Jul 9, 2016
Download: http://www.mediafire.com/watch/pd7ghvc57au6caa/A3._Hitlag_and_DI_0.02-muxed_0.mp4 Meant to be watched in 1080p. Sorry for the mediocre timing; you'...
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Download: http://www.mediafire.com/watch/pd7ghvc57au6caa/A3._Hitlag_and_DI_0.02-muxed_0.mp4 Meant to be watched in 1080p. Sorry for the mediocre timing; you'...
Welcome, fellow Smashers, to the greatest show in the multiverse--the annual Smash Tournament! This...
Round 6 of DI is up!
[Directional Influence] Round Six: The Future Past
Author’s Note: After a long hiatus, I have finally come around to updating this thing! Thanks to the support of the readers, I’ve decided to try overcoming my writer’s block in time for the anniversary of DI. This chapter might be a bit shorter than the others, but it’s got the same characters and plot you love, plus some newly introduced fellows and twists.
After much aimless wandering and some assistance from a handful of helpful comrades, he finds himself in the midst of a stone path colored with flowers of every color, shape, and size. As he travels down the path, he cannot help but stop to observe the more exotic species of flora, as well as the birds and insects that flock to them.
One in particular stands out: a round, pink, cat-like creature with large sea-colored eyes. The pink creature playfully cries out, “Jigglypuff!” as it skips and floats about. But as Olimar quickly notices, the creature is not alone, but accompanied by a chubby little star. The star plucks a red flower—a five-petaled specimen that almost could rival it in size—and offers it to the pink cat. The cat, overjoyed, immediately puts it on its ear as decoration, and opens its mouth to sing.
“Oh, Luma, there you are,” a distant voice calls out to the star. Gracefully, the owner of the voice—Rosalina herself—floats over to it as it hops into her arms. Staring down at the pink cat, she says, “I see you've made a new friend.”
Olimar is about to take a step forward and speak up, but she responds for him. “Good day to you, Captain Olimar. Would you like to join us?” Taken off-guard, he nods and follows along.
In the heart of the maze of flowers is a grand-sized gazebo, under the roof of which sits two picnic tables, occupied by Rosalina's friends, Lumas of various colors, plus the “Jigglypuff” and another pink creature, the latter featureless save for a cute, innocent face. Rosalina offers a seat, which Olimar accepts, and they converse as the others play along.
“This place is beautiful, isn't it?”
Unable to react quickly enough, he stammers, “I suppose it is.” Then, with a deep breath of confidence, “No. It really is beautiful.”
“But you're worried about something. I can see it on your face.”
“There's nothing wrong with the resort. I just...” he pauses to collect his thoughts. “I'm getting a bit restless. I came here to fight, not to laze about on some island!”
For a moment, Rosalina is unresponsive. Staring out into the distance, she mouths Olimar's words to herself. Then, her gaze shifting down to his small, bruised hands, she gasped. “Goodness, what happened here?”
He swiped his hand away. “It's nothing, really. Just a minor injury. It'll heal.”
“Not at this rate. Have you even bothered with treatment? Here.” From the mysterious confines of her dress, she uncovered a small container filled with some sort of gel-like substance. She applied the substance to the bruises, soothing the pain and removing some of the color.
“Amazing! It's already working. What is this?”
“Just some mushroom-based ointment, with a touch of magic for quick healing. Mario helps out at a pharmacy, and offered this for emergencies. Even Bowser took one, despite his protests.” She giggled at the thought. “If you'd like, you can have it. You have been working so hard, you need it more than I do.”
Olimar was dumbfounded, but took the ointment anyway. “Thanks. I didn't think anyone noticed. Everyone's had their eyes on you since you arrived. Smash Dojo has an article on you!”
“What? Me? I have not noticed any of it. I just try to end the fights as mercifully as possible. The sooner all this ends, the better.”
“But if you don't want to fight, then why enter in the first place?”
A long pause, then: “The Observatory... the Lumas' home... it's gone.”
For a while, nothing was said. He didn't know what to say. How could he? Compared to Marth and Rosalina, his reason looked petty. “I'm sorry. I...”
“You don't have to say anything,” she interrupted. “You listened, and you're thinking of me. That's all that I wanted.” Her single exposed eye, shimmering like stars in a deep blue sky, stared down at the Hocotatian with sympathy. That alone was all that he needed.
Elsewhere, beneath the same blue sky, Alph and Little Mac have been involved in all sorts of activities. Ring toss, wooden sword fights, and even a ball game or two. Mac has gained the most victories, due to his tall, athletic build, though Alph's small stature and intellect has won him some on occasion. After running through many games, they decide to stop for downtime.
