With no clear goal in mind, Marx let the wind carry him across the world. Most of his days passed like this now. Flying until his wings tired, landing in some usually remote area of Popstar, suckering some fools out of their food, before flying again to wherever his next destination may be. He hated it. He hated that feeling of aimlessness, of not having an objective to work towards. Even as a child, he was always setting goals for himself, even if they were as simple as finding food or shelter. They kept him moving through those hard times. He liked to imagine that each goal he accomplished brought him closer to something bigger. He was important. Surely he was meant to do great things!
Well, now that Kirby had crushed that particular dream, he didn't know what to do with himself.
He scowled. Kirby. How he wanted nothing more than to get his revenge on that traitorous puff! He promised himself that as soon as he recovered from his injuries, he would make him pay. But as weeks turned to months and months turned to a year, Marx had to face the very real possibility that his wounds might never heal.
A tingling sensation crept into his left wing as if summoned by his thoughts. He flapped it once, his mood souring by how unresponsive it felt. It would only be a matter of time before it gave out on him altogether. He banked hard to the right, adjusting his course for a snow capped mountain - Candy Mountain if he recalled his studies of Dreamland's geography correctly. The great bird Dyna Blade often made her nest there, but at this time of year she would have taken her brood over seas to better feeding grounds. It would make a passable hideaway for him while he was in the area. The last thing he wanted to do was risk running into Kirby or his little buddies.
Sharp winds bit at him as he landed, chilling him to the tips of his wings. Trodding through the snow, he looked over the edge of the cliff. Verdant and lush, the fields of Dreamland thrived even in the middle of autumn. The Dreamstalk, the symbol of unity between Dreamland and Floralia, twisted high into the clouds. Kirby's house looked puny in its shadow. Marx watched it enviously, the smoke puffing from its chimney telling him just how warm and comfy its owner was. He drew his wings in closer, soaking in the heat emitted from their scales.
He looked away from the house only to find more scattered about the fields. Little ant-sized families lounged in their yards, enjoying the presence of one another.
How so very sweet.
Marx growled to himself. He never had a proper home or family. He had never even met another of his species. Once he had been hopeful that someday he'd find where on Popstar he came from. He'd read biology books, scan the crowds, and inquire about his species, never satisfied with the answer until he realized it was the only one: his species simply didn't exist on Popstar. From then on he tried to bury his loneliness by directing his natural curiosity towards other pursuits such as learning about Popstar's people - the actual natives - and about the universe and its planets, yet it still annoyed him to no end that he couldn't even answer the most basic questions about himself. Like what was the name of his species? Did everyone have such great balancing skills like he did? And on what planet did it make any biological sense to not have hands?
So many questions! How he wished he could meet another of his kind so he could finally have them answered.
Marx turned his back on the green fields in favor of the white ones. He kept his eyes peeled for any openings in the rock walls, anything that would get him out of the freezing winds. A low flying cloud made his task even harder, shrouding the area with a light fog and somehow making an already white and chilly world even whiter and chillier. Because of that, he almost didn't notice the strip of black rising in the sky.
He smelled it first, that harsh scent of smoke so out of place in the crisp mountain air. He waited for the cloud to shift enough to give him a view of where it was coming from. When he spotted it, he hurried in its direction. He knew there was no way a fire could be going this high up. In that case, the more likely explanation was that some ship had crashed nearby. It wasn't too uncommon, believe it or not. Maybe he could find something good there!
His suspicions proved to be correct when he found a smoldering, pod shaped vessel lying in a melting crater of snow. The letters 'Emer' were written on the hull of the ship, followed by a gash that ate up most of the word, then a 'y' that was just barely eligible. Marx was able to fill in the missing letters in his head. Emergency. He frowned. What were the chances an emergency escape ship had anything good on it? Still, he approached it. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd find an alien aristocrat with some worthwhile valuables inside.
