One day, a little boy named Tank left home to find a certain shop owner. His father had given him some rubies in a sack and told him to find the shop owner, for this man was the only one who could possibly have what they needed. The father also told Tank to not tell anyone but the shop man what they needed, or else he might get in trouble. The boy understood; he would never want anything bad to happen to his dad. He then put on his cloak which his mother made him and started his journey.
After walking for quite some time, Tank found himself in front of an old run down shop. There were overgrown vines and bushes all around it, giving it this abandoned feeling. One of the two windows were broken, and on the front door of the store, there was a sign. The sign was hung up there by a single nail, and it reads "Closed Forever". The only way the little boy could tell the place was not abandoned was that if you looked through the broken window, inside you'll see a little table with a single candle on it, lit, flickering from the breeze coming through said window.
You all know who's store this is.
Tank opened the front door, which squeaked awfully as he did so, and went inside. There were old, moldy boxes scattered about, with holes all over them from the mice trying to eat them. Tank was careful to hold up the end of his cloak so it wouldn't drag on the floor because somehow the carpet was moldier than the boxes. Parts of the room were blackened from someone trying to burn the place down, but it wasn't as bad as the random piles of trash that were cluttering the place. -But Tank didn't really take much noticed to all this disgusting-ness. He was focused on one thing.
It was the Happy Mask Salesman lying in the center of the room, on the floor.
Tank, standing behind a pile of boxes, stared at the sad little man from afar. He recalled his father telling him the shop owner he needed to find gave off a vibe of sadness and forgotten-ness, as if the universe got bored with him and decided to just throw him in some random abandoned building and forget about him. Tank studied HMS, in hopes that this man was the right loser.
HMS was lying on his back on the disgusting floor, staring at the ceiling as if he was studying it. He was as tattered and scary, just like when we last saw him; but for some reason, he now had his humongous backpack back, and it was lying next to him on the ground.
Yup. This was the guy.
Tank walked around the pile of boxes and approached the loser. But when he was only three feet away, Happy Mask stopped him. "No! Please, uh, don't come any closer." HMS commanded the boy. He held his hand out to stop Tank, but he made sure not to make eye contact. "Just let me be, child. Just let me be alone."
Hearing this, Tank rolled his eyes. There was now absolutely no doubt in his mind that this was the right loser. Sighing, he remembered what his father told him: If the shop man was doing an act (pretending he had no idea what a shop is, being overly depressing, ect.), all Tank had to do was say the right code-phrase and HMS will snap out of it and give him what he needed.
He walked up closer to the shop man. Standing over him, he said, "All I ask is, met with this fate, that it be merely for a short time."
Happy Mask Salesman sat so quickly at the sound of this phrase that if you blinked you would have missed it. "Damn. Took you long enough to say it." He jumped up from the ground and kicked aside some boxes. With only one hand, he picked up his backpack and threw it on. He then walked over to the door that led to the backroom and motioned the boy to follow.
Placing his hands on the door, the shop man decided to size up his new customer before showing him what that code-phrase has granted him access to. Tank stood next to HMS with somewhat-decent posture. His hair was blond and messy. He was merely four feet tall and his cloak covered the rest of his outfit.
"You're... You're a bit young to know about my place, sir." HMS said, still looking Tank over.
Tank looked down to his feet at this sentence. He rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously as he said, "...My dad sent me and told me what to do..."
HMS perked up a bit at this. "Ah! Of course," he said as threw open the door.
The inside of the backroom was quite a sight. Tank's mouth hung open as step inside, careful not to step on anything; because that would be easy to do, considering there were things piled up to the ceiling. The dark backroom, that was only lit by a few scattered torches hung on the walls, had a large rug in the middle of it and against the walls were piles and piles of valuables of all shapes, sizes, and uses. From priceless chandeliers to ancient paintings, rugs from royal chambers to paintings from museums, you name it, HMS probably had it. But the product he had most of was weaponry. A crap ton of weaponry.
"These are all stolen, aren't they?" Tank asked once he picked up his jaw.
HMS slowly turned to Tank, crooked his head, and asked back, "You came here for something I stole, didn't you?"
Looking down at his feet again, Tank sighed. "Yeah..." he answered, kicking some dust up. "I... My dad needs some weaponry. Preferably the special stuff."
HMS stroked his chin as he walked about, looking over his inventory. "What will the 'special stuff' be for?"
At the questioning of this, Tank made eye contact with the shop man for the first time. "The kind that can break my mother out of jail," he answered, tugging at the chest strings of his cloak.
"Ahhh. Gotcha." Happy Mask said, right before walking into a huge, ancient vase and almost breaking it with his knee. "Okay," he muttered as he got the vase back upright. "I got many of special stuff to break people out of imprisonment. Even some special people. But what I provide you with all depends on one thing:" He turned over to Tank, bent down to his level, put out both of his hands, and said, "How much money do you got?"
"Quite a lot, actually." Tank replied. He reached for the pocket inside his cloak and pulled out a little sack. He placed it in HMS hands. "My father said this should be enough to get what we need, but if it's not he can give you, even more, payment after we get my ma back."
HMS raised an eyebrow at this sentence. He opened the sack and at the sight of all the rubies his eyes made dollar signs. He cleared his throat. "Hmmm... Yes, yes, this should be enough for you to get the stuff you need." HMS replied, trying to sound cool and calm. "In fact, sir, with this kind of money, you can even rent one of my prisoners!"
Before Tank could freak out at the very thought of renting someone, HMS grabbed the rug in the middle of the room and pulled it away, revealing a giant hole in the floor. It was about eight feet wide, fifteen feet deep, and at the bottom of it was the five smashers that have yet to be saved from Termina.
"So, do you want to rent one or not?" HMS asked as he posed like a game show host in front of the hole. "Because I got some great grappling hooks if you have too much good nature to actually rent a human."
"Help us!" Little Mac screamed from inside the hole.
What's going to happen next, you wonder? Are the five Smashers okay? Will Tank actually rent a Smasher? Where am I and Ben Drowned during all this? Is Ben Drowned a Hello Neighbor fan? All these questions and more might actually be answered in the next chapter of A Taste of Smashiness! *Confetti*
Shout out time: Hiya, Derpy 2.0, how's it going? Thanks for all the reviews, Derpy! I've read every single one of them. And as for all your questions: I don't think even a bet could make these guys civil for a minute; bronies, like any other fandom, have good and bad sides, but I think they are mostly okay-ish (my sister use to be a brony, actually); the fanfic is called "Wii Fit Trainer's Farting Problem", and it currently has over 70 freaking chapters (God help us all.), this is actually my first chapter of using Grammarly; thank you for noticing my improvements did not need Grammarly, I actually only got it because I just got Chrome and it's free on it; and I understand your Full House and Fuller House opinion, I actually don't like Fuller House and might only love Full House because I grew up with the show.
(If you just read that and were not Derpy 2.0 and have no idea what I was going on about at all, I suggest checking out the reviews for this fanfic. You'll probably imminently get it.)
Happy New Year, everybody! Damn. 2016 was one heck of a long year. I swear we should all get free t-shirts that say "I Survived 2016" in the mail.