T Plus 30 Days
All of the damage from the black swarm had been repaired, and it was safe for the tournament to resume. At around ten in the morning, Master Hand summoned the Smashers to the auditorium. He floated at the podium, waiting for them to settle down, before he began to talk.
"Good morning, Smashers," he said.
"Good morning, Master Hand," replied the Smashers.
"I am happy to see you all in good spirits on account on what occurred yesterday," MH began. "My employees and I are working hard to pinpoint the source of that black swarm and to make sure that such an incident never takes place again. However, that's not the only reason why I called this meeting. The time has come for me to tell you what I should've told you some weeks ago. I began acting irritably toward several Smashers, as well as vomiting up that black substance. There's no question that the black substance had initially targeted me for unknown reasons. It also seemed to target Mario, for I behaved quite aggressively toward him, and then it set its sights on Luigi when it dragged him into my office. I just didn't count on Luigi barricading himself in the room with it, locking down the entire Smash Mansion and attempting to fight it off himself. But luckily, he managed to subdue and then destroy the entity, suffering critical but non-life-threatening injuries in the process. Luigi—I'd like to take a moment to thank you on behalf of this tournament and on behalf of the Smash World for the exemplary courage and fortitude you demonstrated yesterday."
"You're welcome, Master Hand," Luigi replied. He'd been discharged from the hospital earlier in the morning, and he was currently seated beside Mario and Peach. He was liberally bandaged, and there were bruises on his face, but in his mind, the bruises and bandages were worth it.
"Moving on to our main subject—I now have the answers I've been looking for regarding the update patch," said MH.
Mario stiffened.
"The Smashers who were involved had already confessed and sincerely apologized, and they've already been punished accordingly," MH went on. "However, I can also confirm that my dear brother, Crazy Hand, aided in this ridiculous scheme, and he's chosen to run from the consequences, rather than face them. In addition, Steve and Stevie also participated, and they harassed another of my Smashers, Chad Wrainwright, for having the merit to step away before it was too late. They have fled along with my brother, and I can only suspect that they've taken Chad, as well. Efforts are being made to locate them as we speak."
The Smashers whispered among themselves.
"Surveillance footage proves that Steve and Stevie enabled the black swarm to escape before they left, likely out of spite," said MH. "They should be thankful that Luigi's actions averted a crisis."
"You've no idea," murmured Mario.
"Over the next few days, you should be on the lookout for my brother and Steve and Stevie," said MH. "If you spot them, notify me or one of my employees as soon as possible. If they approach you, defend yourself by any means necessary."
He paused and then continued. "My last piece of news may be difficult to comprehend," he said. "As it turns out, our financier, Mr. Sakurai, was also complicit with this—Project Nerf."
Gasps of astonishment.
"Meaning that he knew about it and allowed it to happen," said MH. "After one of the conspirators met with him about it, he ranted about how he held Luigi responsible for the poor sales performance in 2013 and agreed to cooperate with the conspirators. He attended a few of the meetings and willingly drafted an update patch which drastically altered Luigi's playstyle. All of my attempts to reach out to him were ignored. It took me luring both Mr. Sakurai and my brother into a trap to finally obtain proof of his involvement. To make things worse, he sent Double Cherries and Boo Mushrooms to Steve and Stevie, which they used to further torment Chad. Luigi also neutralized that situation using his unique area of expertise, for which I should thank him, as well."
"No thanks is necessary," said Luigi. "He needed my help, and I initially thought…"
"You had good reason to initially suspect him, but that's missing the point," said MH. "I am astonished and disappointed that something like this would go all the way up to Mr. Sakurai. Luigi and several others close to him have suffered because of their actions, and while most of the conspirators came forward of their own free will, 'sorry' won't be enough to rectify the damage. But like Luigi, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones—with the strict understanding that such a stunt will never be pulled on me or this tournament again. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Master Hand," everyone quickly responded. The Smashers involved with Project Nerf knew that they'd rolled lucky dice when MH only gave them fines and probation.
"Your matches will begin after lunch," said MH. "You are dismissed."
As the Smashers filed out of the auditorium, Luigi took Mario's hand and squeezed it, noticing the expression on his big bro's face.
"Whatever you're thinking about doing," he whispered, "please, just don't."
"I won't," said Mario, hoping to placate him. "I swear to you, I won't."
1.1.1
Meanwhile, Crazy Hand treated Steve and Stevie to burgers, fries and shakes at a place where nobody knew or cared who they were, or where silence could be easily bought. They didn't seem to care that half of the Smash World was looking for them, or that a ton of trouble awaited them should they be caught and dragged back to the Smash Mansion. Inevitably, Master Hand would catch up to them, but the trick was to have fun while they could.
Shortly after the two Steves stepped away to wash their hands, Crazy Hand's phone rang. He answered with a brief, "Hello?"
"Hello, Crazy Hand," replied the voice on the other end.
"Have you received the package?" asked CH.
"I just did," said the caller, "and I must say—what an interesting find."
"Consider it my gift to you," cooed CH, "although, as you may have noticed—a few parts require maintenance."
"Already taken care of. Ah, Crazy Hand—I'm stunned that you'd give up such a valuable asset."
"What can I say? I made a bad investment, but now I consider my losses rectified. Enjoy your shiny new present, yeah?"
"Oh, I will," said the caller. "You bet I will."
CH hung up and turned to face the two Steves as they walked out of the bathroom, immensely pleased with himself.
1.1.1
Later in the afternoon, an abbreviated day in the Smash tournament was about to draw to a close. Falco had just fought his last match, and he was now freshening up. He had to get ready for another fan club meeting soon, but first, he planned to make a quick stop to visit the Professor.
