WarioWare Oneshots
By The Unknown Alias
And now, our first request! 'notfromearth7', you get a free cybernetic cookie for being my first of (hopefully) many requesters. And now, clear the dance floor for Jimmy T.!
Clashing Scores
Keep it level. Maintain the weight balance. Flow, not jerk. The directions ran subconsciously through Jimmy T.'s head as his body moved almost against his will to the near painful thump of the subwoofers that lined the walls about him. He could recognize the sounds, even though he actually tuned them out. THIS was music. There were no cuss words every five seconds, the message wasn't blatantly obscene, and thank the heavens above there were no sounds of gunshots mixed amongst the notes. Though he respected the tastes of the modern age, give him the glory days of the 50's any day. This was the reason that he loved the beloved Club Sugar.
Don't slack off though. Mustn't trip up. And try not to go 'Thriller' again.
He moved smoothly, as always. He and others were enjoying the daily sweet rave party. The lights flashed, the floor's tiles were truly multicolored, and the ever loved disco ball spun proudly. The crowd however had to clear an opening to behold the dance moves of the sweet disco man. Jimmy began to up the ante as his moves evolved quickly. Soon, the audience had to strain their eyes to keep up with his moves. Everyone was so transfixed; no one noticed that single sliding step launched a tile that broke because it couldn't handle Jimmy's dancing awesomeness. No one noticed, at least until the split second later when a crash resounded, quickly followed by a sharp and unbridled yelp of pain.
Everyone stopped in shock and stared at the broken window of the DJ's booth. Jimmy had also stopped and his musical note mustache drooped in realization at what happened.
As the ambulance wailed while shrinking into the metropolis, everyone left in somber silence. Jimmy could only rub his neck in embarrassment. That was the fourth and last DJ of the club, all in one week. And it was only Tuesday! This also meant that the club would have to close for a while until they can find a new DJ. Sure, Jimmy could do it, but they had tried that before, and it didn't end well.
Flashback!!!
Jimmy was looking around ashamed as the boss gaped at most of the equipment was broken or sparking. If ever asked why Jimmy had tried dancing in the cramped room in the first place, he simply answered that 'the rhythm made me do it again'.
The next week brought good news for Jimmy. The club had found a DJ! And they weren't going to sue! Apparently they couldn't find any concrete evidence or witnesses. But still, the club was open again! Jimmy was grateful. After all, his cell phone activities could only entertain him so long without the number one dancing hotspot in all of Diamond City to keep it lively.
Jimmy stepped proudly into the club, leading the feverish partiers who also had to wait. Like the party leader he was, everyone followed him to the dance floor strongly. Once he was in the middle, he struck a pointing pose, smiling at the fixed DJ window.
"All right DJ, put the needle on the record!"
The new DJ made a thumbs up, his silhouette being the only thing visible through the glass. Inside, the man pulled out a record, ready to rock the joint.
The group was ready as they heard the stereo come to life. The DJ's voice came over the speakers first.
"All right," said the smooth voice. "Time to get this place shaking once more. Get ready though, because we're starting hard and fast."
The crowd cheered in excitement as song begun.
The second it did, everyone stopped.
Oh. Em. Gee.
Jimmy wasn't sure if it was just a nightmare. But then he remembered that his imagination couldn't be that cruel to him. Music was playing all right. But no, it wasn't the norm. It wasn't even the modern rap he could live without. No, it was something worse. He prayed in a panic, hoping he had just gone delusional from separation anxiety.
But it wasn't anxiety.
It wasn't his imagination.
That indeed, was polka blaring through the speakers with an accordion sounding proudly.
Unseen by anyone, Jimmy cried a tear behind his sunglasses.
The response was instant, imminent, and expected. It was raw, untapped rage. Instead of the thumping funk that usually could be heard from the club into the night, there were screams, shouts, and the breaking of property.
By the time somebody had the sense to go into the DJ's room, the real source of the offence, said DJ was already crawling through the vent to safety. The event at the club soon had to be quelled with police action. And yet, no one who heard of the news could really blame the dancers.
A couple of days later, Jimmy's mood was a sour as the notes of a dented trumpet. He was laid on his employer's couch in a depression, preaching out his problems while Wario himself kept going in and out of the kitchen.
"I'm telling you, this is serious man!" Jimmy shouted as Wario left the kitchen holding a crate that had 'Toxic Waste' printed on it. In other words, he emptying out his fridge for trash day. "It's only been two days, and the guy's already holding the place hostage!"
"How again did you get into my house?" Wario asked, going back into the kitchen.
