Marisa appraised the handful of armored soldiers standing before her in the palace courtyard, their shoulders stiff and backs straight. They all looked vaguely humanoid, with the occasional tail or fur. She narrowed her eyes, strolling down before each and every one of them. Looking over her shoulder, Marisa asked in a droll tone, "So it has to be one out this lot?"

Asgore nodded, "only they had volunteered for the task at hand, all of them exceptional combatants in their own rights. Worry not; I know they shall perform admirably."

The witch turned back around, giving them all another thorough glance. With all the armor in place, she was having trouble gauging their worth. She wanted someone who sought constant self-improvement, unsatisfied with their present self and courageous enough to pursue an ambitious dream.

Marisa wanted a fighter.

Both she and Asgore had agreed that she needed to establish her credentials. Her authority had to be respected to be an adequate teacher and any doubts about her capability must be dispelled.

With an exhibition duel, she would do just that.

Something caught her attention; the figure was tall, imposing and lean. The helmet was unusual, the mouth guard jagged and curved, bearing the visage of a wicked grin. Vivid red hair trailed down the back, tied into a single ponytail. In their hands was a spear, the tip gleaming with a handsome polish. However, what truly interested her was the eye she saw peering back from inside.

It was yellow with a vertical slit as the pupil, but it held a ferocity that made the ends of her lips curl upward. There was a kinship there, the anticipation of meeting a worthy adversary that sent tingles at the back of her mind.

Oh yes, this will do.

Marisa came before them, tilting her head back to look up and cheekily said, "Take the tin can off your head."

Metal clad arms reached behind, undoing a clasp before pulling the helmet off.

The first thing Marisa noted was the amount of blue. Then she noticed the teeth. Webbed fins around the fish-woman's head twitched as she stared her down, flashing her mouth of daggers in a taunting manner.

The witch turned around, giving Asgore a thumbs-up. The king smiled indulgently, "Thank you, everyone. You're dismissed; Undyne, stay with us please."

Clinks and clanks cluttered the courtyard, the soldiers leaving in a disorganized fashion. The witch snorted when she saw the King subtly shake his head. He pinched the bridge of his snout ruefully. "All I ask is for a little discipline to show off to our guest. Is that too much to ask?"

"You called them in on a Friday, Your Highness," the fish-woman said, her voice gruff and deep. "Remember? You instated the rule a while ago."

"How could I forget?" He fluttered open his robe, showing his 'Mr. Dad Guy' shirt beneath. "Some decorum is still to be expected, nevertheless."

Asgore gestured to his subordinate. "Miss Marisa, this is my future captain of the Royal Guard and my own protégé, Undyne. Undyne, this is Kirisame Marisa, my son's mentor in the magic arts."

The magician extended her hand, "Call me Marisa."

She was met with a firm grip and squeeze, the metal pinching slightly at her skin. "So you're what His Highness wants beaten into the ground, huh?"

Her cheeks were starting to hurt from holding back the manic grin that wanted to burst forth. "Keep on talkin', Fishy. I wanna cover up that hole you're digging yourself into."

"Now, now," Asgore held up his hand in a placating manner, "There's a time and place for this."

He was promptly ignored in favor of a leering match. Marisa bit the inside of her cheek as they gauged one another, proverbial sparks going off.

And if there was enough room for collateral, more literal Sparks too.