Fandom: Megaman Legends 2
Title: Dogs
Subject: Tron vs. Roll
Wordcount: 1,400-ish.
Pairing: N/A
Characters: Tron, Roll, the sane adults
Rating: PG-13, I hope.
Notes: Dramatic short story thing. Be warned: There is some character bashing on both ends, even though I happen to favor Tron more yet she still keeps on getting the short end of the stick. She's a Bonne. Crap happens.

"Ugh!" Roll cried. "You always want to use junk! Why don't you pick up some quality parts instead? Megaman might have actually had trouble with you."

Tron's eye twitched. "Look! Does it look like I'm made of money?" After scooting some beads about, she shoved the abacus in Roll's face. "Look at this! These are the expenses if we do things your way!"

"Gah!" Roll jerked back. "Tron! That's really rude of you to do that!"

"That was for the Megaman—" Oh, she was blushing here. Embarrassing as it was in a time like this, it was easy to hide in her irritation. "—remark earlier! I was just helping you see the light since you insist on using top-of-the-line parts for every single thing!"

"We might actually get a rocket that could get off the ground if we did not use those… those old car parts for the outer covering!" Roll crossed her arms. "I told you: they need to be adjusted every five minutes! You're impossible!"

"Aluminum! It was that with aluminum!" Tron shot back. "Oh, you're so spoiled by Megaman's income!"

In the background, an upset Data looked on. He would have intervened, like the many other times before, but it was pointless. They not only would never get along with one another but they would also never listen to him. Why! It was so simple! He knew it!

Dinner came. It was a small gathering, as the servbots ate separately from the humans, with the gang still cramped around the dining room table in the Flutter. Tron and Roll sat across from each other, glaring like hawks and chewing slowly, as if one was going to tear out the other's throat should they make a false move. Teisel, Barrel and Bluecher did not say much however, as they were girls and the tension was only a girl thing they could not comprehend. They were smart enough to keep out of their affairs, unless it became really ugly, of course.

The girls remained long after the men had finished and puttered off to the living room to converse about the day's events. Piercing green eyes still were locked onto piercing green eyes.

"Staring is rude," Tron finally said, looking away to idly probe her fork into her cold pile of mush. She forgot what it was that they were eating.

"You started it," Roll grumbled. "And you're wasting food."

Tron gave her a mocking cock-eyed look. "Oh come on. My servbots can cook better than this pig slop. But don't feel too bad: I expect no more from someone that lives in a barn."

"That's enough!" Roll's fork clanged as she stood up and threw it down. "I've had it up to here with you, Tron Bonne!"

"What? You want flattery? Blatant flattery?" Tron placed a hand on her cheek. "Oh my, Roll. I never knew, not even with all the things I assumed Megaman gave you in your room."

Roll's hands were shaking. "Tron, stop it!"

"Make me, you floozy."

There was a clatter as Roll flung herself over the table in blind anger towards the pirate's throat. Now, it was strange, as she previously never thought of herself as the kind to reach this point of rage, but never has she ever felt so angry, so vehement, towards this one girl. This one little thorn in her side that would never go away!

Tron backed up, watching the messy Roll get to her feet for another lunge. "What's your problem? Can't handle the truth, blondie? Pig pig pig!"

Tron continued chanting as she bounded away towards the kitchen. Suddenly, she was kissing the floor as Roll grabbed her ankle, throwing her off balance and to her tummy. Both of the girls were soon a mess of limbs, struggling and grunting on the floor. Roll quickly found that in her moment of snapping one very painful fact:

Tron was a subtly bigger and stronger girl than she was.

The pirate was slowly overpowering her. Roll, although a humble and sensible person at heart, had a sense of dignity and pride herself: she would not let this Bonne girl dare have an edge over her! In her deliberation, she, the table an arm's reach or so away, reached up, her fingers grazing table cloth.

"You can have your –ump- pigslop later!" Tron growled, trying to pull her hand away.

Roll's fingers still frantically searched. Fortunately, the men had not cleaned themselves up and left their plates there. Luck had smiled upon her when a bit of plastic was felt. Seconds before she let her arm give into Tron, she clung to the object on the table for life.

Tron saw the object's glint. "A knife? What are you doing?"

Roll's eyes widened. So that was what she got? She only meant to fling scraps at her, to mess up her oh-so-pretty face. On second though, she could threaten her with the knife to get her to back down, to have some kind of power over her, although at the risk of looking like a psychopath. Well, it was probably the only language a lowly pirate like Tron understood after all, right?

Here goes nothing.

"I'm going to stab you!" The words came out funny. Not like she was a serial killer anyway.

Tron paused and stared. Soon, she was laughing that arrogant, little laugh of hers. "Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho! You're a riot, Roll! Knives aren't for children. Give me that!"

From there, the girls proceeded to struggle with the knife. Roll was scared now, wishing that she had never gone for the table in the first place. Eventually, though, they stupidly rolling about in their continued struggle, the knife snagged onto something. Tron made a sort of airy wheeze, Roll releasing the now stuck handle, and stopped moving. She became limp and, Roll getting to her knees, was easily shoved away. The pirate remained on her side in a pseudo-fetal position, her arm hiding her belly.

"Tron?" Roll felt sick; she knew what had happened. Slowly, avoiding the glazed look in Tron's eyes as she gasped like a fish from shock, she pulled away the arm, finding the handle of the knife protruding from the pirate's stomach.

"You murderer," Tron hissed and huffed. "If I die, I'll come back and haunt you."

"I didn't mean to!" Roll would have continued, but she soon caught the sound of heavy footsteps. Her heart sunk and her stomach made ominous, fluttering contortions.

"What's going on here?" It was Barrel.

"I knew leaving my dear sister all alone with her was a terrible idea!" That had to be Teisel; his whine was unmistakable.

"I thought they were getting along," sighed Bluecher.

Before long, Roll found herself looking up into the wide eyes of three very shocked men. Or two; Teisel was already on his knees at his sister, pleading and begging and crying. His hands shook as he tenderly grabbed the knife's handle, sniffling and pulling away when Tron grimaced. Barrel joined Teisel, although not in the emotional explosion. His analysis of the wound was quick.

"Get a towel ready," the old man grunted. "She'll live; it's a little one. Now, I'm going to pull it out on a count of three…"

Knock, knock.

Tron looked up. She had been resting for a few days now. It was strange, sleeping in Megaman's bed in his room, feeling the puncture wound glow red with every bitter thought about Roll.

"You may come in." Her fingers subconsciously fiddled with the bandages around her gut. It was painful to sit up, although she did not want to being in only in her panties and bra (Perverts, she thought).

Roll slowly opened the door, enough to peek in. Tron made a nasty face.

"Please," she started. "Don't tell me to go away this time. I've been trying to tell you for the last few days now."

"I don't want to hear it or see your dirty, back-stabbing, piggy face! Go away!"

Roll frowned; living with the guilt, although accidental, had not been easy. "Tron... Listen."

"Go away!" Tron tried to sit up at full height, although every bit of tension in her abdominals made her squeal in pain. She had to slide back down to propping her shoulders against to wall for support.

"I'm sorry, Tron!" Roll gave up again and disappeared, the door slamming.

Tron finished her slide back into the bed. She buried her face in her pillow, his pillow. The faint, dreamy smell of Megaman (Who else could it be?) in the covers was enough for her to forget about the pain. Forget Roll and her hollow, ditzy, thoughtless words; this was all she needed.


Fin