The avian dressed in fresh clothes, booted up his laptop and rang up Professor Gadd.
"So good to see you, Falco!" said Gadd once the call connected.
"Hey, Prof!" greeted Falco. "Listen, the meeting's coming up in a few hours, but I thought I'd might see how you're doing before I head over."
"Say no more. Hold on to your flight jacket—I'm bringing you to the Lab!"
Gadd pressed a button, and Falco braced himself for the Pixelator's effects.
Luckily, two Greenies caught the avian as he arrived in Gadd's lab, gently lowering him to the ground.
"Thanks, guys," he said.
The Greenies chattered something in reply.
"Welcome back, Falco," said Gadd. "I watched what happened yesterday on the news. Is Luigi okay?"
"He's fine. He was released from the hospital this morning."
"I sent him a few texts," said Gadd. "I'll give him a call later on, and we'll do some catching up."
"Speaking of which," said Falco, "how's the new vacuum progressing?"
"Magnificently," smiled Gadd, holding up the partially-completed Poltergust. Most of the apparatus was finished, so some of the protective padding had been removed. "I'm still fine-tuning the Dark-Light Device, and when that's done, I'll begin work on the jet of air. I think that two cans of compressed air on either side of the Poltergust will accomplish that."
"Is it a jet of air?" asked Falco. "Or a burst of air?"
"I'm going for—a short burst of air," said Gadd.
"You still haven't decided on a projectile?"
"Nope. But I'm keeping in mind that plumbers use plungers, and Luigi shouldn't be any different."
Falco settled into a chair, accepting a cup of Lunoman Greenie coffee from the Professor.
"I know you put aside your ghost energy project," said Falco, "but have you taken a little time to—tweak it somewhat?"
"Not really," sighed Gadd. "I've tried all of the stimuli I could think of, to no effect. Maybe working on this new Poltergust will clear my head. And also drinking plenty of this coffee. It's my favorite blend for a reason."
The two men laughed.
"I have a thought to bounce around, Prof," said Falco. "What if—you gave Luigi a reflector shield?"
"How will a reflector shield fit on a Poltergust?" asked Gadd.
Falco set down his cup of coffee and stood, moving aside his flight jacket to show Gadd his Reflector. "Maybe you can assemble something similar to this—except that it deflects both physical and paranormal attacks. Ghosts—like to throw things at Luigi, and he can't dodge all of them. At the same time, other ghosts are punching him, still others are grabbing him from behind, some are weaponizing common items, and then we have him with his energy-based attacks and whatnot. Luigi needs something to deflect what he can't dodge."
Gadd stroked his chin. "I see what you're saying," he said, "but the burst of air can knock objects off course, and Luigi's always been quick on his feet. Plus, you should see him taking all sorts of ghostly attacks and getting back up. Two years ago, he had that determination well before he found out…" He trailed off. "Nothing stops him, and that impresses and worries me. This worry is exactly why I'm building this new Poltergust for him."
"I trust you," said Falco, "but the thought just came to me, and I figured I'd share it with you."
"Thanks, Falco," said Gadd. "Isn't there a brainy inventor on your team?"
"There is. His name's Slippy Toad, son of Beltino Toad."
"One of these days, I'd love to meet him," said Gadd. "We'll volley our ideas at each other and—work together—to build another Poltergust…" His eyes lit up behind his glasses. "…just for you!"
Butterflies fluttered in Falco's stomach. "My—very own Poltergust?" he asked.
"You've become interested in the paranormal," said Gadd.
"Prof—I'm touched," said Falco.
"I can totally see you and Luigi working together to catch ghosts—maybe save the world," Gadd went on.
"Me, too," Falco put in, "but I don't know if that'll happen."
"All you need is time," Gadd said wisely, "and a little faith."
Falco sat back down and sipped his coffee. "I mean, I think he wants to take me back," he said, "but he's understandably wary. And with Mario in the mix—I just don't know."
A Hider floated inside the Lab, waving at Gadd and Falco.
"Hey, there," Falco said to the Hider. "Listen, I could use your help for a second."
The Hider chattered eagerly.
"Professor, would you like to see my Reflector in action?" asked Falco.
"Sure," said Gadd.
"My Reflector isn't like Fox's," said Falco. "It's not stationary. I'm able to kick it out at my foes, so that it deflects objects as well as batters them a bit. Two for the price of one."
He stood back up and walked toward a relatively spacious area of the Lab as the Hider followed.
"Observe," he said, kicking out his Reflector.
Gadd watched as the hexagon-shaped shield zoomed out in front of Falco before snapping back like a boomerang.
"See how much area that covers?" asked Falco. "Now, imagine if Luigi is facing off against a difficult, bloodthirsty ghost, and he's on his last leg, and sheer willpower is keeping him on his feet. This will save his bacon."
"And then after the fight, I'll call him back, no matter how fiercely he protests," said Gadd. "A Reflector like yours sounds like the perfect invention, but I'll have to swap notes with Slippy Toad before I even draw the blueprints. But—where does the Hider come into your demonstration?"
"I was just getting to that," said Falco. "You might want to take cover, because on my mark, the Hider is going to throw something at me, and I'm gonna try to knock it away with my Reflector."
The Hider produced a small rubber ball.
"Just—be careful with that," said Gadd.
The Hider chattered disarmingly.
"Alright," Falco told the Hider. "Whenever you're ready."
The Hider tossed the ball up and down a few times before winding up and letting it fly. Narrowing his eyes and licking his lips, Falco watched the projectile sail toward him, let out a breath—and then kicked out his Reflector when the ball was just inches from his face.
