||Fan Fiction by AimMan.EXE
||Awkward Date: Chapter 2 - Something Unique
“Wow, I’m so excited!” Tron exclaimed, her heart bursting with joy. “I’ve never been to Nino Island before; I heard that now it has a 5 star café! And not a dog, a reaverbot, or that annoying Glyde for miles!” “Ehehe…” Tiesel chuckled half-heartedly. Had that last comment been a joke? He certainly hoped, for the safety of everyone aboard their small, tightly packed Drauche. The island itself was small, but an enormous tower positioned in its center rose up like an enormous beacon, to Tron, a beacon of hope for the future. She saw several Digger ships positioned about. “That’s right,” she thought. Nino Island is home to the Digger’s Guild, where professional Diggers come to take their advancement tests and occasionally even explore the Nino ruins, a cumbersome submerged ruin, one of the most difficult to traverse on all of Terra. At one time, she heard, the Gull’s Café was pretty small. With only a few frequent customers, it was not known to be anything worthwhile. However, now, it was a reservation-only melting pot where only the richest culminated. Its atmosphere was supposedly delightful, and it had expanded nearly five or six times its original size. She couldn’t wait to see Megaman there; she wondered if he’d changed? When they last met after he returned to Terra, he seemed a little more mature; his face didn’t look so ridiculous and laughable as it had back during her time on Kattelox, and his voice was finally starting to show maturity (not that Susan Roman voice he’d been squeaking out earlier). She’d worn something special, and she began to wonder if he would do the same. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him in anything else…” she whispered to herself. “I’m sure he’ll be wearing something… unique.” Tiesel commented from the pilot’s seat with a little bit of sarcasm.
The guild master of Nino Island watched in horror as the pirate ship came ever closer. “PIRATES! JOHNNY, LOOK, IT’S THE PIRATES AGAIN!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs.
“Bah, you old coot, we haven’t had pirates since that incident with that blue kid a while back,” Johnny snapped in return.
“But, but are you sure? Maybe we should get the Parabola Machine up, just in case!” he said, sweating and searching for his island self-destruct button.
Sensing this, Johnny gulped and remarked, “We-we threw that thing away a while back, remember? The button I mean.”
“Ah yes, well, those blasted pirates won’t get an inch nearer to the base! This time the turrets are armed and ready! Haha! We’ve got them this time!” he raved.
“Sir, please, don’t issue the order!” Johnny pleaded, but the guild master was already barking doggedly into the intercom, readying all block 2 turrets to position.
“What? They’re going to fire on us!” Tiesel cried. “Seriously? WHY!?” yelled Tron. She hadn’t even reached the base yet, and already something was going wrong. A volley of elliptical yellow projectile erupted from the barrel of the right-hand turret. In mere moment’s, Tron’s night had been ruined, and the Drauche plummeted violently down. “Haha!” exclaimed the guild master, rising up onto the platform. “We got em!” He danced around haphazardly, until Johnny clutched him violently by the collar. “You old fool, that ship’s gonna crash into the platform!” Running for the exit, they were caught in a massive, spherical explosion, which erupted abruptly from the center of the crash point. The dock was ruined, the Drauche was destroyed, the turrets were broken, and above all, everyone was charred to a crisp golden brown. Tron got up first, desperately shaking the soot off, almost in the manner of a wild animal. She took a fleeting glance at her dress, which was now tattered and informal looking. After a small inspection she turned to her main concern; her hair…
Tron’s hair was fine.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Tron brushed the remaining soot from her dress and helped Tiesel and the servbots from the rubble (Bon did not accompany them on this date), not even bothering to give a glance at the fate of the guild master and his attendant. What did she care? It was their fault in the first place that they had crashed. “Well now, I don’t want to embarrass you in front of you date, so I’ll take off now. Be safe Tron!” Tiesel shouted, and walked two steps back. Tron interrupted abruptly, announcing, “The ship's broken, Tiesel; how are you all going to get home?” Tiesel grayed out in a statuesque manner; he had absolutely no idea. “Don’t you have any other robots on you, Tron!?” he growled between his teeth. “Sure, I have one Tiesel!”
It was a long ride home on the Finkel for two servbots and Tron’s older brother.
Tron stepped through the door labeled “BLOCK B.” Entering into the upper floor of the tower, she was surprised to see how much the place had grown since the stories she’d read a few years ago. The place was bustling, and while they were crude, many new additions had been added in the form of new facilities and expanded rooms. Asking a large, buff man in a red sleeveless t-shirt for directions, she learned that the Gull Café was located on the floor below her current one. She thanked him and politely headed onto the elevator. She thought to herself a little conceitedly, “I can be super goody-two-shoes when I put my mind to it. It’s a synch!” Tron smiled smugly, and let herself off on her desired floor. She glanced around, looking for the blue-armored nemesis she’d been longing to see for nearly a year. Suddenly, something flew up from the Nino Ruins entrance!
