Lombardi's
Here it was.
Down one street stood the distant towering skyscrapers of the city's downtown financial district, who's gleam and sparkle had turned off for the night without the sun's light to reflect. The other thin canyon of a street was lined on either side by apartment blocks squeezed so tightly against the next that not even a knife couldn't separate them. And on this corner, tucked into the ground floor of one of these buildings, was the place he once called 'home'. It even still had his name plastered on the side: Lombardi's. That name was the one and only thing he willingly took away from this place, and the only thing that could bring him back...
The sign just inside the window said it was closed, but a weak glimmer of light filtering through the curtains said someone was still in there. The door wasn't locked, and obediently slid open when the inputs on the nearby panel were activated. He stepped inside.
The lighting had been dimmed to a tired amber glow, revealing a narrow dining floor lined on either side by chairs and tables, and an old felt-topped billiard table took up the space of a wider area in the back. A lingering scent of aromatic herbs and spices hung onto the thick air, like the sweat of a hard-working laborer when the work was done.
"It's about time you got here, I was starting to wonder if you'd ever show up..."
* Clack *
The cue ball on the table struck another ball, which sunk into one of the corner pockets.
Someone stepped around the billiard table into the light – a mid-aged falcon with faded blue plumage wearing a waist-down apron.
"But here you are, dragging your feet through the door almost a whole half-hour late. I guess I should've seen that coming from you."
Falco rolled his eyes, and slowly walked toward the light.
"I got your message, and I came. So what do you want?"
He applied a small dusting of chalk to the tip of his cue as he eyed the situation on the table, otherwise ignoring the younger, almost mirror image of himself.
"The girl, Monroe, you really don't appreciate her as much as you ought to."
"What are you talking about?..."
Falco came alongside the pool table.
"Katt didn't put you up to this, did she?"
The older falcon lined up his next shot, taking careful aim at a loose grouping at one end of the table.
"She's a nice girl, and she cares about you – a hell of a lot more than you seem to anyway."
"I'm doing just fine."
"Bullshit..."
* Clack * Clack *
The cue ball struck at the huddled mass, sending two balls of the same suit careening into opposite pockets.
When the chaos settled, the older falcon laid his cue on the table before finally laying eyes on Falco.
"Monroe told me how you're living out of your arwing, or what's left of it. She told me about some of the things you do to get by – the lines you've crossed... Is your nice lady friend telling me the truth?"
"I don't believe this..." he said, shaking his head with disgust, "I finally come back home after all these years and this is the welcome I get?"
"It's no less than you deserve..." the elder snapped, "Didn't I warn you enough Falco? Didn't I say you'd end up bum? Did you ever listen to anything I told you?"
"You never stopped!" Falco blasted, "According to you, I was supposed to slave away in this dump until you retired so I could take over the business! You had my whole life planned-out for me, and you were always harping on me not to screw with your perfect vision!"
Falco had walked around the table, positioning himself in opposition to the other speaker.
"Maybe you couldn't see it through the walls you built all around me, but I wanted my life to amount to more than some two-bit pizza joint."
The older falcon slammed a fist down and leaned in over the billiard table, glaring at the one across from him.
"This 'two-bit pizza joint' was your home!"
"It was a goddamn prison, with you as the jailer and slave-driver!..."
Falco practically copied the other, both in gesture and in tone.
"And you wonder why I ran off."
The two avian hot-heads stared each other down across the cloth top of the pool table, each eerily similar to the other. The noises seemed to step back for a moment – only the muffled urban backdrop filtered through between them as the two of them played their mental game of chicken...
The older of the pair backed off, shaking his head with an agitated sigh.
"Falco, there's... something I gotta show you..."
He walked over to a wall panel and punched in the inputs – all the lights came up.
"You know what this is?" he asked, pointing out a picture frame next to the panel.
Falco stepped closer to get a better look.
"Yeah, it's..."
It was a magazine article; cut out, framed, and hung on the wall. The cover picture showed Falco's face when a camera happened to catch a decent shot, and a diamond formation of the four famous arwings from the war flew in the background. The title page read 'Spotlight on the High-Flying Hot-Shots from Corneria: Falco Lombardi~' then a large portion after was scrawled over in blue marker pen 'We love you Falco!!'
The younger falcon snickered at the 'personal touch' at the end there.
"... part of a magazine the old team and I did some interviews for once. What's it doing here?"
"I knew what you were Falco..."
He sat down in one of the empty booths nearby, while Falco leaned against the wall with his arms crossed as he listened.
"You were reckless, impulsive, uncooperative, and so full of yourself that you practically bursted at the seams. I knew you wouldn't make it out there in the professional world. No employer in all Lylat would be desperate enough to hire an arrogant dipshit like you. Thing is you had job security here Falco. I knew that I was the one and only boss who wouldn't ever fire you – your pop. I just never counted on you up and quiting..."
