1.
Some days you just woke up and knew it was going to be an alright day. For Marshal there were a lot of ways that could make him feel like it was going to be an alright day like after an intense workout the previous day and sleeping like a log straight to the morning.
On this particular morning, he knew it was going to be a great day. He didn't awaken to the piercing gaze of Grimsley as that creepy fuck watched him sleep from his perch upside-down, outside Marshal's bedroom window. Marshal took this as a rare sign of an oncoming day of normality and decided he would begin by celebrating with the best kind of meal: protein and Apple Jacks.
Down in the depths of the Elite Four kitchen was a table filled with the food of champions. But, since the reigning champion of Unova was currently a vagabond scouring the countryside, the fruits and shit were rotten and disgusting by the wayside, while Marshal poured a continuous stream of milk into a bowl of Apple Jacks. During this, he chewed into some long forgotten beef jerky.
Good eatens.
As he chugged away at the remaining puddle of milk at the bottom of the bowl, a voice uncomfortably close to Marshal whispered something into his ear.
Marshal accidentally crushed the bowl into a tiny, billion pieces after hearing what was ravishing his eardrums. Marshal was usually a gentle creature with a heart of golden steak, but this sudden sweet nothings caught him off guard.
What he heard was, "Let's shoot hoops."
After Marshal composed himself, he turned his head and saw it was his Jewish friend, Grimsley. This was quite a shock because Grimsley never, ever wanted to play basketball because he was always busy sitting on his delicate sofa, petting pussies, while reading Shakespeare. Hearing him make this suggestion so huskily made the butterflies in Marshal's stomach flutter around.
"W-WHY SHOOT HOOPS?" Marshal gasped out in his manly voice, which had Grimsley stick a finger in his own ear to make sure he wasn't deaf. He pulled out a wad of wax with some blood.
"Did you forget, Bananabrows?" Grimsley smirked, although quite frankly he was a bit concerned. Whether it was because of his friend or his ear, we may never know. "It's your Birthday."
It wasn't, actually, but Grimsley wanted to fuck with Marshal. It was working because Marshal dashed out of the kitchen. He entered the bathroom, scrubbing his pearly-whites over the sink with some sweet, tender Colgate.
As he brushed, Marshal took the liberty of pondering the meaning of life. Why was Grimsley there? Why was he always watching him? Why did he bring up the sacred phrase of the shooting of the hoops?
How did he even meet him?
His mouth erupted a giant wad of spit, and with that, he was ready to face the world.
The end.