"After the punk escaped from his first day of work, all the other cool cats asked me to represent them in those police negotiations. No surprise since I'm Club Sugar's greatest regular…"
At this point Wario left the kitchen again with some kind of ball made from purple, green, and orange fungus.
"We told him we weren't going to put up with his polka playlists, but the guy's too persistent! 'Oh, you're just not giving it a chance! Polka's fine once you get used to it!' Was that guy dropped on his head when he was a kid?"
Wario left the kitchen again, now with one cryogenically frozen Captain Syrup in tow.
"Now we find out that the guy is practically a polka cult leader! He's trying to 'spread the wonder of polka to the fallen mortal ears' or something. The guy's a psychopath! And the management won't even do anything about him! They're saying that he was the only one who applied for the job and that they can't afford to lose him!"
At this point Wario was now leaving the kitchen, carrying the beginning of a submarine sandwich. The sandwich continued to come out of the kitchen as Jimmy spoke.
"This just stinks! The guy won't leave the club, there's nowhere else to go, and we can't just start our own club. There's no way out!"
"Then why don't you just find another DJ?" Wario asked. It should be noticed that he somehow left the kitchen a second time without going back, holding up the middle of the sandwich. Jimmy did notice this and rose with wide eyes, sufficiently freaked out. He could only stare as the supposedly second Wario went into the next room, still carrying the sandwich. "Well?" the echoed call snapped Jimmy out of his stupor. Apparently the situation was more stressful to him than he thought.
"The only people who could be the DJ's are still in the hospital."
"What? What for?" Wario asked, now leaving the kitchen again with the other end of the sandwich.
Jimmy winced and twitched at the anomaly before him before he discarded it from his mind. Better to leave the mind shattering mysteries to the scientists and philosophers. "Well, they all kinda got hit in freak dance tile incidents."
"Now there's something I would've like to see!" Wario said, again coming out of the kitchen, only now he just leaned against the doorway, chugging from a two liter of cola.
"Still, bottom line…" Jimmy sighed, sinking his chin on the upholstery of the couch. "Unless I get some help, there's no way we're going get Club Sugar back."
The word 'help' clicked in Wario's mind. Having recently attended Super Smash Brothers Brawl, he met quite a few people and got to know some more from fellow fighter Sonic. He couldn't help but image the possibilities…
An Elite Beat Agent squad let by Agent J landed behind Jimmy at the club as 'You Can't Stop the Beat' from the musical Hairspray began to play.
Reporter Ulala beginning to dance along with Jimmy, all littered with tempo-ed directions, 'chu-s', and 'hey-s'.
Amigo the monkey performing with his traditional maracas, giving Jimmy a boost as he dealt with the offending DJ.
Jimmy and the DJ in a dance contest, unaware that their performance was determined by the rising arrows of someone playing Dance Dance Revolution.
Wario actually got into the idea and chuckled, wondering how all of those would turn out. Or even begin for that matter. Jimmy noticed his friend's bedazzled state and sighed, sitting back down in the couch. He was going to need help. Sure, he can gather many friends, but without an experienced DJ they just won't be able to keep up.
A knock on the door interrupted both of their thoughts before Wario went to answer. Jimmy went back staring at the floor in silence.
"Hey, Jimmy! It's for you!"
Jimmy's eyebrows quivered as he came to the front door. What he saw surprised him, but more importantly, sparked hope.
The DJ he knocked out only more than a week ago stood before him, looking irate. But what really started the spark was the first thing he said. "Now, what's this I hear about a polka playing DJ taking my job?"
Jimmy T. stared dead ahead with abnormal seriousness. Before him laid Club Sugar. It was almost time for the daily night rave, and that new DJ would blare out polka music whether anyone was inside or not, the latter being the obvious situation. The old DJ came up beside the groove machine, also calm and serious.
"Everyone's set Jimmy. We're ready to go by your command."
Jimmy smiled. "Good. We start moving out now." He turned to the dancing army he gathered. Amongst them were all of his family, Jimmy P., and also the mass of cats and dogs. Anyone who ever stepped on the dance floor beside him (including all of his co-workers) had gathered for this war of music.
"Everyone, we perform now! I want to see your feet moving like we're dancing on the sun! NOW LET'S GET FUNKY!"
The mob roared with enthusiasm as they rushed in, breaking down the doors of the club. Everyone went into position, Jimmy at the head and the old DJ at the back, armed with a turntable system and plenty of speakers. The new DJ was at the other end of the club, glaring through the window.
"Alright, listen up you square! It's high time you hit the road! And unless you do it right now, we all are going to dance you into submission!"
