Meta sighed harshly as the call ended, wishing that Dedede had called his landline instead so that he could properly slam the phone down in frustration. Once again, his best laid plans had gone awry. The door to his office opened and he looked up, prepared to share the bad news.
"Our plans have hit a- What are you wearing?!" Meta shrieked, nearly dropping his phone. Dark leaned against the doorway, smirking.
"Don't you recognize it? I found it in your closet, after all" Dark tittered, slipping a heeled boot through the long black coat. The front of the coat was intricately designed, with Meta's insignia over the right breast. Dark's arms were covered by gloves that stopped just short of his armpits, with both the gloves and boots being composed of a shiny, latex like material. Meta knew this material well, as it was the imperfect and uncomfortable precursor to his current uniform.
"You were in my closet?" Meta growled, bristling. Dark shrugged.
"You did tell me to grab some armor since all of mine is back in Dreadland," he said, adjusting the captain's hat perched on his head.
"From the armory, yes."
"Well, I figured that you would have the best shit. And boy was I right," Dark preened, walking up to Meta's desk and stretching his leg out over it. "Micro-woven metal, right?" he continued, patting the material. Meta scrambled to catch the items scattered off his desk, scowling deeply.
"Yes. It was scrapped due to how uncomfortably it wears," Meta hissed, shoving Dark's leg off his desk.
"Naw. You totally scrapped it because it's pure undiluted fetish fuel. I actually can't believe you wore this," Dark laughed, performing a small heel-turn to illustrate his point.
"I only wore it for a year. Now if you will quit frolicking about I have important news," Meta huffed, massaging his temples. Dark pressed his palms to the desk and leaned forward.
"Lay it on me," he quipped. Meta folded his arms, entirely unimpressed.
"The final shard holder is refusing to relinquish it until meeting you."
"What?! Who is it?!" Dark screeched, losing his usual lax composure. "I'll flay the bastard alive!"
"Taranza," Meta said, neatening his desk. Dark groaned and put his head in his hands as Meta reached into his cape and grabbed a small wreath of paper. He tossed it onto his desk with a sharp crack. "Once the loyal servant of Queen Sectonia, now ambassador of Floralia following her death. As I understand it, you played a significant role in the Floralia incident. I assume that there is some sort of bad blood between you two?" Dark snatched the papers and quickly scanned the front page. "Floralia Incident" was printed in bold across the top, with a brief summary below. The bottom half was labeled "participants" and included three rows of portraits. Sectonia was listed first, the label of "deceased" beneath her photo sending an icy chill up Dark's spine.
"Yeah," Dark murmured, gazing at the picture. His own photo was further down, though it was only a vague sketch.
"Care to elaborate?" Meta asked, gently prying the papers away from Dark's grip.
"Look, I never meant to cause what I did, OK? Her and I... we were going to rule both dimensions together. I didn't realize what that magic would do to her..." Dark said, looking away. Meta quickly flipped through the file before folding the pages back and sliding it towards Dark. He pressed a finger over the pertinent passage.
"So you supplied the magic that transformed her?" Meta pressed. Dark looked sadly at the page. Sectonia's name was printed across the top, with several photos accompanying it. Some were from before her transformation, and his gaze lingered on those, suppressed regret bubbling up and catching in his throat.
"I only gave her the book. I didn't know how far she'd go! I didn't know..." Dark trailed off, clearing his throat. "This isn't even relevant," he continued, rage creeping into his tone.
"It explains why Taranza may be so eager to meet you," Meta said.
"He's already met me. What he wants is a fight." Dark paced the office briefly before once again stopping in front of the desk. "And he'll get one," he continued, cracking his knuckles.
"Are you prepared?"
"Definitely." Meta met Dark's uncharacteristically fierce stare and nodded.
"Very well. Come with me," he said, standing.
The hangar they entered now was smaller than the previous one, but no less impressive due to the equipment within. These machines all shared the Halberd's color scheme and were emblazoned with Meta's insignia. The clicking of the two men's boots echoed sharply around the space as they walked up to a sleek jet. This aircraft lacked the obvious armaments of the others and bore Meta's name as well as his logo on each side. The area in front of the craft was bare, and sunlight filtered over the shining metal from the open hangar door.
"We're riding in style, huh?" Dark quipped, resting his hands on his hips and appraising the jet. Meta nodded, a smug grin beneath his helmet. If there was one redeeming factor about Dark, it was his consistent ability to bolster Meta's ego.
"The Xiphos is a first-class travel jet complete with hidden plasma cannons and radar-foiling alloys. Taking into consideration your impaired flight, we will be utilizing it to travel to Floralia," he said, gesturing grandly.
"None of these rocketing around the upper atmosphere, are there?" Dark chuckled. Meta deflated slightly and gave Dark a reproachful glare as he grabbed a sleek remote from his cape.
"No," he grumbled, clicking a button and watching as a staircase quickly extended from the Xiphos. The door slid open and Dark excitedly dashed up and into the craft, followed by Meta. The interior was sleek and dark, composed of black leather and shining chrome. Dark quickly hopped onto one of the long seats that curled around a flawless reflective table. He looked almost as if he belonged there, with Meta's old uniform matching the aesthetic perfectly.
"Now this is more like it," Dark purred, crossing his legs and leaning back. Meta rolled his eyes.
"Normally I would eschew such extravagance, but such faffery impresses clients," he said, closing the door and retracting the stairs with another click of the remote.
"Aw come on, this is sweet- Hey!" Dark squawked as Meta snatched the hat from his head. He placed it on his own and adjusted it until it sat perfectly straight.
"A captain's hat should be worn by the captain, yes?" Meta quipped. Dark reddened slightly, wondering how the other man must have looked in the full uniform.
"Jerk," he huffed, chasing away his thoughts. Meta shrugged, and continued to the cockpit.
"I can deal with that." He sat down, clicking his seatbelt into place and performing a check on all the instruments. Meta started up the engines, the sound nearly imperceptible within the insulated cabin. The craft jerked slightly as it began taxiing out of the hangar, sunlight sliding over it to fully illuminate the Xiphos. The jet turned, revealing a long runway that ended a few feet from the ocean. Meta throttled up the engines and the Xiphos slowly gained speed until it was racing down the runway. He grabbed the intercom. "Fasten your seatbelt."
"You don't control me," Dark huffed, glancing around for any sign of a liquor fridge.
"Very well," Meta responded, setting down the microphone and suddenly pushing the throttle to full power. The jet took off abruptly, sending Dark over the back of the seat and into a painful heap.
"You fucker!" he screeched. There was a moment of silence before malicious laughter crackled through the speakers.
