#interview time!

❖ “All right, give it to us straight, mac. Who are you, and why are you here?!”

"Ohhhh, no one special, kid. Jus' yer average...twelve-foot tall...nine-foot WIDE, barrel-chested, boulder-fisted, solid slab'a mountain-smashin' PERFECT SPECIMEN'A GORONNANITY--

"Zoooonite-chewin', diiiiiamond-SPITTIN' ROCK BASTARD what's NEVER found a face he couldn't SHOVE UP ITS OWN LOINCLOTH--DA ONLY GORON what's traveled unner da sea, sailed 'troo da skies, what kin stop a 'duga in its tracks wit' da POWER'A HIS BREATH ALONE--GIVE IT UP FER THUNDERCRUSHER DWIIIIIIIIIICK!!!!

"I'll tell you what's goin' on here, ya beaky puck - I am here ter smash up every pint-sized, cross-eyed, glass-jawed, tiddler've a FREAK what dis dink-town backwater '''kingdom''' calls a fighter! I am here ter RIP dat S.M.A.S.H. belt OFFA dat COLOSSAL FOSSIL--an' use it as a GIRDLE FER MY LOINCLOOOOOOTH!"

❖ “What has been your experience in training and conditioning for this event?”

"It's been piss. Easy. 'Hyrule,' issit? More like 'I drool.' As in 'I put more work rollin' outta da mountains ter yer north--' what I call 'my house,' by day way, not what you bin askin' -- 'than enny scrap what I've had since gettin' in!' Like, how do you live next ter a volcano an' not figure out how ter take a rock ter da face?! What're yer goros EATIN' from dere, glass an' gypsum?!

"...I'll tell ya what, it ain't da zonite. Now DAT's a rock wit' a POWER SOURCE!

"...Makes my mouth water jus' thinkin' 'bout it. Know what, hang on, packed some fer da trip--"

[Editor's note: Thundercrusher's next several comments were unfortunately incomprehensible as they were accompanied by a...din...of graphic rock crunching and gravel spit.]

❖ “Why do you think you have what it takes to be a S.M.A.S.H Champion?”

"Raw animal charisma. Drink it in, babycakes--" [Opens arms, slaps gut] "--you know you love it.

"Y'know, it's honestly kinda tragic? Like, ever'one knows dey can't touch dis glorious figure -- [Slaps own backside] "--so's dey jus' spend most'a da match dancin' around me! Like, oooh, if'n I dash around 'im fast enough, I kin tire him out an' mebbe score a blow're two! [Chuckles.] "I'm gon' get dat belt all on account'a yer all too stupid ter keep up."

❖ “What do you think separates you from the rest of the fighters?”

"Hot head'a hair, fer one?" [Tosses head, ruffling a rat's nest of graying-red locks.] "Naw, fer serious. Unlike most'a you hYrUlE tYpEs--"

[Extends arms, squats low, leers.]

"I ain't skipped Leg Day."

❖ “I see you looking at that roster. Who’s on that list that you’re looking forward to taking on?”

"Eyes on da prize, baby. I'm gonna make me some turtle soup a'fore dis tournament's out. I mean, sure, Whale One and Whale Wannabe think dey're gon' finally take out the ol' fossil, but c'maawwwwn, you KNOW dat ain't happenin! Dere coach's a SHRIMP!

"A LITERAL SHRIMP!

"DEY'RE BEIN' TRAINED BY LUNCH!"

❖ “What do you want to say to them?”

"What, da whale boys? I 'unno, 'good game?' Dey done already lost. Dey jus' ain't done realized it yet.

"Ol' Coloss-Foss, though? Here, gimme dat--"

[Editor's Note: At this point in the interview, Thundercrusher grabbed our reporter's notepad and wrote out a message so thoroughly unprintable that we have made a note to sanctify all writing implements at the nearest Great Fairy Fountain at the soonest possible occasion.]

"Dat oughtta git unner his beak. Heh."

❖ “How do you see that match going? What’s your strategy for going in?”

"I kin sum it up in three words: 'Nobody expects a speedy goro.' I mean, suuuuuure, ever'one knows the ol' Din-Two Pulverizer, but if Shelly thinks 'ey kin jus' do some baby-game sidestep-sweeper, they's gon' find out it takes a lot more ter knock dis boy off 'is feet.

"Naw, what I'm lookin' forward to?--is my lucky Eld-Rich Divebomber. You ever done see a goro not only land a cannonball shot, but rico-shoot high enough inter da air ter do even more smashin'?

[Thundercrusher grins.]

"I done done it twelve times inna row a'fore. I'mma do thirteen on Shell."

