Note: I realize the framing device for this chapter is cliché and shit. I also realize that neither the monkeys nor I give a fuck about whether or not the framing device is shit, so watch me put on those equally clichéd glasses on and say something about managing a miscellaneous event.
Flying was a new experience for Little Mac, but then again, so was punching a heavily muscled man dressed in flamboyant latex right in the man's flaming fist. In fact, now that he thought about it, most of his day had consisted of brand new experiences.
However, being dazed by a strong blow to the head was not new to the champion boxer, so since he wasn't fighting Mike Tyson this time, he let himself drift into flashback land before the agony set in.
Strangely enough, Little Mac's flashback land didn't turn out to be dull, gray, and generally flashback-y and was actually rather bright and colorful, stirring some faint surprise into the confused, aching bowl of mush that was the boxer's brain. A sharp lance of pain drove itself into said mush, and Mac hastily threw himself deeper into the memory before it got any worse.
The day began as normally as any day began for Mac- get up around 4:30, get dressed, punch bits of protein into a pulp, drink said pulp, reflect on how expensive regular protein shakes were and how quickly his championship money had been funneled into a private training facility, don his hoodie, run like Rocky, punch shit that wasn't actually shit in the training facility, wonder why his train of thought was so weirdly structured while punching shit that wasn't actually shit in the training facility, run like Rocky back to his house, and go back to sleep before Doc Louis arrived. Doc Louis himself arrived promptly at 7:30- an hour late as always- while weakly puffing out something about crosswalks and lights and kids these days not paying attention. He then grabbed a glass of water and sat on the living room couch, catching his breath, for a good fifteen minutes as per usual.
Doc Louis then heaved himself to his feet, trudged into Little Mac's room, and shoved a letter into the sleeping boxer's face with a yawning, "This is for you."
Mac abruptly sprung upright, clutching at his face and cursing as blood ran from the stinging incision under his nose, courtesy of the proffered letter.
"Goddammit, Louis!" the boxer spluttered, wiping his face as he entreated Doc Louis with a halfhearted glare. "Be careful!" The coach yawned again, stretching, and sat on the edge of Mac's bed.
"C'mon now, Mac, it's just a measly little paper cut!" Louis admonished. "That should be child's play in the world of pain for someone who's felt the thunderous strikes of Tike Myson's fists!"
"Two things. One, it's Mike Tyson, no matter what the contracts say, and two, have you ever had a paper cut under your nose?" Little Mac challenged. The coach pondered Mac's words and then shrugged, to which the boxer smugly responded, "Then you have no right to bash my reaction."
"Yeah, okay, whatever," Louis grumbled. "Now open the damn letter, dammit!"
"No need to damn me twice," Mac chuckled, opening the envelope with a rip and accidentally tearing the letter inside. "Oh shit."
"And the rampaging genocide against all letter kind continues," Louis groaned in exasperation. "Dammit boy, I've told you to get a goddamn letter opener!"
"Duly noted for the fortieth time," Little Mac muttered before continuing at a normal volume. "And do you know any other curses aside from damn, dammit, and goddamn?"
"I find the others lend more towards compliments or creepy sexual overtures than insults."
"Most of the populace doesn't think about that, and you could always use shit."
"But I don't want to use shit, either the word or the actual fecal matter."
"You just did."
"Just read the goddamn letter, Mac!" Louis exploded, whipping his white towel towards the boxer's face. Little Mac caught it with ease, grimacing at its dampness, and pulled out the letter. He held the two pieces together as best he could and began to read the contents of the paper aloud.
"Dear Little Mac, I, Master Hand, manger- whoops, manager- of the Super Smosh- I mean Smash- Brothers tournaments, would like to invite you to participate in the Smash Brothers' ford- sorry, fourth- tournament. It is to be held later this yea… Yea? Who even says yea- oh wait it's year."
"Just take it slowly, Mac; you'll mess up less if you do."
