Waluigi is ready to smash
The harsh glare of the street lights laid bare the damp, worn pavement in it's state of disrepair. To his left: the sparse evening road, lone cars ripping past and spraying the pavement as their wheels clipped the puddles. To his right: the thin back alleys drenched in shadow, seemingly sucking the light from his eyeballs like a black hole. Waluigi slowly meandered forward, hands in pockets, a cigarette hanging limp from his lips, cutting a path though this treacherous environment.
It had been a long day. The casino had been losing money for several months now thanks to the new regulations. All day he argued with the lazy shy guy croupiers he was ashamed to call employees, haggled with aged koopas frittering away their military pensions, fought off the young toadstools selling mushrooms in his lobby... Nothing changed, and the building was in a ruinous state such that inspectors came to threatened him with closure on a daily basis. This was the fruit of his life's work. It was a depressing enough place to visit, let alone to own.
It hadn't always been like this. Once, his marvellous casino brought in hundreds from the mushroom kingdom every day, pockets heavy with coins. The pinball machines were his speciality, attracting younger patrons in particular with their colourful illustrations and intricate light arrays. He was even able to gain sponsorship in the national go-kart cup, the thought of which brought back fond memories. Unfortunately this business drew the ire of the royal family, whose campaign against 'child gambling' had brought such arrangements to an end. Now he was stuck with an impractically large and unwieldy asset, a skeleton crew of lethargic college drop outs, and up to his nose in debt.
His thoughts turned to home as his place of refuge drew close upon the horizon. The barbed wire fence of the low-rise perimeter cast a hazy grid of shadow upon the wet concrete, an urban feature he would admit to enjoying. The rest of the view was less appealing; dilapidated brickwork amassed into symmetrical quadrilaterals, boarded up windows and graffiti the only anomalies. As he walked towards his building the piranha plants left out on his neighbours porch snarled and menacingly spat flames into the air. Clouds of fire flower smoke dissipated before him as he approached his door; he tried to ignore the shadowy figures in the corner of his eye, most likely the local goomba gang looking for some easy prey.
Inside, with the door bolted and shutters drawn, Waluigi breathed a sigh of relief. Throwing his cigarette stub in the ash tray he moved into the living room, the beckoning light of the television drawing him in. His room-mate, Wario, was in his usual position: stuffed into a recliner, beer in hand, eyes laser focused on the screen.
"Hey bro. There's pizza in the fridge if you want it."
His eyes did not move from the screen as he pulled a bottle from the crate besides him and passed it up to Waluigi.
"Actually, could you get me another slice too? I've just been to the bathroom, I should have space."
Waluigi couldn't help but smile. Wario was to him a sort of lovable bear – rather large, to be sure, but charming in his unabashed glutton. Retreating to the kitchen, a cramped nook adjacent to the living room in their tiny open plan apartment, he pushed opened the breakfast hatch so as to continue talking to his friend.
"How was work?"
Wario let out a tremendous, rumbling fart. Waluigi was once again thankful for his lost sense of smell the chemotherapy had bereaved him of.
"Say no more."
He noted that Wario did not bother to reciprocate the question. To be fair, they both knew it wasn't worth asking.
"We just need another streak bro. Last month we didn't break even, if this keeps up I'll have to fire more people. I can't run this operation with so few..."
It saddened Waluigi to hear his friend talk in this way. As the proprietor of a gold mine, Wario was once a very wealthy man. Years of a lavish lifestyle and excessive spending had left little in the way of savings in his bank account, but he was always confident another windfall was just around the corner. And yet, for the last decade, the mine had been dry. They'd resorted to scraping up crumbs and desperately digging deeper, occasionally rewarded for their efforts with a small rash of mineral.
Worse still, an illegitimate lawsuit from a celebrity had robbed him of his house, his land, and his ill-fated retail venture. Ironically, it was he who was branded a thief. Ever since he had lived with Waluigi, originally intending to get back on his feet and find his own place. Weeks turned into months, months into years, and still he could not muster together the funds to leave. Waluigi did not mind; in fact, he appreciated the company, especially since his girlfriend left him. However, he could not help but feel sorry for the man. As motivated as he was in his work, Wario had grown slovenly. The minute he squeased through the door and threw his overalls off he became a different man – a drunken, perpetually exhausted, and contemptuous facsimile of his usual boisterous self.
"Don't worry, there's bound to be something left in the ground. You'll find it sooner or later."
He wished he could believe it.
