Recent Statuses

25 days ago
7 mos ago Well... I've been on a fighting game kick anyways. I guess this is as good an excuse as any to pick up another one.
11 mos ago
[Relevant meme]
12 mos ago


Name: (^That one)
Age: 23
Race: (Duh...)

Interests: Art, anime, music, video games, cinema, martial arts, parkour/free running, combat sports (i.e. paintball), etc.

Aspiring to be: Animator, writer, voice actor, artist, martial artist, musician, and whatever else I need to/want to/can be.

Fandoms: Fuck, there are so many. Lol. I guess off the top of my head, I'd say... RWBY, Smash, Avatar, Undertale, Overwatch, One Punch Man, Legend of Zelda, Pokémon, Metroid (mainly Prime), Teen Titans, My Hero Academia, and a bunch of other shit I can't think to name right now.

Current RPs: Project Crossover

Gamertag: Etherean Fire
NNID: LordNinth

I chose him knowing full well he wasn't exactly deep or well developed. However I saw this game as a chance to expand on his character/personality. Getting to play grizzled, punchy, loose cannon cop who is a virtual nobody in the world of videogames alongside wisecracking skeletons and Gem Fabio from LoL sounds like an amazing experience.

tfw anime turns your ancestor's god into a big tiddy anime girl

Most Recent Posts

Level: 3
Day/Time: Day Two; Evening
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 5th Floor -> 4th Floor -> 3rd Floor
Tags: None
Mentions: Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki, Alicia @Zarkun, Cloud @Holy Soldier, Phoenix Wright @Leaves
Word Count: 964
Blue Eggs: 96/100

Kazooie was rightly ignored during her and Banjo’s turn in favor of a more urgent matter. Given that she generally tended to draw too much attention (mostly negative) their way, it was unusual for the duo to have focus taken off them so easily, but in this case, it came as more of a relief than anything. The issue at hand was none other than an apparent inventory malfunction on the Bros’ part. A live explosive somehow loosed itself from one of their pockets while they were engaged in their fits of laughter, at which point Frisk set to trying to rectify the problem, which really just meant physically carrying it as far away from the scene as possible. S/he then proceeded to disarm it in the stairwell with… something. To an uninformed observer, it was difficult to tell exactly what it was that the kid kept projecting forth, but it could be safely inferred that there was definitely more to them than appearances and demeanor suggested.

Astonished by what they had just witnessed, the two brothers rushed over to the child--and the soldier who covered them--as hastily as their anatomy would allow to offer their thanks. The second bro made note of the fact that Frisk chose to save their lives in their moment of weakness rather than exploiting their hysterical stupor to do away with them, while the first was at the child’s feet begging forgiveness for his prior indiscretion. Their decision to shift their allegiances in the heroes’ favor followed shortly after, but not without some brief debate amongst the two regarding the matter. The bear and bird couldn’t help but notice the part where they were afraid that Kirby would come to “kill” them. Kirby? That harmless looking pink creature back on the ship that Rosalina was playing with? What kind of universe was this where that was the apparent bane of everyone’s existence?

Regardless, it sounded like the bros could go for some much needed and very well justified desertion, but not before they returned their favor of gratitude to the team. They volunteered to get them through the next floor and began leading them down. As the team made their descent, the scent of sea salt hit them with the steady rise of moisture content in the air--a familiar sensation to the bear and breegull. This told them that water awaited them at the end… and them some. They arrived at a dark, cavernous ocean body with but a narrow bridge of dock stretching from one end to the other for footing, and from beneath all of it abruptly emerged the would-be floor boss, Fatty, arcing overhead and splashing down on the side opposite. Banjo and Kazooie both waved at him as he was formally introduced. The Poppy Bros (the smarter of the two, mostly) made their case to Fatty, explaining what had lead up to it, and without any fuss whatsoever, the blue whale casually agreed to let the team by. Good thing, too, as the duo would have been ill-suited to face him at their current level without most of their abilities (and maybe some help from Mumbo and/or Humba). While he was at it, he made sure to warn the group that those up ahead wouldn’t be so easy-going or merciful as him.

