Author's Note: Blegh this took so long I'm sorry I suck. College has started for me (high school equivalent, I think - I'm in the good ol' UK) and God is it demanding. Not to mention that I won't have too much free time until November. Now I must explain the title of this chapter - I realized that the first story in this collection featured major OOC-ness, and that it was ten chapters ago that happened. So as a tribute to that, every five/ten chapters or so will have an 'Obligatory (something) Chapter' that features equally OOC moments.
Anyway, this oneshot is quite short and it details a small event in the WVBA cafeteria. Lots of conversation are interlinked, but the main conflict is between Aran Ryan and Narcis Prince. I must admit, DeviantART inspired me on this one. I've only been writing for the Wii version so far, so adding a purely-SNES boxer - Narcis Prince - was a bit of a challenge. We know nothing of his backstory, and we don't know much about his origins. Heck, we don't even know his height. But I do have one advantage over writing him - he's a stereotypical Brit, and I'm surrounded by them here where I live. Not all Brits like tea and talk in a snobby accent, but there are enough people who fit that stereotype (partially) for me to write up a personality for Narcis. Personally, though, I must admit that the personality I've created for him myself kind of repels me. His handsomeness does nothing for me, unfortunately, and I really don't have enough to even create a reasonable background for him.
Then again, I thought that SNES boxers were more uninspiring than the NES ones... in my opinion, Punch-Out! on the NES had more character charm than Super Punch-Out!. And considering that those boxers were little more than a bunch of pixels with text attached to their 'speeches', that's kind of saying a lot. But enough of the tangent. There is very very faint slash here, again between you-know-who and the other you-know-who, but it's concentrated in one paragraph. You'll have to squint to see it, and it has little to no influence on the main story. Read on.
"-What I'm saying, Aran, is that you are wrong and I am right. That's all you need to know."
"What you're saying is utter crud and we both know it," a harsh voice snapped back in return. The two boxers who were talking entered the cafeteria and joined the queue, still bickering; they were on lunch break for two hours, and what better things were there to do than arguing their way through the entire break? One boxer was around six feet tall, with fiery red hair and blue eyes, and wore an expression of absolute irritation. The other was slightly shorter, with blond hair and blue eyes - and it was fair to say that he was exquisitely handsome. Compared to the other boxer, his expression was mild and almost sweet - but if one looked closer, they would have seen arrogance etched into every feature. He merely shook his head and gazed upon the other with contempt as the red-haired man continued to rant. There were plenty of people in the queue, but none of them bothered to interrupt the young boxers or even ask them what was going on; it was all the usual business as far as everyone was concerned. None of the boxers in the WVBA took sides when they saw the two arguing - as far as they knew, the two were equally obnoxious.
"Oh, Aran and Narcis! There they go again," Glass Joe sighed, standing in front of his two friends (about halfway in the queue) as he picked up a ham baguette roll; he inspected it, nodded, and placed it down on his tray as he gave his approval. He was extremely picky when it came to food standards, not unlike his two companions. "what do you think they are arguing about now?"
Von Kaiser shrugged lightly, examining his coffee and determining whether it had too much froth for his liking; he didn't like froth or cream on anything he ate or drank, for it was difficult to keep such things off his mustache. Unfortunately, the coffee did turn out to have too much froth, but he could do precious little about it. Sighing, he placed it down reluctantly. "Ich weiß nicht mehr. They argue so much and about so many different things."
"Maybe it's about a girl," Don Flamenco offered as he darted past, grabbing himself a chicken sandwich and a coffee cake along with a large chocolate milkshake; he usually ate very little, so this unusual combination of foods made the former two boxers blink in confusion. It didn't actually seem as if he was any more hungrier than he had been at previous times - so why so much food? But the matador gave no answers and quickly paid for his food, jogging along with his tray to the other side and sitting down by the corner. Glass Joe and Von Kaiser shared a glance - they followed suit, taking their seats opposite the young man. The latter paid them almost no mind as he drank a few sips of the milkshake and picked up his fork.
