a story about the in modern hyrule written by two guys in different colleges
"Link!" a female voice cried out in stark emergency. "You have to get to Kakariko Village and fast!" Hers was the cry of a pregnant woman whose patience for her damned husband to get his socks on since this baby isn't going to birth itself at the damned hospital. Link would have made a noise in reply if he was willing to wait long enough to do so, but time was of the essence. He would battle hordes of moblins and like-likes to complete his mission. With a left-handed salute, he grabbed the item from the lady's hands and burst out the door.
"Watch it, boy!" yelled a disgruntled old Zora who had been made to jump out of the way to avoid Link's reckless bounding. However, Link was already out the door and rushing up the road, onward to his destination…!
Sadly, he would never make it in time. Hyrule King, the local pizza fast food establishment, had a policy of delivery within fifteen minutes or less; the alternative was no charge for the delivery or food. Link had made it on his bike, which he had christened "Epona," to the Kakariko Village suburban neighborhood in eighteen minutes. He finally arrived at a dreary-looking house, the only one that didn't have a mown lawn. He rang the doorbell, which oddly made lightning crackle overhead. From the door burst a horrible-looking man with dark greenish brown skin and flaming orange hair: a black ginger, to be sure. He was wearing a business suit, but Link could tell right away that this man worked entirely for evil when Ganondorf said, "Oh, you're late. I'm not paying for that."
Twenty minutes later, Link had returned to the store. "Link!" his manager, Impa, cried in exasperation. "If you get lost, you have to go to your Start Menu and hit R to figure out where you're going! I've told you this three times, and anyway you've gotten five customer complaints for being curt and rude."
"Well," Link said haughtily, "excuse me." He folded his arms in self-defense, although it wasn't really helping his case.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Link. You have to learn to work as a team with me. Mido can deliver any pizza anywhere in Hyrule on time. Hell, this running guy can make it under five minutes!" Over her shoulder, Mido had his hands on his hips and was nodding repeatedly for some reason. The running man was relacing his sandals and catching his breath after failing to beat his delivery record of four minutes and sixteen seconds.
Link turned away, defeated. "I… ah."
"I'm sorry, Link," Impa said, marking something on her clipboard. "I have to let you go."
An hour later, Link had locked Epona up on the railing on the stairway to his apartment. He knew he had to find a new job, but what place would hire a high school dropout who couldn't even work a map? Link paused at the door, biting back his disappointment so that his roommates wouldn't notice, and then shoved his cheap door in, barely managing to open the damned thing. "I'm home—" he began.
"Link, tell your girlfriend that Ernest Hemmingway's social commentary is NOT dry and uneventful, but rather it's a parallel to the masculine approach the dichotomous social connotations of his given situation!"
"You take that back! Hemmingway is SO BORING."
They were at it again. Dropping his key on the table, Link slumped in his cheap recliner to watch the battle of his roommates unfold. Jerry Stalfo, a Stalfos from deep in the Gerudo Desert, was literature major at the University of Kakariko Village. He was always discovering new and deep-rooted metaphors and soliloquies that, frankly, went way over Link's head. His bony face had been surprising at first, but now Link was so used to it that he could even tell when Jerry was rolling his eyes.
Link's other roommate and childhood friend was Zelda Hyrule, daughter of the owner of the restaurant from which Link had just lost a job. She was presently unemployed, and always teased Link for being so quiet all the time.
"She's not my girlfriend, Jerry. You know that. Anyway, I've never read Hemmingway," Link said, using more words all at once than he had for the rest of the week combined. He blushed from talking so much, but Jerry and Zelda didn't notice, and continued arguing about the simplicity of Hemmingway's social commentary while Link trudged into the kitchen, which was about as barren as it usually was. There were a few bottles of Romani Milk, but Link didn't feel like partying tonight. He leaned against the counter and sighed deeply; that pizza delivery job had been his life up until this point. It's just that had didn't know what to do sometimes…
"You all right?" Zelda's tender voice cut into Link's fog of a consciousness. "You said a lot earlier, I was worried."
"No, I'm—" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose to simulate some kind of headache. "I'm fine. Just—just a little."
This seemed to Link that he had just made the performance of the year, but nothing gets past Zelda. "How was work today?" she said after a moment, sidling up next to him, leaning against the countertop.
"It wasn't, um…" he said, again uncomfortable with how many words were coming out of his mouth today. The message, however, got across.
"You got fired!" Zelda said, holding her hands over her mouth in sad surprise. "Oh no, Link, I'm so sorry! But don't worry. Let's ask Jerry, maybe he knows a place that's hiring."
They did, and the Stalfos started nodding knowingly immediately. "Yes, they never were very pleased with your performance there, now were they? Well, don't worry. A friend of mine is looking for someone to do some paperwork. I assume that you're well-acquainted with a pen, Link."
Link said nothing, which to Zelda meant that he had only ever seen those pens a few times in his life, and had never really held one before. Jerry, however, was content, and went back to reading his old and horrible novella.
The next day, Link, Zelda, and Jerry were all sitting in the waiting room at Hyrule, Inc. Link was nervously looking around at the corporate art hanging on the walls, the cheap potted plants in between each row of seats, and the receptionist, who may or may not have been sniffing the White-Out. Zelda was supportively patting Link's shoulder every so often, and Jerry was doing a crossword puzzle. Link tried to say something to calm himself down, but frankly this bland art was just making him ache to smash some pottery. Just before he get his nerve up enough to go break something, luckily, the door opened and a ReDead poked its head out. "RRREAAAAAAARRRRRHHHH," he said, beckoning Link closer. Shocked by the horrible noise, nobody moved except for Jerry, who sipped his mocha frappucino. "Sorry," the ReDead said after clearing his throat. "Had to get that out of my system. Are you Mr. Link?" he said.
Link nodded, muscles ajitter.
"Very well!" the ReDead said, stepping out into the waiting room. "I am George Foreman, no relation to the man from the telly, sorry to say." George's British accent was both delightful and oddly out of place. "Anyway, I'm the regional manager here at his branch of Hyrule, Inc. I hear you're in need of a job! Well, that's just fine, fine indeed, as I've need of a junior accountant. Afraid one of mine just passed into the Twilight Realm last Saturday. Been maddening, trying to find a replacement."
Link could only nod silently in reply.
"I say, you're quite to the point! Well then, I'll take you on starting tomorrow if that's all right," the manager said, shaking Link's stiff hand briskly before turning and nodding politely to Jerry, who raised his cardboard frappucino cup in greeting. "Ta, then." And with that, George shut his door, presumably heading back to work.
Link heaved a breathy sigh of relief, but released the air a bit too soon, which caused him to cough a little instead. Zelda patted him hard on the back in congratulations, which only made it worse, and Link just coughed for the rest of the chapter.