The evening had progressed as it usually did. Wario was several beers deep, cheering – or perhaps booing – at the game he was watching. It was difficult to tell the difference, especially through the bathroom wall. Waluigi stood in front of a dirty mirror, trying to determine the best angle with which to view his body. It was a challenging task; skinny as a twig, but with an oddly circular belly, he did not exactly cut a striking figure. He had always looked unusual, but the years had not been kind. Wrinkled and blotchy skin, thin hair clinging onto his scalp, and a chin that could probably be used in Wario's mine if he were so inclined. Under his scabby, protruding nose was perhaps his one redeemable feature: a thin yet firm moustache, unusually long and shaped upwards. Taking after his father and grandfather before him, he had chosen to wear it as a young man. Ironic, he thought, that a feature once thought to age him in appearance was now the most resilient facet of his withering frame. He took off his vest, threw it in disgust onto the floor having noticed his sweat stains, and began to strip the rest of his clothes in preparation for his shower.
Wario burst through the door with a slurred proclamation:
"I gots to go number 1."
Surprised, Waluigi yanked up his briefs and slid into the corner of the room to allow his friend in.
"Um, I'll wait outside then."
He knew better than to obstruct Wario from relieving himself in a timely manner. He moved quickly towards the door, trying to ignore the folds of fat drooping from the toilet seat his peripheral vision could make out.
"Ey man, you've put on weight no?"
Standing in the door frame now, Waluigi responded, offence feigned in his sarcastic tone of voice.
"Yeah, thanks for reminding me. Not like you can talk, Mr can't-even-use-the-public-pipe-transit-system-anymore."
There was a slight pause.
"Good for you, it's better for a man to be large ya know? You were like a dry bones with skin before, now you have some meat on display. The ladies will love it I think!"
"What ladies?" He muttered as he walked out.
Waluigi lay in bed, vexed somewhat by the comment Wario had made earlier. It was not like them to talk of each others physical appearance. It was also out of character for Wario to talk of women. In all the years they'd known each other he had never mentioned any wives or girlfriends, prospective or otherwise – and Waluigi knew better than to ask. He clearly had no interest in them, perhaps due to some traumatic experience or the result of a mental affliction. At any rate, it could not be for lack of appeal; in his prime Wario was a handsome and wealthy bachelor, mischievous perhaps but with a heart of gold and an outgoing and humorous personality. As far as he was concerned, Wario could have had any woman he liked for his wife, but he choose his work over such matters, for his own reasons no doubt, and paid the price for it in his solitary middle age.
Well, not entirely solitary. The bed creaked as Wario turned over, replacing the view of his enormous stomach with his equally inflated rear end, crack protruding above his struggling pajama bottoms. Waluigi turned to face the wall and shuffled to the edge of the bed. It was just about large enough for one wide person and one thin person to co-occupy without disturbing each other, and this was better for their backs than the floor, as Wario had posited. So they had slept together since he moved in, the several replacement beds not withstanding. Once again, Waluigi did not mind what others might have considered a burden or intrusion; he didn't have to keep the heating on overnight any more, and the presence and proximity of another person comforted him in slumber. Although of course, it did not compare to the nights he spent with Daisy, and it was these memories he tried to recall, provoked by his friend's earlier comment.
Wario might not have had any interest in women, but Waluigi certainly did. For several years he courted a woman he had met on a cruise; instantly smitten, he invited her to a friendly tennis match (a game he was most fond of) and eventually gained her affection after competing and winning in several doubles tournaments with her. It took time for their romance to blossom, but they took several big steps in their relationship, buying a suburban house and beginning to try for children. And yet Waluigi could not bring himself to propose, presumably out of some terrible anxiety. Regrettably his apparent fear was confirmed following the financial downturn of his casino - she left him for another man, taking the house through a duplicitous legal case. He had never really recovered from the loss of his partner or his sense of dignity, and as such could not bring himself to suffer the long cold night alone.
Eyes shut, but awake thanks to Wario's very audible bedtime microfarts, he tried to recall how she felt lying next to him, her soft breath against his chest, her warm hands wrapped around him...
It was closing time at the casino. Behind the cage Waluigi mindlessly shovelled coins into the counting machine. His eyed were glazed over, the little green display a blur. He'd learn just how little he had made today when it was done – better this than to suffer to slow burn of watching a number slowly crawl up, perhaps even to feel a warm ray of hope, before the pile of coins before him inevitably vanished, their departure an emotionally endothermic reaction. Blissful in his ignorance, he grabbed another fistful.
"Hey boss. I was hoping I could ask you about that holiday request?"
A shy guy stood behind him, hands behind their back. His new hire: a dimwitted bartender who could barely scrape together a cocktail. Still, they had a pretty face, worked pretty hard, and were pretty cheap to employ.