The door of the vessel must have broken off in the landing, leaving a sizable part of it exposed and facing the sky. Marx hopped up and peered into the cramped space. A purple blanket with a cloud pattern covered the floor, with several objects concealed under it forming lumps in the fabric. Marx reached under it with a wing and pulled out one of the objects: a bloated tin can with no label. Curious, he bit into it to see what was inside. His fangs pierced the thin metal with ease and he felt frosty slush scrape against his teeth. Ice, no doubt meant to be water. Survivor supplies but without the survivors. He wondered if the people inside had been tossed out during the crash. No one had walked away, that was for sure. The snow remained untouched save for his own footprints. They escape one tragedy only to end up in another. Isn't life just hilarious?
He threw the can behind him. "What a waste of time." Just as he was about to jump off, one of the lumps twitched and, stranger still, whined.
"Hmm? Is there someone here?" He pulled the blanket back using the claws on his wings. Underneath he found a tiny ball of orange fur, to weak to even shiver, lying against metal that was cold as ice. Tawny spots the same color as its feet covered its back. And it didn't have hands.
Marx's mind went blank. It can't be… With a delicate claw, he rolled the child over so he could see its face.
A pair of eyes peeked back at him, eyes so much like his own save for their honey colored irises. Whatever fire they might have held had frozen along with the rest of its body. The child's expression remained blank and glassy even as it stared at its would-be savior. Its eyelids flickered, like the very act of keeping them open took a gargantuan effort. Soon enough, they slid back shut.
"Hey, hey! Don't go shutting down on me now. I've got some questions for you." After a moment of thought, he wrapped a warm wing around the child and pulled it to his side. "But they can wait until you've warmed up a bit. I'm not that mean." On occasion…
The kid gave no indication that it heard him. It snuggled into Marx's fur, hungry for warmth. He tensed at the contact, but due to the circumstances, he allowed it.
The hours crawled by. The more time that passed, the more he started to wonder if they really were the same species. Now that he got a good look at it, he noticed some clear differences between them. Marx didn't have spots, for one. The kid's fur also reminded him of a baby bird's feathers, all soft and fuzzy looking, while his fur was all smooth and slick and handsome. Then again, he did remember his fur being a bit unruly as a child…
He was broken out of his thoughts when the kid mumbled and opened its eyes.
"Finally you're awake! I think I've had enough hugging to last me the next ten years." He happily removed himself from the embrace.
It blinked at him, still drowsy from sleep. "You look a little out of it," Marx said. "Lemme bring you up to speed. You were in some sort of accident and ended up crashing on Popstar. Your parents probably bit the big one - you have my sympathy - and you were on death's door yourself until I came along and nursed you back to health. You're lucky I have such a big heart! However, as you may or may not know, nothing in life is free. As the one who saved you and whom you are eternally indebted to, it's only fair that you do a few things for me in return. For one, why don't you tell me the name of your species?"
Clarity flashed in the kid's eyes, and Marx leaned forward, eager to have one of his lifelong questions finally answered. His eagerness melted into panic when those same eyes began to flood with tears. "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Is it about your parents? I already said you have my sympathy! What more do you want?"
The kid opened its mouth wide, letting out a wail so terrible Marx had to cover his ears, and even that wasn't enough to stop his head from ringing. He was considering telling it to shut up when he noticed something. The kid had two tiny fangs with blunt, rounded tips, just like the ones Marx had as a child. But even in his earliest memories, he also remembered having more teeth than just those two.
A sudden horror swept over him. The creature before him was no child. No, it was so much worse.
Of all things, it had to be a baby.
Marx blamed Kirby for this. He had to be at fault somehow!
He rubbed his head with his claws. Now what was he supposed to do?! Kids were one thing, but babies? You couldn't reason with them! And that obnoxious crying… Ugh, he needed to get it to stop. What was the best way to cheer up a baby who had just lost its parents…? Ah, he knew just the thing. "Okay, okay, okay! Calm down, I've got a joke for you. Why can't you hear it when a pteran goes to the bathroom?"
The baby's crying reduced to a sniffle.
"Because the 'p' is silent!"