The ball was knocked off course, bouncing onto the table—and into Falco's cup of Lunoman Greenie coffee.
The cup tipped over, and the liquid spilled.
Right into the beaker of ghost energy.
"Aw, d—mit!" cursed Falco as the Hider looked appropriately sheepish. "Professor—I am so sorry! I didn't mean to ruin your experiment! I'll help you set up a new one, and I'll pay for everything, I promise."
But the Professor's eyes were now on the mixture in the beaker, excitement on his face.
"Falco," he said. "I don't think you ruined anything. Look!"
Falco looked—and then his beak dropped open.
The coffee and the ghost energy were actually interacting!
"Whoa," breathed Falco.
Quickly, Gadd placed the beaker under a ventilator, which he switched on, in case this interaction produced noxious fumes. Then, he whipped out a notepad and pen and began recording his observations as Falco followed suit. The mixture in the beaker slowly took on the coffee blend's distinctive green color, thickening as it did. Gently, it pulsed against the walls of the beaker, now a green, blob-like mass instead of a blue liquid.
"Holy [bleep]," gasped Falco. "Did I just—accidentally make ghost slime?"
"I don't know if this is slime," said Gadd, handing Falco a pair of gloves and protective goggles before donning goggles and gloves of his own. "Slime usually had a transparent appearance and is less viscous. The substance we have here is opaque and vaguely—snot-like."
Carefully, Gadd transferred the green substance from the vial to a container. Luckily for him, the substance maintained its composition and even changed shape to fit in the container.
"Do you know what this reminds me of?" asked Falco.
"What?"
"Flubber," explained Falco. "You know, the stuff they make at the day care centers for the kids to play with? You take some water and some glue and some flour and some washable paint, and then you mix it all in…"
"I remember playing with such a substance when I was a boy," Gadd said, a little wistfully.
"Every month, my day care center would make a new batch of that," Falco went on. "Whenever we saw the bowl and those ingredients being set out, we'd get so excited and crowd around our teachers! Oh, man! I loved playing with flubber!"
"That's an interesting comparison," said Gadd, "but I don't think this has the same texture as flubber."
He placed a sample of the substance onto a piece of white paper and lightly touched it with his forefinger.
"Well, I'll be," he uttered.
"What is it?" asked Falco.
"It's pushing against my finger," explained Gadd. He set out another sample for Falco. "Here, have a go!"
Gingerly, Falco touched a gloved wing to the substance. It was soft and cool, and almost gel-like. Maybe this was some kind of ghostly Jell-O. When Falco gently pressed down on the substance, he was met with a shocking amount of resistance. The same result occurred when he continued to poke and prod at the sample.
"You're right," he said to the Professor. "Whenever I touch it, it touches back. This—this is tight!"
Gadd scribbled some more into his notepad as Falco stared at the substance in wonder.
"What are you?" he murmured.
And then his eyes widened.
"Prof," he said.
"Yes, Falco?"
"Take a look at this," said Falco. Turning back to the substance, he said, "Hey—how are you?"
And then the substance leaned toward the sound of Falco's voice, as if to reply.
Falco moved to one side. "Hello…" he sang out.
The substance followed.
"Hello, hello, hello…" said Falco, pacing to the left, and then to the right.
Again, the substance followed Falco's voice.
"Hey, Prof—say something," said Falco.
"Er—okay," said Gadd.
Almost instantly, the substance headed in Gadd's direction.
"Interesting," mused Gadd as the substance continued leaning toward his voice.
Gadd and Falco took turns talking to the substance, with the same result—the green substance would always follow their voices.
And then Falco took out his phone, opened his music player and selected a song at random before setting the phone onto the other side of the table. And as the music played, the green substance began to wiggle—and then to dance! It danced like it was having the time of its life, moving toward the phone as it did. The substance that was still in the container was also dancing and swaying along to the music.
Gadd was ecstatic. "Oh, my God!" he exclaimed. "That was it! That was what the ghost energy needed! Another substance to react with! How come I didn't figure that out sooner?!"
Falco, on the other hand, felt vindicated. "Seems like a fortunate accident, don't you think?" he asked.
"Say that again," said Gadd. "However, completion of the new Poltergust remains my top priority, so I'm afraid I'll have to put this new substance aside for now."
Falco turned off his music, and the substance stilled.
"It smells like coffee," he said.
"That's because it's composed of ectoplasm and coffee," said Gadd. "All right—let's recap our initial observations. The interaction between Lunoman Greenie coffee and ghost energy creates a green, opaque, amorphous and viscous substance. This substance responds to audial and tactile stimuli, its texture is soft and cool, and it has taken on the Lunoman Greenie coffee's distinct smell. Once I'm done with the new Poltergust, I shall conduct more tests on this substance."
Gadd fetched a smaller container, placed some of the substance into it and handed it to Falco. "Here you go," he said. "A souvenir."
"Wow! Thanks, Prof!" said Falco. "I'm honored that I got to help you discover something new—albeit accidentally."
"But next time—don't play ball inside my Lab," cautioned Gadd.
"Understood," said Falco.
He slipped the small container into an inside pocket of his flight jacket. "To think that I just helped you make coffee-scented Jell-O," he said.
"Coffee-scented Jell-O?" repeated Gadd. "Only time will tell if this stuff is actually edible, but I like your observation."
"Although," said Falco, "on second glance, I'd say this stuff is quite—gooey."
Gadd's face lit up, and he snapped his fingers. "That's it, then!" he cried. "That's what I'll call this substance!"
"Really?" asked Falco.
Gadd nodded as the substance once again pulsed toward his voice.
"I think I'll call it—Goo."