"What about it? I heard you the first time."
"I know it's just... I'd really like to go to the royal wedding. Seeing as it's not far off, I thought it would be best to make sure..."
"I said I heard you the first time."
Waluigi turned away from the machine to face his employee.
"I'll let you know when it's done processing, I don't have time to look at it now. Go home."
He watched as the shy guy waddled out of the room. Of course, their request would be denied. The royal wedding would likely attract customers to the casino bar to view the televised broadcast of the wedding, drinks in hand. His bartender was going to have to come in, perhaps even work overtime... He pushed the last few coins into the machine and sighed, noting the final count in his ledger. He was definitely going to need the extra revenue...
As he stepped outside and shut the door, Waluigi noticed a large blue car parked in the casino lot, making out a number of figures inside through it's tinted windows. He didn't recognise it as one of his employees cars, and it was too late in the evening for any customers to still be parked. No doubt they were there for nefarious reasons, but he didn't feel there was anything to be done. He was too tired to confront them, and the police had bigger cheep-cheeps to fry than a suspicious car in this neighbourhood. Better to let them be, go home, and forget he ever saw them.
Setting off, he lit a cigarette and let his mind and body slip into autopilot as he navigated the familiar route home. It was the early hours of the morning, and the roads were quiet as usual. As he walked he couldn't help but agonise over his accounts, and he began to run some costs in his head. Supplies for the cleaners, food and drink for the storeroom, wages for the staff... corners were going to have to be cut, and there was no easy solution, especially now business taxes had increased. He felt a sense of dread crawling up his spine, the spectre he was constantly fighting to exorcise. It was no good to ponder such things at this hour, he decided, and so his mind turned once more to home, to the warm bed waiting for him, to the greasy, salty breakfast he would prepare. Stopping on a street corner, he tossed his cigarette stub, drew another from the pack, fumbled in his pocket for the lighter...
His shadow rose and set like the sun as the headlights of a car turning the corner passed over him. He turned his head instinctively, surprised by the intensity of the light – they were on full beam, obscuring the features of the vehicle in a washed out patch of white against the background of muddy brown. Stoned teenagers, most likely. He watched it crawl slowly down the road, then moved his gaze down as he held his lighter up to the cigarette, shielding it from the wind with his hands.
'Click'
'Click'
'Click'
It would not light; the gas spluttered out, but didn't ignite. Sparks flew into his face as his fingers grew hot, a small flame would emerge briefly, only to vanish. Frustrated, he gave it a shake, turning his attention towards the car again. It was now maybe twenty meters away, and had slowed to a near standstill. Intrigued by this strange behaviour, he stared into the light, hoping to identify the driver. As his eyes adjusted to the light, the sense of dread he felt earlier surged into the forefront of his mind. A sharp pain spiked his forehead, and he began to tremble slightly. It was the blue car parked outside the casino from earlier, now moving gently towards him once more, the purr of the engine besieging his ears and piercing his soul.
He slid around the corner and began to walk quickly down the road. Fumbling to put his lighter away, the cigarette dropped from his mouth. For a split second he stopped to pick it up, then hurried forwards instead. Waluigi did not believe in coincidence, and the signs the universe was showing him did not bode well. The sound of the engine behind him faded, and the ambient light dimmed – presumably they had turned off their headlights. Not taking any chances, he began to jog slightly, looking straight ahead. Halfway down the street now, he slowed, panting, and turned to face the road behind him.
The roar of the engine ricocheted from the pavement and engulfed the night air. The screech of the tires as the car scraped the corner he had just turned paralysed Waluigi with fear as his suspicion was confirmed. Not yet resigned to his fate, he began to run as fast as a man of his age and health could, stumbling forward at a stuttering pace. It would make no difference. The car pulled in front of him, swerved onto the pavement, came to an abrupt stop. The doors opened and figures began to emerge, the silhouettes of large hammers stretching out before him.
"Where's our fucking money you lanky bastard!?"
It was the hammer brothers. He'd taken an illicit loan from them recently - a fairly meagre amount, but he promised a swift return, and with interest. After a month of no contact he had foolishly hoped they might have forgotten the matter, it being a fairly trivial loan by their standards. The issue had slipped to the back of his mind as these things are wont to do, suppressed lest anxiety overwhelm him.
They stepped towards him, swinging their hammers at their hips. There was nothing he could do. He had no money on him, and could not procure a satisfactory amount within the brief window of amnesty granted. He had heard the stories, he knew how this was going to go. Closing his eyes, he braced for impact.