“That was so much fun! There's so much to do, I don't wanna leave!”
Alph's expression turns somber. “Yeah, me neither.”
“But there's still the tournament, right? Cool as this place is, I can't wait to get back. I hear the prize money's, like, a bazillion! With that money, I can start my own gym and carry on Doc's legacy.”
“But I thought Doc was with you the whole time. I've seen you train with him between fights, and he even joins you when you do your victory pose.”
The young boxer looks away, hiding the tears beginning to form. “That's not really him. Master Hand made that weird clone of Doc to keep me company. As if that'll fix anything.”
Seeing the pain in him, Alph gently lays a hand on Mac's glove. “Hey, Doc may not be real, but you're not alone at all. You got us, and Olimar, and everyone else here. For better or for worse, you're with friends.”
Little Mac's expression is still hidden, but the Koppaite can tell he is smiling.
The heartwarming moment, however, is interrupted by the sounds of clashing steel, as a blue-haired swordsman flies by, stumbling on the ground. Little Mac stands and takes a defensive stance, while Alph runs over to help the fallen fighter. “Marth,” Alph calls out, “Are you okay?”
Marth spares no time to answer, as another blue-haired swordsman—like himself, but clad in a mask—shoves Mac aside and prepares to lunge at him. He tries to get up, but feels a stinging pain in his leg. Damn, he swears under his breath. Even with Alph by his side, he's still defenseless at this rate.
“Back Slash!”
A voice echoes, followed by the swift slicing of wind. Standing in Marth's place is a blond young man, wielding a red, energy-powered sword. The opposing swordsman is knocked back by the blond's attack, and as they fall, the mask they wore breaks in half as it makes impact with the ground. As they stand, locks of their once-short hair unfurls, flowing halfway down their back. Their face, intense with the anger of defeat, is soft and feminine, even compared to the androgynous Marth.
The blond boy approaches the swordswoman and holds out a hand. “You can drop the act now, 'Marth',” he says to her, a sly, knowing grin on his face.
Resigned, the so-called “Marth” accepts the gesture and is helped to her feet. “I thought I put up a pretty good act. My plan fell apart when he came along.”
Marth, finally on his feet, confronts the other. “Which begs the question: why the act? Why borrow my name and appearance?”
The female brushes her hair aside, revealing a mark in her eye that struck Marth as familiar—the Mark of Naga. “I came here to save my father's future. I thought by impersonating the Hero-King, I'll be able to blend in with his allies.”
He was taken aback by the revelation, but responded, “So you've heard about my past participation.”
“From an anonymous source, yes. I have also learned to imitate your fighting style. Though I guess I still have much to learn.” Glancing at everyone else's faces, she continues. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Lucina, son of the Exalt Chrom, and the descendant of Marth the Hero-King. Pleased to meet you.”
Marth, still internally taking the information in, answers, “It's an honor to meet you, Lucina.”
Turning her attention to the blond boy, her face turns inquisitive. “You, the one who successfully parried my shot. May I ask your name?”
“The name's Shulk,” the blond answers with a modest smile. “If you'd like, I can show you around.” Returning his expression, she agreed, and they walked off, leaving the rest to wonder what just happened.
“I can't believe you got to meet your descendant,” says Alph.
“Neither can I,” Marth mutters.
“Look on the bright side: that means there's still hope for you in the future!” No response. “Well, maybe you two can learn more about each other. Find out how this weird time travel thing works.”
“I suppose.”
“And we can figure out what's up with this tourney,” Little Mac interjects. “I'm not sure why, but I think there's something special about her. Like, there has to be a reason why you're both in Smash.”
Marth blinks in pause. “That's amazingly insightful. Perhaps there is some mysterious force at work. Something none of us have seen yet.”
-Round Six Post-Script-
He cannot believe what he just heard. The big conspiracy Special Squad Leader had been waiting for has finally come to light—so he thinks. In his hands is a conversation between Conductor—his brother—and the former Commander. What little he can make out involves some sort of universe-wide domination—maybe? Well, maybe he doesn't have all the evidence. But there is something going on, he knows that much.
Sitting alone in a dark corridor, far out of sight of the Mii-bots, he goes over the recording again.
“Ludwig von Koopa. That is your name, yes? Mind telling us all what your lot has been up to?”
“That's none of your business!”
“Oh? I think you'll change your mind after this.”
The sounds of his squad members' screams follow for the next minute. Hearing them in pain sends chills down Squad Leader's spine.