1.1.1
Mario poked his head through the door of MH's office. "Master Hand?" he uttered.
"Yes?" asked MH.
"I have some urgent business to attend to," said Mario. "I hope you don't mind if I step out for a moment."
MH frowned. "What urgent business?" he asked.
"A personal matter," replied Mario. "Leave it at that."
"Oh, no," said MH, realizing. "No, no, no. Mario…"
"I promise I won't attack anyone, okay?" eyerolled Mario. "It's just—I really need to do this."
"And what would Luigi think?" challenged MH.
Mario paused, and then he heaved a sigh.
"He'll understand," he said, "and I'm sure he'll forgive me in time."
MH's voice turned stern.
"Don't hurt anyone, don't destroy anything, and try to present your case calmly," he said.
"I'll do my best," said Mario.
"See that you do," said MH, "because you won't be shown leniency a second time."
Mario set his face. "All right, then," he said. "If that's how you wanna play it, fine."
"I want you back by midnight," said MH.
Stonily, Mario nodded, turned on his heel and walked to the Smash Mansion's valet area, where he had a Mii pull his car around.
1.1.1
Luigi was resting up from an extremely tough match when he heard the sound of a car engine revving up.
Quickly, he raced toward the front entrance, where his suspicions were confirmed.
There was Mario, warming up his vehicle, icy blue eyes staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched. Luigi knew exactly where his bro was headed and why.
"Mario?" he called.
But it was as if Mario didn't hear him. The man in red put the car in drive, hit the gas and sped out.
"Mario!" shouted Luigi.
But it was no use.
Swearing under his breath, Luigi headed back inside, where he came face-to-face with Master Hand.
"I'm sorry, Luigi," he said. "Truly, I am. I couldn't stop him."
Luigi nodded curtly before retreating to the Training Area, where he stripped off his shirt, hooked up his phone to the stereo system, turned on his music and laid into the first Sandbags he saw.
Mario would need a d—n good explanation for this when he returned.
1.1.1
Nintendo HQ was sent into a tizzy as Mario "Jumpman" Mario blew through their front entrance with a sense of purpose. His posture was straight, his stride was confident and he looked like he belonged there. But his eyes—those who looked into those blue orbs knew that someone was in for the high-jump today.
"He's at a meeting," said a receptionist when she saw Mario steadily approach.
"Yeah—in about ten seconds, with the face of Nintendo," Mario bit out.
Meeting the look in the receptionist's eyes, Mario stopped and took several deep breaths.
"Look," he said. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need to speak with him."
"About the update patch?"
Mario blinked. "How did you know…?"
"You're kidding, right? It's everywhere on the news," said the receptionist.
"I'm not gonna attack him," promised Mario.
"I know you won't," sighed the receptionist. "His meeting concludes at six-thirty. Would you be willing to wait until then?"
"Yes, ma'am." Mario was willing to wait a full year for Mr. Sakurai to explain himself.
"I'll let him know you're here," the receptionist said brightly. "In the meantime, feel free to wait in the lounge and help yourself to some cake."
"Great. Thanks," said Mario, following the directions to the lounge area.
Maybe after he had some food in his stomach, he'd be less likely to fly into a rage when he confronted Mr. Sakurai.
1.1.1
It was time for Falco to head to his second fan club meeting. Once again, he dressed in a dapper suit and tie, blue socks and sensible shoes, and he applied cologne and slicked back the feathers atop his head. He made sure his cell phone was charged and packed a snack in case he got hungry. Finally, he decided to bring his laptop, just in case.
The avian started slightly when Fox walked into the room.
"You're heading over there?" asked Fox.
"Yeah," said Falco, "and they're going on a field trip, too."
"Godspeed, then," said the vulpine, "and be careful."
"I always am," said Falco.
The two pilots hugged, and then Falco looked into his team leader's eyes.
"If I'm found out," he said, "then they'll come for you. All of you."
"I know," Fox said solemnly.
He patted Falco on the shoulder before leaving. The avian watched him go, and then he gathered his things, hopped into his car and drove toward the designated meeting spot.
Tonight's meeting would be held at a pizza place, where the staff didn't care that they sympathized with a psychopath. Falco arrived at the pizza place just as it was closing to the public and parked in the first parking spot he saw. Just like last time, NotPaulBlart greeted him at the door.
"Welcome back, SpaceAce," he said.
"Thanks," said Falco.
"C'mon inside—the others are waiting for you," said NotPaulBlart.
Falco entered the pizza place and followed the arrows to the private dining room, where most of the fan club members were already gathered.
"Hi, SpaceAce!" sang out QSerps, dashing forward and giving Falco a hug.
"Hey," said Falco. "Nice to see you guys again."
"You're just in time," said cleaninggurl. "They're about to bring out the pizzas! We're gonna have cheese, pepperoni, veggie, meat-lovers, BBQ, Hawaiian—plus all of the sodas we can drink!"
"I can't resist a good pizza," said Falco, plunking himself down.
"Are you looking forward to the JuBoolee tonight?" asked Maestro.
"Yup," said Falco.
"Me, too," smiled Maestro. "The coordinators offered me a spot on their entertainment lineup, and how could I not refuse?"
"That's awesome!" exclaimed Falco.
"Hey, uh—how's your brand doing?" asked Doc_Potts.
"It hurts less," said Falco, "but I still have to watch my sleep positions at night."
"I had that problem, too," said Soul.
"So—are we heading to Boo Woods right after the meeting?" asked Falco.
"That's the plan," said thehelp. "H.G. chartered a bus for us, and I'll have the pleasure of driving you to the JuBoolee and then to your respective residences."
"I hope H.G. makes a physical appearance," said Falco.
