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“There it is!” Krok shouted. “The booty!”
“The what?!”
Mickey Mouse leapt from his perch, flipping through the air down to the craggy rock ledge where his two pirate compatriots — Krok, the crocodile-shaped, eye-patch sporting loud mouth and Flaaffy, the more demure and sheepish… well, sheep of the trio — stood watching the situation below them unfold. Flaaffy had secluded herself solidly behind the rock face, and was already shivering. Krok, meanwhile, stood on the edge, leaning as far as he could without sending his entire little body careening over, spyglass extended to its full length.
“The booty,” he repeated, gesturing wildly down toward the scene on the cavern floor. Mickey glanced over, flipping up his own eye-patch, which he wore purely for aesthetics, to get a better look.
“Everyone’s pants are covering their whole butts,” he astutely observed, examining as well as he could the derrières of the various figures below. Bandits swarmed through the small tent city, each looking a bit more intimidating than the last. If Krok had made mention of their lack of shirts, Mickey might’ve understood, as most of them either abandoned their tops completely to show off their impressive wilderness physique or wore some weird-lookin’ leather junk cobbled together in a shape he couldn’t imagine was very protective.
But he saw no butts!
“No, Mick, not booty like butts,” Krok groaned, removing the spyglass from his beady little reptile eye and spinning towards the mouse (former) king. “Booty like treasure. It’s pirate talk!”
Mickey blinked, then nodded. Truth be told, he still wasn’t very good at this pirate shizznit. He’d been carousing around the Crossroads for a few months now with Krok and Flaaffy — a sort of off-shoot squad of King Shark’s larger pirate crew — but had yet to really find his groove with the whole business. He supposed being a goody-two-shoes for, well, a really heckin’ long time made it kinda tough to break bad all of a sudden.
But he saw bandits down below, and if there was one thing being a good guy had prepared him for… it was fightin’ some goons.
He stepped up to the edge of the ledge with Krok. “Should we go crack some skulls?” the mouse asked.
“Oh, yikes,” Flaaffy baaed from back in her hiding place. She was mostly tech support.
“I think we should, Mick,” Krok smirked and licked his little crocodile lips. Mickey scrunched his face a bit; he’d always thought that habit of Krok’s was a tad bit creepy, but the reptile had been so good to him, teaching him the ways of the pirate, that he had long since decided to overlook it.
Krok leapt first. He dove down, staff in hand, sailing straight into the little stream that ran through the cave and into the bandits’ camp. Mickey watched as he splashed into the water, disappearing beneath the waves; now, all they had to do was wait.
A few of the bandits — the ones positioned up on the makeshift ‘walls’ of their camp — looked around at the sound of the splash, searching for the source. Mickey stifled a giggle as their heads whipped this way and that, becoming more frantic the longer they couldn’t find anything. He knelt down himself behind a slightly big boulder, just in case any of them had the bright idea to look up in their direction. Just a few feet away, he could hear Flaaffy’s knees knocking and teeth chattering. He glanced over at her.
“It’s gonna be okay, Flaaf,” he smiled at her. She met his eyes, and he could see her shoulders start to relax. She smiled back.
“I’m just not sure I’m cut out for this,” she admitted.
Mickey shrugged. “Me neither,” he said, “but as the saying goes: just keep swimming!”
Flaaffy smiled instinctively — Mickey had become known in their group for being excellent at encouragement and choice for confidence boosts — but then cocked her head to the side, a bit confused. “Where’d you hear that?”
Mickey thought for a moment, then said simply: “Somewhere!”
Images of a little blue fish flashed in his mind, and all over again — just as he did every single frickin’ day of every single frickin’ year — he missed home.
Water surged upwards from the little stream with a powerful roar, calling the attention of the mouse and the sheep. Krok emerged from beneath the waves as it turned into a legit tidal wave, cascading up out of the stream and charging toward the cobbled-together wooden wall of the bandit camp. The same frantic guards that had been twisting their necks in knots seconds before now stumbled over their own feet as they hurried to climb off the wall and clear the path of Krok’s destruction.
Mickey glanced over at Flaaffy. “Time to swim!”
He leapt, flipping forward and aiming his yellow shoes at the emergent tides. He held out a gloved hand, materializing his Keyblade and snatching it out of the air. The Star Seeker glinted in the sunlight that peeked through some holes in the cavern’s roof, the little stars painted on it glimmering as Mickey began to sweep it below his feet.
