smash_logs | PIT PUTT VS THE WEEPING WOOPER

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PIT PUTT VS THE WEEPING WOOPER

Who: Pit and Jock; open to spectators wandering in
What: A scheduled spar, only... there's a bit of an interference.
Where: Stadium
When: July 5th.
Warnings: This is going to be a stupid fight.

About the only amount of fun Pit was having like this anymore was his ability to click on any object and watch it sing, dance, explode, brush its teeth, do a flip, produce fuzzy small animals, or any other inconceivable action that shouldn't be taking place. But even that was starting to get kind of dull. He'd just got finished clicking on an apple to turn it into a carton of juice when a thought germinated.

Oh no! He had an appointment today! He was supposed to fight with an opponent for Nyx's class. At 2:00 p.m. sharp he was supposed to be over there at the stadium, fighting, like Jock and he agreed prior. What if he was waiting for him? He didn't want to make anyone wait on him, even if he wasn't exactly... cut out for fighting like this. Well, he could still give it a shot, right?

With the sliver of a chance that Jock might be there, Pit raced with the minute he had left to spare. He always knew what time it was because he had a built-in analog clock (and radio!). He swerved in with a sharp, screeching turn and bolted inside the stadium, then slowed down to a slow roll when he was in the safe zone.

"Joooock? Are you here?" What were the chances? Maybe he was being stupid about this whole fight. Maybe with the chaos of all the transformations, all meetings and appointments were assumed to be canceled?

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Standing in a corner of the arena is a tiny blue thing with no arms. It looks stupid and weak. It feels stupid and weak.

It's Jock. Jock as a wooper. Jock as the stupidest, weakest, saddest wooper.

He showed up because Blue made him.

He looks out desolately at the gym when he sees a car drive up. Oh no, his opponent had a cool car and all he had was a thin coating of slime all over his entire body.

If only Pit had a cool car. He IS the car. It's not as sweet to be the ride as it is to own a ride. The car glances around the vast stadium, wondering where that big guy named Jock was.

Then, he catches sight of a misplaced soggy towel, lumped up in a corner. That's a weird way for a towel to be standing, though. Hey, wait a minute... is that towel standing? Like, on feet? Upon closer inspection, this is no towel. This is a fish creature with stubby legs! That's a kind of Pokemon, right? Pit Putt putts closer.

"Hey! Have you seen Jock anywhere? He's got these sideburns and a short beard and fluffy white hair. He's kind of big. He's also an Arcanine sometimes too."

The tiny blue thing starts sobbing uncontrollably when the... car? When the car says that about Jock.

Oh my god, look at all of those tears. They don't stop coming. They just keep going on and on and on.

The misshapen blue towel falls over on its side.

Edited 2013-07-15 01:43 (UTC)

Was the car the opponent. Was. What was. Who knew anymore. Whatever.

A loud voice called from the sidelines.

"JOCK YOU CAN STILL KICK ITS ASS."

Silence.

"CLOG ITS PIPES OR SOMETHING, I GUESS."

Blue was very encouraging.

The blue thing had spent all week falling over and losing its balance. Stupid, giant, misshapen lump of a head. Stupid, tiny, worthless excuses for feet.

Eventually, after much practice, he'd learned how to leverage his tail to get back up.

Still crying, he stood up, and hiccuped. Oh no, he was hiccuping from all of the tears.

Oh no, it was pathetic and adorable, oh no.

Edited 2013-07-15 02:03 (UTC)

Pit was starting to feel really bad about Jock. This... was Jock? Blue over there called out his name, so... that was irrefutable proof, right? What do you say to someone bawling their mass's worth in tears?

"Hey, hey... don't cry! It's gonna be all right!"

In between the sobs and the hiccups and the sobbing hiccups, Jock said something in pokespeech that would translate to, "Why are you a car?" if you understood pokespeech.

Instead it probably just sounds like "gajgajagjagjagjaaaaaaaaaag" to you.

"Uh..." Pit glanced over to Blue, as if silently asking for help, then turned his eyes back to Jock, who was completely losing it.

"You don't have to fight if you don't want to. I get it! I mean, considering we're not in the best shape and all. No hard feelings."

"He wants to know why you're a car," Blue helpfully called back.

"... Why are you a car??"