"Okay, why are you so desperate to see what she looks like?" asked cleaninggurl.
"I'm just curious," Falco said disarmingly. "That's not a crime, is it?"
"Due to her idol's infamy, she's reluctant to show her face," said Hook. "We hope you'll understand."
"Okay—I can see that," said Falco.
The fan club members cheered as the pizzas arrived, nice and piping hot. The pizzas were followed by toppings and a variety of sodas. Plates were plunked down in front of everyone, and they wasted no time levering out slices of the fresh pizza.
"Mmm—we should meet here more often," said Doc_Potts.
"C'est bon," Soul chimed in.
"Best pizza ever," said QSerps.
Just then, MightyMechanic sidled in, joined by a young woman in a flower-print jumper and a straw hat.
"Phew—great!" sighed MightyMechanic, clean-shaven and wearing a suit. "I didn't miss the pizza!"
"Nope—we saved some for you," said thehelp, "and the others."
"Thanks, guys," said MightyMechanic as he and the woman sat down. "Everyone—I'd like you to meet my gal, Anna Mae. We've been together for—well, a very long time."
"Evening," greeted the woman in a genteel Georgia drawl.
"Hello, Anna Mae," said Falco. "Welcome."
The rest of the fan club introduced themselves.
"Anna Mae's gonna be my date at the JuBoolee," said MightyMechanic. "Anyone else got dates?"
"A JuBoolee isn't exactly a place for a date," said NotPaulBlart.
He bolted up as he heard more people at the door. "Be right back, guys," he said.
A few moments later, the rest of the fan club members walked in. First was a tall man wearing a black beret, a black turtleneck and holding a red megaphone. Second was a large man in a one-shoulder, leopard-print tunic. Third was a trio of blonde-haired teenaged girls, wearing purple dresses and purple top hats and carrying magic wands. Fourth was a buff guy wearing a golden-yellow button-down shirt, a clip-on tie and tan slacks. And finally was a woman with a large Afro, clad in a magenta, midriff-baring top, aqua skirt, hoop earrings and bangles on both wrists.
"Come in, guys, while the pizza's still fresh," said thehelp.
"We sure will," said the woman with the Afro.
Once they were situated with their pizza and drinks, they turned to face Falco.
"SpaceAce, right?" asked the woman with the Afro.
"Yes, ma'am," said Falco.
"I'm GloFlo," said the woman, "and I'm a DJ at a local nightclub—the most popular one, that is."
"I'm SwimFitDeep," said the buff guy, "and I teach swimming lessons at a local pool."
"We're magictrio," said one of the teenage girls, "magicians in training."
"UgaBuga works at a natural history museum," said the large man.
"And I'm MortStudioFilms," said the guy with the megaphone, "film director extraordinaire. My films have spanned every genre there is—well, almost all of them. I'm currently working on my magnum opus—a monster vs. monster film."
"Nice to meet you all in person," nodded Falco.
"All right," said thehelp. "Now that everyone's here, we can get set up."
He, cleaninggurl and NotPaulBlart got down to business hooking up the laptop and streaming equipment. Everyone else continued to enjoy their pizza. Finally, thehelp logged onto the fan club website, turned on the livestream and waited for H.G. to join.
Falco was on his third slice of pizza when H.G.'s voice seemed to come from everywhere.
"Check, check. Can you hear me?"
"Yes, we can," said thehelp. "Can you hear us?"
"I sure can. And might I say—wonderful turnout. I'm glad that all of you could come."
"Same here," said GloFlo.
"I take it you've all interacted with SpaceAce?"
"We did," said SwimFitDeep.
"Excellent," said H.G. "As you know, the JuBoolee is today, celebrating 60 years of our King's glorious rule. We're going to hold an abbreviated meeting, and then thehelp is going to drive you guys to the event. Won't that be fun?"
"Oodles," said Falco.
"Has anyone been to the JuBoolee before?" asked H.G.
Everyone responded in the negative.
"Have you?" Falco ventured to ask.
"Once," replied H.G., "when I was a young girl. I'll never forget that experience, and I hope you won't either. Hold on, everyone. A special guest is joining us on the stream."
There was a pause, and they saw another window open up on the computer—revealing none other than—
"Holy [bleep]! The man himself!" exclaimed NotPaulBlart.
"Hey, guys!" cackled King Boo. "Nice to have some face time with the few who understand me."
"It's nice to have some face time with you, too," said BigMac.
"So—I hear you're all going to the JuBoolee," said King Boo.
"That's right, KB," said Falco, "and our very first one."
"My advice—take lots of pictures and interact with as many of my Boos as you can," said King Boo, "oh, and stay for the cake. Always stay for the cake. Hey—who's the girl sitting next to the mechanic?"
"That's Anna Mae, my significant other," said MightyMechanic.
"Pleasure to meet you," Anna Mae chimed in.
"Same to you, Anna Mae," said King Boo. "I hope you guys are getting a kick out of the videos I sent you."
"We are, Your Grace," said Maestro.
"I take requests, you know," King Boo said slyly.
"We—really can't think of anything at the moment," said QSerps. "So far, you have everything covered."
"How do you, like, do that?" asked one of the magictrio.
"Do what?"
"Hack into those cameras? That's pretty interesting."
"What makes you think I hack into them?" asked King Boo. "I don't need to hack into anything when I have my magic."
"Wait a minute," said SwimFitDeep. "If you have access to your powers, then you can break out of that containment at any given time, right?"
"I could break out of here now, but I choose not to," said King Boo. "I want him to sweat, to squirm—and then I'll strike when he least expects it."
"Uh—that's not in the least bit unnerving," muttered MortStudioFilms.