“Wait,” Conductor cries out, causing the noise to cease. “I'll explain everything. Just spare my brothers and sister.”
“Excellent.” Cries of protest from his siblings are muffled out.
“We came here to find Junior. We never intended to participate—Father forbade us—but he found a piece of the invitation and signed it… signed it with his blood. When we woke up the next morning, he was gone. We found the other pieces in the trash… and did the same.”
“According to our records, there are seven of you 'Koopalings', correct? Where is the young one?”
“I don't know. Even if I knew, I'll never tell!”
A pause. “Very well. I will spare your siblings. Bring us the Prince, and all will be well.”
“But—”
Another voice, deeper and darker in tone, repeats the command, this time more threatening. “Bring me the Prince, and all will be well.”
His voice shifting to an uncharacteristic drone, Conductor answers, “Yes, Master.”
Squad Leader clicks off the tape recorder. There's so much he doesn't know about this place, about the Mastermind, about everything. Can he really overthrow this seemingly omnipotent being and save Junior? The stress is starting to get to him. Come to think of it, when was the last time he had sleep? He can feel himself nodding off.
Suddenly, he is assaulted by soft, slobbery flesh, forcing him awake. Sitting excitedly next to him is a brown dog. After shoving the creature's face aside, he notices something on its collar. A note? He slips it out the collar and—using a small flashlight he had stashed away—begins to read it.
Larry,
If you're reading this, I am safe. Trust Hunter and Ducky. They're here to help. Please respond ASAP.
I believe in you.
- BJ
Reading the message caused Squad Leader's confidence to surge. He wants to write back, but sadly lacks a pen. Instead, he whispers to the dog, “Hey, show me where Junior is.” Happily, the dog runs off into the darkness.
As they travel deeper into the hidden infrastructure of the Smash Tower, Larry, his pit filled with dread, constantly looks over his shoulder. Eventually, they reach a pitch-black room filled with crates. The dog leaps behind a mountain of crates, disappearing from sight. Larry climbs over the pile and looks down. A dimly slowing M-shaped mark is painted on the floor, beckoning to his curious nature. With no other options in sight, he jumps down the rabbit hole.
[Directional Influence] Round Five: On the Hunt
Summary: While all the other Smashers are living it up on Wuhu Island, Louie, Brittany, and the Mii-bots are busy searching for the mysterious vandals. Meanwhile, Ducky and Hunter are on their own mission, avoiding security to send a message for their Master.
Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay! I uploaded this chapter on FF.Net and AO3, but kept forgetting to upload it here. Well, now it’s here, so I hope you’ll forgive me for keeping you waiting. Also, since I’m juggling multiple projects, future chapters will have no images until further notice.
The morning the Smashers are scheduled to return, they instead receive a message that the Tower will be off-limits due to renovations and that they will have to stay at the resort until further notice. Needless to say, many of them are pleased by the news. Among the unpleasable is Bowser.
“I know that face,” Dedede says. “You've got somethin' on yer mind, dontcha?”
In Bowser's clawed hands is a small locket, inside of which contains a photo of him and his son. Open and close, he goes through the routine. “I wonder what Junior's up to.”
“This is about those somebodies, right?”
“I haven't found 'em myself, but I've been hearing things. Some other fighters have been spotting weird blue Marios all over.”
“One of the Robins said they found something blue, but they wouldn't tell me anymore.” He sighs in exasperation. “Those are some smart kids you got there.”
“All but two, really,” Bowser corrects him, half-joking. “But the real question is, why are all of 'em here? I ripped up their acceptance letters before they could find 'em.” All except one, apparently.
“Perhaps the same reason we are?” The penguin smirks.
“I hope not. The last thing we need is more potential hosts for Master Core.” He snaps the locket shut and stashes it. “Which brings up a new question: who's the current host?”
Dedede tries to recount the participants in his head. “Hey, Koopa. That one letter, it said there's supposed t' be forty-eight, right? But we don't got that many with us.”
“Meaning the current host must be one of the ones missing.”
“Or possibly all of 'em,” Dedede adds. “Remember what happened back then.”
Bowser nods. “Right.” Mulling through the numbers, that makes at least ten possible suspects. Maybe. He was never great with numbers. “Whoever they are, I hope they're doin' well.”
Among those suspected is Hunter, a simple dog, and its equally simple duck friend, Ducky. Those aren't their real names, of course, but it's what their current master calls them, so they run with it. After all, what could go wrong with a master that gives great belly rubs? As it turns out, plenty. The robot guards have been tearing the Tower apart from the bottom up, all in search of him. And based on the recon gathered from the microscopic camera attached to Ducky, he's not the only one they're after, either.