"...I dunno! Probably the same reason he's a Wooper." He set his eyes back on this soggy mess of an opponent. It didn't feel right to start the match when he was bawling his eyes out. He had to cheer him up if he wanted to fight.

"Is there anything I can do to help? I've got tissues in my glove box!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO HAPPY ABOUT BEING A CAR?" he continued, through the tears.

Again, it just sounds like "galsdfljkasdfadsfkjadsflkj."

Pit looked to Blue once again, pleadingly. "Uhh... Translation?"

"But I thought... people were turning into animals..." A note she was making mostly to herself, bewildered. And then she spoke back up.

"He wants to know why you're happy about being a car!"

"Well... I don't know if 'happy' is really the right word to use. I really wish I could be an angel again since that's what I'm used to being, but since there's nothing I can do about it right now, I just sort of... deal with it." He studied Jock's face to see if he was getting through to him. "I try not to worry about it so much, or else I find myself down in the dumps. I guess being able to honk at people is kind of cool. Clicking on stuff with this cursor was neat at first, but then it started to get weird. Having a built-in GPS system? Never had that as an angel! I was even able to find Captain Falcon's house."

Was he saying too much? Yeah, probably. He shut up and got visibly embarrassed. "But yeah! That's basically my feelings about being a car. Oh, and if you ever turn into a car? Here's some advice: never get an oil leak. It's really embarrassing."

Jock stared at the car-angel. He then turned to Blue. The look he gave Blue said, "He's insane."

He turned back to the car and hiccuped. He was as ready as he was going to be.

He stopped crying and just sniffled a little bit. "Whatever," he burbled. "I don't even care anymore. Let's just get this over."

Blue sighed. This was a very optimistic angel car.

"He says he just wants to get this over with," she translated kindly. And then, to Jock, she yelled, "JUST DO YOUR BEST. YOU'RE STILL JOCK NO MATTER WHAT SHAPE YOU TAKE OKAY?!"

If Pit were not a car, he would shrug. "Well, if that's what you want. Who am I to say no to a fight? ...Even if I don't exactly know how to fight like a car."

The stadium filed randomly through a library of stages and warped into Distant Planet. Pit was fortunate enough not to land on the slope, but on one of the leaves, which sunk lower and lower due to his weight pressing down upon it. That didn't mean he couldn't complain about what fate had given him to work with.

"Oh no. Ohhhh no no no..." He experimentally tried rolling forward, but flinched when he realized he'd tumble off the leaf and onto the tangle of vines. Not a game breaker for him at least, and he was pretty sure he could jump as a cartoonish car, but he only had so much space to work with if he couldn't move onto that inclined ledge without rolling off. "I'm no good with slopes! I'm gonna fall!"

3...2...1... GO!

This place looked stupid and dumb. Leaves. Everything's a leaf. Leaves are dumb.

Jock, weighing scarcely more than a couple of housecats duct taped together, however, had no problem with not sliding off of the delicate leaf he was on, unlike the CAR over there.

So, Jock took the depressing initiative. He lobbed a ball of mud at the car from the inside of his mouth.

Oh, that was going to be a pain to wash out! Especially since he didn't have a roof. Frantically he used his weight to slip off the leaf and dodge the oncoming sludgeball by falling onto the woven vine platform. He couldn't just hang around taking whatever blows flew at him; he needed action!

It was time to...

???

What kinds of moves did he even have anymore? His first instinct was to bolt for his opponent and try landing some starter hits while parrying gracefully out of the way, but that wasn't an option when you were a hunk of living steel and other junk. He could maybe spray some windshield wiper fluid at him but he had a feeling that wouldn't do much. Trying to act quickly, he moved the cursor that may or may not have been visible to anyone else and

clicked

on Jock

to see what would happen.

Jock felt... something... touch him, though he couldn't see anything.

And then, for no reason he could understand, he opened his mouth and started frothing out a veritable Laurence Welk Show's worth of beautiful bubbles.

Just so many bubbles. IT'S GETTING HARD TO SEE. BECAUSE OF BUBBLES.

He started weeping again.

WHAT WAS HAPPENING?! Even he could barely see what was going on in front of him, and the rapid takeover of shiny bubbles began to obscure even his opponent before his headlight eyes. It's like he'd activated some kind of assist trophy just by clicking on him, the kind that makes it hard to see...

