Rid was unhappy. This was a fairly general description for a norfairan, and went along with ‘has wings’ and ‘is purple’, but was usually much more violently emphatic. Anyway, he had a specific reason for being unhappy at the moment.

Lip was teaching him ‘Crazy eights’. And he was loosing. Badly.

“So. . .I can play the eight any time I want?”

“Yep.”

“. . .And it can be anything?”

“That’s why they’re crazy.”

“. . .” Rid played the eight. “I win.”

“Rid, it doesn’t work like that.” Lip growled. “A crazy eight just changes the suit we’re playing. It can’t do anything. . .”

“A crazy guy can do anything it wants. It’s crazy. Messing with crazy people is an extremely bad idea. All the cards know this, so they just let the eights win.”

“. . .Did you just make up a rule for a game you haven’t even fully learned yet?”

“I made up nothing.” Rid folded his arms sagely. “Constant Standing Pirate Order #339. Do not in any way obstruct, oppose or attempt to belay a crazy person, as we like having our human resources in one piece whenever possible, thank you very much.” Rid paused a moment. “’Human resources’ is a translation, of course. . .”

The door banged open. For some reason, it was very, very cold. Two lumps of fur with a certain resemblance to Kirby and big, big hammers dashed through at top speed, trailing ice crystals. Without so much as a nod towards the four occupants of Serious Consideration, they ran to the door leading into Brawl, swung it open and literally dived across the threshold. The blue puff paused a moment to look at Ridley. It pointed, probably. Hard to tell, since it was wearing mittens.

“HA!” It proclaimed. “In your face, Evil Barney!” Before Ridely could work out what that was supposed to mean, it was through the door, which slammed shut not a moment after it was in.

All was silent. Sonic and Rock, who had been fiddling with the T.V., were frozen in a tableau of confusion and surprise. After a moment, Sonic looked at Rid. “. . .He just called you Evil Barney.”

“. . .He’s making fun of me.” Brushing away the table, complete with Lip, like dust off of an old book, he dropped to all fours and charged the door with his skull.

Sonic winced. He’d felt that before it happened. Nothing got through that door without an invitation, and Ridley’s skull was not invited. He’d heard a rumor that they’d god-modded a stickfigure and tried to get him to bust it down (Anyone else know what I’m talking about?), without so much as a chip in the paint.

Ridley wasn’t a godmodded stick figure, but he had the tenacity of a bad burrito: He just wouldn’t stay down. With a low, murderous growl, he got down to serious work on that door. Sonic sighed. “Good Luck, Rid. Geez, that Popo’ll never know what hit him.”

“The blue guy?” Lip asked. Rock nodded.

“He’s a veteran from Melee. Funny, I’d heard a rumor that he was getting kicked out this time around.”

“Explains why he was so jubilant.” Sonic muttered. “Better enjoy it while he lasts.”

“It lasts.” Lip corrected.

“I know what I said.” Sonic muttered darkly. From the door, there was the unmistakable sound of a fireball. “. . .Well, at least he’s motivated now.” With a grin, he looked back to Lip. “Just like how you and me have a bone to pick with our old pal Link.”

“Umm. . .right.” Lip was still a little unclear about that.

Rock rubbed his chin. “Huh. That makes me the only one without a serious motive for getting into brawl.” He thought for a little while, then nodded. “I pick Samus.”

“For what? The prom?”

“Nah. For a motivation.” Rock grinned. “I’m going to have the most epic long-range fight the universe has ever known, and I pick Samus as my opponent. Keeps me on Rid’s good side, too. Right, Rid?” Rid swore in norfarian, the only language in the universe to include flamethrowing as part of the language. “I think he agrees.”