"I'd hate to change the subject," said King Boo, "but, as you recall, there was a little bit of a kerfuffle inside the Smash Mansion yesterday. SpaceAce—are you all right?"
"I'm still a bit shook up, but I'm okay," replied Falco.
"Thank God our mutual friend pulled through," mused the King. "If that swarm had done him in, then I would've been so mad! Nobody so much as touches him but me!"
Murmurs of assent.
"As it turns out, the black swarm was gonna grab Mario," said Falco. "Luigi pushed him out of the way and was grabbed instead. And after the entity dragged him into Master Hand's office, he barricaded himself inside and locked down the building to trap whatever it was before fighting off its combat forms and destroying it."
"Typical," snorted King Boo. "It's always Mario—Mario first in his book. A lot of good that did me."
"And if you think about it, he's the one who started it," huffed H.G. "Who gave him the right to trespass on our King's domain?"
"Yeah!" grunted UgaBuga.
"Guys…" said Falco. "Let's not talk about such heavy stuff before going on a field trip."
"Check this," GloFlo spoke up. "When I'm having my morning cup of inspirational tea, I like to toy around with this particular thought in my head."
Everyone listened intently.
"Check it—everyone's talking about how Luigi doesn't deserve to be walked all over, y'know? And when they bring him up, they use him to describe all of the qualities they want in a friend. But what they don't realize—is that our cool King has some of those qualities, as well, and he doesn't deserve to be walked all over, either. They're all so quick to make him the bad guy and Luigi the good guy, because what? Because Luigi's the handsomer of the two? Don't they realize that true beauty isn't on the outside? In my club, I don't judge people for how they look. As long as they pay for their drinks and don't act rowdy, they're cool with me. When I'm DJ-ing, I'm making all sorts of friends."
"What's your point?" asked H.G.
"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," said GloFlo. "My thought is this—if Luigi's the underdog in his world, then so is King Boo. It's like they were destined to be archrivals because they're not that different from one another. But while Luigi fights for his own selfish reasons, KB fights for his people."
"GloFlo—do me a favor," King Boo said sweetly. "Don't compare me to Luigi, okay? Would you want to be compared to the one who usurped you twice over?"
"I wasn't comparing you to him," said GloFlo. "I'm just saying—maybe it's you who's truly the misunderstood one in this story. Luigi just carries that vacuum around to stroke his own ego and be someone he's not."
The other fan club members exchanged looks. GloFlo made a good point.
"I mean, you're the King!" GloFlo turned to her companions. "He's the f—ing King, you guys! And yet he's the one locked away like a common criminal, while this insignificant blue collar worker lives in pig-[bleep] f—ing luxury! I say [bleep] him! I say we cut his c—k off and make him eat it!"
Silence. Then—
"Aye!" shouted Hook.
"Yeah!" whooped MightyMechanic. "Amen, sister! Preach to the choir!"
"I couldn't have said that better myself," chuckled Doc_Potts.
H.G. laughed delightedly. "You're the kind of fan club member I like!" she exclaimed. "You're not afraid to speak your mind, and you like to live dangerously!"
GloFlo blushed. "Just thought I'd throw that into the open," she said.
This elicited a giggle from King Boo, and the Boos on his video feed giggled along with him.
"H.G.'s right," he said. "I like your style. But with all due respect, I'd prefer him in one piece when he goes into a painting."
"Can we decide once and for all what we're gonna do with him?" huffed Falco. "Doc_Potts here wants to drill a hole in the middle of his head. Face it—most of you want to maim him in some way. And KB—you keep acting like you wanna [bleep] him. Can we just—make up our minds, please?"
"What do you think we should do with him, SpaceAce?" challenged H.G.
"Uh—I haven't decided yet," responded Falco. "I'm just so confused, because some of you want to do one thing with him, and KB wants to do something else with him. You know what I'm saying?"
"Sure," said H.G. "I know what you're saying."
"So am I," King Boo chimed in.
NotPaulBlart cleared his throat. "Hey, SpaceAce," he said. "You abruptly left the chat room two days ago. What happened?"
"Internet problems," said Falco.
"Dude, weird Internet [bleep] happens to me all the time," said NotPaulBlart as a few others murmured in sympathy. "It's all good. I was just wondering."
"All right," said Falco. "All right—I gotta level with you guys here, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way. Luigi and I will always have that intense connection that comes with being former friends, y'know? Part of me will hate him, but another part of me will still care about him until the end of time. So, if I'm reluctant to participate in your more—intense—discussions—then I hope you'll understand."
Silence. Then—
"Thank you for your honesty, SpaceAce," H.G. said cordially. "If we want this fan club to work, then it's imperative that we be honest with each other."
"I concur," King Boo chimed in, "but Falco—here's a little morsel for future reference."
"Okay," said Falco.
"Whatever you do—don't try to [bleep] me," warned King Boo. "Don't you ever try to [bleep] me, Falco."
"C'mon, KB—do you see me as someone who wants to [bleep] somebody?"
"I still don't want to take chances in not warning you, because I have plans that will come to fruition someday," hissed the King. "I'll paint Boo Woods with that plumber's blood—two coats! I'll decorate my throne room with his guts! As for you, SpaceAce, if I find that you've been taking advantage of my friendship or of my fan club's hospitality, then you'll be dispatched by my own hand."
"Understood," Falco said quietly.
He was reminded that while the fan club members were laid-back for the most part, it would be a poor move to get on their bad side…
1.1.1
At Nintendo HQ, Mario still sat in the lounge, helping himself to snacks, sodas and fruit punch. He was beginning to think that Mr. Sakurai was stalling, which did little to improve his mood. Sitting back in his chair, the man in red closed his eyes and ran through a series of breathing exercises.
