PK2: Hello, everybody! Welcome to my new story, The Hunger Brawls! This is a Super Smash Brothers and Hunger Games crossover. I hope that everybody will enjoy this story!
DISCLAIMER: PK2 does not own Super Smash Brothers or Hunger Games. If PK2 owned Smash Bros, Midna and Bowser Jr. would have been playable characters. If PK2 owned Hunger Games, Boggs and Cinna would still be alive.
CHAPTER ONE:
I wake up and search for Midna's warmth next to me. I feel nothing. She must have gone over to sleep with our mother from the nightmare-induced fear. Of course, with today being the reaping, she did. I turn over and stare for a moment at Midna and my mother. Midna looks so adorable, it's hard to believe that she grew up in this time period. My mother was also great-looking. Or so the townsfolk tell me.
Sitting at Midna's feet, guarding her, is the planet's ugliest mutt. Almost bald except for the random tan colored tufts of fur, thin as a blade of grass, toothless, one eye missing. Midna named him Owl, her mind tricked into falsely believing that whatever fur that that thing had left was the color of the majestic bird's feathers. Owl hates me. Or at least holds a grudge against me. Even though it was four years ago, I think Owl still remembers how I tried to turn him into cougar bait when Midna brought him home. Ridiculously scraggly puppy, belly full of tapeworms. But Midna begged to let me keep him, so naturally I had to. It actually had a good ending. Owl acts as our mouser, and he's good at it. Even hunts the occasional rat. Sometimes, after I enter the house after a long day of hunting, I rub his belly quickly. He does not growl at me anymore.
Belly rubs. No growling. This is the closest that me and Owl will ever come to love. I enter the kitchen and find a small ball of sheep wool. Midna's gift to me on reaping day. I pocket the wool, grab my bows and arrows, and head out to the forest, taking a quick moment to say hello to Elly, Midna's ewe. I slip in through a gap in the fence and enter the forest.
Waiting for prey to come, I quietly nock my arrow in my bow, my eyes surveying the surrounding area for prey. Then, almost like a gift from the forest, a squirrel scurries down from a tree. I pull my bowstring ready to fire, when all of a sudden a voice sounds from behind me; "What's up, Elsa?"
Startled, I release my arrow. The squirrel notices it and flees. I turn around to face the speaker, a tall, pale skinned boy with deep purple eyes. "Ghiriham, why did you have to do that? You cost me a squirrel!" I nearly scream. "Because it's the only way I can greet you, Elsa." Ghiriham sniggers. My real name is Zelda. Zelda Fallowte. But when Ghiriham and I met, I said my name very quietly. Ghiriham heard "Elsa" and ta-da, I soon had my official nickname.
"Besides, I shot something better than a squirrel." Ghiriham chuckles, holding up a small cake with an arrow stuck in it. Even though it was supposed to be a taunt, I chuckle too. "How much did it cost you to get this cake?" I ask. "Just a duck. Think that baker was feeling sentimental today." Ghiriham replies. "Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" I ask. "Midna brought us a sheep wool." Ghiriham's eyes light up at the gift. "Thank you, Midna. Today will be chock-full of gifts." Ghiriham murmurs, taking the wool. He grabs at some berries next to the rock he's sitting on. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" Ghiriham mimics Peach, the overly cheery woman who's responsible for reading aloud the names at the reaping. "And may the odds-" he says, tossing a raspberry toward me, and I catch it in my mouth- "be ever in your favor!" I finish Ghiriham's sentence. We have a good laugh over that. It sounds cruel, but the Capitol people maul things with their voices so badly that everything sounds hilarious in their accent. For a while we just sat there, enjoying our "breakfast" of sweet pound-cake and tart raspberries. Then, Ghiriham breaks the silence. "It would be possible to do it." "Do what?" I ask in a puzzled tone. "Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. If we weren't responsible for the welfare of our families, we could do it." Ghiriham explains. I sit there for a moment trying to comprehend the meaning of his words, when a large bell sounds. "The reaping bell! We better go." Ghiriham yells. As we walk back to District 12, my thoughts turn to the reaping. Since I am sixteen, my name will be in the ballot 15 times, and Ghiriham, who is eighteen, will have his name in 26 times. Midna, who is twelve, will have her name in there two times. Me and Ghiriham have a pretty big shot of getting reaped, so I am worried over that.
On the Reaping Stage, our mayor and Peach wait, sitting on two identical chairs. There is also a third , empty chair, which the mayor and Peach stare at with worry. My mother and Midna are already there. Midna sees me and waves. I wave back. The mayor, noticing the huge crowd that has formed, steps up to the podium. He then proceeds to read the history of the Hunger Games, like he does every year. He lists every little turmoilic event that happened to create the Hunger Games, ending with the quote. "It is a time for repentance and a time for thanks." He then proceeds to read aloud the list of past District 12 victors. In the past 74 years, we have had exactly three victors. Out of those three, only one is still alive: Ganondorf Hawson, a large, dark-skinned man with unusually red hair, who at this moment staggers on the stage murmuring unintelligible words. He's drunk. Very, very, very, very, very drunk. The crowd responds with its usual applause, but he's so confused that he attempts to give Peach an enormous hug, which she only barely fends off. The mayor, knowing that this is all being televised and that District 12 is probably the laughingstock of Panem, introduces Peach.
Peach walks calmly up to the podium and says her catchphrase. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor! As you know, ladies first!" And she walks up to the crystal ball labeled "Girls" and pulls a slip of paper from the jar. And during this time I'm praying that it isn't me. And then Peach walks up to the podium and reads the name. And it isn't me.
It's Midna Fallowte.
PK2: CLIFFHANGERS! FOR THE WIIIIIINNNNNNN.
Master Hand: You know that isn't funny.
PK2: Ack! Why do you always spoil my fun, Master Hand? (Turns back to audience) Anyways, that's it for today! I will see you guys next time!