But Master doesn't seem worried at all. He's been keeping himself busy, locked away in a room hidden from the prying eyes of the guards. The room can only be found by pushing a specific pile of junk in the cellar, revealing a strange, colorful 'M'-shaped portal on the floor. They would jump into the portal, leading them into a workshop armed to the teeth with an assortment of tools and machinery. The simple fact that Master not only wields a tool capable of bending time and space to his will, but also able to design and create his own tools, and at such a young age is nothing short of fantastic. The people in charge of this joint chose their warriors wisely.
On the other hand, Master's buddies might be in a bit of a bind, at least, if those images on Master's television screens are accurate. Along with Ducky's camera, he had managed to hack into the main security system of the building, allowing an extra set of eyes.
However, Master's not watching the cameras; his attention is focused on the current project at hand, an odd-looking cart with a clown face. After performing some finishing touches, he hops into the cart and activates it. The Junior Clown Car, as he calls it, instantly comes to life, panting and grinning like a dog reunited with its owner. Hunter has mixed feelings towards its unusually lifelike behavior. But if Master is happy, so be it.
Ducky, the only one watching the cameras at that moment, quacks and points its bill at one of the screens. One of Master's friends is on the loose yet again, but with the increased security, may be out of luck. Luckily for them, that friend of his is skilled in acrobatics, and thus able to outrun the guards. At least, until the Commander arrives.
The Commander is Master's codename for the one in charge of the guards. The first one was a tiny alien man, the same one who owned the ship Master raided, but he soon was swapped out for another alien, this one female. The original Commander didn't seem to care much for his job, but the current one is devoted to her position and aggressive in her methods. In her stead is an army of even smaller plant creatures. Using the plant creatures as an obstacle, Master's friend is quickly outnumbered and apprehended. One down, seven left.
Master's brow furrows, and he proceeds to his next project with swiftness. His intention was to complete his current project before reuniting with his friends, but such crises call for sudden changes in plans. He scribbles down something in two sheets of paper, then folds it up and ties them to Hunter's and Ducky's collars. Right away, they know what they must do.
Hunter and Ducky enter the Tower from the cellar. They scout the area and go down a route least populated by prying eyes. Combining the dog's keen sense of smell with the duck's sharp vision, they are able to avoid the guards and exploit the cameras' blind spots. Continuing onward, Hunter's nose catches whiff of a familiar scent: artificial and toxic, like a mix of oil and paint. The smell grows stronger with every step, eventually leading to a stairway dripping with corrosive yellow paint. Attempting to move onward could prove lethal, but not doing so could hinder the mission. With a sad whimper, Hunter sends Ducky ahead and runs elsewhere.
One upside to splitting up like this is that Hunter can move around more freely without a duck on its back. This makes avoiding cameras and slipping into tight spots much easier. The dog crawls through an open vent and shuffles through them as stealthily as possible. That's what Master would do, after all. And maybe he'll hide in a box, if he can find one. Yeah, that's just what Master would do.
Meanwhile, on the second floor, Ducky flies about, avoiding the cameras. There doesn't appear to be much activity here, but that might have to do with the excessive amounts of paint. Finding a nearby door, it lands on the handle, adding pressure and unlocking it. As soon as it swings wide open, the duck takes off once again, landing on top of one of the many towering bookshelves. Master calls this place a “library”, and would occasionally sneak into it from one of the vents to obtain information. Master is smart like that.
Usually, the library would be quiet and almost devoid of people (save for those snow-haired twins and occasionally that one with the giant sword). But as of late, there would always be a pair of Mii-bots marching about: one patrols the north end and the other the south. Considering the Commander's thoroughness, Ducky finds this oversight rather surprising. It's possible that Master's friend is hiding somewhere close. The question is where?
Somewhere in the vents, Special Squad Leader is crawling about, attempting to retain his composure. With Wild Child captive, Wacky War Machine out of reach, and no contact from the others—not even Conductor—he's beginning to lose hope. Junior, wherever you are, when I find you, I'm gonna kick your ass!
Hunter is still in the vents, but an odd scent catches him off-guard. It smells familiar, yet different, like blueberries. Or is it raspberries? Who cares, it's Master's friend! Hunter crawls, tumbles, and climbs through the complex ventilation system installed in the Tower, following that fragrant trail.
