was only two miles away; and at the 280 mile-per-hour top speed that the Blue Falcon was capable of, it would take almost no time at all. Unfortunately for him, immediately after he swerved into oncoming traffic to pass a slow-moving minivan, he heard the unmistakable sound of a police siren behind him. "Crap!" he thought to himself as he unwillingly pulled the Blue Falcon over to the side of the street. The police car soon came to a stop behind him, and an overweight, mustached police officer stepped out and walked up to the side of Captain Falcon's vehicle.
The officer harshly rapped on the Blue Falcon's reinforced glass canopy, demanding that he open it. Reluctantly, Falcon complied with the law enforcer's order and pressed the button which raised the glass windscreen and allowed the officer to clearly speak to him over the din of the dense inner-city traffic. "Sir, do you know how fast you were going?" the overweight policeman sternly asked.
"Um…no, officer," he replied, "I wasn't looking at my speedometer." To Falcon's credit, this statement was true; as he had been completely focused on the road ahead without paying the slightest bit of attention to his speedometer. However, if he had, he would have known that he had been traveling in excess of 150 miles per hour in a 35 mile per hour zone.
The officer was not amused. Placing his hands on his hips, he growled, "Well, you were going pretty damn fast! My radar gun caught you going exactly 156.3 miles per hour! Don't you know what a speed limit is?"
"Not really," Captain Falcon retorted while attempting to feign a smile.
Seething with frustration at the irreverent racer's smart remarks, the policeman shouted, "Well, you're going to learn after I give you this here ticket!"
"This here ticket?" Falcon cynically remarked, mocking the officer for his less-than-perfect grammatical expression.
"Yeah! This here ticket!" the officer roared, practically shoving the white piece of paper in Captain Falcon's face. "Take it! It's all yours!"
The racer's facetious attitude completely disintegrated when he saw that the total amount of money that his excessive speeding ticket would set him back was equivalent to 1,300 Smash Coins. Suddenly petrified of losing that much of his hard-earned money, he forced a smile to appear on his face and asked the officer, "Um… can I get you a donut? There's a good donut shop about a mile from here. Would you like a chocolate-covered-crème-filled or an original glazed? The neon's on in the window about now—it means they're fresh out of the oven! Or maybe you're the kind that likes those weird custard-filled ones with the pink icing."
The policeman shot him a filthy glance that more than told him that he was not pleased at all with his futile attempt at bribing his way out of his massive ticket.
"Apple fritter, then?"
"Give me that!" the officer demanded, ripping the ticket slip out of Captain Falcon's hands and whipping out a pen more quickly than one would have thought possible. With a look of black hatred on his mustached face, the officer scratched out the total cost for Falcon's traffic violation and replaced it with a figure so large that when he gave the ticket back to Captain Falcon, the racer found himself speechless. With the lawbreaker unable to form a response, the policeman grunted, "Have a nice day!" before kicking the Blue Falcon's side panel and climbing pack into his police cruiser.
After receiving the exorbitantly expensive speeding ticket, Captain Falcon was careful to never venture above 30 miles per hour for the rest of the trip, which took much longer than he would have liked at that speed, which didn't even come close to exceeding the legal limit. Eventually, he spotted the neon lights of the mini-mart, which was attached to a nearby gas station. To his horror, every single gas pump was occupied, as was every parking spot along the backside of the building. The only available space was the fire lane in front of the gas pumping area. Despite the clearly marked warnings to refrain from parking in the area reserved for emergency vehicles, Captain Falcon saw no other option.
After brazenly parking in the fire lane, Captain Falcon sprinted into the mini-mart and made his way to the section of the refrigerated area where the alcoholic beverages were kept. Knowing that time was of the essence, he selected two of the most popular varieties of beer and took a six-pack of each. Remembering that Wolf had asked him to pick up a packet of beef jerky while he was out, Falcon snapped up a small bag of the rough meat and placed it on top of one of the cardboard beer cases.
Although the fuel pumps outside were very busy, the interior of the store was anything but. The only other customer at the moment was Fox, who seemed to be in some kind of an argument with the store clerk. Just like Captain Falcon, he had come to the conveniently-located mini-mart to purchase a package of beer. "No big deal," Captain Falcon thought to himself. "He'll be done in no time."
How wrong he was.
The seconds turned into minutes as Fox and the store clerk continued to argue, causing Falcon to eventually set his beer packs down and listen in on what the two of them were squabbling about.
