|There Will Be Mario Kart
Author: Stationed Ashore PM
It was a lazy Saturday, like any other: Charles was sprawled across Metis’ couch, waiting for his friend to return with snacks so they could begin their epic tournament in earnest.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor - Metis & Charles - Words: 510 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 1 - Published: 03-19-09 - Status: Complete - id: 4934487
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It was a lazy Saturday like any other: Charles was sprawled across Metis' couch, waiting for his friend to return with snacks so they could begin their day in earnest. Last weekend, they subjected themselves to a horror movie marathon (with such classics as The Notebook, Twilight, and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes), but this weekend, there was to be a battle of epic proportions; a tournament like no other the world had ever seen.
They were going to play Mario Kart until their thumbs bled.
From the kitchen, Charles heard the dulcet tones of a blender, followed by a microwave's beep, and he quickly realized that he wasn't going to get fed. True to his assumption, Metis returned from the kitchen with two milkshakes in hand, one looking suspiciously like chocolate soup. Charles would have complained, but he quickly had much more important things to worry about – Metis threw a Wiimote at his head, and the tournament had begun.
The two combatants were fairly evenly matched, and control of the game slipped back and forth between them. Koopa shells were thrown, curses muttered, and milkshakes spilled in desperate attempts to lean into hairpin turns. The longer the two played, the further Charles slipped behind until he realized that he had little hope of winning. He nearly quit in frustration as he slid off the track again, twisting and turning the controller like a madman – a madman who noticed that Metis was very absorbed in their game; so absorbed, in fact, that his milkshake was left unguarded.
Leaning over and pretending to control his car, Charles snuck his straw out of his own glass all the way across the couch and into Metis' milkshake, drinking it up until he heard the empty gurgles of the spent glass. Smirking with smug satisfaction, he shifted back into his own seat, just as Metis proclaimed, "Yes! That's, what, three games in a row I've won?" He bent down to take a victory sip of his shake when he cried out in unabridged terror. The drink he had earned was gone. And Charles was looking awfully bastardy for a man who had just been so thoroughly trounced.
"Did you steal my drink!?" He asked, dismayed, but he already knew the answer. Charles' stupid grin was all the response he needed. Charles, however, still had more to say.
"You may have won the battle, my friend, but I've won the war. That, by the way, is how I'm going to conquer Belgium."
"What, by being an ass?" Metis respectfully inquired.
"No. I'm going to steal their milkshake right out from under them, just when they think they've won," Charles responded, cool as a man full of milkshake (warm though it may have been.) "It's the Daniel Day-Lewis strategy."
"Would you be surprised if I killed you with a bowling pin, then?" Metis asked, looking very prepared to make good on his threats.
Charles simply laughed, until he remembered just how sick warm milkshakes made him.