❖ “Is there anyone on there you’re afraid of taking on?”

"Sweety. Tweety. Baby. On'y thing I'm afraid've is what dese babyfights won't last twelve seconds."

❖“And what do you want to say to THEM?!”

[Thundercrusher puts on an exaggeratedly sad expression, protruding an already thick goron lip even further.]

"Make it ter thirteen? Pweeeeeease?"

❖ “Anything you want to say to your fans?”

"Din STRAIGHT I do! You might think, jus' 'cause I'm some big brown rock-eater what's missin' half 'is teeth, I'm some duuuuuumb sumbitch what'choo kin jus' roll outta town. Well, surprise, surprise, fishies an' turtboys, dis rock's gon' stick in yer craw like LAST WEEK'S KRILL! EAT STONE, S.M.A.S.H! GORO REPRESENT!"

[Thundercrusher slams a rhythmic chest beat with one fist, keening and crowing for the audience.]

⟡ “What has been your experience in training and conditioning for this event?”

“Oh, nothing special, just your booooog-standard strict schedule every morning, noon, and night.”

He luxuriates in dwelling on the same syllable for several seconds straight, though he eventually starts ticking off items on his fingers.

“Let’s see. Morning, you’ve got your salmon and halibut-studded omelet - nothing too heavy,  but plenty of egg, you know, to get the gullet going. Then you’ve got your trout shakes before your early morning constitutional through the islands, stopping to sample the coconut palms out by Parella Haven - you’ll have to make sure ones you crack open are the proper ripeness, nothing upsets a good workout like a dry rind before noon - and, of course, bait-balling that school of cod that shows up in the southeast part of the archipelago. ‘Course, I’ve got a rule about the cod. You know, a hundred chinups in Tijo Skerry for each pass you make through that school, minus the number you manage to catch in the maw passin’ through.” 

He sniffs, closing his eyes. 

“Encourages precision, y’see. Work smarter, not harder, get a trout in the mouth, you ain’t goin’ south.”

A nonplussed Tracy glances over at an equally confused Oohuu, shaking her head and muttering an exasperated “what?!” Penn, meanwhile, is dutifully and eagerly jotting down every word as gospel truth.

“Then you got your practice bouts in the Amphitheater. Get your glutes in a good lather (Fat Fin goes for the legs, you see), then a couple rounds punching the walls on Steel Islet southeast of there. Now, you’ll want to pick up some of the tilapia skewers on the way. People say they’re a bit on the faaaaaatty side to do any good for you, really, but they’re not really working up the rich and powerful lather I am, so it’s not really any big deal. And you’ll need that calorie count for when you’re doing your evening laps around the main isle, though not if you’re just in time for the Grouper looper that comes in around the early evening time. Then you go down the continental shelf for a bit, down by the clam beds, and you spend some time wrenching open the giant clams that show up down there. Remember, only dine on every tenth one you open - don’t want the harvest to dry up, you know?”

There’s a long pause…and he lets out a single laugh.

“Heh.”

Beat.

“Dry up. Because we’re in the ocean.”

He grins casually at Tracy, who looks back, agog.

”I crack myself up.”

Beat.

“...What was the question again?”

❖ “Why do you think you have what it takes to be a S.M.A.S.H Champion?”

“Ohhh, Tracy bo-basey, I don’t have to think about what it takes–”

“Good thing, too.”

“HEY! Wait your turn, Fat Fin, the adults are talking.”

Big Blue shoots a dirty look at Fat Fin–who lazes in his seat, clearly unconcerned with Big Blue’s warning, openly licking his lips as he grins at the whale zora.

“Now, as I was saying, I don’t have to think about what it takes to be a champ. Because I am that champ. I snag that belt off Master Chell’s shell every few years–”

“When they let you.”

“Fin, I am warning you.”

⟡ “What do you think separates you from the rest of the fighters?”

“Well, I–”

He breaks off, narrowing his eyes at Fat Fin, daring him to interrupt again. Fat Fin, for his part, smiles innocently, squirming in his seat like the scheming little screwball he is.

“...As I was saying. Er. As you heard Master Chell say. What I have that the others don’t is wee little thing I like to call gumption. Iiiiiiiit takes a lot to keep up with the Master’s teachings, but as their premier student and seventh-generation master-in-training, I make it my life’s work to preserve the fighting arts for the world to enjoy. I like to learn, you see, and to teach the Sacred Arts to anyone worthy of coming to these here islands. Really teach the kiddies how to open up a can of whup-ass, you know?”

❖ “I see you looking at that roster! Who’s on that list that you’re looking forward to taking on?”