After crawling aimlessly for seemingly forever, Special Squad Leader comes across a dim light shining through in slits. He approaches and looks down. The room is dark, and full of chatter—most likely about the catastrophe at hand—but one voice stands out from the rest: Louie. At least, he's pretty sure that's what the name is. What's-his-name comes across just as composed as he's always been. Almost too composed; his cockiness could rival Conductor's. Luckily, Leader has come prepared. He whips out a small tape recorder and presses the red button.
-Round Five Post-Script-
Back on Wuhu Island, Alph is flipping through the channels on the TV. “Man, there's nothing on!” Just as his finger is about to press the button again, his mouth slips out an “oh”. “I didn't realize Kirby had his own show.” He chuckles at the penguin king's on-screen appearance. “Dedede sounds really funny, when you think about it. But watching him from the theater, he sounds nothing like his usual self.”
Olimar, preoccupied with an issue of Smash Dojo, replies, “I wonder if it's something they changed for ratings.”
“Ratings?”
“I found out about it recently. Apparently, our fights have been airing all over the place. Or written.” He flips straight to a specific page and displays it. “Take Meta Knight for example. He used to be the best, to the point where some have accused him of cheating and made watching the fights dull. But now...” He closes the magazine. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
“You think he got worse on purpose?”
“It's possible. Or maybe he's just gotten rusty since the last tournament.” A lot of things happened that last time, many of which are a blur to him now. “But it doesn't matter, anyway. With all these newcomers, the tier lists are constantly changing.” So many changes, he sometimes wishes everything would turn back to the way he remembers them being.
The second Dedede's animated counterpart exits stage left, Alph turns off the television. “I'm heading to the gym with Mac. Wanna come with?”
“Maybe later. Have fun!” He cannot help but smile—it's been a while since he said those two words. Alph goes out to play, leaving Olimar on his own. The previous night has left him feeling more relaxed than usual; perhaps the effects of the alcohol are still lingering. His mind is filling up with a slew of random ideas and topics, but one in particular stands out. “I wonder what Rosalina's up to.”
Not knowing much about her, he heads out to search. He starts by exploring the halls of the building itself. Rosalina seems like a smart woman, if perhaps a bit spacey. A poor assumption to make, but at least it's something to follow on. The Robins practically live in the library, so it might be best to start from there.
As he starts making way there, he passes by the balcony, where Dedede and Bowser are hanging out. They appear to be deep in conversation, though Olimar isn't sure what. Something about “hosts” and “suspects”. There's not enough context to figure out what's going on, and he doesn't feel too comfortable eavesdropping. What he hears next tempts him to stay.
“Stupid Master Core. I'm sick of his games. When I get ahold of 'im, I'm gonna destroy him once and for all. I'll bring an end to this game, even if it kills me.”
Images from Round 4 of Directional Influence. This is arguably the point where the drawings stop making sense out of context.
Also, this was the first time drawing Louie in a while. Oddly enough, he looks better than any other Louie I've drawn thus far.
[Directional Influence] Round Four: For Fun or For Glory
Summary: With the vandalism at its peak, Master Hand sends the Smashers to Wuhu Island to distract them until further notice. Olimar, once again lacking purpose, is left to wander about aimlessly... until he meets her.
Author's Note: Sorry for taking longer than usual. I plan on changing to an "update whenever I feel like it" sort of schedule to reduce the stress of juggling multiple blogs at once, but I might as well upload one more chapter in the meantime, while I'm working on figuring out what to do with my life.
Several days pass without incident. A few messes here and a damaged wall there, but nothing unusual for those residing at the Smash Tower. However, many days of non-stop brawling is taking a toll on poor old Olimar, and his younger partner is beginning to notice, despite his consistent denial. Alph takes his concerns to the highest level he could think of, and they give an unexpected solution.
“We have received some concerns regarding the well-being of our fellow Smashers,” Master Hand's voice booms over the speakers. “As safety is our number one priority, we shall directly address them right now. Everyone come to the landing dock in one hour; the rest will be explained later.”
That “explanation”, if one can call it that, consists of a Mii pilot ordering everyone into a giant plane and sending them to a resort on Wuhu Island. The resort provides a wide variety of activities, from hot springs to racetracks. Name it, and it's available somewhere. The Smashers, themselves in need of a break, take complete advantage of this opportunity.
Olimar heads straight for the library, hoping a little light reading would refresh his mental capacities. But his thoughts continuously race in a loop, and he finds himself unable to focus. He skims the environment, looking for some way to relax.
Sitting in some bean bag chairs in a corner is a pair of twins in robes. Their attention is taken by the book they're sharing, and they whisper in sync with each other. Creepy.