The new DJ chuckled, then it grew into laughter, and then it just grew maniacal. "Oh come on! You think I didn't know that this would happen sooner or later? You guys aren't the first town I've dealt with, and I won't lose now!"
To further show his increasing signs of insanity, he blew on a whistle and instantly an equal amount of polka warriors came out, all decked in lederhosen and high socks. Instantly Jimmy became more worried, but not for his army.
"MWUHAHAHAHAAAH!" the new DJ howled. "You fools shall now open your eyes to the superiority of polka!"
Needless to say, somebody in Jimmy's army called the nearest psychiatric ward. They were going to have a boom in business.
"Ready? Let's dance!" Jimmy shouted.
Instantly the old DJ proudly started things with 'Play That Funky Music'. The polka DJ, not taking any chances, began with the only slightly polka-ish artist that was truly acceptable in the common day. Weird Al Yankovic. The hours spun into the night, the Bee Gees still holding strong in the assault. As more hours piled, so did the bodies. (From exhaustion people, relax!)
Soon, the time finally came. Dawn was only minutes away. Jimmy still stood, though trembling. Looking around him, he knew things were getting too close. Many of his fallen comrades were now wearing lederhosen. But the fallen polka dancers were now bearing commonplace clothes. There were only four people left. Jimmy T., his DJ, the polka DJ, and the most supreme polka warrior (who apparently couldn't decide if his ethnicity was Swedish or German). This was the last battle. All or nothing.
Jimmy looked grimly at his DJ. "DJ, time to use the secret weapon."
The DJ instantly had a shocked face. "Jimmy, NO! Maybe earlier we could've, but not now! You're almost all done!"
"Do it! We have no other choice."
The DJ prayed to the heavens as he slowly slid out a record that bore a nuclear symbol on it. He set it into place and placed the needle. Meanwhile, the polka DJ was getting cocky.
"Pah! There's nothing you can do now! Yorkawich here is a fifteen year polka champion! There's no song in any arsenal that can save you now!"
Jimmy only remained stationary. Focus your energy. You need all that you can for this dance. Behold! The ultimate dancing song!
Jimmy posed as the song began to play. The polka DJ listened in confusion while playing his final song. What kind of blaspheming music began with creaky steps and a werewolf howl? But then the beat began to play. The polka DJ's eyes widened.
He knew of the song.
He never thought he would have to face it.
He never wanted to face it!
Anyone who could pull it off successfully would more or less instantly win!
He cranked his song's volume to twelve in a vain attempt to fight.
But it was hopeless.
Once your opponent begins Michael Jackson's 'Thriller', you've already lost.
Indeed, Jimmy T. was dancing to the signature song of the former King of Pop. Though his very life now was in shambles, not many could deny the amazing power he showed in the song.
Keep it level. Maintain the weight balance. Flow, not jerk. Don't slack off. Mustn't trip up.
As Jimmy carried through the familiar sequence of moves, it became easier. More natural. He had won. He knew it. The song continued into the climax, and the final polka dancer was sweating bullets. The man's veins were showing, whereas Jimmy was actually cooling off.
The dancer tried to go all out, but in vain. Jimmy decided to put the final nail in the coffin.
Using a carefully timed and powerful stomp, right during the exact final seconds of the song, a tile from the dance floor flew up, and Jimmy swung his body one last time, his foot knocking the tile into the dancer causing him to knock the polka DJ through the wall of the club. Jimmy took one final pose and paused, holding it as the evil laughter from the song echoed out with the lights.
From the wall, the sun was rising. The polka DJ was unconscious while Jimmy's army began to wake. They saw the scene and a triumphant Jimmy T. standing alone on the dance floor. Cheers began to erupt and Jimmy smiled. They won.
A couple of days later the sun set again and Club Sugar was repaired and filled once more.
Everyone cheered while Jimmy danced center stage. He stopped before he took the microphone. "Everyone, you did a great job out there. If it wasn't for you all, Club Sugar wouldn't be the dance club it should be. Long live Club Sugar!"
"LONG LIVE FUNK!" the club shouted in victory.
Jimmy got back down on the dance floor after that short speech. But life was a sadistic mistress. Jimmy jumped down and slid on another loose tile. Which ended up ricocheting into the DJ's booth. Which was responded with a familiar cry of pain. Jimmy looked up from the floor in disbelief.
He then curled up, his head in his hands. He could already hear the accordion music again.
A/N: Just as a side tidbit, every scenario that Wario thought up really did go through my mind. But the request didn't call for a crossover so I didn't take the liberty. But I had to sneak them in somehow, so here they are.
The Unknown Alias's status: Signed out.
Date of Update: 6/4/2009
(My sister's birthday! Yay!)
