Disclaimer: Mario and respective characters are property of Nintendo. I make no profits out of my work.
Author's Note: Hello, people! First Mario fic... please be gentle. Set during Super Paper Mario, in a cut-scene that doesn't even fit into the timeline. Lots of Mr. L angst, that's all I can say. This took me two consecutive hours to write. Lovely. Typos are unintentional.
This was my first time writing both Dimentio and Mr. L... they're both really, really OOC. Please forgive me.
Super Paper Mario is wonderful.
"Welcome back, Mr. L. Had a nice day, I presume?" Dimentio, the magical jester, bowed half-mockingly as the man entered. Mr. L said nothing but brushed past Dimentio, his cap pulled over his eyes; he seemed to be brooding and depressed about something.
"Touché." Dimentio laughed, his voice almost kind and angelic, but Mr. L took no notice. The jester began to drift along with the man, his mindless smile annoying the other to no end: "What happened? Did they wreck your precious robot again? Nearly ended up in the Underwhere, hmm?"
Mr. L quietly ground his teeth. "No." He managed, his fists clenching slowly. "And I would appreciate it, Dimentio, if you could leave me alone."
Dimentio laughed again. "As you wish, Mr. L... You just keep on saying that..." With that, and a chuckle, he floated away into the corridors of the castle.
Mr. L entered his chamber and shut the door behind him, enveloping himself in welcoming darkness. Today had not been the best day ever. He stared blankly into the darkness, sliding down his door, and stayed sitting right where he was - on the floor - and brooding. He'd failed again. He'd failed to capture the 'heroes' and bring them to Count Bleck. It was ironic how he, The Green Thunder, could build and create the most wonderful things yet could not defeat a plumber and a woman. They looked like such pushovers, but he'd never beaten them. He obviously wasn't good enough.
He never seemed to be good enough these days.
He sighed, his eyes closing tiredly. He was in desperate need of rest. Unlike some of the Count's minions, Mr. L did tire and did require rest every now and then. It was a fault, he'd decided, a fault the marred the otherwise-perfection he was, and he despised it. It was also something that Dimentio liked to make fun of, which further frustrated and angered him.
Mr. L shook his head. cringing as his body began to ache. He'd fallen. He'd fallen off from Brobot whilst trying to maul the 'heroes' into submission, only he hadn't noticed it before. His ability to feel pain had dulled, he presumed, during the days and weeks in which he had been in action. But now that he was back in his chamber, his numbed senses regained their old abilities - and pestered him to take a rest. He decided that this was the wisest thing to do - he wasn't going to waste more time brooding when he could be recovering his strength in that time. And he certainly wasn't going to let himself slip any more.
He turned on a lamp and began to untie his green bandanna, when he caught sight of himself on his full-length mirror.
He could not see well at this distance; his chamber was not a large one, but the light was so dim and dull, he could hardly see more than a few feet beyond him. He couldn't see his reflection staring back at him from the other side of his room, and he could have ignored it; but after a few minutes he decided to go and check himself for any injuries - or anything else that made him unpresentable - as it had been a while since he'd looked at himself through a mirror. But his bed seemed to beckon to him, inviting him to fall there and just sleep. Fighting back the urge to drop off, he walked over to the mirror.
"Stupid." He murmured even so, aware of his unorthodox actions. "So, so stupid-"
His own reflection silenced him.
Mr. L found himself looking at a tall, slender figure in the mirror. The figure was dressed mostly in black, with a green cap and bandanna that matched his outfit nicely. His face was half covered with a black eye-mask, with two narrow blue eyes staring back at him; those eyes were cold and emotionless.
The man stepped closer, touching his reflection with one gloved hand. His reflection mimicked his actions, and he stared at himself for a long while, almost forgetting that he was meant to be asleep. As vain as he sounded, the vision looking back at him was one of beauty - beauty and absolute perfection. He pulled off his gloves and pressed his fingers to the cold glass again, looking almost as if he wanted to step right through the glass and admire the vision in front of him. His skin was very pale, his face young and handsome; he was a silent and dangerous figure. Mr. L smiled almost demurely, his fingers caressing his own vision, his lips pressing onto the cold, smooth surface gently. What happened with the heroes did not matter. Count Bleck had made him what he was, and he wouldn't let him down again. He stood there for a long while, admiring his reflection and praising the Count.
He could win this. He could win the Count's trust back again. He would defeat those heroes once and for all, prove himself and be accepted...
Be accepted? Where did that idea come from?