"I have my I.D. right here! Why won't you let me buy this beer?"
"Sorry, pal. We don't serve roadkill here," the store clerk muttered.
Slamming his fist down on the counter, Fox shouted, "Falco told me that he came here last night and bought a freaking keg! How does that work?"
"Simple," the clerk replied, "Falco's my bro. You? You're just creepy. Now—get lost! Don't come back!"
"But… but…"
"Get lost, roadkill!"
Furiously, Fox stormed out of the building, leaving the counter wide open for Captain Falcon. Unfortunately, as he reached down to pick up his packs of beer, Zero Suit Samus came out of seemingly nowhere and fronted him in line before placing a solitary candy bar on the counter in front of the clerk. Although the bounty huntress's transaction was almost guaranteed to be quick, Captain Falcon was still fuming at her for jumping in front of him.
Worse yet, the transaction was anything but rapid. For more than a full minute, Samus and the clerk pointlessly chatted about the most meaningless of topics until she walked out of the mini-mart with her purchase, but not before turning around and telling the clerk, "Good night, Chris."
With all possible obstacles out of the way, Captain Falcon angrily walked up to the counter and placed the two packs of beer and Wolf's beef jerky on the metallic surface. Finally, he would be able to get out of this wretched place and head back to Ike's party in the Smash Mansion.
Or not.
"Hey pal—you got any I.D.?" the clerk gruffly asked.
"Yeah, I…um…" Captain Falcon mumbled as he dug through his nonexistent pockets in search of his wallet, which contained his official Port Town picture I.D. "Dang it. I left it in my car," he explained.
"You mean that car?" the clerk replied, pointing out the mini-mart's front windows all the way out to the street, where the Blue Falcon was being loaded onto a rollback truck after it had been illegally parked in the fire lane.
"NO!"
Captain Falcon frantically sprinted towards the door with his knees nearly touching his chest as he ran, causing the clerk to laugh hysterically. He powered through the front door and raced out to the fire lane, where two yellow-suited workers were pulling the Blue Falcon onto their towing company's truck.
"Hey! What are you doing?" the racer screamed at one of the hardhat-wearing workers.
"You parked in a fire land, bud!" he replied, "You can't do that—it's a public safety hazard! You can pick up your car at the impound tomorrow."
Gripping his helmeted head with his gloved hands, Captain Falcon groaned and pleaded with the worker, asking him, "Can I get my wallet out before you leave?"
"Yeah, sure—knock yourself out," the chubby worker replied.
After claiming his wallet from the Blue Falcon's center console, the racer watched helplessly as the rollback truck drove away with his racecar. "They'll scratch the paint for sure," he despondently mused, covering his face with his palm. With his transportation on its way to the local impound, he realized that he would have to utilize the services of a taxi driver to make it back to the Smash Mansion in anything resembling a timely manner.
Temporarily ignoring the inevitable future, Captain Falcon slowly trudged back into the mini-mart while trying to avoid looking at the clerk, whose face was riddled with laughter after witnessing the racer's misfortune. Luckily, Captain Falcon's I.D. cleared, and he was able to successfully pay for the beer and beef jerky.
With a frustrated scowl on his face, Captain Falcon walked to the edge of the street and set his beer on the sidewalk before repeatedly attempting to hail a cab. Although many yellow cars drove past him, none of their drivers were even remotely interested in stopping to pick up a man who looked like he had gotten lost on the way to a Halloween costume party. With his anger and impatience quickly reaching a fever pitch, Captain Falcon glanced at his watch and realized the Smash Quarterfinals were scheduled to begin in less than five minutes. The only way he would ever be able to make it back in time was if a cab would be willing to stop for him within the next thirty seconds.
Throwing caution to the wind, he frantically gesticulated and wildly threw his arms about, attempting to attract the attention of any cab drivers who might have been passing by. Sadly, it seemed that none of the city's many taxi drivers were keen on giving him a lift; and after two minutes of waving his arms until he was sweating profusely, Captain Falcon gave up and picked up his beer and beef jerky. At this point, there was no reason for him to hurry back.
With his head hung in shame and disappointment, the racer trudged back to the Smash Mansion, avoiding eye contact with the passing pedestrians, some of whom simply pointed at him and laughed at his form-fitting attire that caused him to stick out like a sore thumb in the contemporarily-minded city. All the way back to the mansion, he cursed himself for his forgetfulness that had caused him to come to Ike's party empty-handed. Now he would have to pay the price—literally and figuratively. Perhaps Ike would be tolerant of his tardiness, but he knew that Snake and Wolf would be anything but.