“Here, gimme.”

Big Blue lets out a long chuckle, holding the chart in his hands and leaning against the table as he looks down the tournament schedule.

“Oooohhhhhh, gotta say I like these new faces! Just an absolute…sea of eager youngin’s looking to bring the hurt on us old-timey boys! Well, I look forward to seeing you try. I warn you - you better bring your best, because I don’t go down easy!”

His expression just SOURS as he sees Fat Fin’s face on the placard. He GLARES at the real deal, whose grin is becoming positively Grinch-like as he tilts his head in Big Blue’s direction.

“DON’T. SAY. ANYTHING.”

Fat Fin tosses his head, miming a zipping motion over his mouth – then clicks his teeth at the whale, whose face is growing positively red.

Big Blue addresses the reporters.

“See? SEE?! AND THEN THERE’S THIS ASSHOLE! That…BLOWHOLE BREATHER! That no-good, freeloading, smarmy, sponging, attention hogging SHOWBOAT of a–”

“You breathe through your blowhole too, B.B.”

“MY NAME IS NOT BEEBEE!”

Big Blue forces himself to stop, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he draws a hand over his face. After a few seconds, he addresses the reporters again.

"You see what I have to deal with, here?...but moving on. With…certain exceptions, everyone on this list is a wonderful candidate for this year’s smashing! You’ve got Esis, Mr. Perfect Powerhouse himself? (@gargoylesister)...Well, for certain definitions of the word, definitely, hahah!  The kid can really bounce back! Wonder if he’s learned anything in the meantime? Ooh, and you’ve got the Yiga Killer showing up! (@kakarikotrio) Always good to see a rook get in the ring. New blood, new technique, it’ll be interesting seeing if they cross paths with the Master of the Yiga. (@aleielle-of-roshar) And Booooooob Koblin! (@gohan2z) Talk about a hit from out of nowhere, was he on anyone’s radar last year?  Oooh, yes, and over in the Din Class bracket…”

He scans the heavyweight bracket. See Sardon’s name.

He looks over to Fat Fin, tapping the boy’s face on the placard.

“...This your brat?”

Fat Fin shrugs.

“He’ll kick your ass either way.”

Somewhere off in the distance, a faint call of “Thanks, Dad!” can be heard.

“Moving on. Ah, I remember your promo, Fjord! (@songofnewlife) That’s riiiiight, you think you can take me on because your dad’s a blue whale!...Well. I won’t stop you trying. Everyone deserves their fair shake at the title! Everyone deserves to try their hand at the best–”

He freezes, seeing Dwick’s name. (@this-stone-rocks)

If his face had gone red earlier, now it goes positively crimson.

“EXCEPT YOU, YOU DISGUSTING! DISGRACEFUL!, BLOATED! ROTTING SAD-SACK PILE OF DISCOUNT AEROCUDA GUANO! WHAT’D YOU SPAWN FROM, SOME COMPOST HEAP MADE OF DURIANS SOMEONE SHOVED IN A MOBLIN’S SNOUT?!”

Big Blue throws the placard on the ground before him with such force that it explodes in a million pieces. Tracy and Oohuu take a step back, glancing at one another; Penn, however, seeing a moment for some perfect timing, leaps forward, pen in hand, and yells the next question to him.

⟡ “What do you want to say to them?”

“I AM GOING TO END YOU, THUNDERCRUSHER! I AM GOING TO RUN YOUR REMAINS THROUGH A BOMB FLOWER REFINERY! AND THEN I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT YOUR WORDS!...OR MAYBE I MIGHT DO THAT BEFORE THE BOMB THING! I DON’T CARE!”

He pauses, not so much to calm down as to load more threats into the chamber.

“ACTUALLY I DO CARE! I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT YOUR WORDS! AND THEN I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT DIRT! AND I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT THE DIRT THAT THE WORMS EAT! AND THEN THE BOMB REFINERY THING! YEAH! THAT! YOU’RE GONNA RUE THE DAY YOU TALKED SHIT ABOUT MASTER CHELL, YOU HEAR ME? RUUUUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEE!”

His veins are popping out of the side of his skull.

❖ “How do you see that match going? What’s your strategy for going in?”

“Oh, you know, I think I’m just going to kick his ass.”

This time it’s Penn and Oohuu who look at each other.

⟡ “Is there anyone on there you’re afraid of taking on?”

“Afraid of? Pssssshhhh. Big Blue doesnt afraid of anything. They could all come at me at the same time and I wouldn’t even blink.