“Too bad for them,” added Kazooie somewhat cockily, implying that the proceeding bosses would be better off following Fatty and the Bros’ (but more so Fatty’s) example. Banjo returned a nod to the floor bosses in parting before continuing onward. They eventually found themselves in yet another dark room, but the feeling of open air and soft grass against Banjo’s bare feet gave him some sense of where he might be, even if it didn’t make sense. Then again, not much here did.

In came two voices to break the silence, followed by the reveal of illuminating presences to give them shape, which came in the form of sun and moon. They barely finished introducing themselves by name (Misters Shine and Bright, respectively) before they took to aggressively arguing over who would get the first shot at the heroes. The sky flickered compulsively between day and night as the two celestial body caricatures butted heads competing for the leading spot in their turn order. What stopped them from both acting as a unit? What it simply because day and night took turns by way of natural order? Whatever made things easier on the team would be fine by Banjo and Kazooie, either way.

They finally came to a reluctant consensus with a single round of Rock-Paper-Scissors that Mr. Bright had been the victor of. Mr. Shine begrudgingly conceded and took his place at the top of the “room”, casting daylight on their chosen battleground. Bright dropped to ground-level and wasted no time making his first move. He began to whirl like a saw before charging recklessly towards the group, kicking up fresh grass trimmings in his wake. Banjo threw himself to his left without thinking, having almost no time to, in an attempt to dodge that might narrowly succeed. Kazooie would then capitalize on his momentum by twisting clockwise with wings outstretched, reorienting them to face in the direction of the rolling moon, and bringing them to a graceful stop. Banjo landed on all fours in a lunging position, taking aim at Mr. Bright as Kazooie discharged two three-round volleys of blue eggs that may otherwise appear harmless but had the speed and a glowing particle trail behind them to suggest otherwise. Admittedly, while not bad on their own, they used to have harder hitting tools in their kit to choose from, but given their current limitations, they would be more than fine making do on their ranged options.

Level: 2
Day/Time: Day Two; Afternoon
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 5th Floor
Tags: Phoenix Wright @Leaves
Mentions: Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki, Alicia @Zarkun, Cloud @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 785

Thankfully, if unsurprisingly, Frisk’s gambit for humorous diplomacy seemed to work--at least well enough to get his/herself past. All it took was some low-hanging punny humor that all but wrote itself. Now, everyone else just had to do the same and they could move forward without resistance. If the two bosses were as easily amused as impressions would suggest, then it shouldn’t be that hard to get a qualifying laugh out of them… for everyone but the two more tonally serious characters in the room, that is. They, specifically, were probably under far more pressure to perform, being out of their element and all. It’s said that comedy of harder to write for a reason, but who knows? Perhaps, it was merely assumed that their sense of humor would be woefully lacking. Maybe, there was a chance that they could end up surprising everyone, and they would get their chance to do so after the lawyer, who visibly struggled to come up with anything that might work.

“Here’s a joke: You’re funny,” said the breegull sarcastically, deriding the lawyer for his attempt at humor. He was bombing, and he knew it. The party’s survival hinged on everyone’s individual comedic success, yet there Kazooie was halfway to proverbially booing the man off stage. Then, he dropped an actual punchline, and then to his knees, clearly lacking any confidence in his chances.

“Hmm… maybe you guys should have mercy on him,” Banjo petitioned, hoping to bail the lawyer out. “I mean, he already looks beat. Why blow someone up if they’ve already blown i-” He was stopped just shy of finishing his appeal by the delighted giggling that proved it to be unnecessary, as seemed to have gone unnoticed through, anyhow.

“Okay, I’ll give him that one.”

“Well… as long as it works for them…”

Eyes then fell on the swordsman, who was too absorbed in thought to notice right away. In all likelihood, he was still trying to think of something funny--at least by some remotely passable definition of such--but one of the Bros quickly began to grow impatient with him. Tensions escalated to a frightening high when he threatened to bomb the remaining party as his brother talked him down from it. Eventually, the mercenary delivered. In line with every other joke told up to that point, it was painfully bad, but it became apparent that it was exactly what they needed when he had them falling on their back with uncontrollable laughter. At some point after that, the duo’s turn finally came around.