“Voltar Thundasir!” he shouted, and as if signaled, lightning crackled in through one of the holes in the roof and snaked down to crash into the water below him. Krok leapt out of the waves in just enough time, but the unlucky bandits still caught in the onslaught of stream found themselves wholly electrocuted, heads spinning and skin charred from the impact and blast radius. The strength of the thunderbolt’s impact pushed Mickey back up into the air, just enough airtime to allow him to do another flip onto dry land.
He stood, knees bent and keyblade at the ready, as a group of bandits hurried out of the side gate of their little camp to face him. They crouched a bit, trying their best to prepare for the fight, before one of them in the back dared to speak.
“It’s so… tiny!”
A bandit in the front, wrapped in some semblance of leather armor that basically spiraled around her body only covering the naughty bits, glanced back over her shoulder. “It is Mickey fucking Mouse,” she whispered. “Don’t underestimate him.”
“Mickey Mouse?” another repeated. “There’s no fucking way.”
The girl in the front turned back, but Mickey was gone, totally vanished right before her eyes. She blinked, and could feel her cheeks going pale before she’d even felt the keyblade on her shoulder.
“I see my reputation has preceded me,” Mickey smirked. “I’ve always wanted to say that,” he grinned happily, pressing down on her shoulder so the leader felt her knees shoved to the ground. Mickey stood behind her, holding up a gloved hand as the armor jingled of a half dozen bandits starting to move around him. “Uh uh uh,” he shook his head. “Don’t worry — I’m not gonna hurt ya. Too bad.”
He lifted his leg and kicked backwards, smashing his sole into the lady bandit’s head. She flew forward, face slamming into the cavern dirt, as the other six lunged at the mouse king. He swept the Star Seeker in front of him, smacking one bandit on the chin, as he slid through the gap between his legs and out of arm’s reach of the other five.
With a small shift in his position, the Star Seeker began to click and shift into a different formation; it split, rolling and turning and transforming into a pair of small laser guns. The bandits watched with awe as the tiny pistols settled into Mickey’s hands and he aimed the pair right at them.
One spoke up with a shiver. “W-what do you want with us?!” he squealed.
“Why, fella, that’s simple!” he smiled. “Your booty!”
“The what?!”
Mickey Mouse leapt from his perch, flipping through the air down to the craggy rock ledge where his two pirate compatriots — Krok, the crocodile-shaped, eye-patch sporting loud mouth and Flaaffy, the more demure and sheepish… well, sheep of the trio — stood watching the situation below them unfold. Flaaffy had secluded herself solidly behind the rock face, and was already shivering. Krok, meanwhile, stood on the edge, leaning as far as he could without sending his entire little body careening over, spyglass extended to its full length.
“The booty,” he repeated, gesturing wildly down toward the scene on the cavern floor. Mickey glanced over, flipping up his own eye-patch, which he wore purely for aesthetics, to get a better look.
“Everyone’s pants are covering their whole butts,” he astutely observed, examining as well as he could the derrières of the various figures below. Bandits swarmed through the small tent city, each looking a bit more intimidating than the last. If Krok had made mention of their lack of shirts, Mickey might’ve understood, as most of them either abandoned their tops completely to show off their impressive wilderness physique or wore some weird-lookin’ leather junk cobbled together in a shape he couldn’t imagine was very protective.
But he saw no butts!
“No, Mick, not booty like butts,” Krok groaned, removing the spyglass from his beady little reptile eye and spinning towards the mouse (former) king. “Booty like treasure. It’s pirate talk!”
Mickey blinked, then nodded. Truth be told, he still wasn’t very good at this pirate shizznit. He’d been carousing around the Crossroads for a few months now with Krok and Flaaffy — a sort of off-shoot squad of King Shark’s larger pirate crew — but had yet to really find his groove with the whole business. He supposed being a goody-two-shoes for, well, a really heckin’ long time made it kinda tough to break bad all of a sudden.
But he saw bandits down below, and if there was one thing being a good guy had prepared him for… it was fightin’ some goons.
He stepped up to the edge of the ledge with Krok. “Should we go crack some skulls?” the mouse asked.
“Oh, yikes,” Flaaffy baaed from back in her hiding place. She was mostly tech support.
“I think we should, Mick,” Krok smirked and licked his little crocodile lips. Mickey scrunched his face a bit; he’d always thought that habit of Krok’s was a tad bit creepy, but the reptile had been so good to him, teaching him the ways of the pirate, that he had long since decided to overlook it.
