The door to Mario's house blew open, a tennis racket flying across the room, followed by a duffel bag.
"What in the Inferno was that?!" Mario demanded of himself as he stormed into his home, angry at himself for what he'd done. "J—s C—st! Cazzo! Merda…"
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "God—mit, Mario—you ruined your brother's special moment! You made yourself look like a bully and a bad sport in front of all those God—m people!"
The man in red sank onto his couch, the image of his baby bro's face burning into his mind, giving him a look of disbelief and hurt.
"Well—that's what happens when you spend the past nineteen years defending a kingdom," he grumbled. "You let it get to your head, and stuff like this happens! F—ing BS…" He choked back a sob. "You're a f—ing egotistical little man!" His head fell into his hands.
"And what makes you think you're so f—ing special anyway?!" Mario hotly went on. "What, because you grab a giant turtle by the tail and throw him into lava or whatever?! 'Oh, look at me! I'm a little man from Brooklyn who fights reptiles and rescues princesses twice a week! I'm a f—ing celebrity, I'm f—ing invincible and everyone else can go [bleep] themselves!' You surely weren't invincible when you were getting jumped by a bunch of f—ing Boos in a f—ing haunted forest!"
He sighed. "Maybe you should stop eating all of that cake—it's turning your brain to mush and making you forget about the more important things in life—like family. Oh, Mario—what have you done? That was your brother's moment, and you brought it crashing down around him! What were you trying to prove—that you'll always be the better Mario Bro?!" Tears worried at his eyes. "I acted like I hate my bro, and I don't hate my bro! I love him to death!"
The man in red got up from the couch and started pacing the den. "You were an insensitive, jealous jerk out there, and not only did you sour your brother's victory, you also laughed in his face about it! You thought it was f—ing funny! Well, he certainly wasn't laughing, was he? Was he?!"
Luigi had just stood there, rubbing the back of his head, the hurt, disbelief and confusion warring in his eyes as Mario stepped on his foot, laughing. He definitely hadn't found it funny—and neither had the audience.
"'Ha-ha-ha, Lil' Bro—you may have won the tournament, but I'm still the better-known hero, so think about that the next time you beat me at something!' Way to go, Mario—way to rub that in his face! I bet his self-confidence and self-esteem will be completely shot to Hell after this—[bleep] it!
"Nearly three f—ing years ago, your little brother saved your [bleep]! He's having nightmares because of it; he's seeing a shrink because of it! And you thank him by treating him like [bleep]! Are you kidding me?! WTF?!"
Again, Mario snatched at his hair, closer than ever to tears. "Okay, that's it! That's f—ing it! That's f—ing it! You stop taking your baby bro for granted right now! All right?! You gotta make a promise to yourself, okay? Make a promise to yourself that you're gonna stop taking your brother for granted!
"Take a little bit of time out of every day to say, 'Grazie, Luigi', or 'Ti amo, Luigi', or better yet, 'Ciao, Luigi, come stai?' Is that too much to ask?!"
Mario glared at his reflection in the mirror. "You're gonna give Luigi some time to calm down," he said in a low voice, "and then you're gonna head over there, you're gonna apologize, and you're gonna man up and be the big brother he deserves. You got that?"
He narrowed his eyes at his reflection. "Now, you listen to me," he hissed. "If you make your little brother feel only slightly underappreciated, or not appreciated at all, so help me God, I will [bleep] you like a pig! I [bleep] you not!" Pointing his finger to drive home his point, he spat, "It's time to get your f—ing priorities straight!"
Making things right with Luigi would be a difficult task. But it would be done.
Please R&R.