'CLUNK'
The impact let out an almost metallic ring as hammer met bone. Reeling over in agony and clutching his knee, he stammered out a futile response.
"I'll have it soon boys, just a little more time. Business has been bad, you can appreciate – AIIIIIIIIRRRGHH!"
A blow to his ribcage knocked him to the ground. Wave after wave of pain rushed through him as each hit became indistinguishable from the last. His ears were ringing, his eyes clenched shut. Some time passed, the pain slowly morphing from sharp bursts to a sustained ache. No less excruciating.
"Next time we won't be so considerate as to where our hammers fall. Get us our fucking money."
Waluigi finally reached his front door. Hands shaking, he forced the stubborn key into it's rusty sheath and jiggled it to and fro until he heard a familiar click. Putting all his weight on the handle, the door lurched inwards and he collapsed on the mat. The apartment was pitch black, the floor ice cold. Slowly he pushed himself up from the elbow, his wrists still fragile from their beating. Slumped against the wall he forced himself onto his feet and began to move inwards. The door closed behind him, he headed for the bedroom. Stumbling from the doorway to the bed, he threw himself onto his back, kicked at his shoes until they fell off, and slunk under the sheets.
The warmth of the mattress eased his pain somewhat. Heartrate slowed, his breathing steady, he began to take in his environment. Wario was asleep face down next to him, oblivious to his entrance. With each breath his diaphragm lifted him from the bed momentarily, only to contract and lower him down onto the mattress, his waist expanding outwards in response. An equilibrium almost beautiful in it's elegance, Waluigi thought to himself. He shivered. The apartment was especially cold tonight; perhaps Wario left the window open in the bathroom. Mind you, that was probably for the best... at any rate, he was cold, still in relative agony from the beating he had just received, and alone. So alone.
He shut his eyes and slid slowly and quietly towards his companion, the duvet forming no obstacle for his slender torso as it approached the looming corpus. Arms wrapped around Wario, he began to feel his heat conducting through his limbs as he drifted into sleep.
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
Waluigi instinctively covered his ears with his hands and stumbled backwards from his front entrance.
"Wario! I thought it was the landlord again, or somebody else... it's too late in the night for surprises, man. What are you played at?"
His friend stepped aside and smiled. When Wario smiled, every feature of his face pulled it's weight – eyes squinting, cheeks raised, eyebrows fiercely pointed. His skin stretched out as far as it seemed possible to reveal his gaping mouth, golden fillings glinting in the moonlight. A rare sight in recent years – Waluigi was dumbfounded as to what could have provoked this occurrence.
"Step inside my friend. See if you can find anything unusual, yes?"
He was either incredibly drunk or... no, he was definitely incredibly drunk. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his purple mining overalls, coated in dust and dirt as usual. Not to mention his boots, sodden with mud and grit... he had just returned from work and already there was a mess to clean up. Sighing to himself, Waluigi stepped through the door.
The coffee table had been turned into a monument of sorts. An asymmetrical arc of empty champagne bottles blockaded the ashtray, occupied by a smouldering cigar and it's expended siblings. Below that, some pizza slices on a cardboard plate, an empty CD case, the phone-book lying open and face down. Waluigi was about to make some remark on spine integrity, but his attention was drawn towards the rock sitting on a velvet cushion. The large, golden rock.
"Pick it up. Feel it's weight. It's girth..."
He moved towards it briskly, eager to assure himself that this was not a mere illusion. His long fingers cupping it from underneath, he slowly lifted, eager to test it's weight. It was hard, it was heavy, and it was enormous; his digits could barely meet each other as he grasped it.
"That's the biggest one we found. But there are more, many more. We only stopped excavating because our shift ended, hah!"
Waluigi returned the rock to it's pedestal and turned to face his friend. Now he was smiling too. He wanted to dance, he wanted to fucking dance! He leaned back and stretched his arms out, hands shaking with excitement, now rushing towards his crotch in his signature move of celebration. Leaning back further, he stumbled into the coffee table. As his head rushed towards the hard wood surface, legs, flying up over him, he let out a joyous bellow like never before:
Waaaahhhhhhaaahhahhaaaaa!
The cool sensation of the champagne tickling his lips helped distract Waluigi from the throbbing at the back of his head as he tilted the glass back, now reclining on the sofa. Well, that and the knowledge that alcohol was on it's way to his bloodstream. Oh, and the presence of the large windfall sitting on his coffee table.
"This is it man, this is what I've been waiting for. I'm gonna fix up the chopper, I already phoned the impound lot. I gots my tailor working this very moment on a new suit, old one doesn't fit no more but I love the feeling of a new suit. Of course the boys will get a bonus too, they deserve it, and of course, I'll kick you that rent I've been meaning to..."