It was strange - how could he, such a cold, masked man, have been created from the most unexpected source? Mr. L knew nothing of his past life; he was just there one day, he'd just sworn to serve Count Bleck and that had been it. He'd once asked Dimentio (when he'd been in one of his rare serious moods) about his origins, as the jester was the only one who knew enough about him. His reply had not been the most welcome thing to hear.
"A pure, kind heart," Dimentio had answered, idly clicking his fingers and making sparks appear. "You weren't always Mr. L. You were someone else, someone who had a kind heart; ah, but most vulnerable and helpless! Count Bleck brought that someone to their senses. From him, you were born. Then you were Mr. L, the perfect henchman with the right state of mind, and here you are now. But initially, you were born from a kind heart. Rather unexpected, even for me."
"Pure heart, eh?" Mr. L muttered to himself, clenching his fists. "Kind heart, beautiful and dear, eh? What rubbish!" He snarled softly, glowering at himself. What use was a pure, kind heart in a world like this? He was perfection itself, yet he had been so flawed. He almost regretted recalling the memory; yet since that time he'd always held a spot of guilt in his mind, a spot of fear that the Count - or anyone, for that matter - would never accept the being he once was. He'd subconsciously decided to prove himself that day, although that memory had faded over time. And he'd worked all this time, for a reason he could not remember nor grasp, only to remember that unpleasant truth now...
He snarled again and glared at himself. His reflection stared back at him, silent mockery in his expression, daring the man to challenge reality.
"Damn it!" Mr. L shouted, and he lashed out at his reflection, fists clenched tightly. Glass shattered; his reflection was destroyed in a flurry of glass fragments, and in an instant it was over. He was now staring into a broken, heavily distorted version of himself in the remaining pieces of glass, each seperate piece showing their version of him, but at least that silent mocking look was no longer in there anymore.
He stood there with his head down, panting heavily, shoulders shaking from the sudden burst of fury. His right hand had been torn open by the sharp fragments, and now it bled dark red drops all over the carpet; yet he couldn't care less. It did not matter to him that his right hand had glass stuck all over it, it did not matter that his mirror was destroyed; all that was left now was a lingering sense of dread and bitterness, along with despair. He would never be perfect enough for anyone. Never.
He held out his right hand and ran it across his own reflected face, smearing the blood all over the glass, trying to erase the distorted reflection. All he could see now was a red haze, his own blood streaking down the mirror shards; he was bleeding, he was injured, and that just made him even less perfect. Frustrated with himself, Mr. L turned away, all thoughts of sleep gone.
"Damn you," He whispered, and he was even more disgusted with himself when he felt his voice quiver, and something wet began to trickle down his cheek. "Damn you all to hell."
"Why out so late, Mr. L?" Dimentio drifted over to the man, grinning. "What're you up to? Do let this Dimentio know your plan; with a mind like yours it's bound to be fun, especially this late at night-"
"I'm going out. And I'm taking Brobot." Mr. L replied harshly, cutting the jester short. The latter stopped, looking unusually bewildered. "I'm going. Don't stop me."
"What? Where are you going?" Dimentio asked. Mr. L ground his teeth again, and turned decisively away from the jester.
"None of your business. I'm going out on Brobot and that's that."
"No you are not." Dimentio countered fiercely, suddenly losing his smile. Mr. L froze, but did not turn around. Dimentio was hardly like that. "It's late night. You could get attacked by anything. I cannot allow you to leave the castle grounds. Go back to your chamber, Mr. L. You cannot leave now."
"Watch me." Mr. L muttered under his breath.
"I will watch you as long as I want," Dimentio shot back, drifting in front of him to look at the man's face. "until I make sure you're safely in your chamber. I'll ask you again. Do go back."
"And I'm telling you that I'm not going to." Mr. L retorted, clenching his fists. He felt very light-headed; he didn't know why, but as soon as he'd clenched his fists he unclenched them again, wincing. Dimentio did not fail to notice this, and glanced down at his hands. His eyes seemed to widen a fraction.
"You're bleeding!" He exclaimed. "What happened to you? What did you do?"
"Glad you even noticed." Mr. L sneered, a bitter smile gracing his face. "It's always my fault, isn't it? And now, if you don't mind, I would like to bid you goodnight. I'm still going and I'll come back whenever I feel like it." He turned away without a word, and began to take a few steps towards Brobot. But he didn't get far, as Dimentio's cold hands tightly grasped his shoulder.
"You're not going to get very far, are you? You're tired, and you're hurt!"
