It rained hard that night.
The sky cried for the lost, for the dead- the sky was the only one who mourned him right now- as she wept through the cold, dark night.
Four gathered 'round a table, as dust gathered on their slick leather coats and fine shoes. Shoes made of high-quality leather and imported from faraway kingdoms. Most of the garb scattered around the room had been bought with illegitimate funds: dollar bills passed under counters, going from briefcase to briefcase, hand to hand, 'till finally ending up paying for some broke sap's raincoat.
"Where's the body?"
The first voice spoke: rough, chiseled to a point, demanding answers. Enough time had been wasted, feet propped up on mahogany stands and coffee cups slowly emptying out. This first voice belonged to the big man in the room, literally and figuratively: Wario. His clothes were all black, and his hair slightly darker. His face was scarred and rough from years of running; running from the brass, coppers, and rival mobsters.
Another voice spoke up, in response. Second in the room was a fresh-faced girl, name of Lucina. They all knew her story, but no one spoke a word of it. Her eyes were all you needed to see to know what she'd been through. They were strong, crystalline things that were tough as nails, sharp as a razor, but worn- tired- and pained.
Lucina turned to the fat Italian and gave a blunt reply.
"Wrapped up. It's in the trunk."
Wario gave a quick nod, and pounded his fist on the table. "Let's get it done, then."
Everyone got out of their seats, 'cause they were smart- no one keeps the boss waiting- and followed him out of the dim room.
Ike grabbed his dark trenchcoat and threw it around his shoulders, forming a huge black mass of muscle and brawn. He was like a building; fists tough enough to smash a man's head in. His knuckles were covered in scars, scratches, bits of broken teeth and bloodstains that never quite washed out, after all these years. Each scar had a distinct, bloody story- but not the kind you read at bedtime.
Samus reached for her own coat, but her hand was blocked by another; smooth and slender fingers that grabbed it instead. They handed it over to her, offering it as a polite gesture. The bounty hunter smiled, her shadowy eyes and glossed lips hiding the irritation within. She wrenched the coat from the hand and slapped it aside, blowing a few strands of golden hair out of her face.
She wrapped the leather garb around her alluring figure, hiding the beautiful waist and curves Marth always seemed to daydream about. The grifter stood still and grinned at her, trying his best to appear unfazed. His eyebrows were tilted and inquisitive, looking on with an elvish, seductive charm that he hoped, time after time, that Samus would someday succumb to.
"Doo itashimashite."
He spoke sarcastically, of course. The mutually-frustrated banter between the two would never cease to amuse Dark Pit, looking on from a corner. His face was shrouded in smoke and shadow, his expression never quite clear enough to get a handle on. His skin was smooth and carefully-groomed; his visage looked oddly feminine. He gave a quiet, hidden chuckle and stepped out into the rain.
The streets were shrouded and water-logged, puddles turning to small rivers in the street. The odor of fish and ocean salt wafted through the air, brought on by the storm front. A few ladies were crossing the street- princesses in black dresses, escorted by their princes. Wario looked on curiously, as his eyes locked for a single moment with his brother's. He was smiling, but the smile faded almost as soon as he noticed Wario. The moment passed quickly, as the four odd characters rounded the next corner.
Lucina walked over to the trunk of Wario's purple low-rider Cadillac and popped it open, letting the putrid stink of the dead out to mingle with the air around them. Samus winced, sniffing sharply and turning her head away.
Dead people and dead fish. Disgusting.
The Italian waddled slowly over to the bag and unzipped the top, peeking inside to throw away any last bit of doubt. Surely enough, he could clearly see dead eyes and pale skin, brown hair turned gray and falling out in clumps. He zipped it back up and nodded back at Lucina.
"Let's get this over with."
The procession nodded together, and slowly made their way down the street. Ike grabbed the bag out of the trunk and slung it over his shoulder, clearly used to the smell of death.
The gang of mourners eventually found their way to the woods, just on the outskirts of the city. No moonlight could find its way through the thick canopy of dying trees and thick vines. Samus let out a muffled curse every time her shoe slammed into a branch or rock that she hadn't seen. Marth let out his own muffled curses every time his shoe stepped in a pool of mud or got tangled in the vines.
Prince or not, he really shouldn't have brought the expensive shoes for this.
But what did it matter? He was by far the richest of the bunch, with a kingdom's worth of funds backing his fashion-centric exploits. Sure, not all of the funds were legally gained, but hey- money's money. It's all the same once the tailor smells green. He brushed his hair aside and continued on, trudging through the murky, black forest.