“I guess we’re up. You remember any good--or bad--jokes?”

“Yeah. I think I know what we’re going for here.” While she didn’t appreciate being mistakenly referred to as a “chicken”, Kazooie understood the circumstantial need to repress her characteristic urge to fire off insults in response. As difficult as it may be to dodge such a habit, it was important to remember that this wasn’t their game anymore. They were unscripted now, so she didn’t have to start fights (not that it would always unfailingly occur to her).

“Just try to keep it safe for work,” Banjo reminded. They were E-rated mascots in an E-rated world, after all.

“Alright. What’s big, white, heavy, and can’t climb trees?”

During the brief pause, Banjo pondered on what the answer might actually be. Boggy? Mrs. Boggy? Groggy? The latter in particular stuck out in his mind with the keyword ‘heavy’ as a reminder of the time he had to physically carry him to the Witchyworld exit. Then again, they all fit that description. Big. White. Heavy. Probably couldn’t climb trees since they were polar bears. It didn’t really matter either way. This wasn’t a puzzle or life/death trivia question like he was used to, and none of those answers made sense as a punchline. He was clearly overthinking it. Three seconds pass.

“A fridge.”

Of course. An anti-joke. A loaded setup with an absurdly obvious answer intended to subvert the idea behind it. It would probably work, though. However, a simple inventory malfunction threatened to jeopardize their efforts. Banjo noticed Frisk scrambling to relocate the loose explosive to minimize the damage done as well as just getting it safely away from everyone else. It didn’t seem advisable to leave them to take care of it alone, even if by some chance s/he knew what s/he was doing.

“Erm… Kazooie? We should probably-”

“Hang on. I’ve got one more,” Kazooie interjected in a subdued chuckle, failing to even so much as notice, let alone acknowledge, the fact that a CHILD just passed them handling explosive ordinance. “How did the hipster burn himself?”

“He drank his coffee before it was cool.

Level: 5
Day/Time: Day Two
Location: Smash Arena
Tags: None
Mentions: Varrock @Zarkun, Shantae @Guardian Angel Haruki, Robin @DarkRecon, Cloud @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 392

The bright, distorted, percussive pattering of automatic gunfire against reflective hard light sounded off its necessary cessation as bullets returned to their source at an angle intended to spare. As anticipated, the blockade troops took the hint to cease fire once it occurred to them that they were essentially shooting at themselves. A shame that they had to be prodded into stop to actually pay mind to what they were doing, but sadly, the realization came but a minute or so too late; damage was done, casualties resulted. Behind Fox lay confused, frightened, wounded innocents--some presumably dead--who wanted nothing more than to indulge in a thrilling night of gladiatorial entertainment, now victims of a harsh, unforeseen coincidence, with more harm than help from those meant to rescue them from it. This… was unacceptable. They were supposed to help see to preventing this, not causing it! Now that Fox had their attention, he was keen on reminding them of that.

“What the hell are you all doing,” he inquired assertively, all the while trying his best not to completely compromise his composure. “You’re under the Council’s orders to evacuate these civilians… SAFELY!” He gestured behind him to the fallen civilians--none of which appeared to be infected, but gunned down without a second thought regardless. “You think they’re safe here?!” Beyond the cluster of bystanders are Varrock, Shantae, Robin, and Cloud dealing with what used to be an Egg Stealer. Fox doubled back in a running start in their direction as he quickly wrapped up his displeased address to the soldiers. “We’ll take care of the quarantine. Get these people out of here. All of them. Now!”

After hurrying his way through the civilian huddle, Fox lept from the midpoint of the stairwell towards the Body Snatcher, now (hopefully) disoriented from the blast of Void smoke to its face. After releasing the Nightstalker from its grasp, Fox would air dash toward it to swiftly reduce the distance between it and him to zero. The motion trail that followed him darkened, wicks of flame subtly cloaked his form, and as he came to a stop directly above the creature, a dim glint signals a spontaneous eruption of explosive force inexplicably generated from the vulpine. Ideally, it would suffice to dispatch what would turn out to be the last of the remaining threats in the arena.
@Mattchstick@Holy Soldier I don't think it will matter all that much, but I'd say the magless pistol would be fine, especially if it functions that way in game.

