IV
There is no denying that life was difficult for Bowser, even before the incident with the soldier. Life had never truly been easy for him in any regard. However, the youth did not fully understand that life was difficult, as it was always the case that his family was there to look after him, or to be looked after by him. On his own for the first time, it became rapidly clear to Bowser that while life was often proclaim to be beautiful and that every moment of it should be treasured, these were things life in fact was not and did not deserve to be.
For the past month, Bowser had tried to find his parents and siblings, being met each time with failure. Work was scarce to be found, and when he did find it, he often found that others around him were more experienced and better equipped for it than he was. More often than not, they also provided their own tools, and so the koopa was passed over even on jobs for which he was obviously more qualified. He was able to earn a few coins here and there by scraping through the mud for lost trinkets, digging ditches and shoveling stables clean, but even with these funds, he slept outside, an unpleasant proposition with autumn nearly half-over and winter approaching. It was the only way he could hope to eat, however. By the end of the month, Bowser was filthy, half-covered in dried muck, and at the end of his wits, despairing and crushed. Exploiting a loophole in the law of the land (for he was not a citizen and therefore, certain "restrictions" did not seem to apply to him), he began using what meager money to purchase cheap, swillish alcohol from dirty, dark taverns, trying to wash away his sadness and depression. Life was not beautiful, wonderful, enlightening, worth treasuring or a gift.
It was solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short. He was finding himself more and more eager to be rid of his burden of life. It's very likely that he would have gotten his wish were it not the circumstance one day that he was stopped from squandering his final coins on what he hoped would be his final drink. Although sober, his vision was fogged and misty from irritation and hate, and he had considered very strongly the prospect of attacking the toadstool that had impeded him. "Look, kid, I'm pretty sure you're too young for this sort of thing," he said to the koopa, "And no one deserves to be in this kind of dead end." "I'll fix your fence," Bowser replied, "Or whatever you want me to do, but I'll just be back here and you know it so leave me alone. I'm living by myself, and I want to die that way."
"No dice, kid," the toadstool said, "You're coming to my house for dinner." This statement of fact caught Bowser rather off-guard, and he'd forgotten the retort he'd just thought of, which was just as well as he could not have used it under the now-given circumstances. Bowser quickly tried to think of something to say, but found it unreasonably difficult, and could only manage a simple, "When?" "Right now," the toadstool said, "Get moving." With that, he turned and left the tavern, Bowser hot on his heels. Calloused and jaded as the youth was, he still had more than enough sense not to pass up a free meal.
The walk was not a short one, but even given his poor condition, it was a small matter for Bowser, athlete that he could pretend to be. The house itself was not extravagant by any means, by was rather simple and plain, yet seemed to carry a certain elegance with it that the surrounding structures could not begin to match. Stepping inside once the door was opened, the interior was much the same, elegant in its simplicity. "Dear," the toadstool called, "I've brought someone for dinner. Someone poor." Bowser scowled at the toadstool's back; it wasn't really necessary to add that he was poor. "Noted," came the reply, and then Bowser's host turned and looked at him. "No offense, but you need a bath. It's that way," he said, pointing to a door off to the side, "I trust you know how to work a faucet." "I do," Bowser said as he marched towards the bath, intent on using as much hot water as possible. Maybe that would irritate these people into respect.
All the same, the koopa could not honestly say that he did not appreciate being offered a bath. Being covered in muck was not one of his past times, and he'd no intention of staying that way any longer than necessary. The warm water felt a lot better than the cold creeks he'd occasionally found as well, and so he decided that he could take a little time to enjoy himself. The time still went more quickly than he thought it would, and in the end, he decided that he really didn't need to use up more hot water than he needed.
By the time Bowser stepped out of the bathroom, he felt like he was reborn, clean and feeling a familiar spark of energy again, however faint it was. His timing was not perfect, of course, for dinner was still some time away, so he surmised by the lack of food smell in the house. He'd need some way to pass the time, and the way stumbled right into him not a moment later. He'd guessed that the small toadstool that had just bounced off of him and onto the floor was his host's son, and he was certainly looking apologetic. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't see you!" he exclaimed. "No, no, it's okay," Bowser said, and before he realized it, he helped the toad who seemed even younger than him up to his feet, and decided to go with that. Being tough was too hard right now.
"I'm Bowser," the koopa offered. It must have worked, because the toadstool replied almost immediately, "I'm Toad." At least it was an easy name to remember. "Nice to meet you, Toad," Bowser said back, "Sorry for knocking you over." "Hey, that's okay," Toad said, and then, as if making the observation for the first time, "You're a koopa." Bowser nodded, "Yep." "Never met a koopa before," Toad said again, "Is it true that your all farmers?" Bowser thought about that for a moment. "As far as I know," he said, "Never met one who isn't." "Wow. That sounds like a lot of work." "Only sometimes," Bowser replied, finding himself with a wider smile every time he spoke.
"I wanted to be a farmer, but I'm gonna be an advisor to the princess instead," the toadstool said as he turned to walk further into the house. Bowser followed, mostly out of politeness than anything. "Oh," he said. He remembered the princess, especially that she'd been polite to him and was one of the few non-koopas that had been. But all the same, he asked, almost whining, "Do you have to?" "Yeah," Toad said, "Dad says that there's no reasoning with the king and queen, so I'd better stick with the princess and make sure she doesn't do things that are bad for other people, but you didn't hear that from me." Bowser's smile had return, if only somewhat; fighting the enemy from within. "Yeah, I didn't hear anything," he said. This was definitely a secret he wouldn't mind keeping.
He talked with Toad some more, and when it was finally time for dinner, Bowser found that the company was good. His host's wife said she didn't realize he was a koopa, and quickly asked if the meal was suitable for his tastes (he assured he that it was, and smelled delicious). Both her and her husband's faces lit up a bit when they discovered that Bowser had an interest in politics, casual as it was. They talked about politics for a time, and even though Bowser admitted his knowledge of the subject to be limited, it was decided nonetheless that he was heading in the right direction.
After dinner, they continued talking long into the night, until Toad had fallen asleep and Bowser was on his way there. The koopa turned down offers of a place to sleep for the night, stating that he preferred to sleep under the stars; this was the way of his people. Instead, they offered him a sleeping bag, which he did accept, along with a small care package containing his breakfast. As he hugged and said goodbye, his host told him, "You don't seem like the type that's destined to farm. There's something else you're meant to do, and you should find it and do it." Bowser agreed, and promised that he'd start doing that instead of wasting his money on pig swill in taverns.
As Bowser started his late night trek out towards the wilderness, he set for himself an absolute goal. Right now, the koopa were scattered and divided, and it was easy to push them around because there were more toadstools than them. He resolved that what they needed right now was not tribe leaders, but a king like the toadstools had, only who wasn't paranoid and insane. But they'd need more than a king; they'd need an army too, for that was something else that his host had told him, why the toadstools had maintained an army even after their old war with the goombas ended with a truce.
"If you want peace," Bowser repeated to himself, "Prepare for war."