In a table not too far from the little alien is an effeminate man, his blue hair in a bob. Olimar only talked to him a couple of times, and even then, he spoke with a heavy accent, making him hard to understand. It's a wonder anyone can have a conversation with him. (Then again, others have noted his own accent, likely influenced by the staccato nature of his native language. He's been trying to hide it since.) But that's none of his business; he looks busy, anyway.
After a few more attempts, he gives up on the book and goes out for a walk. Peaceful and bountiful, the island feels like a utopia. Yet, aside from himself and the other fighters and the occasional Mii servant, the place is completely deserted. Whether this counts as a good thing or not, he is unsure.
Jogging past is the porcelain-skinned woman, followed by a man of similar appearance and Little Mac. Then Sonic zips by from the other side, knocking the wind out of everyone nearby. As he explores the resort, he bumps into more Smashers, including the Mario Brothers, who have plans to go karting with Bowser. He finally comes to the conclusion that the only one not having fun is him.
“But what's not to enjoy here,” Alph asks with a surprised gasp. “This place has got everything!”
“I've tried everything. Reading, horseback riding, jogging, even go karting. But I can't help but feel like there's something missing.”
“Well, the racing was fun, right?”
Scratching his head, Olimar replies, “I suppose a little. Until that spiny blue shell came into the picture.”
Alph has a bemused look on his face, when a sudden idea strikes. “Oh, I almost forgot! Dedede's invited me to go with him to the hot springs. You wanna come?”
It doesn't take much to convince him. Not that he has much choice. Whatever nerves he had are washed away in the steaming hot water. The only downside is his own modesty in contrast to Alph's lack thereof. (Apparently, Koppaites have no sense of prudence.) But judging by the blue-haired presence peeking in from behind the sliding door, he's not the only one.
“What're you waitin' for, Martha? Come on down!” Dedede slaps his hand against the rock ledge beside him.
“My name is Marth, you oversized flightless bird,” 'Martha' snaps. “And why are you the only one in clothes?” He jabs a finger at Dedede, who is still wearing his underlying robe and belt.
“I got a skin condition. Now, quit yer whining an' jump in!”
“It's fun,” Alph adds with glee.
Suddenly cornered, Marth stutters, “On second thought, I—”
“If it's about yer li'l weight problem, ya don't have t' worry one bit,” Dedede sneers with a slap of his fat belly.
With hesitance, Marth steps out and approaches the spring. His 'weight problem' is hardly worse than average, but it would explain the sudden habit of wearing looser clothing. Plus, his chubby cheeks, combined with his pitiful expression, makes him look even cuter. “P-please don't laugh.”
The blue penguin holds back a snicker. “Yer makin' a big deal over this?” He pokes at Marth's tummy, causing him to wince. “No wonder you've been holdin' back!”
“Me, hold back?” The bluenette scoffs. “If anyone is holding back, it's Olimar.”
Olimar's pointed ears twitch. “True, this old man isn't as sturdy as he was in his prime. But then again, the same can be said of you, eh, old man?”
A scowl forms on Marth's face as he grabs hold of his wrist. “What do you know? I still can slice your minions before they can touch me.”
“Maybe, but I could tell. Your reflexes are slower, and your range is...” He glances at the Koppaite. “Alph, take Dedede and distract him. This is between Marth and me.”
The penguin's beak cracks a toothy grin. “Fine by me. I needed some fresh air, anyway.”
After they leave, Olimar resumes his conversation. “How's your wrist doing, by the way?”
Marth bows his head in shame as he bends his wrist slightly. “It's been better. Can't say the same about your hands.”
Olimar glances at his knuckles, splotched various colors and achingly stiff. “That's what I get for trying to break Bowser's shell,” he says with a chuckle. “Look at us old men, trying to prove ourselves in some stupid tournament.”
“It's not stupid!” The sudden outburst throws the Captain off. “You may think we do this for fun or for glory, but some of us are here for a reason.”
“Says you, 'hero-king',” Olimar retorts, a harsh tone in his voice. “You have everything you could possibly ever want—”
“Except a kingdom.” The smaller man looks at the taller one's eyes, sad and lonely, and bites his tongue. “Shortly after my first time at the tournament, I returned to my land, and we prospered. I thought I could repeat my success, so I accepted Master Hand's second offer. But when I came back, Archanea had fallen. During my absence, a rival kingdom had declared war and ravaged my own. My wife, my people... all gone.”
After a long moment of silence, Olimar finally mutters, “I'm sorry. I didn't know...”
“Don't bother with words,” Marth interrupts, wiping a tear from his eye. “Next time we meet in battle, prove yourself with action.” He holds out a hand. “For fun or for glory. Why do you fight?”