His phone hummed.
Mario opened his eyes and checked his cell phone. Luigi had sent him a text.
If you get this, please call me, it said.
Mario sighed, feeling guilty for breaking yet another promise to his bro. The last thing he wanted was to start another fight.
"I'm sorry, Luigi," he murmured, turning off his phone, "but this is something I really need to do."
1.1.1
In a castle straight out of a Gothic novel, where everything seemed to be perpetually dark and stormy, it was still a perfect early evening—to some. This castle was the property of a certain centuries-old bloodsucker who looked young and quite handsome for his age—if you can get past the grey-ish skin and his fondness for drinking blood. Anyway, he'd thrown a ginormous party in honor of his castle's newest "guest", with many of his friends, associates and minions in attendance. More than anything, though, he wanted to introduce the newcomer to his "brides"—once-mortal women who he'd irrevocably transformed into seductive vampires who happily attended to his every need.
None of these "brides" barely remembered their lives before this castle. And none of them were invited, either. They were either abducted from their homes, apartments or dorm rooms, lured into a trap, or offered as tokens of tribute or fealty. All of them had long since given up hope of being rescued and regaining their humanity, and so they served Dracula because, well, there was nothing else to do. Remaining on the Count's good side was the only way to make life (unlife?) easier.
The castle's newest arrival was none other than Chad Wrainwright, courtesy of Crazy Hand. All of the injuries inflicted by Steve, Stevie and their associates were nicely healed, he'd been allowed a shower and a hot meal, and now he was dressed in black leather—tight leather pants and an unbuttoned leather jerkin—with an expensive watch on one wrist, his hair slicked back, his beard trimmed and cologne applied to the back of his neck, his cheeks and his wrists. Two "brides" led him to the Grand Hall to meet his "host", who seemed quite enamored of him. And for the life of him, Chad couldn't take his eyes off of the Belmonts' eternal rival. Nattily dressed, long, dark hair in a ponytail, dark and smoldering eyes, a beard similar to his own and a gentlemanly demeanor to boot—God, Dracula was one sexy bloodsucker!
"Uh—may I call you Drac?" asked Chad.
"If you so desire," was the response.
Chad was invited to sit beside Dracula and received a goblet of wine.
"So," said Dracula. "I hear that you know Simon and Richter. Is that true?"
"Yeah—I'm a big fan of theirs," shrugged Chad. "What's that to you?"
"Oh—I was just hoping that you'd start talking about how they'll save you from me, so I can squish that hope like a bug," Dracula said dismissively.
"I don't even know what I'm doing here, anyway," huffed Chad. "Unless this is some twisted mockery of my love for Castlevania."
"That glove told me that this would be the perfect punishment for your disobedience," said Dracula, "but I also hope to one day tell you my side of my history with the Belmont clan."
"Looking forward to it," Chad said smartly. "I'll just nosh on a garlic pizza and enjoy the story."
"And after I reveal my tale to you, perhaps you can join with my lovely brides," Dracula went on.
"Oh—wow. Okay—I'll be making history as the first 'groom' of Dracula," said Chad. "That's exactly how I wanted my life to end up."
"Ah, my dear Chad," purred Dracula. "You'll get used to me eventually."
"I'm gonna hold you to that," Chad said wryly.
After Dracula interviewed him some more and promised that his stay would be worthwhile, provided that he follow the rules at all times, Chad was allowed to join the party and mingle with the other "guests", most of which were future "brides". He did his best to keep their spirits up, joked around with them and made them forget about their predicament for a brief, magical moment.
But once the drinks had been slugged back and all of the food had been eaten, the party wound down, and all of the guests were shown to their rooms—essentially gilded cages without bars, since they weren't allowed to leave the castle without permission. As Chad and his roommate prepared for bed, the New Englander allowed his armor to come down, praying that Charlie, Luigi and the rest of his friends would be okay and wishing for home. And while he sulked in his bed, his roommate looked over at him and decided to give him a dose of tough love.
"Let me tell you what nobody's ever told me," she said. "Wishy-washy-wishing won't get you out of here. Yes, there's a chance that Simon and Richter might come for us, but you can't expect them to do all of the work, all right? Now, quit that silly moping and get some rest. You have a few big days ahead of you."
Chad perked up, recognizing the voice. "Maria?" he asked. "Maria Renard?"
"That's me. And you are…?"
"Chad Wrainwright. We met at a convention years ago."
"Chad—Chad—I think I remember that. Rest, Chad, and no more wallowing in self-pity. We'll chat some more in the morning…"
1.1.1
Later that evening, the fan club meeting came to an end, and all of the members filed outside to find a bus waiting for them.
"All right," said thehelp. "Let's buddy up."
It was relatively easy for everyone to find a buddy. Falco buddied up with NotPaulBlart. cleaninggurl buddied up with thehelp, who was also driving. QSerps buddied up with GloFlo. Maestro buddied up with MortStudioFilms. Doc_Potts buddied up with UgaBuga. BigMac buddied up with Hook. Soul buddied up with SwimFitDeep. And MightyMechanic had Anna Mae as his date, but the two of them decided to buddy up with the magictrio.
Once everyone was buddied up, they boarded the bus, where most of them grabbed seats by the window, and fastened their seatbelts.
"Everybody buckled in?" asked thehelp.
"Yup," chorused the passengers.
"Then let's have a ball!" whooped thehelp.
Applause sprang up as thehelp started the engine and maneuvered the bus toward the freeway.