"I don't care!" Mr. L shouted, struggling to free himself from the jester's grasp. "Leave me alone! Just let me go! I-" But then he groaned in pain, eyes sliding shut. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, shivering; Dimentio took charge immediately, and clicked his fingers, trasporting them back to the young man's chamber. Once they arrived, he set the trembling man down on his bed, gazing at him.
"Now will you tell me what's wrong?"
"Go to hell." Mr. L murmured weakly, leaning back on the pillows. "As you so cleverly observed three minutes ago, I'm injured and bleeding. I'm in no condition to answer your petty questions." He laughed harshly. "Perhaps I shall bleed so much that I die. I'll never have to look at you again, then."
"Listening to your babble is like listening to white noise on the radio with the volume turned up full." Dimentio answered blandly. "Give me your hand." Taking Mr. L's hand in his, he clicked his fingers again, healing the torn flesh and cleaning the blood. "You're just horrible, Mr. L, you are. I can't imagine why I'm putting up with you."
"Don't then."
"Tell me what's wrong. Then I will take my leave."
Mr. L sighed and settled back into the pillows, trying to ignore the jester, but he knew it was hopeless. Dimentio could talk both legs off a Goomba at times, and if he did not answer he would be plagued by irrelevant, annoying chatters. That would be worse than bleeding to death.
"I'm a failure." He finally announced. "Let us leave it at that."
"Why are you a failure?"
"I was meant to be perfect; the Count intended me to a vision of perfection. But I'm not." Mr. L laughed again, bitterly this time. "I'm never going to be, either."
"Why do you want to be perfect?" Dimentio asked him directly, looking into his eyes. The other could not answer that and lowered his gaze. "I can guess, though. That mirror cost a fortune, Mr. L. Seven years' bad luck for you. Starting with paying off the costs. Lovely paint job, by the way."
"Get lost. Just because you're an idiot doesn't mean I have to answer every one of your stupid questions. Have at you."
Dimentio looked away and gazed at the streaks of blood. "I shall have to interrogate you in the morning. You're tired and suffering from blood loss. Rest now." He got up and moved to the door, gliding smoothly across the carpeted floor without any sound. Mr. L said nothing, his back turned to the door, and Dimentio was almost out of the door before he spoke.
"I was ashamed, you know."
The jester paused, glancing at the man. The latter went on, as if Dimentio did not exist. "What I saw in the mirror was myself, made what I am by the Count. But it was an illusion. I was intended to be perfect. I'm not." He sighed and continued. "I don't know if the Count himself wants me to be the perfect henchman, or if it's just me wanting too much of myself. But either way I was so angry. I remembered all my failures, how they wounded my pride-"
Dimentio had slid back into the room, his gaze fixed on Mr. L, but he said nothing. "-and... I just got so angry that I couldn't control myself. I broke that mirror. But my reflection... it still stared back at me. I hated it so much. I've even smeared blood all over it to try to mask it all." Mr. L was trembling now, clutching tight at the covers. "But it's no use. It doesn't make me any more better. It's just made me worse. It's still there, and it'll still stare back at me when I go over to it. Nothing's changed. I'm not the perfection I wanted to be, and I'm not the Green Thunder... I'm just... weak. That's all."
There was heavy silence in the room for a while, punctuated only by the occasional shuffling from Mr. L's part.
"Well done." Dimentio finally said, regaining some of his smile. "You admitted to it. That alone shows you're more brave than you think." He drifted back to the bed, gazing serenely at the figure. "You don't need to be perfect, Mr. L - that's too much to be asking. You have the Count's trust, so do cheer up. I cannot bear to see you wallowing in this helplessness-"
"-like upside-down turtles, yeah." The man replied, sounding bored, but Dimentio did notice a slight smile light up his face. "I get you."
"Sleep now. I shall see you in the morning." The jester bowed, this time without mockery. "Ciao."
There was no reply; Mr. L had fallen asleep at last. Dimentio laughed silently to himself, glancing at the bed before leaving the room.
"Pardon me for being so contradictory, my dear Mr. L, but I do think you're just perfect the way you are..."
Last sentence sounds so weird. Dimentio is just... not a character you can put into angst fics and pull off perfectly. Dimentio should be sadistic and both unbearably silly and cheerful at the same time. In here he's just a guy who says some things.
Mr. L did strike me as a character who wants to be perfect. As we all know who he really is, maybe that rubbed off on him. Mr. L surely seemed devoted to Count Bleck (and Dimentio) in the game. He struck me as a character with very high standards who throws an emo-fit when that doesn't go right.
I love them both though.
Reviews make my life happy.