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Samus Really Regretting Agreeing to Date

Illustration for article titled Samus Really Regretting Agreeing to Date

LUIGI’S RESTAURANT – Following twenty minutes of one-sided dinner conversation, during which her counterpart gossiped shamelessly about their fellow tournament fighters, renowned bounty hunter Samus Aran silently confirmed that agreeing to this date with Captain Falcon had been a terrible, terrible mistake.


“I’m telling you, Sam,” began the F-Zero racer, taking a gulp of wine as he chewed his ravioli. “The freaks in that tournament get freakier every year.”

“I mean, do you remember that disgusting frog ninja – the thing with the long, slimy tongue?” he punctuated with an exaggerated shudder. “Ugh, sick!”


Clenching her jaw as she listened, Samus marveled at her rare, profound lapse in judgment, struggling to recall why she ignored all warnings of her friends and accepted the invitation to mid-fare Italian cuisine.

“I can’t believe we haven’t gone out already, you know? By the way, I love the new outfit. A zero suit, is it? Whatever it’s called, let me tell you, those boots are amazing. Really sexy.”


The six-foot-three, nearly two hundred pound former Galactic Federation police officer widened her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose over the unwelcome comment, then held her breath for a three-count while she reminded herself that it would be beneath her to smash her date’s skull through the dining table, although doing so would relieve her own suffering in an instant. Samus exhaled slowly, satisfying herself with the graphic murder fantasy while her counterpart began to chronicle his rise to F-Zero fame.

“You see, I was born to be an F-Zero racer,” explained Captain Falcon. “I’m the best there is and ever will be. And you know why? It’s because I get it, Sam. Just like in fighting, winning isn’t about being lucky.”


“It’s about being bold,” he declared, emphatically finishing his glass of chardonnay.

To escape, in the sanctuary of her mind, Samus imagined that she was back home on Zebes, far away from the restaurant’s wood paneled walls and red checkered table cloths, being boiled to death in the acid rain of her planet’s inhospitable surface or melted in its underground fire sea, or any other, better location than the present.


“Let’s head back to my place,” suggested Captain Falcon, loudly and boldly. “If this night keeps going so well, maybe later, I’ll let you show me your moves.”

(Image Source: Deviant Art)

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