"Agh, this is terrible!" complained Pit. "What have I done?"

From the stands, a cursor had been seen. The... arrow... why was there an arrow?

Why were there so many bubbles?

What the balls was going on?

"What the balls is going on???"

This was stupid.

"This is stupid," a thought whispered to herself lest her poor Wooper hear and misconstrue it.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. "TRY WASHING THEM AWAY...?"

Jock eventually stopped producing bubbles. What. What was in his movelist? He didn't really know.

Wash it away. Mom said to wash it away. So, Jock would just need to make water. Out of his mouth. It was like he was going to take a piss, but using his mouth instead.

This was the absolute worst thing in the entire world.

So Jock reached deep inside of him and summoned up some sort of watery feeling and tried to throw it out like he would a flamethrower.

Suddenly, a giant plume of dirty, muddy water came spewing out of his mouth. Jock was thrown back by the force of it all, onto the leaf platform below the leaf platform he was currently on, and the geyser of muddy water sprayed hither and yon.

Unfortunately, the spot Pit was located was a place the descriptor "hither and yon" entailed, and as such, he got treated to quite a number of muddy water blasts. It got in his "face", his seats, his tires, on his windshield... This entire battle was a series of uncomfortable moments of being rendered without the gift of sight. If it wasn't bubbles, it was mud.

"Auuugh! I can't wipe this off! I don't even have any hands!" He tried moving forward experimentally because just parking there wasn't going to help him win this battle, but he didn't realize that a sizable puddle of really wet mud had formed around half his perimeter. Pit Putt rolled forward, but only a few inches before his tires began grinding into the slop, sending spray both directions.

"I... I can't even move! This muck is seriously cramping my tires..."

Meanwhile, the torrent of foul-tasting water had finally finished coming out of the not-quite-two-feet-tall wooper. A giant dog spitting out fire, sure yeah, that could possibly work, maybe. But this? How did that even happen? Jock had the volume of maybe two two-liter soda bottles. But that was clearly gallons and gallons of disgusting mouthspray.

All thoughts of the impossibility of this fight aside, Jock, however, was on his back, breathing heavily from the exertion of that desperate move. And now, he had to try to stand up without the help of front paws/arms. He braced his stupid, giant tail back to try to hoist himself up but, oh no, dear reader, the ground was slick and his entire body was covered in slime to begin with and this leaf platform was sort of tilted in one direction to begin with.

Jock began to slide down the leaf, headed towards where the stupid car was stuck in the stupid mud.

This was a weird fight. A weird fight that she was watching very closely. They would have to figure out ways to get him used to the lack of forearms, definitely. Work the tail into the regime. Trying to make the best out of a theoretical worst case scenario where her beautiful Arcanine turned into a Wooper forever just meant that Blue was reworking the training schedule in her head.

It was her coping mechanism.

She watched her Pokemon slide down the leaf. Please don't be a Wooper forever.

Blinded and temporarily immobilized by the mud, Pit was functionally helpless. Frustrated by his predicament, he floored it REALLY HARD to free himself from the fetters of sloppy earth and shot forward, headlong into the Wooper ahead of him.

Jock was suddenly slammed into by a hideous anthopomorphic car. He went careening across the stage and slammed into the gentle slope where he lay, quivering.

That. That was probably not. That was probably not good for the little wooper.

Her Wooper. Had been run over by a car.

Probably she should have anticipated this, all things considered. No one was ever truly prepared for the truth though. The truth of pancakey woopers. Woopercakes. Treaded Woopers.

How horrifying.

"ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" The way battles worked in the stadium were much different than anywhere else, she knew. It was harder to tell just how much was too much. "YOU CAN STILL DO IT," she yelled with all the belief that only a trainer could possess. He hadn't gotten blasted off the stage so that was good, right? RIGHT???

As Jock flew, so did Pit with the rest of the energy his boost gave him- right into the top of the slope. He stopped right there, having no idea where he just landed but having a bad feeling about it when he began to roll backwards.

Her Wooper. Was going to get run over by a car. Again. This time backwards.

Jock was feebly aware of the car that was rolling back towards him.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no. He had to try and get up. He had to try to move. Use the tail to get him out of the way. Do anything to get him out of the way.