“For fun or for glory.” The words resonate in his head. Staring down at his own bruised hands, his mind starts to wonder. Briskly, he grabs hold of the taller man's hand and shakes it. “Very well, then. I accept your challenge!”
Back at the hotel, Alph waits outside Dedede's room while he changes into some dry clothes. “If you were gonna change anyway, why bother wearing them in the first place?” He mutters bitterly while tapping his foot. His tone makes a one-eighty the moment the door opens. “'Bout time you finished! We're gonna be late at this—” He inspects the penguin top to bottom, noticing a considerable change in wardrobe. “Wow, Dee, you really dress for the occasion. You are a king!”
“Ya mean I wasn't before,” He asks, raising a brow. “Well, it ain't everyday I wear this sorta stuff. Might as well go all out.”
They head downstairs to the ballroom, where everyone, friend or foe, can settle their differences and party to their heart's content. Unlike the cafeteria or lounge, there's a lot more inter-universe mingling, due to a combination of too much drink and grand-scale ballroom dancing choreography. In contrast, Olimar seems to become more somber and anti-social with each sip.
“Ollie, you've been drinking an awful lot tonight,” Alph says nervously. His escort, the king, has long since left him to go chat with Bowser and the other heavyweights.
Staring down at his glass, he replies with befuddlement, “I have? Strange.” He is not known for having much tolerance with alcohol (that's more along Louie's specialties), making this sudden habit even more surprising. “I really must not have anything better to do.”
“If you don't wanna stay, I can bring you ba—”
“No, don't. I'll be okay.” He finishes off the last of his drink and hands it to Alph. “Just give me a moment. And perhaps some water.”
Alph, more concerned with Olimar's well-being, hesitates before complying. Even as he steps out of sight and towards the refreshments table, he glances back from time to time, hoping the veteran Captain doesn't do anything reckless or worse in his absence. While swapping out the empty glass for a plastic cup of water, Alph's arm collides with another, spilling both drinks. “Sorry! I'll go clean that—”
“Nonono, it's okay,” the other person interrupts. The other person, a blond woman dressed in a sparkling blue dress, whips out a handkerchief and wipes the spilled water from the floor. “I should have been more considerate.” She blinks, her single exposed eye widening, as if face-to-face with a long-lost friend. “You look familiar. Are you Captain... Falcon?”
“What? Me? No, I think you're confused. I'm Alph—not really a captain. I dunno where everyone gets that impression.” He shakes the thought off. “Anyway, you're probably thinking of Olimar. He's the real captain.” He follows up with, “Er, no offense, Mr. Falcon.”
“None taken,” says a buff, helmeted man in blue as he shuffles onto the dance floor.
The lady chuckles, her voice delicate like the baby blue she wears. “Well, it's lovely to meet you, Alph. I hope you don't mind my asking, but I would like to meet your friend.”
“Er, I dunno. He hasn't been in the best mood lately.”
“No worries. I simply wish to introduce myself.” She smiles gently, which is enough to sway him.
He escorts her to where he last left Olimar, sulking in a far-off corner of the ballroom. The Hocotatian's ears twitch, picking up on Alph's presence. Alph hands him the water and distances himself, leaving him alone with with a stranger in blue. The stranger curtsies and introduces herself. So formal is she, both in manner and appearnace, that her name becomes an even bigger shock. “R-Rosalina?” He has heard her name in conversation, particularly in discussions over 'tier lists', which many of the Smashers create and use in their silly gambling games. According to the list, she is rumored to be among the top players, a true force of nature. But seeing her in person, he's taken aback, his subconscious unable to connect the top-tier competitor with the matriarch standing before him. “I, erm, I'm Olimar.”
“Yes, your friend told me,” she says, her tone lighthearted. “I came across one of your recent performances. Right away, I could tell you were unique.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Olimar replies, apprehensive. “I'm not really that interesting in person, however.”
“But you're not boring at all! Just the opposite, in fact.”
“I'm sorry, but you seem to have gotten the wrong impression of me.”
“Really? If you're not interesting, then how would you describe yourself?”
Olimar tries to come up with something impressive, but cannot think of a single positive thing to say about himself. Even if he were to ignore the tier lists—which have dismissed him as “bottom of the barrel”—he cannot deny that he is far from saintly. “Well, I'm smart? And I guess that's about it.”
“You're certainly modest,” Rosalina says with a smile. “And passionate, and observant, and daring, too.”
“Wha-How did you get all that from a single fight?” Besides, those words could describe just about any fighter.