Nobody said anything for a while, while Aran Ryan and Narcis Prince continued to argue from the queue, drowning out everybody else.
The German boxer spoke first. "There is very little sense in overeating at this time of the day, Donato."
"Can't help it," Don Flamenco mumbled as he made his way through the cake (and it was a very large slice, as well). "if I'm going to defeat Little Mac once and for all, and take back the belt that he once took from me, I need energy to keep me going until I face him."
Glass Joe tilted his head slightly in question. "Mais pourquoi? Little Mac has become much stronger. Energy doesn't necessarily - ah, help you with your training. Strategy does."
"Well, I have no wish to take anyone's belt off - except perhaps for yours," Von Kaiser said, giving Glass Joe a slight nudge and a smile. This comment earned him a furious blush and a slap on the arm from the younger man; all the while, Don Flamenco looked upon them with an amused grin on his face. The two were not the most likely couple in the world, but they worked perfectly well with one another.
Everything would have been fine. But it appeared that Aran Ryan didn't agree.
"Cut the sappy crap!" Aran briefly turned away from Narcis to shout across the cafeteria at Von Kaiser. "you're making me heave over here!"
The older man bolted upright from his seat, his gaze suddenly turning murderous; this made everyone in the cafeteria turn their heads and gape, for Von Kaiser had always been self-composed. Until now.
"You little schweinhund!" the German snarled, making the others gasp. The older man never swore in the presence of others; he was much too dignified, and then there was his status as the oldest boxer in the WVBA- "I ought to-"
Aran Ryan was unaffected, but merely smirked at him. "Little, says the one who's an inch shorter than me! Aww, what's the matter, Herr Von Kaiser? Did I strike a nerve?"
The older boxer clenched his teeth, furious with rage; he took a step forward, ready to challenge Aran to a fight, only to have a pair of arms wrapping around his waist and tugging him back. He glanced down in brief irritation - but then he discovered that Glass Joe was holding him, fear in his eyes, and he couldn't help but stop what he was doing. "C'est bien, Monsieur," the Frenchman whispered. "it's all right. Please calm down."
Von Kaiser said nothing. His expression was set and cold; but as he looked down at Glass Joe, his gaze softened ever so slightly. With enormous reluctance, he sat back down again - the Frenchman immediately took his hand, murmuring to him (in a mixture of French and English) that he appreciated everything that the older man was doing, and he was glad that the German had calmed down.
"Don't take any notice of him, good sir," Narcis Prince called from the other side, sounding actually genuinely concerned for once. "Aran is - ah - a little wound up. Lesser mortals like him must be avoided at all times, I say."
The German boxer continued to say nothing, but he nodded in acknowledgement towards Narcis's direction. He and Narcis Prince had initially been quite tense, for they knew that their grandfathers (and Von Kaiser's father) had been involved in both World Wars, fighting on their own respective sides. Both of them had been strict patriots. It was natural that the two boxers bore slightly difficult feelings towards one another, even with the knowledge that neither had actually been in a war of any kind - Narcis Prince had also disapproved of Von Kaiser's military background. However, they eventually came into a kind of understanding between one another; upon learning that their grandfathers had actually partaken in the Christmas Truce together, back more than fifty years ago, bearing hostility towards one another seemed pointless. They were not exactly friends - but they acknowledged each other with politeness and genuine understanding.
The Irishman, however, was not one to understand anything remotely similar. "Who are you calling a lesser mortal?"
A simple 'hmph' followed that remark. "Well, you started it, Aran."
"Doesn't mean that you get to treat me like crap! Jaysus, I hate you Brits!"
"What a racket," the Englishman sneered, brushing a stray lock of his hair from his face and tucking it neatly behind his ear. "you should have some respect for Mr. Kaiser, Aran. It's certainly true that he's a redhead, much like you are - redheads are not my preference for any gender - and it's true that he can be bad-tempered. But Mr. Kaiser is actually capable of caring for others... like he just demonstrated. He's certainly more respectful and considerate than you are."
Aran snorted. "Respectful! Look who's talking!I don't recall seeing any of that in you when you were making eyes at me sister!"