"When you stormed out that door for the last time, things changed..."
He looked around at the empty hall, which barely hours ago was once alive with activity.
"Your mother blamed me for your running off, we fought, and in the end she filed for divorce over you. I was a miserable wreck, as far as I knew, I failed you – I was sure you wouldn't last a week before you ended up dead or destitute. But the customers kept coming, and someone had to serve them."
"And what does all that have to do with this?" Falco asked, jerking a thumb at the framed magazine article still on the wall.
"That's when the war happened..."
The elder of the two stepped out of the booth, eventually stood across from Falco with the preserved magazine article between them.
"A couple of your drooling teenage fangirls brought this little gem to me. You would've loved'em – klutziest pair of chicks you ever seen..." he stalled for a moment on the memories, "Anyways, like everyone I heard about how Star Fox was such a sweet deal for the war effort, but I kept way too busy to be bothered by the details. I was a little shocked when I finally saw your face on the cover there – imagine that, my little dipshit of a son, a Hero. The folks saw your name in lights, my name on the sign out there, and connected the dots. Your fans started swarming the place in droves, all of them swapping stories about how badass they said you were..."
He laid his hand on the picture frame, adjusting the angle it hung at until it was straight.
"I thought I was wrong about you Falco, and I was okay with that, because you went out there and made a name for yourself. You showed me up and really stuck it to me, and for a while there I was kinda proud of you for it..."
He stopped for a moment, and his hand fell from the frame as he glared into his son with a pair of predatory eyes.
"Why the hell did you walk away from all that?"
Falco dropped his head down, shaking it.
"You wouldn't understand."
"That so?"
The elder falcon closed in, armed with nothing less than paternal wrath.
"Was it because it wasn't your team? Was it because you couldn't stand being subordinate to anyone but your own damn self? Playing second fiddle to a full blown icon like McCloud not good enough for you or something?! Tell me I'm wrong Falco!"
"I'm the better pilot!"
Falco returned fire, fueled by the timeless rebellion of offspring.
"I deserve to be recognized for my talent, on my own. I don't have to be tied down by Fox and his little band of losers to make it. I deserve to fly solo."
"And just look at how much better off you are now..."
Falco was speechless, and the older of the two folded his arms across his chest as he continued in mock-encouragement.
"What's that? Oh, so you hit a few snags on the rough road alone – no big deal. I bet you'll sort it out all on your own. Falco Lombardi's cool like that you know."
"Fuck you..." Falco spat into his father's face, "Fuck Katt... Fuck Fox... Fuck that old fart Peppy, and that little shithead Slippy! I don't need this."
He turned his back and headed straight for the exit once again.
The other uttered one last sentence, just loud enough to hear...
"And you wonder why your life's gone to shit."
Only a step or two from the door, from freedom, Falco stopped.
"What do you want from me?" He turned to face the elder, the fires of scorn still smoldering behind his eyes, "Do you want me to admit I screwed up? Did you arrange this whole cute setup so you could shame me into working as your dishwasher again? That'd give you the sweet taste of vindication you crave, wouldn't it?"
"Heh, not unless you really want to."
It was a young woman's voice, muffled, from the back of the hall
"Katt? What're you doing here?"
"Only saving your dumb ass for the hundredth time..."
Katt Monroe swaggered out of the small restaurant's kitchen into the dining hall. She was mostly as Falco remembered, except that she'd stopped applying her dye. Only the tips of her fur held on to the familiar pale pink, revealing her natural slate-gray coat underneath.
"I never imagined I'd have to save you from yourself of all people."
"Is someone gonna tell me what the point of all this was or what?" the bewildered blue falcon demanded.
"You know Falco, a funny thing happened the other day..." Katt began, passing in front of Falco's father as she unraveled more, "I heard it from someone reliable that Star Fox was contracted for a special job out on Sauria, but somehow you weren't invited to the party. Tough luck huh?"
"You asked me what I want from you Falco..."
The elder falcon came alongside Katt.
"I just want you to stick with it, and do what you do... Falco?"
"That little shithead..."
He held a steady gaze, looking far beyond the confines of the little restaurant on the corner.
"He's gonna get himself killed out there, I know it."
Falco Lombardi turned and strode out the exit with reignited vigor, leaving the others where they stood.
"That's my little dipshit alright." the elder Lombardi said with a sigh.
"Yep, pretty much..."
Katt stepped forward, following Falco out.
"He's gonna need a lift to get all the way to Sauria, even if he doesn't want one."
And she left.
-
-
AN: If you liked this, then I invite you to try my principle work, Star Fox: Legacy (many of the early chapters have been rewritten and reworked). I know how daunting 100k+ word stories can appear at first glance, so I decided to try the "free sample" approach with this standalone scene as a taste of my writing style. Hope to hear from you soon, and thank's for your time.
chaos_Leader