And, uh. I’ve got the history to back it. See, you go back to, say, SMASHELL ROYALE XXXVIII? That year? Whole roster decided, you know, “hey, let’s all gank the big guy together. We’ll all share credit, everyone gets a better chance of reaching the Finals, yeah? Except I’m there waiting for it since they all decided to talk about it ahead of time.  Fifty guys. Me. Barracks over on Warrior’s Respite.”

Big Blue runs a thumb across his chin.

“Short tournament that year. That I’ll tell you.”

❖ “And what do you want to say to THEM?”

“Boss Brawler’s waiting for you. And baby, you tussle with the Boss?

Big Blue clicks his tongue.

“You gonna get demoted.”

⟡ “Anything you want to say to your fans?”

“Nawwww.” 

He winks.

“Boss Brawler speaks through his fists, not his words.”

“COULD’VE FOOLED ME!”

“OH, THAT IS IT–”

“Mmmmy…great….

“...Grrrreat….greaaaaat……”

“...Great…great……”

“...Great…”

There is another long pause. Each minute of silence is almost agonizing. Chell observes the expressions of everyone present, the reporters all trying to hide their agitation with feigned politeness. They’re also struggling…but for a different reason. 

Chell suddenly bursts out laughing, betraying the fragile geriatric appearance they had only moments earlier.

“GYAHAHA! You should have seen the look on your faces! You looked terrified and yet you steeled yourself for the long haul, I commend you on that!”

They no longer drawl their words, and all signs of old age vanish as Chell stands up straighter, deciding to answer the questions more seriously…but there’s still a mischievous grin on their face.

“Right! As I said, the name’s Chell. My great grandmother of six generations claimed this island as her home! My family has taken care of this island long since, and along the way we began a tradition that’s lasted centuries. I am one of many in her proud line to continue the tournaments you all know as Shattered Mast’s Amphitheater for the Scrappers of Hyrule!”

⟡ “What has been your experience in training and conditioning for this event?”

“Ohohhoho! I’ve been at this for centuries. My own training routines change all the time, since each year our new contenders appear - they always show me a thing or two! Now, my age does not mean I’m superior nor inferior...But my experience has allowed me to come this far, so I must be doing something right!”

They grin as much as a turtle beak can allow.

“Who of you out there thinks you have the wherewithal to teach this colossal fossil something new?”

❖ “Why do you think you have what it takes to be a S.M.A.S.H Champion?”

“GYAHAHA! I’ve held the title for decades, and that’s because I’m scrappy!...among other things, of course. I’m hungry to see what this new crop of fighters have in store! I’ve proved myself time and time again, and I’m ready for another round. Who’s going to come join me?”

⟡ “What do you think separates you from the rest of the fighters?”

“Ohhh, aside from the age gap of several thousand years, these good looks, and this excellent accessory?” they reach behind them to tap their shell. “Absolutely nothing! This tournament is the great leveler. I’m not here to wax on about ‘the good ol days’ or complain how so-and-so generation is not like the last.

What matters is your skills and your wit–but don’t go thinking you’re good! Your opponent will be the judge of that. You have to ask yourself; are you willing to accept the fact you may be wrong?”

❖ “I see you looking at that roster! Who’s on that list that you’re looking forward 

“Oooh, I see nothing but fine and fascinating folk here! Now, for centuries, Big Blue and Fat Fin’ve been at my heels for different reasons. Biggy feels he’s ready to take my place, and let’s face it, Fat Fin’s been trying to prove himself since he was a Lil’ Fin. Each tournament brings in a new rabblerouser, but those two end up knockin’ em back! Like my own personal guard…but don’t you go telling them that!

But you say there was a commotion earlier…Some goron making claims about turning me into soup? Go on, go on, what else did he say?”

They lean down so one of the reporters could at least let them read what Dwick (@this-stone-rocks ) had written down during his own interview.

“GYAHAHAH! WELL IT LOOKS LIKE I GOT MYSELF A DATE! But will my entourage let me go out past curfew? We’ll see! GYAHAHA!”

⟡ “What do you want to say to them?”

“Wear your biggest bib, and bring your best wine! I personally think I go well with a nice dry white!”

❖ “How do you see that match going? What’s your strategy for going in?”

“I don’t know – and THAT’S HOW I LIKE IT! I want you to surprise me and hit me with everything you’ve got! GYAHAHA! And that goes for ALL of you! The final match is going to be between the winners of all three classes, and there’s a good chance you’ll see me there!”

⟡ “Is there anyone on there you’re afraid of taking on?”

“Nope!”

❖ “And what do you want to say to THEM?”

“I’M OLD!”

⟡ “Anything you want to say to your fans?”