This accusation made the blond-haired boxer turn pale for a second or two; but then the colour flooded back to his face with alarming intensity. Aran watched, triumphant, as Narcis became far too indignant to say anything - he had actually succeeded in quietening the other for once. Unfortunately for him, it didn't last very long.
"So we're back to the main argument already, are we?" Narcis asked, disgusted. "well, fine, as you insist on arguing that one point. Since when was I 'making eyes' at your sister, Aran?"
"Forgotten already, eh?" the Irishman sneered, the smug look still on his face. "then let me remind you of this morning, when Sister Dear came to visit me - you just couldn't take your eyes off her, Narcis! Do you think I'm blind? I couldn't have missed your soppy grin from a mile away! You ain't so smooth and subtle as you think, did you know that?"
"Aran," Narcis Prince sighed. "I looked at your sister once. Once! It most definitely is not my fault she smiled at me in return."
The Irishman scowled, glaring at the other; he obviously didn't believe this. "I don't care. Keep away from her or I'll bust the hell outta you, you hear? I might not like my sister, but as if I'm going to let a god-damn eejit like you get near her-"
The queue had moved way forwards. Narcis Prince proceeded to point this out by ignoring Aran and walking right ahead, grabbing himself a tray - the Irishman noticed and quickly caught up, doing the same. He also took a dish and a pair of tongs, grabbing a couple of doughnuts for himself and a bottle of soda; it was evident that he didn't really care what he was having for lunch, and was only going through the motions of getting himself some food. He jogged after Narcis and slammed his tray down on the table, ignoring the protests from the lady at the counter - he hadn't paid for the doughnuts.
"I understand you're having a good ol' argument over there, boys," she hollered over the other boxers. "but could you at least show some decency and pay?"
"Ah, mi amor!" Don Flamenco interjected, pushing his way to the front of the queue - having eaten all of his food, he had gone for seconds - and smiled charmingly at the lady. "I'll pay instead. Don't fret - I wouldn't want to see your lovely face with a frown, mi chica encantadora!"
The lady huffed, giving the matador a small glare - but she nevertheless looked quite pleased as Don Flamenco handed over the money and winked at her. "Don't you have a girl by your side already? Away with you, you flatterer! At least I know chivalry isn't dead."
The young man said nothing, but merely flashed her a sweet grin. He took his tray, setting it down back on his table; but instead of sitting down, he began to make his way towards Aran and Narcis (much to the chagrin of Von Kaiser and Glass Joe). When it came to girls, or even relationship problems in general, it was he who would fix it.
"What's this about, my friends?" he said jovially as he approached. "problems with a girl? I could always advise you on what to do with a particularly-"
"You keep out of this!" Aran hissed, giving the Spaniard a hard shove.
Don Flamenco huffed - 'well, really!' - before returning to his own table; he then proceeded to complain about the obnoxiousness of Aran Ryan in a very loud voice. Had he been older, it would have had more effect - but in all honesty, Don Flamenco was exactly the same age as Aran (he was a couple of months younger, in fact) and therefore much of his words lost their seriousness. Everything he said seemed to equate to whining more than complaining. However, neither Aran nor Narcis were listening to a word of what he was saying.
Heaving a sigh, the Englishman leaned back on his chair, sipping his tea and looking bored. "Let us close this matter once and for all. I looked at your sister once, you found it necessary to overreact, and you continued to heckle me up until this point. Fine. I realize that. So what do you want me to do, Aran? Should I refrain from even mentioning your sister again, let alone ever looking at her whenever she comes to visit you? Should I go and drown myself for the heinous crime of looking at your sister? What do you want?"
"I wish the feck that you would top yourself!" Aran snapped. "don't go anywhere near my sister ever again. Whenever she comes over, don't you dare even look at her. Don't attempt to chat her up, either - I'm saying this one for your own good," he said with some unrestrained glee. "last time someone tried to pick her up from a bar, she kicked them so hard that they became a soprano for the rest of their life. I don't quite like looking at your slimy mug, Narcis, but I can't even begin to imagine you with a high voice! We can't have that, can we? If you think I'm bad, you should watch out for my sister."