Krok leapt first. He dove down, staff in hand, sailing straight into the little stream that ran through the cave and into the bandits’ camp. Mickey watched as he splashed into the water, disappearing beneath the waves; now, all they had to do was wait.
A few of the bandits — the ones positioned up on the makeshift ‘walls’ of their camp — looked around at the sound of the splash, searching for the source. Mickey stifled a giggle as their heads whipped this way and that, becoming more frantic the longer they couldn’t find anything. He knelt down himself behind a slightly big boulder, just in case any of them had the bright idea to look up in their direction. Just a few feet away, he could hear Flaaffy’s knees knocking and teeth chattering. He glanced over at her.
“It’s gonna be okay, Flaaf,” he smiled at her. She met his eyes, and he could see her shoulders start to relax. She smiled back.
“I’m just not sure I’m cut out for this,” she admitted.
Mickey shrugged. “Me neither,” he said, “but as the saying goes: just keep swimming!”
Flaaffy smiled instinctively — Mickey had become known in their group for being excellent at encouragement and choice for confidence boosts — but then cocked her head to the side, a bit confused. “Where’d you hear that?”
Mickey thought for a moment, then said simply: “Somewhere!”
Images of a little blue fish flashed in his mind, and all over again — just as he did every single frickin’ day of every single frickin’ year — he missed home.
Water surged upwards from the little stream with a powerful roar, calling the attention of the mouse and the sheep. Krok emerged from beneath the waves as it turned into a legit tidal wave, cascading up out of the stream and charging toward the cobbled-together wooden wall of the bandit camp. The same frantic guards that had been twisting their necks in knots seconds before now stumbled over their own feet as they hurried to climb off the wall and clear the path of Krok’s destruction.
Mickey glanced over at Flaaffy. “Time to swim!”
He leapt, flipping forward and aiming his yellow shoes at the emergent tides. He held out a gloved hand, materializing his Keyblade and snatching it out of the air. The Star Seeker glinted in the sunlight that peeked through some holes in the cavern’s roof, the little stars painted on it glimmering as Mickey began to sweep it below his feet.
“Voltar Thundasir!” he shouted, and as if signaled, lightning crackled in through one of the holes in the roof and snaked down to crash into the water below him. Krok leapt out of the waves in just enough time, but the unlucky bandits still caught in the onslaught of stream found themselves wholly electrocuted, heads spinning and skin charred from the impact and blast radius. The strength of the thunderbolt’s impact pushed Mickey back up into the air, just enough airtime to allow him to do another flip onto dry land.
He stood, knees bent and keyblade at the ready, as a group of bandits hurried out of the side gate of their little camp to face him. They crouched a bit, trying their best to prepare for the fight, before one of them in the back dared to speak.
“It’s so… tiny!”
A bandit in the front, wrapped in some semblance of leather armor that basically spiraled around her body only covering the naughty bits, glanced back over her shoulder. “It is Mickey fucking Mouse,” she whispered. “Don’t underestimate him.”
“Mickey Mouse?” another repeated. “There’s no fucking way.”
The girl in the front turned back, but Mickey was gone, totally vanished right before her eyes. She blinked, and could feel her cheeks going pale before she’d even felt the keyblade on her shoulder.
“I see my reputation has preceded me,” Mickey smirked. “I’ve always wanted to say that,” he grinned happily, pressing down on her shoulder so the leader felt her knees shoved to the ground. Mickey stood behind her, holding up a gloved hand as the armor jingled of a half dozen bandits starting to move around him. “Uh uh uh,” he shook his head. “Don’t worry — I’m not gonna hurt ya. Too bad.”
He lifted his leg and kicked backwards, smashing his sole into the lady bandit’s head. She flew forward, face slamming into the cavern dirt, as the other six lunged at the mouse king. He swept the Star Seeker in front of him, smacking one bandit on the chin, as he slid through the gap between his legs and out of arm’s reach of the other five.
With a small shift in his position, the Star Seeker began to click and shift into a different formation; it split, rolling and turning and transforming into a pair of small laser guns. The bandits watched with awe as the tiny pistols settled into Mickey’s hands and he aimed the pair right at them.
One spoke up with a shiver. “W-what do you want with us?!” he squealed.
“Why, fella, that’s simple!” he smiled. “Your booty!”