“I forgot to mention compassionate.”
Olimar has to double-take. Of all the words to use, “compassionate” is the one least likely to describe him. From his personal experiences (and the many jokes that follow), pretty much anything he touches dies or gets hurt somehow. He never liked those jokes, but he's since resigned himself to his fate. This sudden compliment—if he can assume it as such—leaves him speechless.
After a moment of non-reaction, she continues. “Well, that's about all I wanted to say. I look forward to meeting again on the battlefield.” She waves goodbye and floats off, leaving him astounded.
“Looks like you guys get along well.” Olimar's ears pick up on Alph's voice and when he turns his head, the Koppaite flashes a grin. “I think you'd make a cute couple. Look, even your face is getting red!”
Olimar can feel himself burning up inside, and not just because he's right. “I'm going to bed,” he mutters as he staggers towards the exit. “I think I've had too much. Don't follow me.”
Despite his grumbling, he collapses the moment he goes out the door, prompting Alph to carry him upstairs anyway.
-Round Four Post-Script-
Back at the Smash Tower, security is at an all-time high. Armies of Mii-bots march the halls, while smaller groups swarm to clean up the messes made by the mysterious perpetrators. After receiving the news, Louie is ordered to stay behind and supervise. “What a pain,” he mumbles to himself as he watches a troop of Miis march off.
He recalls being summoned to the Hands's domain, and watching the video footage. The security cameras from within the Tower and installed in his ship caught footage of not one, but eight culprits causing trouble. Many Mii-bots were destroyed, the halls scarred from the corrosive substances they used, and his personal hoard of valuables have gone missing. Luckily for him, the hooligans responsible were not a stealthy bunch, so most of their faces were caught on camera. He had to squint just to confirm, but he could have sworn they looked like giant turtles with hair.
But that isn't urgent. What is urgent, however, is the pink-haired woman approaching him. “Louie, I've received the results from the chemistry lab. The paint substance is made up of several foreign components, which appear to originate from some place they call the Mushroom Kingdom.”
“And the investigative team?”
“Based on the chem report, they've sorted through the data for all the most notable residents of the Mushroom Kingdom, and narrowed it down to these results.” She hands him a sheet, which contains the names and faces of all the culprits. Despite their colorful, diverse features, they all shared one thing in common: “Koopa”.
He hands the list back. “Thanks, Brittany. Call up the security bots; have them search top to bottom. Tear up the vents if you have to.”
“You're asking them to destroy property just to find some vandals?”
“Trust me, these are more than mere vandals. They're connected by one thing: Bowser.”
Any traces of doubt are instantly erased from her face, replaced by surprise. “You mean that giant shelled dragon? That Bowser?” Up until her transfer into Hocotate Freight's science department, she was stationed on Koppai, where she watched the Smash Tournament from the local channels. Speculation is still premature, but many are claiming the King of Koopas to be among the top contenders.
“Yes, that Bowser. It's possible he snuck them in somehow. Either way, I'll have to report this to the Hands.” Man, what a pain. “In the meantime, you're in charge.”
“In charge of what?”
One of the Mii-bots approaches Louie. “Ground floor's all clear, sir,” the Mii drones while saluting.
“Great. Now, pay attention, all of you. From now until further notice, Brittany's the boss. Follow her orders to the letter. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!” The lead Mii, then the others, salute in reply.
Brittany, initially caught unaware by Louie's change in command, straightens up and raises her voice, now stern and cold. “First order: Search every last inch of the building—rooms, vents, the works. Leave no stone unturned. No matter what must be done, find Bowser Jr. and the rest will follow.”
The Mii army complies and follows through, becoming more aggressive in their search—though thankfully, they're not as destructive as she had come to expect—and she is left alone to her thoughts. She reads through the list again. Ludwig, Lemmy, Iggy, Roy, Wendy, Morton, Larry. And at the very bottom, a young Koopa, similar to Bowser in name and appearance. There's no guarantee her plan will work, but if they are related to the King himself, they could pose a far larger threat than mere vandalism.
While I'm here, may I point you guys to DI's new theme? I worked really hard on finding/tweaking it, and it's miles better than the dingy old theme, imo.
Oh, and you can read the story, too, I guess. Totally not pimping the blog here, nope.
Images from Round 1 of Directional Influence. It's not a lot, mainly because the chapter went in a different direction than I initially intended. But worry not, for the other sketches I've drawn ahead of time will come into play in the next round.
I'm bad at drawing digitally, and it was also my first time drawing Little Mac. I'll do better next time.