Level: 2
Day/Time: Day Two; Afternoon
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 6th Floor -> Stairwell -> 5th Floor
Tags: Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki
Mentions: Alicia @Zarkun, Cloud @Holy Soldier, Phoenix Wright @Leaves
Word Count: 716

The duo lingered a few paces behind the group as the two warriors began to interrogate and admonish the child. They seemed to be having a brief, mild-mannered debate about ethics based on their own personal experiences; a discussion stemmed presumably from the child’s aversion to violence or lethality. Kazooie peeked her head out over Banjo’s shoulder as they both listened in, but neither chose to interject, which was strange for the normally outspoken and opinionated breegull. This was mostly due to the fact that the two had nothing particularly helpful to contribute to the conversation, as the fact that they, too, had never actually killed anyone was more nonsensically incidental than anything. Even a fully decomposed (and later dismembered) Gruntilda was able to inexplicably retain sentience and come back to be a problem for them again, and she even continued to hold on to it after being reduced to just a talking skull. (Perhaps she was filled with DETERMINATION.) Come to think of it, what did they do with her head when they were done using it for their end-of-game “kick around”?

Anyways, if there was any takeaway from the exchange between the soldier and the pacifist, it was just how greatly everyone’s experiences can vary and how that can shape their individual behaviors and world views. The two in question were easy to relate to on some level. On one hand, Banjo and Kazooie have had their fair share of run-ins with those who used reason more as a last minute contingency or, in some cases, were unwilling to see to it at all, but in fairness, at least one or two of those instances were due in part to being comically inept at diplomacy. On the other, they also understood and consistently put into practice the way of MERCY, as they never had any reason to put anyone down and never went out of their way to do so, which ultimately proved more helpful in the end. Taking each other’s experiences and methodologies into consideration, the squad managed to come to a passable accord regarding how to go about handling the upcoming floor bosses before pressing on to the next one.

As far as Banjo and Kazooie were concerned, the kid need not worry about them implementing lethal force against their enemies, but it didn’t hurt to reassure them of that, even s/he already understood that about the two. Banjo approached their leader as they proceeded down the stairwell and gently dropped his heavy paw/hand on the child’s left shoulder, stopping them only for a moment a word of solicitude to their sensibilities.

“Don’t worry, Frisk. We’ll do our best to beat them without overdoing it,” he offered with a soft smile.

“Yeah. Pummelling bad guys into submission is kinda our thing,” added Kazooie, about which she wasn’t wrong, if there was anyone around Frisk could count on for simply knocking bosses unconscious, it was them.

With that, they continued onward, eventually finding themselves in a dark, but discernibly circular room inhabited by two bouncing shadows conversing in a slightly hushed register. At least they had some idea of how to set the mood for a boss fight, but it was nothing the duo hadn’t seen before. The two brothers began to banter aimlessly about not wanting to work any harder than they had to after the battle. Murderous intent aside, Banjo could sympathize, as he tended to be more carefree and lackadaisical when not on an adventure (likely to Kazooie’s dissatisfaction). While they rambled on, Frisk called for the team’s attention to go over their plan, who then did something strange with what looked like their heart (which inspired curiosity for later questions) that was somehow supposed to service said plan. Banjo would just have to trust that their leader knew what s/he was doing, and while he was all for them opening with an attempt at nonviolent resolution, it was quickly becoming painful to listen to. His forehead fell into his palm as their leader started playfully bombarding the floor bosses with tortured puns, hoping to relate to the bombers in hopes of defusing the situation. Should s/he fail, Banjo and Kazooie would be ready to intercept any bombs that may (or may not) fall their way.