Dark Pit trailed behind the group. He was the only one with an umbrella. He gave a sly grin, always looking on, entertained, at the easily-frustrated Prince Marth. That boy was vain, he thought; vainer than a leggy dame with a rich fool on her arm. Even then, most people would prefer the leggy dame to that rich blue-haired idiot.
Idle thoughts buzzed around, mingling with the other things that buzzed past- bugs, bees, and the like- and time passed quicker for it. Soon enough, the group had gathered in a clearing, far away from the busy lights of the city. Wario gave a nod, and Ike dropped the bag and picked up a shovel.
As the goon slogged through the mud, the portly Italian turned to the group and lit a cigarette. After taking a few long draws of smoke, he cleared his throat and spoke.
"Look here."
Lucina sat down on a rock next to Dark Pit, a few feet away from the bag. Her eyes couldn't help but stray down to look at the soggy and gruesome sack, wondering silently what had happened a few hours prior. Samus and Marth, on the other hand, put some distance between themselves and the morbid parcel, leaning against two different trees.
Wario, once the group had settled, started to talk.
"I don't care how he got knocked off, and I don't care who pulled the trigger. All I know is that it's done- he's dead. Now, if you idiots want to stay out of the big house, you'll do what I say: forget you saw or heard anything, anything at all tonight."
Everyone nodded except for Ike, who was waist-deep in wet dirt, still shoveling away.
"... Good." Wario nodded. "Now, I got a question. What happened here t'night?"
"Nothing." The group answered in synchronicity.
"... Alright, good." The Italian boss put out his cigarette and threw it in the freshly-dug grave, burying it with the rest of the evidence. "Ike, it's all yours now."
The burly undertaker rose from the pit, his black trench-coat now covered in rain and mud. He shambled over to the bag, unzipped it, and slowly removed the contents. Out of the sack, he grabbed the still-fresh cadaver and slung it over his shoulder. Dark Pit looked away, unable to bring himself to gaze upon the familiar visage. The rest looked on almost apathetically; a cold and uneasy tolerance for the dead was shared among them.
Ike slowly set the corpse down in the muddy grave, and went about covering it. The group stood there, silent, as the gravedigger filled the hole back up. Not a word was spoken. The only sounds were those of the rain pattering against the trees, and the slow, trudging, rhythmic shuffling of dirt.
Lucina stared at the burly man, hastily tossing dirt over the corpse of a person she once knew. She glanced quickly about the clearing, looking at each of her partners. There were no smiles, and no frowns- only blank, cold faces. Almost as dead as the corpse being buried, she thought, almost smiling, but not quite. She scooted a bit closer to Dark Pit, hiding from the rain underneath his umbrella.
Ike made quick work of the grave, and the hole was filled within minutes. Lucina and Dark Pit threw some leaves over the fresh ground, concealing the tomb among the foliage. Once everything was done, the boss once again spoke to the grim procession.
"One more question: what happened here t'night?"
"Nothing."
"... Good. Let's go home, people."
Ike grabbed the shovel and the body bag, and the crew made their way back to the city.
The club was quiet that night. Rosalina was singing, dressed in a long red gown and surrounded by her Lumas. Unfortunately, no songbird could help lift the spirits of the patrons. The whole city had a gloom over it; as if everyone knew someone had died, yet no one knew who. They'd know soon, though. It was inevitable. Nothing like this stays a secret for long.
Dark Pit had to clear his head. He got up from his seat without a word, and left through the back door. He stepped into an alley and looked around, searching for the figure he knew would be there. Sure enough, the silhouette of a tall, beautiful goddess stood in a shadow, waiting for him.
Palutena walked out of the dark, wearing a long, jet-black dress. Her face was soft and warm, though she spoke in a stone-cold voice.
"Is it done?"
Dark Pit gave a nod. "... Yeah."
"Good." Palutena made her way closer to him, almost too close, her hair drenched in the rain. "Find me again, tomorrow night, in my palace. We'll discuss our next course of action."
She bent down slightly to lock eyes with Dark Pit. He could feel her breath warming his face in the cold, damp night. She leaned in slowly, her dress slipping to reveal a small amount of her supple cleavage. She placed a lingering, seductive kiss on the angel's cheek, and winked.
"Thank you."
Dark Pit froze in place, blushing, and could do nothing but nod slowly and watch as the goddess walked out of the alley, giving him one last smile before she rounded the corner and went out of sight.
He stood there in the dark- silent- a pondering statue, caught in self-reflection. He thought for so long, he lost track of time, and forgot it was raining. The rain that fell upon his jet black hair, and turned a few spots to brown.
Black dye dripped to the concrete below.