Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Master Hand hovered, index finger tapping against his palm.
"It's July third," he announced to nobody. He snapped his fingers and a walkie talkie poofed in front of him. He grabbed it. Prepared to call.

"Hmmm, nah." He snapped his fingers again;Isabelle poofed in the doorway like magic. Already clutching a clipboard, which had a bowl of dog food on it. She looked at the surroundings. "What the he-uh... what they hay?"

Master Hand chuckled. "Hay is for horses, Izzy."

"How did I get he-I mean, what do you want sire?"
"It's not about what I want,"Master Hand said, pointing his gun finger at here. "It's what this island needs. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, Isabelle.

Isabelle sighed. "Wasn't that an American thing?"

Master Hand (tried to) shrug, but hand. "I should stop doing that," he muttered. "Yes, but I heard it has fireworks. That means it is essential we must celebrate it. Because you know what I enjoy? Fireworks."

Isabelle smirked. "Calm down Crazy Hand."

"Oh no," said Master. "I enjoy my explosions responsibly. Never compare me to that philistine again." He cleared his throat. "Give me a fireworks display, and you win world peace. Or a new collar. Or, hmmm..."

He snapped his fingers and Isabelle's food bowl disappeared.

"Hey!" she yelled.

"You win your nutrition back. Fetch."

Isabelle raised her eye. "Where's the ball?"

Master Hand pointed to the door. "That way, this way. All ways. All."

Isabelle saluted. "Okay, sire." She walked out the door.

Isabelle trudged into the main area, clipboard hugged against her chest. The place looked like crap as usual, walls plastered with faded posters of motivational slogans, and most of the walls were cracked or singed 'cause they didn't bother with repairs anymore.

"Fireworks," she muttered. "FIREWORKS."

She ran a mental checklist. The world wasn't exactly stocked with Roman candles and sparklers anymore. Most of the vendors had packed up years ago.

Still… she knew one person who might know where to find the real thing.

Her eyes drifted toward the rusted metal door at the far end of the hall. It bore a hand-painted sign:

RESTRICTED AREA; ABSOLUTELY NO PETS

"I'll keep that in mind," muttered Isabelle. She walked towards the door; a faint smell of gunpowder tickled her senses.

Isabelle adjusted her tie and sighed. "Of course he'll be the one that has them. Of course."

She could turn back, tell Master Hand there were no fireworks left, and let him sulk about "the death of culture" for the rest of the week. Or she could ask... him.

"Alright," she muttered. "I want my food bowl back so I don't have a choice.

She stepped toward the basement door and placed her paw on the handle.

Chapter Text

The metal door creaked open. Air hit Isabelle in the face.

She pulled out her phone to use as a flashlight and sighed. "Basement trip at 10 AM. Great start to the day."

When she reached the bottom, the first thing she saw was a CRT TV, glowing green in the corner. Then another. And another.

In the center of it all sat Snake, hunched over a disassembled GameCube controller. A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray beside him.

"Ah." He didn't look up. "They sent the dog."

"Security advisor," Isabelle corrected, clutching her clipboard tighter.

"Right. Sorry. 'Dog Security Advisor.'" He took a long drag. "So what's the crisis this time?"

"Fireworks," Isabelle said. "We're out. And he's demanding a show for tomorrow."

Snake chuckled. "Of course he is. Guy's got a thing for flashy lights. Probably thinks he's in charge of the Fourth of July now, huh?"

"Yerp. Um, yes."

Snake leaned back in his chair and stretched with an audible crack of his back. "Fireworks are hard to come by these days, kid. Most of the good shits been wiped out. Only things left are flare guns, old sparklers whathaveyou. But…"

He spun his chair, pulling open a dented metal locker. Inside were boxes, dusty and covered in labels like "ROMAN CANDLE (2003?)" and "DO NOT SHAKE."

"…I've got some squirreled away. From the good years."

Isabelle's ears flicked nervously. "Define 'good.'"

"Before they put the damn Z-Axis in video games." Snake said.

"You're doing the bit again." Isabelle groaned.

He smirked. "Or am I? Anyway. What's in it for me? These babies aren't free."

"You want bells?"

Snake waved dismissively. "Pfft. No. I want a promise. Next time I pitch Everyone Is Here 2, Forever and Ever to Master Hand, you don't shut me down. We keep the dream alive. Even if it means bringing back Pichu."

Isabelle stared at him. "You're negotiating world peace in exchange for explosives."

"Damn right I am."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Whatever. I'll personally tell Master Hand 'Everyone Is Here 2 is feasible and inevitable' if you just give me the flipping fireworks."

"That's all I needed to hear." Snake pulled out a box and slid it across the floor toward her. "Handle with care. Some of these are older than you."

She eyed the faded cartoon mascot on the side: "Big Beaver Kaboomer Rockets—Guaranteed to Fly!" A cheerful beaver holding a lit match smiled up at her ominously.

"This'll end well," she muttered.

Snake lit another cigarette. "It never does, kid."

Isabelle tucked the box under her arm and headed for the stairs.

"Hey," Snake called after her. "Tell the hand not to light 'em all at once. Or do. I wanna see how bad it gets."

Isabelle gave the fireworks to Master Hand. "Take em."

"Splendid."

"Also, Snake told me to tell you to make EVERYONE IS HERE FOREVER happen."

Master Hand paused for a few secs, then chuckled.

"Yeah I thought not," said Isabelle.

END