Even worse was the fact that he and Snake were scheduled to square off in one of tomorrow night's matches, which would determine who would advance to the semifinal round of the annual Smash Tournament. His morale had been shattered by the misfortunate series of events that had befallen him, leaving him mentally reeling. He knew that if he failed to find a way to rectify the issue, he wouldn't have a chance against Snake, who would be hungry for victory in tomorrow's match. As he moved within a quarter mile of the Smash Mansion, he thought about the soldier of fortune's grenades, his guided missiles, and of course, his RPG-7 that could inflict catastrophic damage on him and potentially send him flying off the battle platform with a fantastic burst of light.
In time, Captain Falcon reached the opened gates of the Smash Mansion and stepped onto the property, walking into the parking lot where his Blue Falcon had formerly been parked. "They'll scuff the paint!" he once again screamed to himself, well aware that the city's impound workers were not known for being gentle with the vehicles entrusted to their care.
Tired, angry, and bitterly disappointed, Captain Falcon approached the mansion and pushed open the door to the building's stairwell. Looking down at his gold-colored boots, he began his climb to the third floor, where Ike's suite was located. The entire time, it felt as if his packs of beer had tripled in weight. Perhaps it was because he had been carrying them for twenty agonizing minutes. When he finally stepped onto the threshold of the third floor and opened the door to the hallway, it felt like a windfall to him. Ike's door was the third one on the left; and even though it was relatively close to the stairwell, it still seemed far too distant.
Preparing himself for the violent reprimand that he would be receiving from Snake, Captain Falcon pushed open the door to Ike's suite, which he had left unlocked. The door creaked open, and the sounds coming from the television immediately filled his ears. He had taken such a long time to return to the mansion that the match with Kirby and Bowser had long since expired, with Kirby having been declared the victor. At the moment, the broadcast focused on the active match between Falco and Ness.
"Even though I missed the first one, it's not a big deal. This is supposed to be one of the best matches," thought Falcon as he stepped into the room. After setting the beer and beef jerky on the kitchen counter, he proudly announced, "Hey guys, I got the beer!"
Strangely, no response came from the couch, where Ike, Snake, and Wolf were seated watching the television. Frustrated that he was being ignored, Captain Falcon stomped into the living room area, where he noticed that a fourth person was seated next to them. He was abnormally tall, with a shock of orange hair that starkly contrasted his evil, green skin.
Ganondorf.
"W…what is he doing here?" Falcon demanded, pointing his finger at Ganondorf, who glanced up at him with an uninterested expression.
"Well, you were taking too long," Wolf explained with a cruel smile. "We figured that since he has the exact same move set as you, he'd be the perfect substitute."
"…And he brought beer," Snake added.
"That's right—it's my home recipe," Ganondorf grunted with pride in his guttural voice.
Captain Falcon was thoroughly flabbergasted. After all the time and effort that he had spent trying to make amends for his initial error, he had been replaced in the blink of an eye. His racecar was at the impound, his seat on the couch was occupied by the villain of Hyrule, and his pride was completely and utterly obliterated. Speechless and slack-jawed, he stared at the couch before turning around and preparing to leave the room. However, before he reached the door, Wolf shouted, "Hey! Where's my beef jerky?"
Wolf's biting remark sent Captain Falcon over the edge. With unbridled fury in every movement, he picked up the bag of beef jerky off the kitchen counter and hurled it at Wolf. The plastic package struck him in the muzzle and fell into his lap, prompting him and everyone else on the couch to laugh maniacally. "Screw you all!" Falcon shouted, marching out the door and slamming to behind him. "I can watch the matches by myself!"
Wolf, Ike, Snake, and Ganondorf continued to chuckle long after the door had been slammed shut. With a devious grin, Snake commented, "That went well."
"I'll say," Wolf agreed. "Hey—now we've got two more packs of beer! Anybody need a refill?"
"Nah, Ganondorf's got more than enough of his home brew," Ike replied, scratching an itch created by his headband. "You can take it back to your room after we're done."
"Fair enough. Hey Snake—can you pass me the buffalo wings?"
"Sure thing."
THE END
A/N: Feel free to tell me what you thought of this. For all intents and purposes, this was merely something I wrote for my own entertainment; but I thought that I might as well post it here. For some reason, making Captain Falcon miserable really brings joy to me.