Author's Notes: Superheroes without capes and tights. Did I really go there? Yes.
NOT ASHAMED. (yet)
Warnings: Badly formulated fantastical fanfiction of the yaoi, shounen-ai, slash, whatever-you-call-it nature. Cursing. Un-beta'd.
Pairing(s): Ike/Marth
Disclaimer: I don't own Super Smash Brothers.
Summary: A collection of one-shots (drabbles) in the genre of speculative fiction. Alternative universes in every sense of the term. –Yaoi, Slash: Ike/Marth-
Chapter Inspiration: [Neurological mutations and enhanced abilities AU]. Aren't villains supposed to be either blindingly angry or batsh!t crazy? Perhaps this was a bad time to admit he seemed to have developed a thing for intelligent, smooth masterminds.
Speculative Impromptu
04. Knight
By SSBBSwords
He met Marth on an early spring day.
The sun had not even been up for more than fifteen minutes when the first string of detonations occurred at a nearby manufacturing facility.
Unlike the general public, he redirected his running toward the explosions, and when he arrived, the building was ablaze and smoking like a bonfire. Firemen and police officers on scene could only watch in awe as clear sabotage in the form of smaller bombs continued to go off, both ensuring the wreck of the infrastructure and prevention of intervention.
When a ground floor glass wall blew out, his body reacted as it did, yanking a nearby spectator out of the shrapnel's trajectory while simultaneously twisting around a few other wayward pieces. Really, everyone should probably back up more. The woman had been more than grateful, but he felt he accomplished nothing that would rival the outrageous destruction of something worth millions of dollars.
Later, after he had provided a witness statement and left the area to be investigated by field professionals, he was approached on the street by someone not exuding the top two emotions of that day (i.e. disbelief and thankfulness).
"Hello," the stranger said.
His first impression of the man before him was the composed and immaculate presence. The second was the bright, clear blue in what could only be described as inquisitive eyes.
"Hi," he greeted in return, eyebrow quirked in bemusement. He did not make a habit of being stopped by beautiful people.
"I heard you saved a number of civilians from disfigurement," the shorter man stated without prompting. The accompanying smile was more enigmatic than the complimentarily friendly.
"Er… what?" He was genuinely confused, and as much as he was enjoying the view before him, he also wanted to run away. What a dilemma. This man held himself with a dignified air that was only highlighted by amazing bone structure. The fuck? He usually wasn't this poetic.
A corner of the other's mouth lifted. "Already sensationalized by the media, then?" He was about to reply with 'Maybe?' or 'I don't know what you're talking about,' but the stranger looked away distractedly. "I left my table unattended. Come with."
He did.
And so they had lunch at the outdoor café where Marth reclaimed his previously vacated table.
Days later, he was still contemplating the occurrences of that day. Indications of the atypical happenings continued through the following weeks, as law enforcement and security divisions kept in contact with him in case they happened to run into any other significant discoveries. It was no inconvenience to his daily life, so he did not mind.
What kept him up at night was Marth.
They did not have a date, per se. They did not exchange phone numbers, addresses, or personal information. They made small talk, and he spent 95% of the time trying to be invisible under the other's intense gaze. It was like he was getting dissected by stare alone.
Whereas the first event seemed like an intentionally planned terrorist attack of unknown motives for now, the next was more like a freak accident. Some corroded second-floor balcony had succumbed to crack fatigue and collapsed under a child's weight.
So stated the report.
He had scaled the falling balcony edge, grabbed the child, and leapt for the neighboring balcony. He managed this all with just brushing the leaves of the neighbor's potted plants.
He should have considered the repercussions of his actions, but hey, they were more reflex-based, and he always thought those were automatic and subconscious. The worst results of his escapades were the negotiations with some government-run department of special assignments, something-or-other. The way he saw it, they were interested in using his physical abilities for nothing evil, so okay, maybe he could consider it. And there really were no consequences for being a local hero, the attention was the opposite of hateful, but he could not help feel endangered.
About half a block away, Marth had given him a nod of approval, before disappearing into the forming crowd.
He was not stupid. He was not so oblivious that he could not connect two and two together. So he was a little special, and Marth knew it. Hell, Marth might be a little special himself, if there was any sort of meaning beneath those calculating expressions of his.
He did not gather the sufficient amount of motivation to confront the elusive man until another warehouse in a nearby city was demolished during the night. To be exact, it was seeing a picture of Marth (among scores of others) as an individual possibly involved with the attack on these manufacturing facilities. Like a dozen other suspects, there was little information on the man, minus some general information like permanent address (nice neighborhood), public records (clean), and job (entrepreneur, he noted, but of what exactly?). His potential to be a suspect ran in the low double digits solely due to lack of evidence.
Which could likely be chalked up to sheer ingenuity, if anyone had ever really met the guy.
So on this lovely balmy summer night, he climbed up the fire escape into a suite on the forty-second floor and tumbled into a stand right through Marth's open sliding glass door.
For this time of night, he was surprised to see the other's lithe figure still dressed in a nice button-down-and-dress-pants outfit. Reading a book, of all things.
"Hello," Marth said, with an unchanged expression, as if people rolled into his room every time the clock struck twelve. Setting down the book and rising to his feet, the shorter man approached the intruder with no sense of alarm.
"Hi," he replied, mind reeling in a helpless pool of déjà vu.
He was the one who broke in (well, nothing was exactly broken), yet why did he feel like the prey and not the other way around?
That was when the odorless gas from the vent above him started to affect his senses. His vision darkened and he felt his balance skew. He wobbled.
A hand touched his shoulder.
"You'd better lie down," was the last thing he heard before blacking out completely.
-fin-
Author's Notes: Impressions, questions, ideas all welcome!
Chapter Hints: Fixed neuromuscular pathways of motor control, posterior and anterior association areas of executive processing.