Level: 4
Day/Time: Day Two
Location: Smash Arena
Tags: Naija @DracoLunaris, Slayer @Lugubrious, Varrock @Zarkun
Mentions: Cloud @Holy Soldier, Steve @Rockin Strings
Word Count: 592

Gnasty really should have known better prior to his raid what he was getting himself into. He now found himself downed, wounded (though temporarily), and exceedingly overwhelmed, facing the inevitability wrought by his hubris. The suddenly exuberant Naija teased and beckoned the fallen boss to retaliate as they had all expected him to do. He instead opted for the second smartest decision he could have made, aside from not showing up at all in the first place. He ran… fleeing back the way he came at a staggering pace that the Gnorc should reasonably have been unable to muster. Fox’s eyes widened in surprise at the display as the titanic mutant cleared their line of sight in no more than a second, but as far as he was concerned, Gnasty’s attempted retreat would be in vain. Him, Slayer, and possibly Cloud would be on him in no time, while Naija volunteered to stay back and deal with the remainder of the amorphous abominations that would no doubt continue to harass them if left unchecked. Fox then leapt from the overhead, shooting down two spotlights at their joints with the intention of dropping them on the other two mutants to give Naija less to deal with at a time.

“Keep them busy. We’ll come back for you,” offered Fox in compliance before following after Slayer in pursuit of Gnasty, likely surpassing the characteristically more diligently paced gentleman. Some few yards into the tunnel, the alarming cadence of railroad crossing bells and harsh clacking of wheel rods signaled the arrival of what Fox incorrectly suspected to be Gnasty’s getaway ride. He hastened regardless, arriving at the subway platform just in time to behold the unexpected, but timely appearance of a ghostly freight train on flaming tracks, as well as the aftermath. At least that meant their boss problem was taken care, but just in time for another to take its place. He received a call from Varrock informing him of the escalated situation on the other end with a request for backup. Fox cursed under his breath in response to the less than favorable news.

“Keep it pinned down! I’m on my way,” answered the vulpine with a sense of urgency in his voice as he set off toward the nightstalker’s location. It didn’t occur to him that he had perhaps rudely written off Slayer in his enthusiastic musings when instinctively rushing off to prioritize his duties without so much as acknowledging him, but crisis intervention took precedence in his mind. Hopefully, the gentleman would understand and forgive him for doing so. He cut through one of the paths connecting the tunnels to make good on time, arriving within the minute. Without stopping to analyze the full scene, he headed straight toward the sound of gunfire coming from upstairs, running along the rounded wall to avoid have push through the crowd of panicked civilians. At the end of his inverted stride, Fox would drop down onto the eroding wooden cube that one of the contestants was taking cover behind and raised his reflector, angling it slightly upward to avoid returning friendly fire. Having their own bullets fly over their heads would hopefully be enough to deter the containment unit’s unprovoked retaliation long enough to get their attention, but a clarified order from Fox to hold fire would follow, should the point not already be made clear. Failing that, he would have to fall back and try to connect directly to Guile--or whoever else would answer--to have the otherwise uncooperative units called off.

Level: 4
Day/Time: Day Two
Location: Smash Arena
Tags: Varrock @Zarkun
Mentions: Slayer @Lugubrious, Naija @DracoLunaris, Cloud @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 709

The heroes hadn’t but a few seconds to spare between putting Gnasty through a wall and having to resume battle with him. It was around this time that Varrock relayed orders from HQ (for those who could hear him) to contain and neutralize any and all infected, even if that meant taking out civilians. The idea didn’t sit well with Fox. At no point in his life or career had there ever been a situation in which civilian casualties were acceptable or necessary, let alone would they be condoned or endorsed, and he had no intention of changing that now. If him and the others could help it, it wouldn’t come to that, but he knew that in the worst case they wouldn’t be able to stop the blockade from acting on orders. Fox didn’t respond, but instead retrained his focus on the rising Gnorc leader, whom he would have no qualms about dispatching for the sake of those he carelessly endangered.

Once more, Gnasty discharged yet another sustained, omnidirectional barrage of infectious scales that grew back in place as quickly as they could be propelled. Fox quick-dashed behind the unoccupied announcer’s table for use as cover, his after images taking the shape of unseen evasive maneuvers. The remaining minions, again, weren’t so quick or lucky to avoid the mutagenic volley. It seemed that not even the already infected were immune the virus’s effects, as it further corrupted and distorted their forms, reducing them to something shapeless and somehow even more horrific. Varrock joined the fray for just long enough to throw down a suppressive wall of purple flame onto the malformed creatures, but took off no sooner than he could drop in to assist the retreating heroes in the tunnels.