The blond man gave little to no reaction. "And if I refuse?"
Aran Ryan shrugged, a small grin twisting his face; he had expected his answer all along, of course. Narcis Prince seldom adhered to threats of any kind. "What do I know? I've given you my warning, so if you don't keep to it, I obviously have a valid reason to knock some sense into that empty head of yours," he said, feeling triumphant and proud of himself - if Narcis didn't listen to his warning, it would be perfectly acceptable to beat his face in. If the Englishman kept to the warning, so much the better. From the way the Irishman saw it, it was a perfect trap - and the blond boxer couldn't even pretend that Aran hadn't said anything, for the speech had been delivered in a cafeteria full of people. Aran Ryan was the winner either way.
At least, he believed exactly that until Narcis began to laugh.
"Fine with me. Can't argue with that. But... what if your sister likes me back, Aran? Have you considered that?" he said, smirking proudly.
The Irishman's smile was instantly wiped off his face.
"Suppose I did 'make eyes' at your sister," Narcis continued. "Suppose I did fancy her. But what are you going to do if I made my move, and she happened to return my affections? I certainly couldn't ask her to like me back, nor can I force her. Love and affection cannot be manufactured nor falsified by a mere request, Aran, you know that much. If your sister is indeed as feisty and charming as you say she is, and if she says that she returns my feelings, then I think we can safely assume that she means it."
Aran inhaled sharply, hands gripping the edge of the table. "Don't you dare," he snarled, his eyes glinting dangerously. "if you even lay a finger on her, I'll-"
"I'm just supposing, Aran!" Narcis cut in. "just supposing. Who said it was even going to happen? And why would I specifically go for your sister when I have other fans eager to make my acquaintance? However... you have to admit that if the unexpected really did happen, things are quite likely to turn out that way. If I liked her, and she liked me back, then it doesn't make much difference if you disapprove, does it?"
He was right. He was right and the Irishman couldn't say otherwise. Aran Ryan contemplated just reaching over and giving Narcis a good punch in the face - but what would that make of him? It would do nothing but prove the Englishman right. He had fallen into his own trap quite effectively. Letting out a low growl, he sunk back into his seat and stared forlornly down at the doughnuts.
Narcis Prince scoffed at the sight, taking another sip of his tea. "See, I'm the one who's correct. Je suis juste, je suis vrai - I'll say it in however many languages, I'm still right and there's nothing you can do about it!"
Aran was only mere seconds away from strangling the Englishman. His hands were already twitching, eager to grab the other's neck and hold it as tightly as possible; but the most unlikely saviour came along to stop him doing this. Glass Joe, who had gone to the front of the cafeteria for seconds (and had been listening to the young boxers' conversation), quietly picked up his tray and went over to the two of them. He bent down to talk to Narcis, who looked around in surprise to see the Frenchman actually wanting to converse with him.
"Not to bother you, Monsieur Narcis," Glass Joe said, smiling in a soft, apologetic manner. "but 'I'm right' is actually said 'j'ai raison' in French. I hope you're not offended."
With that, and another soft smile, he walked to his seat by Don Flamenco and Von Kaiser (who proceeded to congratulate him) and sat down, chatting along. Narcis Prince stared at him, open-mouthed, half indignant and half embarrassed that he had actually been corrected by another person; and by Glass Joe, of all people! And worse, the Englishman couldn't even argue against what Glass Joe had said. The man was a Parisian, and a very proud one at that - he couldn't very well challenge a Frenchman when it came to the French language. Aran Ryan had been watching all of this with surprise, but then a sly grin spread across his face as he slowly realized what had just happened. It didn't do anything to change the situation, but it sure did wonders for his ego, didn't it?
"Correct, my arse," he sneered. "why, Narcis, even Frenchie himself talks shite about you! And what's more, he's the one in the right - you ain't gonna argue French with someone who's grown up in France, are you? Gawd, you're such an eejit!"
Narcis said nothing more, but glared down at his tray.