The baby started wailing again.
"C'mon! That one's always a hit with the kids! Okay, so maybe you don't like childish jokes. How 'bout this one then: What do you call a waddle dee who's been mauled by a grizzo?"
Again, it sniffled.
"Dead."
"Waaaaah!"
Nothing's working! Panicking, he blurted out his next joke. "So, uh… Do you know why noddies are called noddies? Because they're always sleeping aroun- …Oh, forget it!" Why was he telling a baby noddy jokes?!
He slumped in defeat. Maybe he should just let it cry until it exhausted itself… But that would be giving up, wouldn't it? His expression hardened. No, he wasn't going to let a baby beat him. He hadn't fallen that far! He was a final boss once, for star's sake! I'm just going about this the wrong way. Jokes won't work. It probably doesn't even understand half of what I'm saying… Inspiration struck him then. That was it! He'd just have to appeal to it without words, and he knew just the right type of comedy style for the job: slapstick.
Marx grabbed one of the cans of frozen water and hopped up to the rim of the ship. He held the can up high above his head and cried, "Behold!" At that moment, a ray of sunlight pierced the mist, gilding the can in a heavenly glow. The baby stopped crying, entranced by the majestic scene before it. Marx tossed the can up with all his might. It took to the air, spinning up and over and sparkling in the sun. He stared at it head on, the way a criminal sentenced to death stared down the turret of a shotzo in one last act of defiance. Then it plummeted, closing in on him until it was the last thing he could see and-
Thunk!
-it smacked him right in the forehead. Even worse, as the can was already under immense internal pressure, it burst on contact, showering him in freezing slush.
He fell on his rear, clutching his throbbing head. "Son of a scarfy, that hurt!" The can felt so much lighter when he was holding it! Violent shivers soon wracked his body as the ice and wind leeched all of his warmth away. All the while he heard uncontrollable giggling across from him. He glared at the baby at first, forgetting himself, then flashed it a very forced grin. "Haha. Hahaha! F-Funny right? S-So funny! Very f-f-funny!"
Still laughing, the baby rolled on its back, its little feet kicking in the air.
At least it's one problem solved. Marx brought his wings close to keep warm. He needed to get off the mountain soon. His fur was already starting to turn white with frost. As he stood there shivering, he realized he was posed with yet another problem. How was he going to get the baby off the mountain? He didn't trust it to have the sense to cling to him while he was flying. He would have to find something to carry it in. That meant, however, that he would need to leave it for a short while.
He gathered up the blanket, aware of that orange fuzzball's curious eyes following him, and made a nest in the corner of the ship. He set the baby inside, placing it upright on its feet. It wobbled, then slowly tipped forward until it was on its belly.
"Can't even walk yet? Well, at least you won't go wandering off. Don't bother trying it anyway. You're all alone up here, got it? All alone," he repeated, hoping that at least would stick. "You'd just freeze to death with no one to help you."
A cold wind picked up. The baby shivered in its blanket.
But you might freeze if I leave you here, too… That baby fluff isn't going to help you much. After some thought, he held out one of his wings and focused the flow of magic into one scale in particular. That scale began to flicker slower in response. An opaque, crystal-like shell began to form around it until the added weight made it drop from his wing. Another scale popped in to replace it.
It was a trick he learned while experimenting with his powers. Not only did it continue to shimmer in the colors of the rainbow, the trapped magic inside made the crystal encasing warm to the touch. Marx often liked to peddle them as 'rare treasures that never lost their glow or warmth' in exchange for goodies. The suckers who ended up trading for them would find out only hours later that the magic did in fact run out, leaving nothing but dust behind when the shell broke apart. By then, Marx would be long gone.
He tucked in the scale with the baby. "There. It'll be just like snuggling up with the real thing, except even better because I'm not actually involved."
It seemed to agree with him, nuzzling it like it was a teddy bear.
