Notes
Just a quick little drabble inspired by the fact that this fandom is dying a slow, painful death. (It was AO3 that inspired it, actually...but it's beginning to apply here too.) Hopefully bitterness has inspired something fun to read, though. :)
"Ahh...Mr. Antonov?"
"What."
"The ratings are in."
"...let's have 'em, then."
Yakov scurried over quickly to appease his boss...but the effort went unnoticed. Antonov's chair was turned around; he had been staring out the window. (He'd been doing that a lot lately.) The moment Yakov got to him, though, Antonov ripped the papers from his hand - and his eyes widened into saucers.
"...we got beaten by The Real World!?"
"I'm afraid so, sir."
"But that show is twenty-five years old‼"
"W-well...King of Fighters is twenty-three, Mr. Antonov..."
"Pah," the big man growled, throwing the papers aside. "'Reality TV.' This is reality. The spirit of competition...the thrill of the fight...it's just so wholesome! It breeds such nobility! Why can't these god**** ****head ****suckers mother******* see it!?"
"It's just a sign of the times, sir," Yakov offered timidly. "Combat sports are still in vogue, but they're not enough anymore. Reality TV's hooks and gimmicks are what capture the public eye these days."
"Hmm," Antonov murmured, templing his fingers and narrowing his eyes. "Gimmicks, eh...?"
Shun'ei sat squirming in a chair in a small, empty room, looking both tired and incredibly pissed. He stared daggers at the room's other occupant, a tall, lanky-looking man with a smile even faker than his hair. ...well, actually Shun'ei wasn't staring at him. He was staring into the man's camera; they were forcing him to.
"When Antonov told me," he muttered, "that the quarterfinalists would be living in the same house for the rest of the tournament, I told him he was an idiot."
A massive explosion promptly sounded, somewhere in the vicinity of the bedrooms. The lanky man yelped and looked out the door nervously; Shun'ei turned his head for a second, then looked back at the camera.
"I stand by that judgment," he told it, deadpan.
Vice stumbled down the stairs sometime around two AM, looking both tired and incredibly pissed. She scowled at the godawful racket coming from the kitchen; then she scowled at Benimaru, who was still sitting on the sofa and reading a magazine by lamplight. She started screaming expletives at him - then noticed he was wearing headphones. Her scowl ten times darker, she waved her hands to get his attention; Beni looked up at her, sighed, and pulled down the 'phones.
"What the hell are they fighting about now⁇" she demanded.
"Meitenkun ate all the Cheetos," he answered quietly. Darkly.
"...and that means they have to fight!?" she cried out in disbelief.
"Don't ask me," he said, shrugging. "I'm not in their heads. ...thank god." He pulled his headphones back up and went back to his magazine.
Seething, Vice stalked over to the kitchen and threw open the door. "Hey! Idiots!" she barked. "Would you two shut the hell up!? Mature and I are trying to sleep‼"
As one, Kyo and Iori stopped, turned...and glared at her, death in their eyes.
The Hakkeshu's face paled. "Err...that is...if you don't mind," she stammered.
They growled. She ran. Fire followed. Beni sighed.
Moonlight glinted off the waters of the house's spacious hot tub, which currently hosted two of the tournament's younger fighters. Leaning up against the edge was Meitenkun, still sleepy but undeniably excited; his bathing suit had been tossed aside, and he had a goofy smile on his face. Standing in front of him was Kula Diamond, her own suit floating around the tub and her own smile sultry and warm.
Outside the tub, concealed by shrubbery, were a cameraman and two crew members. Each of them wore lewd and hungry grins...but they were thinking of the ratings as much as the scene.
She put her arms around his neck...
...he pulled her towards him...
...they moved in for a passionate -
"Hey."
The crewmen jumped about a foot in the air, though the word had been a whisper. They turned to find none other than K', looking both tired and incredibly pissed.
"You know she's fourteen, don't you?" he asked them, his voice icy death.
The men paled. The camera dropped to the ground with a crash (though not one loud enough to alert its subjects). Panicking, they scrambled away from the scene, their equipment lying forgotten behind them.
Sighing, K' fried it to a crisp, then walked back inside. "Idiots," he mumbled to himself, as he so often did.
Within three days, the house had burned to the ground.
Shun'ei had said it would happen. Three of them were living flamethrowers; nearly all of them were violent. They could barely live with their teammates, let alone nine other people. It was only a matter of time, he'd told Antonov, before somebody set the place on fire.
He just didn't think it would be Tung Fu Rue.
"Yes, I did it," he told the police, as he handed over the lighter. "A moment of weakness, I'm afraid."
"What caused it?"
The old man narrowed his eyes.
"...that idiot robot used my toothbrush," he said, looking both tired and incredibly pissed.
Shun'ei turned away from his mentor, shaking his head in disgust. So much for King of Fighters, he thought with a sigh.
End Notes
So yeah. Like...where the hell is everybody⁇ (besides Jojo and Nano lol)