“Copy. We’ll hold them here,” replied Fox to the nightstalker, taking no issue with the action. Slayer suggested a simple, yet sensible plan of attack whilst advancing at a dignified pace. After drawing the enemy's collective attention, he vanished and reappeared over the smaller abominations and brought down fiery heals on what would otherwise be their heads. Adding the gentleman’s own shade of purple to the colored blaze laid down by Varrock would (hopefully) suffice in clearing the way to the Gnorc leader. Fox rushed headlong through the fires with the rest of his team at his side/back, eager to make good on their opening. Where Naija would circle to Gnasty’s left, unarmed side, Fox would take the right, firing 2-3 distracting impact shots at the boss’s face. He would then attempt to slide under the anticipated club strike while also trying to mount the end of the weapon in the same motion. If successful, he would resume fire with rapid shots until Gnasty attempted to throw him from the oversized cudgel, which Fox would follow through with rather than resisting. Ideally, this should send him flying towards the ring, which he would use to his advantage.

Fox dash into top rope just before coming into contact with it to force it farther back and create more tension. The improvised slingshot shot the vulpine back the way he came from with visibly more force--enough so to register visibly as a faint pressure wave. He twisted and rolled forward, placing his feet first in a drilling motion in the split second that it would take for him to reach his target: Gnasty’s exposed ribcage. With Naija at his left and Slayer in front to be preoccupied with, this left to chance the possibility that he would leave his right side momentarily unguarded, and while it may not be enough on its own to bring the hulking M-Gnorc down, it should at least help to weaken him on one side. A connected strike from Fox would bring his momentum to a sudden near-halt as he forcefully drove as far into the Gnorc’s side as he possibly could before springing off and boosting upward onto the overhead lighting to optimally reposition in preparation for imminent retaliation, whatever that might entail.
@Holy SoldierYou can move this if you want. I actually just forgot to post this time. I'll try to write something if I get around to it beforehand, but otherwise, don't feel obliged to wait on me this round. This one was my bad.

Level: 2
Day/Time: Day Two; Afternoon
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 6th Floor -> Stairwell
Tags: None
Mentions: Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki, Alicia @Zarkun, Phoenix Wright @Leaves, Cloud @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 428

Banjo made it unnoticed to the top of the balcony with no time to react before Marx shouted forth a sizable beam of blinding polychromatic destruction that rocked the halls at their very foundations, forcing the ursine to take cover behind the guardrails; moreso to maintain his bearings than to avoid damage that was aimed directly away from him. It was probably better that he didn’t rise from it to assail Marx, else him and Kazooie would have unwittingly run the risk of taking friendly fire. With the report of three gunshots followed the beam’s disappearance and Marx’s weakened reversion. They looked down over the railing at the defeated floor boss before exchanging looks of curious surprise to one another. The feeling couldn’t help but set in that this encounter was a tad short-lived. They weren’t complaining or anything. They just didn’t expect it would be so… easy. It begged to question what factors, if any, contributed to the jester’s expedited downfall. Whatever it was, none of it stopped him from bragging about his disappointingly overwhelming defeat and prematurely trying to somehow claim a victory from it. He was right about one thing, however: they weren’t clear just yet.

The effects of the collateral damage wrought by Marx mere seconds prior were starting to show. The entire room was about to collapse on itself, burying anyone under its roof that didn’t quickly take their leave of it. Their teammates’ attention to the only functioning door in the room as it spontaneously appeared, ordering them towards it. They needn’t be (but were) told twice, and with the rate at which their surroundings were coming down, Kazooie perhaps couldn’t have picked a better time to remember how much faster a runner she was than her partner. She sprung forth her talons from the bottom of Banjo’s backpack, practically yanking him off his feet and onto her back as she took the lead in a dead sprint for the exit. Fractures ran across the room like veins spreading along every surface to chase after the breegull as the floor gave way. She made a single lengthy bound over a freshly formed gap where a larger chunk of the ceiling fell through right in front of her and sailed gracefully through the open doorway to safety. Chances were that the duo, having been the farthest from it to start, would be the last ones through just before everything fell in on the other side. Afterwards, Kazooie would recede into her backpack space while her and Banjo waited for everyone to fully regroup.

