Slippy: The Untold Chronicles
A Star Fox FanFic
Chapter II: The Great Debate
For starters, if any of the following ninety seconds (which in turn is all this chapter will cover) is going to make sense, we'll have to jump back to 5 days ago, the last time any of the crew remembers seeing Peppy.
The layout of the Great Fox was getting to me a little bit. Although it had higher than average ceilings, and my personal quarters had just as much space as a college dorm room, I felt a type of claustrophobia bubbling to the forefront because the prospect of leaving this social scene and literal space had been eliminated. It had hit me, the allure of the Great Fox and the Star Fox Team was behind me now. I had been on the ship for three days, and I knew what I needed to know about the ship to live and do my job. The down time that I and the rest of the crew endured was a little more than I was used to, but I knew that I had to get accustomed to life here. I had enlisted for two years of service.
To make the most of things, I went out of my room and down the hall to the commons area where it was normal to see my comrades bickering or talking amongst themselves. The previous two debates revolved around how many different species of life they thought Fox could get sexual consent from firstly, and secondly how badly the Star Fox members could kick the shit out of their respective Star Wolf rivals culminating in Peppy prank calling Pigma. We were all fucked up on some form of drug when he made the call, but I believe the whole prank revolved around Peppy insisting that Pigma had consented to sexual relations with Andross and how awesome fucking a giant brain must have been. Although I had not participated in any of two heated debates I had witnessed, I figured that I had been here for long enough to weigh in this time.
Today, the conversation started lightly with what would become mainstay in group discussion, how terrible a pilot Slippy really was. Falco was going on about some kind of simple elusive procedure that Slippy couldn't perform when Peppy started complaining about how he had been exposed to a large quantity space dust off of the wrong side of Planet Dicks(as we called it), an uninhabitable planet on the edge of our neighboring galaxy. The Great Fox had picked up some strange activity on the planet, but it turned out to be nothing, or so we thought(to be built upon later).
After complaining for several minutes, Peppy kind of fell off of our radar. He moved to the boiler-room(*) of the ship with his trusted needle to do some laundry. Falco, had consumed several drinks, and at this point was hashing out an idea that he thought would make him wealthy. He called it the RS-OD (Reciprocating Strap-On Dildo). Targeting lesbian and bi-sexual female members of each species, Falco thought that having a strap-on reciprocate sexual sensation to the wearer would be a capitalistic endeavor worth pursuing, but after a while, he convinced himself that if this device existed that females would only fuck other females. In light of what he thought would be the destruction of all humanities everywhere, Falco decided to keep his idea under raps. Slippy and I had no words for or against the idea, I simply stated that he was delusional, and may need to seek some kind of psychiatric help.
At this point we had all consumed unholy amounts of alcohol, which was par for the course, but we had also done a large quantity of hard drugs celebrating the absence of Fox, which wasn't so par for the course. Before Falco, Slippy, and myself left, we thought about checking on Peppy, but assumed he had left the boiler room to pass out somewhere. Instead of making sure he was ok, Falco convinced us that if we found him, only trouble would ensue. He insisted that there was a bad history between the two of them when their moods were affected by hard drugs. "After all," he insisted, "passed out hares and cocaine don't go well together." I had no idea what he meant by this, but I decided to leave it alone. After all, I hadn't ever seen any two people interact well on cocaine and heroin respectively.
Upon returning to Falco's quarters for a nightcap, another discussion unfolded. The television was playing some Jean Claude VanDam movie, probably Street Fighter, because I couldn't believe what national identity his character was. After some crazy going-ons in the movie, we got onto the discussion of how one could dodge the incredible Yoga Fire attack, created in the video game Street Fighter II. I started by saying that we had to narrow it down to something that could really happen. I had reasoned in my inebriated state that because we didn't actually exist in the realm of Street Fighter, we would never really know how to dodge the attacks those characters are forced to dodge like those characters do. Slippy suggested that we pretend that we are dodging a grenade lobbed in our general direction. After weighing the pros and cons, we decided a grenade would work just fine. Falco started by saying that he would remove his body armor and throw it at the grenade thereby propelling it back at the attacker. I questioned the amount of time that would take, but Falco assured me that he had removed his clothes this fast when presented with the opportunity of fucking Slippy's mother. Moving past the obvious slight to his mother, Slippy laid out a detailed strategy involving the construction of a catapult, but after he had started to debate with himself what launch point he would return the grenade at, I started to walk away. I hadn't given my response, but I was sure it wasn't much better than what they had come up with.
The grenade sailed through the air, I dove to the side in an attempt to protect myself. Falco was incapacitated trying to remove his body armor. This led to a seizure of movements that I can only describe as bordering on retardation. Slippy on the other hand, had fainted, which made it abundantly clear that we were going to die. I saw the grenade tumble downward, and was expecting to be annihilated when I saw some fleet feet hurdle my body. Before the feet landed, I saw a wave of green emanate from the wrist of Fox McCloud. As he flipped his reflecting shield on, he simply screamed, "BOB-OMB, BITCHES!"
His shield reflected the grenade back at Peppy. It attempted to explode, but fizzled out. I half suspected that his zombie-self had put the grenade through a few washing machine cycles, but neither the grenade, nor Zombie-Peppy were to any concern of Fox. He began mercilessly making fun of Falco, who had finally wrestled his body armor from his body. His blue feathers were awkwardly strewn about his chest, and his expression was no less frazzled. Pointing out that Falco had the same reflecting ability, Fox was malicious in some of the things he said to him while Peppy watched their exchange. Slippy was out cold, but it wouldn't be too long until he woke up, thinking he was dead...