The man stood perfectly still and watched two women walk past him. He straightened up, not wanting to get in their way, and hid in the shadows, anxious.

He didn't like talking to women.

Or anyone, really.

The man breathed out silently , and crept closer towards the kitchen. Unluckily for the man, the two women were inside, gossiping. The one dressed entirely in pink was chatting nonstop about how her boyfriend blushed so hard when she kissed him on the nose, and how she was baking him a cake for a special treat.

The man gave a small, internal sigh, knowing full well the woman wouldn't even bother trying to make the cake herself. She usually bought one at a bakery or told one of her mushroom-like servants to make one.

The other woman was more elegant, and only spoke to make small comments or agreements. She had wavy brown hair done up in tight plaits, was wearing a purple and white dress, and was playing a gentle, tinkly tune on a golden harp. The soft music drifted through the man's nonexistent ears, soothing his troubled mind.

He wished he could have the kitchen all to himself so he could cook.

Cooking was a stress reliever to the man. It was his way to relax. It was also his way to fight at the tournament in which he was currently inlisted.

He didn't want to fight, but he had to anyway.

His fighting style mostly consisted of normal things he used for recreation at his hometown, like dumping water out of his goldfish's bowl, waving ceremonial bells, and flipping pancakes.

Pancakes were his specialty.

The man remained standing, but shifted his weight from his left and right side. He couldn't sit down. He never did. After waiting for half an hour, The women (who he believed to be princesses) left the kitchen, paying the man no mind.

He hated being paid no mind and forgotten.

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The smell of cooking pancakes wafted through the enormous house the contestants of the fighting tournament were staying in. The man flipped another pancake onto a plate, where a tall stack was currently standing. He offered them wordlessly to several passers by, one a penguin, one a pink gumball, and one a green dinosaur. Soon, cries of pain and sounds of fighting were heard several rooms away. The man gave an internal smile. He was glad they liked his cooking.

The man had just poured some more pancake batter onto a frying pan to make another pancake when someone grabbed his throat from behind.

The man couldn't turn around. He could tell that it was that large evil king from the same universe as the purple princess, though. He had been in that powerful grip before.

The man gave a deep, thundering laugh, and pulled the man away from the stove, where the pancake was beginning to burn.

-pagebreak-

The man wanted to cry out, in pain, in warning, ANYTHING, but he knew his cries would be unneeded. The man couldn't speak the same language as the rest. All that anyone else heard was a series of electronic beeps.

He wanted to yell at the evil king. What was his name? Gerudo? Ganon? The man was terrible with names.

The powerful grip of the evil overlord finally loosened as the man was dumped in some sort of light blue cylinder. He tried to cry out, "What do you want from me?!" But all that came out was a series of beeps.

The evil king gave another booming laugh, seemingly understanding the man's strange language. "I want your power of shadows, Mr. Game and Watch."

My first Smash Bros fic! This may actually become a series, telling stories about the more obscure and lesser talked-about characters in the Smash Universe. If you have suggestion, please send me a PM! (Reviews could spoil suprises!)

This actually is how I think Mr. Game and Watch was dragged into the events of the Subspace Emissary. The shadow bugs were made out of his abilities to be 2D in a 3D environment...

Ah, I think about head canon too much...

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StarRod