"Right. Erhem. A certain colleague of mine would like to bring all of the newcomers- such as yourself- to the home world of the Super Smash Brothers- the World of Trophies- as soon as possible so as to prepare a proper introduction for all of you.
"Since you live in an urban area and have access to subways, I have provided you with a ticket to a special subway station that will take you to the World of Trophies. You will need to pack living essentials and any special training equipment. Safe travels, Master Hand," Mac finished, his visage marked by utter confusion. "But I thought the Smash Brothers wasn't actually a real thing!"
"Whaddaya mean you thought it wasn't real?!" Doc Louis gasped, his mouth agape with astonishment. "That's why everyone got so hype for the tournaments!" The champion boxer shrugged, looking slightly sheepish, and explained, "I had always assumed that it was just really high end CGI and shit. I mean there are all sorts of weirdly proportioned people, elementally imbued animals, and people slinging around magic and swords. I'm also pretty sure that the blue hair on those sword dudes is genetically impossible."
"Only in our world!" Louis retorted. "The Smash Brothers gather from all the multiverses!"
"If that's true and this isn't just some elaborate hoax from a sore Tyson," Little Mac said, "I still don't see why I should go. Wouldn't I be totally outclassed by all of the weirdly proportioned people, elementally imbued animals, and people slinging around magic and swords?" Doc Louis blew an obnoxiously loud raspberry and waved his hand at Mac, grinning at the boxer.
"You'll do fine, Mac," the coach assured him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You can take hits like no other, and you're quick on your feet. You have nothing to worry about!"
"Other than the fact that it's almost definitely a hoax."
"You don't know that."
"I'm pretty damn sure it's a hoax."
"Well, why don't you take the subway and find out?" Louis suggested. Little Mac rolled his eyes, pointing out, "What if a gang of murderers is waiting at the end?"
"Then you take them out," the coach replied easily, shaking Mac gently. "C'mon, Mac, just try it! If it isn't a hoax- and it isn't- it'll be one of the best experiences of your life!" Little Mac looked deeply into Doc Louis's guile-free eyes, his own expression flat, and sighed.
"Fine. Now where are my tickets?" Louis snatched the envelope out of the boxer's hands, mistrustful of Mac's ability to gently handle paper, and turned it upside down. Two tickets floated into Little Mac's outstretched palm, and the boxer's eyes widened in horror when he saw the date and time.
"That's in thirty minutes!" Mac spluttered, grasping at his hair in a terrified frenzy. "How will I have time to pack anything?!"
"Just pack your gloves and enough for a couple of days!" Doc Louis ordered. "There's a ticket for me as well, so that means Master Hand is clearly expecting my wonderful self to come along as well. He'll get me another ticket, and I'll bring all your shit then."
"Hey, you said shit instead of damn!"
"GET GOING NOW OR YOU'LL MISS YOUR DAMN TRAIN!"
And so Little Mac was ushered- well, shoved- out of his house with just a black sports bag and his trusty pink hoodie. Even though he ran at full tilt the boxer barely made it to the out-of-the-way station just in time for his train. The place was abandoned but for the single ticket manager, and so Mac boarded the subway with a healthy dose of apprehension, only to stop short in his tracks at the sight that met him.
Two people were already seated on the subway.
NOTICE: As I'm sure everyone has noticed, this chapter feels… incomplete. That's because it is. I got struck by simultaneous bouts of procrastination (hence the 4 month delay) and a lack of desire to continue the project.
WAIT WAIT WAIT DON'T RUN AWAY. I'm not scrapping it, I just need some more time away from it to reinvigorate my love for it and to ignore my disappointment in myself for ignoring it for this long. At least a month and a half (finals, ya know?). In the meantime, I will be studying and working on a different fic that I've been wanting to work on for some time now.
Again, not quitting this, just taking a break. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers, apologies for taking so long to put out this half-assed and incomplete update, and be prepared to withstand my massive Fire Emblem bias in the next chapter, whenever it comes.
