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By Stroke, A Fan Faction


May 11 2007, 12:58 PM (Post #1)
Angel of Music
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Ok everyone, here's the deal. I've been working on a SSBM fan fiction. I've done these before, but I've never really worked this hard on one. Though I'm nowhere near done, I'd like to post the first part of it and go from there, adding parts and what-not. So here it it. Any contructive critisism is welcome; don't just say "It sucks" or "It's good". I want opinions. Review if you want, but it's not really that formal.

By Stroke

The once thriving conurbation known to the world as Mushroom City was as dark as a void save a scant scattering of flickering, dim street lamps. The streets of downtown reeked of sewer scum and vomit from vagrants that littered the sidewalks and alleyways. Crusty manhole covers spouted steam that smelled of human waste. Gun shots echoed loudly and a throng of barks rode the acrid wind through the wretched city. Decay and rot covered everything, and all the citizens had been desensitized by the whole of it long ago. The only thing that keeps this hell hole from engulfing itself is crime. Organized crime had been the foundation the city for as long as anyone could remember. No one came to Mushroom City, and no one left, for the exception of those lucky few who, by stroke of a grim saber, would follow the stars to escape from the abyss that consumed the hearts of all.

“Wake up and smell the coffee, a*shole!" a very large man in a crusty apron yelled from the rusty steel door of the Stoic Public House. "This ain’t no soup kitchen! Get the f*ck out!”
Luigi “The Weasel” Mario flew through the crisp fall air and landed face first on the pavement. As quickly as he could respond, his hands raced to his wounded nose.
He stood and looked back, still clutching his blood-streaked face. “Do you know who I am?” he inquired with a grimace, his voice cracking.
“Yeah, you’re meat,” a deep, unsavory voice answered.
The man that had been yelling from the rusty steel door quickly closed and bolted it.
“F… Falco?” Luigi stuttered in fear.
A rough looking man in a black leather jacket and silver shades walked nonchalantly toward where Luigi was standing, bloody and pale with anxiety.
“Well?” Falco Lombardi said with a pseudo-inquisitive tone.
“I swear Falco, I’ll have your money,” he assured the thug shakily, his green cap nearly falling from his head due to his quivering.
“This has elevated far beyond drugs, or even money. This is payback.” The long face of Falco Lombardi seemed as a ghost in the pale street lamp light as he spoke.
Luigi’s heart sunk to the depths of himself as he glimpsed a quick flash of polished steel in his peripheral vision. He felt his stroke plummeting from the grim, grim sky toward him at blinding speed. He could do nothing but whimper as the blade flipped in the criminal’s hand.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” the menacing brute uttered, his putrid breath striking Luigi with invisible force. The blade switched to a reverse posture and his saber was before him.
Just as Lombardi was about to drop the menacing blade on the helpless druggy, the tall man felt pressure on the small of his back. It was a gunpoint, and behind it, a standard issue army pistol, ready to send a bullet ripping through the criminal's spinal cord, abruptly ending his life.
“Drop the knife on the ground, Lombardi,” Mario Mario stated flatly, “Now.”
Lombardi, fearing for his life, but revealing no sign of it, dropped the knife on the cold pavement, creating a clinking sound that sent chills up Luigi’s spine.
“Why don’t you fight me like a real man, vigilante? Knife to knife,” the man inquired maliciously, bearing his teeth to the frightened Luigi.
“Because,” Mario began, “You’re not worth it.” Mario pressed the gun into Falco’s back and nudged him forward as Luigi fell back. A swift kick to the small of his back and Falco was on the ground. Mario yanked the nine millimeter pistol from the back of Falco’s pants and slipped into his. “But I think I’ll humor you. Stand up.”
Falco stood, retrieving his knife from the sidewalk and holding it menacingly, his wicked grin masking his former fright, his acrid breath reached the full ten feet to Mario, who was drawing his knife. Luigi had already crawled clear of the danger.
Falco lunged at Mario and delivered two swift swipes even while he stumbling on his momentum. Mario body checked Falco and the thin man stumbled forward, barely maintaining his footing. The bird-nosed man pressed forward again, and again he was faulted. This time, the stout man in red deflected the blade with his own, caught Falco’s coat, and flung him over his shoulder, dropping him hard on the sidewalk.
“Stand up and walk away Falco. Don’t throw away your life for him,” Mario asserted.
The rail thin man stood slowly and slightly hunched over. Distain filled his gaze as he glared at the vigilante. Indignant, he spoke. “He puts food on my table and cash in my pocket.”
Mario shook his head. “That’s not the only path. Follow me, and not him, and then he can’t trap you in this hell. Think about it!”
“Shut the f*ck up!” Falco leapt toward Mario with rage pulsating through him. His blade had been switched to a stabbing posture and now dropped down on Mario.
Mario dodged the swipe effortlessly, and seeing no other alternative, slipped his blade across the fiend’s throat, rending the flesh and acting as a surrogate saber, doing the grim duty and freeing the thug from his life of misdeeds.
Falco died instantly, without pain, as Mario had wished; after all, they had once been close friends, long ago.


This post has been edited by Uno: Jan 25 2009, 12:35 AM
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