Marx jumped out of the ship and, as a last safety measure, covered the opening with a layer of ice using his magic, leaving a tiny gap for circulation. Satisfied that it would keep the cold out and the baby in, he took to the air, the thought of thawing out on the green fields motivating him to fly faster. He already had a plan to get the baby off the mountain. All he needed to do was find a basket to carry it in. He supposed it must have been hungry at this point as well, but that was fine. In the place he planned to find a basket, food was never far behind.
Dreamland's mild climate meant the seasons had little impact on its resident's lives. Sure, autumn introduced a slight chill to the air and winter encouraged you to wear a scarf on your walks, but rarely did the temperature dip far enough to scare the green out of everything or for snow to fall.
With weather like that, almost everyday was a good picnic day.
A red and white blanket stuck out like a beacon on a grassy hill, and Marx knew he found his target. A pair of waddle dees were just settling down to eat when Marx made his landing a short distance away. He could have just dived at them from above and scared them off immediately, but where would the fun in that be? A good joke needed the proper build up. And it wasn't like he had a baby freezing to death on a mountain that he needed to get back to or anything. Marx blinked. All right, maybe I should make this fast.
He hopped into the air and dove face first towards the ground. As he drew closer, his shadow rushed to meet him. He collided with it and his vision went dark. He remained calm. He didn't know the name of the world hidden in his shadow, but he had visited it enough that the transition was familiar to him. When his eyes adjusted, a haze of shifting grays and blacks welcomed him. A tiny window showing blue skies and waving grass blades shimmered above him, his only view of the world he left behind. Below, the shadows grew thicker until they smothered all light. It reminded him of the ocean: deep, dark, and unknown. He didn't know what would happen if he ever strayed too far from the surface, and he was in no hurry to find out.
Propelling himself forward with his wings, he approached one of the waddle dees from behind. They had been sitting face to face, so he knew his shadow would go unnoticed. The sky above soon shifted to red and white checkers, dimly lit from the sunlight on the other side. Marx made a circle around the blanket, dropping a magic fortified seed at each of the four corners before returning to the center. Now all he would have to do was send a pulse of energy to them and sprout them into bramble towers. Waddle dees were cowards by nature. They'd go running for the hills in seconds.
Just before he gave the command, one of the waddle dees spoke. "It was so nice of you to invite me on your picnic, Dusty!" Her voice came across warped from the divide, but he was used to it.
"Y-Yeah. I'm really glad you came, Daisy," Dusty said. From his nervous tone, Marx knew just where this conversation was going to go. He grinned when Dusty continued, "You see, there's something I've been meaning to tell you…"
Marx knew he should make this fast… But he just couldn't resist such a good opportunity! He cackled loud enough for them to hear, relishing in their surprised squeaks. "Good work bringing her to me, Dusty!" Marx bellowed, his mind working a mile a minute. How he loved improv! "You've done your part well. Allow me to take things from here."
"D-Dusty?! Who's talking?" Daisy asked, her voiced raised an octave. "And what does he mean?"
"I-I don't-"
Marx didn't give him the chance to explain. "Oh poor Daisy. You still haven't realized it, have you? You've been misled this whole time. You see, Dusty is my most loyal servant who's dedicated to seeing his master, the great Nightmare, be reborn." For a moment, his thoughts wondered back to a picnic he went on with Kirby, the puffball still so full of energy over his victory against Nightmare that he kept forgetting to eat. Suddenly feeling very annoyed, Marx shook the memory away, hoping the two would take his silence for a dramatic pause. "And to achieve that end, we were in need of some help… That's were you come in, Daisy."
"M-Me?"
"Daisy, don't listen to him! I don't know what he's talking about!"
Marx chuckled. "Oh, Dusty. Always an actor until the end, aren't you? Your dedication will be awarded. Now Daisy, you must be wondering what your role in this is, hmm? You see, though that wretched puffball may have thwarted my plans-" Marx didn't need to fake the venom in his voice as he spoke of Kirby, "-he failed to finish the job. My physical body may have been destroyed, but as long as nightmares exist, so shall my spirit. And all I need to restore my corporeal form…" He sent a pulse of magic to the seeds, sprouting them into towering brambles. "Is a maiden sacrifice!"