It was a small ship. It reminded Tron vaguely of an automobile she had seen back on Kattelox Island; a limousine, she believed it was called. She remembered that Tiesel told her the richest people were chauffeured everywhere in them, and her eyes had sparkled. One day, she was going to ride in one herself. Presently, however, Tron had absolutely no wish to ride in the awful embodiment of exorbitance that had produced itself from the abysmal pit. The entire surface sparkled with rich and pure gold. The front was adorned with a ridiculous figurehead, bearing a small resemblance to the repulsive face of Mr. Loathe, Glyde’s employer (meaning it was likely that Glyde had actually borrowed this on company funds). Its sides extended out bird like wings, purely for the tackiest taste of decoration. There was even a wide spoiler on the back, a blatant giveaway at the crude and abstract taste of the designer. It was horrible. She wished it would have been shot down like her own Drauche, but instead, it landed right in front of her, raising her skirt embarrassingly with high-forced winds. She squinted through the dust, all the while feeling more and more as though she had converted from her wonderful dream to the most horrible nightmare imaginable. The Loathe-faced bird head gazing at her was hideous, though she would have gladly stared at it for hours longer rather than gaze into the face of the figure leaving the bus.
Out came a brown, glistening cane, its ugliness rivaled only by its inability to correctly accessorize any sort of outfit. Worse yet was the awful head adorning it, a golden bird head in the shape of a Birdbot’s, grimacing and unfriendly. White gloves held tight to the top of it, and out arose the full creature to which the gruesome appendage belonged. It could have been an 8-headed gorgon, a hulking reaverbot; anything would have been easier on poor Tron than the slender, golden haired figure that stepped psuedo-suavely from the mock-limousine. His ridiculous hair, gelled even more heavily than usual so that even the giant top hair no longer stood erect, gave him away at a glance. The heavy curtain of hair veiled one of his eyes completely; she would have preferred it curtain both. The one visible eye glared at her with a mix of hostile emotions; a repulsive greed, a smug sense of superiority, even a revolting sense of belief that things were occurring in their own proper way. He wore a brown, steam-pressed suit with a yellow tie, and in general, his appearance radiated the same feeling of mediocrity that her life had been laced with over the past months. She sighed deeply; how did her brother make such a complete and utterly idiotic mistake?
Glyde swaggered over with an almost handsome air, seeming to altogether enhance his laughable demeanor by trying to conceal it, reflecting something similar to a garbage pail sprayed with air freshener, or in this case, expensive cologne. In reality, it was not anything about his natural appearance, more so, the way he poured an entire bucket full of useless extravagancies into his appearance. His hair was not naturally so vulgar, but his overuse of gel and ridiculous styling made it hard to tolerate. He had a jutting chin and a young face, but his constant expression was deplorable (if not even slightly feminine). His physique even struck her as desirable in a male, but littered with horrid abominations of appearance and mentality, there seemed to be nothing that anyone could find attractive about Glyde. With this dry, logical theory worked out, she had a faint notion that perhaps Glyde would simply vanish from the face of the galaxy as a service to all of mankind. No such luck, it would appear.
He stood face to face with her now; she wished it were still possible to look back to the grinning bird’s visage on the front of the ‘limousine.’ Children stared at them strangely, one remarking, “Are you guys diggers? Do you know the story of that blue guy who got the Ruin key a few years back?” Eager to change the topic to such a welcome topic, Tron turned to face the young child. However, as she turned, Glyde reached out with ironically cat-like reflexes and twisted Tron’s arm behind her back spontaneously. As she cried out in startled pain, he realized what he had done, releasing her delicate arm. “Whoops, silly me!” he said, befittingly his first words to her since their meeting on Nino. “It must be a habit I picked up back in Loathe’s office.” Tron barely laughed; it was obvious that anything she had done early to try and comfort Tiesel was a complete lie. Not only was Glyde bad, but if Tiesel could see him now, he would probably declare he’d rather have Megaman seeing his sister (or at least, Tron hoped that would have been his opinion). “So, how have you been lately? No hard feelings towards the past, eh? My, my, my, the Bonnes must be in a real pickle financially. Look at that awful mound of rags you’re wearing. Mayhaps we should go by Tailor Chino’s Fine Apparel Boutique real quick and pick you up something new,“ he suggested, oozing loathsome belittlement. “Heh, yeah,” she mumbled. If he had not flown in willy-nilly a few years back, the turrets wouldn’t have fired on her in the first place…