Jock, with what little strength he had left, thrashed his entire body, just trying to get back up. He was panicking. He was thrashing. He was panicking. He was thrashing. He was panicking. He was thrashing. He was panicking. He was using Earthquake.

Wait, woopers learn Earthquake?

Evidently woopers learn Earthquake.

The entire stage shook with vast, seismic power.

Pit was rocked on the very ground he was about to roll down on. I guess you could say he was rocking and rolling, basically. The earth-shattering force sent him bopping around on the stage, and instead of using his wheels to descend the slope, he tumbled, bouncing right over the flailing wooper and...

...making a safe land on the platform made of plant matter! Yaaay.

Oh, but what's this over yonder? A bulborb doth approach? Gee, that sure is a huge bulborb. It stares vacantly at the tiny combatants on the stage, like a dog waiting for his dish to be filled with scrumptious kibble.

"Wh-what's go-o-ing on?" cried Pit, woefully upside-down and unable to see. "Wh-y i-is the gr-ound sha-aking so mu-uch?"

Holy shit her Wooper knew Earthquake.

Holy shit that sure was a.... she didn't know what that bulborb was.

"DON'T FALL OFF THE STAGE."

It opened its majestic maw, slowly and with purpose.

Finally the shaking stopped. Jock was still lying on the ground, panting. He was totally oblivious to the giant thing that was slowly and majestically and purposefully leaning down to do whatever it was doing.

However, as the thing was coming in from the right, and Jock was on the dirt hill on the left... the one who had the most to fear from the whatever it was was most likely the upside-down car.

Jock vomited up a disgusting amount of mud out of exhaustion and pain.

The purpose of that majestically gaping maw soon made itself known, and in one gulp, it ate Pit Putt right up.

That was it. It was all over. No opponent remained for Jock to fight, except, perhaps, for his own pain and exhaustion.

Wait, now Jock is rolling down the hill; he's too tired to stand up. If he keeps rolling down the hill he'll fall off of the stage.

WHO WILL LEAVE THE STAGE FIRST? THE DIRTY DISHRAG OF A POKEMON TUMBLING DOWN THE HILL OR THE CAR INSIDE OF A MONSTER?

Edited (kaynt spel) 2013-08-11 02:41 (UTC)

"Aaaaauuuuuuuuuugh."

And then Jock rolled off the stage and there was some sort of strange explosion of light, as the bulborb was about two inches away from the edge of the stage area.

~~THE SCREEN READ~~ A voice said "WINNER: PIT!"

Wow. Just... wow.

Everything reverted back to normal, and Pit was no longer locked in the jaws of a hulking stalk-eyed beast. He glanced around, dazed, not used to the light after having dark mud smeared across his vision.

"Huh? Did I... win?"

Your opponent is lying on the floor in a puddle of his own tears.

That's probably a clue.

The fact that the strange ~~sky text~~ sky text and voice had declared a winner and everything had went back to normal meant that it was safe to enter the stage, right? Hopefully that was the case, because Blue had already been flying down the stadium steps before explosions and the like even happened. Good or bad, someone needed a hug.

Friendly reminder: Trying to run down steps and keep your eyes on a falling Wooper does not make for a graceful or incredibly effective descent.

"Jock!" She shouted as she stumbled ungracefully onto the blank stage, hurrying towards the weepy blue puddle monster. His watery mass was getting gently scooped up into that needed act of huggin'.

As she scooped him up, he suddenly turned into a bald mandude with no glorious abs to be had.

"I couldn't... I couldn't... I couldn't... I couldn't stand uuuuuuuuuuuuup," he got out between sobs.

His bald head was cradled gently against her womanly mom chest.

"We'll work on standing," she told him reassuringly. "And muddy vomit and how to make earthquake work really good."

His head. Was very bald as she attempting to run her hand over it comfortingly. "Maybe you can ask the car for a rematch when you're an Arcanine again."

She looked over. At the car.

The car looked back.

"I'm totally up for a rematch. But make sure that when you ask me for one, I'm running on legs, not gas."

"I don't wanna," Jock sobbed further, "I don't wanna work on muddy vomit, I wanna be an arcaniiii-iiiiii-iiiii-iiii-iiiine. I wanna beat him as an arcanii-iiii-iii-iiine."

Your womanly mom chest is getting covered in Jock's tears and snot, mom.

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PIT PUTT VS THE WEEPING WOOPER

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