The waddle dees' terrified screeches filled the air followed by the sound of pounding feet. Marx couldn't hold back his laughter. He laughed so hard his concentration slipped and he was popped out of the shadow world. He lay under the blanket for awhile, catching his breath. Beautiful work as always.
He crawled out and took a look at the picnic food. He was delighted to see a lidded pitcher of lemonade and some grilled chicken sandwiches with lettuce and tomatoes. Almost perfect, save for the lettuce. That could go. He'd never understand how people enjoyed eating leaves. He moved on to the basket and rummaged through its contents. "Let's see here… Salad, bleh... Potato salad? What, is one salad not enough for you? Chocolate cake? Don't mind if I do. Now what's this… Oh ho ho~! Looks like somebody came prepared!" He tossed the breath mints behind him. He looked around a bit more but didn't find much else of note. Pretty disappointing spread for a picnic. Three out of ten. I did that girl a favor.
Marx dumped out the basket's contents and replaced them with the sandwiches, the pitcher, and the blanket. He gave the cake slice an admiring look before setting it in as well. He'd treat himself once he'd gotten that baby out of his fur. Biting down on the handles, he lifted off and headed back to the ship.
He didn't miss the mountain winds, but with the way they greeted them they almost certainly missed him. When Marx reached the impact site, he tapped on the ice covering with a claw, causing it to evaporate into blue mist. When he peered inside, he found the baby on the other side of the pod, away from the blanket. That side had been the one where he had left the opening. Had it been trying to escape?
The baby babbled to him in greeting, looking content. It was lying belly down on the scale, using it as a buffer between it and the cold floor.
"Idiot," Marx chided. "Why do you think I left you on the blanket in the first place?" At that moment, he noticed a sour smell in the air. Making a face, he looked at the blanket. "Ew." Maybe it had been trying to escape the smell… He picked the blanket up by its corners, making sure to keep it as far as possible, and tossed it out the ship. "You're lucky I thought to bring you a new one. And not only that…" Marx dug out one of the sandwiches and set it in front of the baby. "I got you a treat," he said, helping it up into a sitting position. "Hurry up and eat it now. We have things to do."
The baby blinked at the sandwich, then looked back to him.
"What, do you need me to show you how to eat?" Marx rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine, fine. Pay attention now." Gripping the sandwich in his claws, he tore a big bite out of it. The baby's eyes went big and its mouth opened slightly as if in awe. Marx found it amusing. "Ish cute how eashily impresshed you are." He swallowed his bite of sandwich, and the baby recoiled from him as if he had just snatched a toy from it. Marx tilted his head. "Yes, that's what you do with the food after you chew it. Crazy, right? Now you try." He nudged the sandwich over to it.
The baby stared at it, its eyes downcast.
Marx tapped his foot. "Go on…"
It sniffled.
"Stop looking so pathetic and take a bite of it already!" he snapped.
His outburst sent the baby into tears again. It opened its mouth to cry, reminding Marx that it only had two teeth, and they were fangs at that. Now Marx was just confused. Fangs weren't at all suited for chewing. How was it supposed to eat if it couldn't even chew its own… Oh.
Oh no.
Marx looked back between the infant and the sandwich. Then, heaving a big sigh, he tore off another bite and chewed and chewed and chewed…
"Are you happy now?" Marx drawled after it had eaten and drunk its fill.
The baby burped.
"Great. Wonderful. I suppose it was kind of obvious that you couldn't chew your own food yet, but you'll forgive your stupid big brother, won't you?"
He got his answer when the baby scooted closer to him and nuzzled its cheek against his.
Marx jumped away, his fur on end. "Hey, hey, HEY! Personal space, buddy!"
Without Marx to hold it up, the baby fell on its side with a yelp. It rolled over onto its back and stared at him with tearful eyes, its lower lip quivering.