Wario had a list of paper in one hand, a telephone in the other, a cigar between his teeth. Sat upright in his chair for what was possibly the first time ever, he commanded a fierce and mighty presence. To call it reminiscent of his younger self was inaccurate, Waluigi thought to himself. His pride had returned in it's entirety. Wario was back.
"...I'll be going to the estate agent's tomorrow too if I get the chance. It's time for me to get my own place, I've overstayed my welcome."
Waluigi shot upwards, his manic gesticulating audibly slicing the air as he spoke.
"Wait, you're moving out? You only just got paid, man, isn't it a bit soon to be thinking about all of that? It's no problem you being here, we've been over this..."
"I know bro, I know. But I've been in this neighbourhood too long, it's time for me to return to where I belong. Let's be honest, this place isn't big enough for the both of us. It never was. Especially the toilet. Hold on, I gotta take this..."
He answered the phone and turned his gaze towards the window. Waluigi was paralysed with emotion, eyes glazed over as he tried to process this onslaught. Fear of the uncertain future. Anger at this perceived betrayal. Was that... heartbreak? A sense of deep loss, of abandonment. He slowly stood up and slinked out of the room, Wario too distracted by his phone conversation to notice. Lying on the bed now, he shut his eyes and sighed. He had hoped to never feel this way again in his life. And yet, was this not inevitable? Were his intentions to literally grow old and die with Wario? He knew this day would come, he had just pretended there wasn't an issue like he did with all of his problems.
The heavy thud of Wario's footsteps shook him into consciousness, and he jerked upwards. Wario walked in and sat down next to him.
"Um, you alright man? Is it your head still? I can get you some meds or something, I don't know wha - "
"No, it's not that."
Waluigi lifted his head to meet his friend's eyes. He had mastered the art of suppressing tears but this still wasn't going to be easy.
"I... I like having you around man. It's nice to have someone to talk to when I get home you know? Keeps my mind off things. Ever since Daisy... and now you're leaving me? Just like that? What am I goi - "
"I understand."
Wario placed his hand on Waluigi's, his soft, plump fingers easing the trembling. He spoke slowly and gently in a manner unbecoming of his usual self.
"I have to go. I was never going to stay here forever, it's not good for either of us. Now I have the chance to get my life back, I have to take it. But... I am going to miss waking up next to someone every morning."
The tears were rolling down Waluigi's cheeks now. His friend reached across with his free hand and gently wiped them away as they came. Time slowed to a standstill, the saturated breathing and muted sniffles a deafening roar against the backdrop of silence.
"Still, we've been living together so long. I'm never going to forget it, Waluigi. You've been like a brother to me."
Their eyes met. The tears had ceased their volley from Waluigi's eyes, his face glistening in the light of the lamp.
"Perhaps... just once... we could truly make this a night to remember. I, uh, I think I know how you feel about me Wario. I don't know if I feel the same way about you... I'm not sure if I can ever feel that way again. But we can try, can't we?"
Wario did not need to be told twice. Their moustaches danced as his lips engulfed Waluigi's and he embraced his friend, his partner, his... lover.
Slowly, surely, he slid inside. It was tight, firm. Thankfully his slender figure extended to every component of his body. It was either this or Wario's broad, stout helmet trying to thread the needle. Clearly this was the felicitous position. Wario was spread face down before him. Grateful he could avoid gazing upon the strangely hairless, nipple free ocean of skin that was Wario's chest, he leaned forwards. He was overthinking things as always, he had to try and focus on the sensation alone. A sharp thrust in, a smooth glide out, his hips gently lapping the cushions of flesh that were Wario's cheeks.
He began to feel that rising sensation, the rush of endorphins, the pressure, the anticipation... he picked up his pace. The muffled grunts coming from below a pillow became louder in response – this only spurred him on further. He felt a sharp pain in his head for a moment, the pleasure almost too much for his dopamine starved brain. He grit his teeth and continued, allowing the pain to pass and the pleasure to peak. He was almost there. Grabbing on to Wario's love handles for dear life, he thrust with all his might, his fragile hips on fire, his nerves electric with sensation.
As he began to climax, his foot suddenly cramped. Reeling in euphoria and agony, he twisted over onto one side, still inside Wario, who pulled his head up to check on his partner. This motion triggered an involuntary fart, ejecting Waluigi like a cork from a bottle. As he flew upwards Waluigi let out a cry of sheer catharsis, his head catching the lightbulb on it's way towards the ceiling, seed spraying out as if it were propelling him:
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
The End.