Level: 1
Day/Time: Day Two; Afternoon
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 6th Floor
Tags: None
Mentions: Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki, Alicia @Zarkun, Phoenix Wright @Leaves, Cloud @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 821

Banjo’s feet gently lowered back to the floor once Marx began to fade out the singularity. The swordsman stood ready as he charged up to throw some power the jester’s way, but he was unexpectedly interrupted just before he could act by the sudden ‘OBJECTION’ from the man in the blue suit, taking him and everyone else in the room by utter surprise. A speech bubble with the same spoken word imprinted on it erupted forth with enough energy and presence to somehow physically affect Marx, and quite substantially at that. The fact that the sheer power of the man’s authoritative voice alone was able to generate dangerously potent toon force was impressive indeed, but It was hard to tell if it was actually intended as an attack or if it was purely by accident. All the same, the swordsman needn’t feel embarrassed at being taken by surprise, for with a command so powerful that it can literally cause concussions being issued in uncomfortable proximity, it would be hard to blame him for being caught off-guard by it.

The man then promptly began bombarding the jester with a series of prying questions and call-outs, interrogating him as to his true motives. Judging by his applied terminology, method, manner of speaking, and ever-so-slightly dishonest stratagem and wordplay (the way he attempted to pass off Marx’s failed attempt as a broken promise or a lie), it was obvious that the man was a lawyer; a likely professional. He soon called for the attention of the “court” as if to get all others in attendance on the case, going so far as to refer to the child--their leader--as his “client.”

“Did he just… put the boss on trial? And are we his ‘peers’?” Banjo inquired at the very mention of such, scratching his head in confusion at the whole affair. He was unsure what any of this meant or how to conduct himself in such a scenario. He had never actually been in an active courtroom setting before (improvised, in this case), let alone served jury duty.

“I say we throw the book at him,” added Kazooie. Being the ‘fair and impartial’ judge that she was, she had already mentally jotted down a maximum sentence that left open the possibility for the death penalty. Neither Banjo nor Frisk would approve if they knew.

It was strange to think that the council decided that what they needed on their team was a lawyer, but stranger yet was the fact that he would take his work with him and be so bold as to put a floor boss on the stand in the middle of battle. Even by the bear and bird’s standards, this was most irregular. Sure, they faced their nemesis in a game show setting prior to their actual battle… TWICE, but it was at least appropriately set aside as pre-showdown material. (Though, Grunty did bring flashcards to the fight the second time around.) The lawyer’s gambit was, in fact, much riskier. Marx didn’t seem to care too much for being put on the spot like he was, nor was he all too willing to abide by proper courtroom etiquette. It was at the point when he pleaded the fifth, declared murderous intent, and prepared for his next attack that the duo safely assumed that they were to treat the witness as hostile.

The two made their way upstairs and around the scene, heading to the balcony directly above Marx while he was occupied with gunfire, legal proceedings, and a child’s plea to understanding. They had to be in position to act in case he didn’t budge to any of it. They would be ready to hit the jester with a Beak Buster from up top in the event that he showed no signs of letting up, and ONLY then would they do so lest they compromise their chance at the peaceful, preferable resolution that the lawyer and child seemed to have in mind. If it came to that, hopefully the surprise attack would be able to knock Marx out of the air as well as interrupt his attack and stun (or incapacitate) him long enough for those two to get through to him. Maybe, he would see to reason, but it would certainly be a shame if he didn’t. Banjo had no more intention of harming anyone than… well, ANYONE, so Marx’s surrender would come as somewhat of a favor to him as well. That being said, he had little compunction about fighting back when forced to, for he understands that reason can only take one so far with some. Fortunately, neither him nor his partner have ever had to claim a life to save their own (it’s a cartoonish, E-rated game, after all), and hopefully that would remain to be the case in future boss battles to come. In the worst case, Kazooie would probably just write it off as “self-defense” anyways.
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