"Oh, c'mon! It hasn't even been five minutes since last time! Erm…" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the checkered blanket sticking out of the picnic basket. Maybe that would appease it! He ran over and pulled it out. "Hey, hey, look what I've got! This is your new blanket! Nice, right?"
The baby didn't pay it any mind. It started to whimper, and Marx knew those ear splitting wails were soon to follow. He looked back at the basket, a certain resignation falling over him. There was only one thing left he could do.
He returned to the basket and reverently pulled out the slice of chocolate cake he was saving. His mouth flooded with drool at the sight of it- but no! He had to make the sacrifice. But now that he had it in his claws, he wasn't sure he had the willpower. That cake… Oh, that wonderful cake! Every morsel of it breathed temptation, from the crumbling layers of dark chocolate sponge to the velvety sheets of buttercream, smooth and unblemished like fine silk woven by a master artisan. The scent of cocoa beckoned him, delivering promises of pure comfort. He could already imagine how it would feel on his tongue: a rich, melt-in-your-mouth slice of paradise. Artists could lock themselves in their huts and paint pictures of cubes and melted Mr. Tick-Tocks all day but never could their canvases capture such raw beauty and meaning. The pinnacle of art lay before him, a physical portrayal of life's desire to exist and the fire that fuels it. And it had chocolate-freaking-chips on top! How could he ruin such a masterpiece? How could he deprive it of its purpose? He couldn't possibly-
"Wah… Waaaah…!"
Oh, enough of this.
Marx smashed the cake into his face.
"Waaa-pffft hahaha!" The baby rocked back and forth, howling with laughter. It laughed and laughed... In fact, it laughed far longer than any normal person should have at such a stupid gag. When Marx thought it would stop, it glanced at his cake covered face and lost it again.
Marx wiped some frosting out of his eye. "...You do realize slapstick is considered the lowest form of comedy, right?"
The baby only laughed harder.
Marx cleaned off the rest of his face using the picnic blanket. By the time he was done, the baby was wheezing, out of breath. He scooped it up with his wing, curling his claws around it to get a grip. As soon as he did, its cheek found his again. Marx knew it wasn't worth the headache to deny it. In the end, through tears and emotional manipulation, it got what it wanted. But why did it want to nuzzle him so badly? Was it trying to manipulate him even further? Yes, that must be it. It was trying to get on his good side so it could keep getting free meals from him! Well, Marx wasn't going to fall for it. "You're a crafty little monster, aren't you? I'm almost impressed. I'm sure you'll snare someone in that web of yours, but it certainly isn't going to be me."
He swaddled the baby in its blanket and set it in the basket. He was planning out where he'd take it when a thought occurred to him. "Considering you were just in a ship crash, I suppose I ought to get you checked out at the hospital, shouldn't I?" he said more to himself than anything. He nodded. Yes, that made sense. Though the baby seemed fine, it could be injured in a way he couldn't see.
The baby babbled something unintelligible. Marx chose to interpret it as 'Yes, Marx, that's a great idea! You're so kind and smart!'
He grinned. "All right, it's settled then. We'll head to the hospital and get you all checked out and have lots of fun and then guess where you're going to go? That's right! Straight to the orphanage!" He poked its belly with a claw, causing it to giggle. "Glad you find that idea so exciting." He closed the lid of the basket and got ready to fly up to the handle. Before he did, the lid started bouncing up and down. Panicked squeals came from under it.
Marx opened the basket again, annoyed. "What is it?"
He met the baby's wide, frightened eyes. Its fur was puffed out as if it had been run through with electricity. When it saw him again, it eased back into its blanket, calming somewhat.
Marx didn't know what that was about, and he really didn't care. He just didn't want it to cry again. He brought the lid up to the handle where he proceeded to bite through it, holding both in his mouth at the same time. "Don't blame me if it gets drafty in there," he told it, his words muffled. They probably made more sense to it that way anyways. He finally took off, pretending not to notice how intently the baby stared at him.
As he made his descent down the mountain, his wing started to burn in protest. Marx ignored it. He had something he needed to do.