Chapter 2: Business as Usual

The cheery desert sunlight became saddened as it lost itself in the dismal walls of Bowser's castle. Only a touch of light entered through the fortress's windows, doing little to help the faint glow of the grasping torches further inside. The kitchen sat on the bottom level of the castle, and its two small windows opened to the west to bring in the light of the lowering winter sun. The brushed aluminum refrigerator, the ivory white twin sinks, and the tiled countertops stood out amid the oppressive brick walls beyond the room. Wooden cabinets and mellow overhead lights gave comfort to the small corner of the dank castle.

Maros Kanan leaned against a thin refrigerator door and held a saucer and teacup in both hands. His emotionless face twitched as he heard pounding footsteps mixed with panting breaths. The noise grew closer as a pair of horns and a cherry-red mane emerged from around the corner. As Bowser's bulbous face turned into view, the servant's tall, broad body stood without giving a bow, and his slender-billed face was flat and unmoved.

"I don't suppose you'd want some tea," Maros droned.

"Tea's for ladies. Make me a protein shake and double the recipe. I'm working on chiseling out my six-pack." Bowser grinned and nodded his bulky head.

"The only six-pack I see you with is a half-dozen beers in a sports bar," the servant muttered under his breath.

"Ahem?" Bowser growled, motioning with a clawed hand. "My shake?"

"I'm not making it for you."

On cue, Bowser's face warped into a scowl. "Do you have any idea who you workfor here?"

"If you're trying to build your body in under a week, you're wasting your time. You should have started this in your adolescent years--which, if I remember correctly, were spent flexing your fat arms in front of a mirror."

"Yeah, well, you're forgettin' the grand finale, where I take out that bikini poster from under my bed, stare at it for a while, and then--lock the door."

Maros beamed an icy stare at Bowser's lecherous grin. "I loathe you."

"There you are, Your Mightiness!"

"Speak of the devil," Maros mumbled as Kamek's draping blue robe marched into the kitchen.

"Protein shake, Sire?"

"Two shakes. I'm doing double crunches!"

"Excellent! I can see you on the cover of Koopa Athletics any day now! I should start calling you Your Muscularness!"

"Oh, my God," droned Maros in disgust.

"You're just jealous that you don't have the body our great King has!"

Maros turned to face Kamek and uncloaked a magazine from his jacket. The magazine spun through the air and landed on the counter with a thick slap, and Maros leaned against the fridge and sipped his tea once again as Bowser's eyes bugged out. The Koopa on the front cover had the same smirked face. Three pairs of muscles lay beneath two thick pectorals, and both hands hovered just above his jeans, ready to flex his arm and show more veins in his lean biceps.

"You--You're too good for that rag, Sire," said Kamek in a disheartened voice.

"Damn straight! Hey, you get the mail yet?"

"It's on the counter behind you."

"I never put it there. Why do you have to put it there?"

"I didn't put it there! Maros puts it there!"

"You know I hate it there!" roared Bowser to Maros. "Why can't you put it on my bed like everybody else?"

Maros cracked a smile and put the teacup to his bill. "I find your anger amusing."

"Yeah, yeah," said Bowser, taking the stack in hand. He tossed away each piece of mail as he talked to himself. "Crap. Crap. Crap. Death threat. Crap. Whoa--big box. Is it a bomb threat?"

"I don't know. It might be."

"Whatever. I'll mail it back. Crap. Crap. Cr--" Bowser stopped. His arm reached for the last piece of mail but then sagged back to his side.

"That one's mine, Sire," said Kamek, taking the pine-green envelope. "Um--Sire? Are you all right?"

Bowser stood with his broad shoulders slumped. His face darkened, but with a hurt look. "She didn't write back."

"What?"

"It's been a week. She didn't write back to me. I thought she'd at least send me that castle invitation she sends out. She always invites her friends to her Christmas crap."

"You never get invited to parties, Sire," said Kamek with a puzzled look. "You crash them."

"Yeah, and that works real well, doesn't it?" he spat.

Kamek was taken aback. After a while, he raised an eyelid. "So the day has come. Our Highness is finally using his head."