As they cruised toward Boo Woods, the passengers sang along to the pop music on the bus's sound system while watching the scenery go by. The afternoon rush hour had just ended, which meant that traffic had begun to lighten up. Toward the west, the last rays of sun had disappeared over the horizon, and the night promised to be cool and clear, with plenty of stars to gaze at.
Approaching fog indicated that they were close to their destination.
Boo Woods was filling up with JuBoolee guests when the bus pulled into the designated event parking area. Several Boos guided the bus toward a parking space and welcomed the passengers when they disembarked.
"Are you guys from the fan club?" asked a Boo.
"That's us!" cleaninggurl said proudly.
"Welcome!" chirped another Boo. "We hope you enjoy the festivities."
"Oh, we will," said thehelp. "We definitely will!"
The fan club members followed the Boos to the event's main entrance area, where more Boos stamped their hands with purple ink so they could exit and re-enter at their leisure. Then, they proceeded to a clearing, where they had a few group photos taken.
"You can pick them up before you head back," said a Boo.
"Thank you," said thehelp.
"I need to get ready for my performance," said Maestro. "See you guys!"
"Break a leg, Maestro!" smiled GloFlo.
Maestro flashed everyone a smile and left.
The fan club members made their way to the main stage, where a group of Boos directed them to sit at a cordoned-off area.
"We are so honored to meet our King's fans," said one of them.
"And we're honored to meet his subjects," said BigMac.
"If only he was here to see this," sighed another Boo.
"Don't worry—he video-called us earlier," said NotPaulBlart, "so he knows who we are and that we'll be here."
"Hopefully, we'll get to hang out with you guys more often," winked a third Boo, and then they all flew off.
The fan club members didn't have long to wait before a Boo floated out onto the main stage, giving a short speech welcoming the attendees to the year's JuBoolee. They explained that this particular JuBoolee would be special, as it would celebrate 60 years of their current King's reign. Then, a screen materialized behind the Boo, which began to show a film.
It was the footage of King Boo's coronation in 1955.
The attendees watched as the large Boo floated down the hallway of the throne room, wearing a violet royal robe, as the other Boos around him alighted on the ground. He then alighted before another large Boo with a book, who recited some sort of incantation before asking the soon-to-be King a few questions, to which he responded affirmatively. The soon-to-be-King then drank deeply from a large goblet of wine and bowed his head, upon which the other large Boo placed that bejeweled crown. The crown lit up, and the new King rose and took a seat on the throne as his subjects cheered, wishing him a long and prosperous reign.
Following the archival footage was a short documentary film, briefly discussing how the current King rose to power and how he changed Boo society for the better during the late 20th century. The film ended on a rather angry note, however, as it described the "downfall and humiliation of a titan" in 2001 and the hope that one day, King Boo would rise again to take what was his.
Well, not if I can help it, vowed Falco.
"And now," said the Boo, "for your listening pleasure, please welcome, from our King's fan club—Maestro!"
Everyone applauded, and the screen lifted to reveal Maestro, seated at a grand piano, solemn and sophisticated. Once the stage quieted, he stretched his fingers over the keys and began to play a dark tune.
It was a piece entitled "Hate", composed by an artist named Lucas King. And if anyone deserved that piece as their personal theme song, then it was King Boo. It was hate that fueled his actions, hate that allowed him to endure these last two years sealed in a vault, hate that made him so dangerous. Falco heard the original composition on iTunes, but Maestro's interpretation of the composition turned it into something else entirely. The pianist made it angrier and stormier, with a continued sustain and thundering arpeggios. Maestro was quite into his performance, as well, some of his immaculate silver hair falling loose, his eyes blazing and his face tightening with rage. There was unrestrained passion in him as he stridently pounded on the keys, and Falco was so awestruck that he froze where he sat.
Maestro gave the piece a soft conclusion, allowing the last note to echo throughout the main stage in a sustain. When it faded, the audience sat in silence, absorbing what they just heard.
And then they applauded.
Maestro stood, smoothed his hair and took a deep bow before exiting the stage.
Finally, the Boos formally invited their guests to explore the rest of the activities, booths and food the JuBoolee had to offer, and then the event was officially underway.
Various bands entertained on the main stage, along with several other stages. There were raffles and games for attendees of all ages. There was a food court, serving up the best in Boo cuisine. There were small shops, where attendees could buy souvenirs, and there were several small galleries, as well. However, while the Boos were affable hosts, they were still celebrating the 60th anniversary of their psychopathic King's coronation!
Falco strolled through the woods, eating some street food and taking in the sights, sounds and smells. He smiled as he watched NotPaulBlart win a big, fluffy unicorn for a small child by beating a carnival game. There was UgaBuga, trying out the mini bungee-jumping area. thehelp and cleaninggurl were having their caricatures done, while the magictrio were getting their faces painted. Soul was deeply absorbed in a cooking demo. Maestro was resting from his performance, noshing on a chili dog. BigMac was playing with some kids in a ball pit area. Doc_Potts browsed the wares of a small gardening shop. MortStudioFilms was also sightseeing, occasionally "finger-framing" certain happenings he walked in on, as if visualizing them as movie moments. MightyMechanic and Anna Mae were dancing to a band playing on one of the stages. QSerps and GloFlo also danced to some music. Hook was having a blast at a dunk tank, dunking the guy manning it into the water over and over. SwimFitDeep spectated a pie-eating contest, and judging by his facial expression, he was seriously considering entering the contest himself.
With a small smirk, Falco joined SwimFitDeep, hoping to goad him.
"Hey," he said. "I bet I can shred through more pies than all of these contestants."
"Really?" SwimFitDeep cocked an eyebrow. "I can plow through twice as many and still maintain my manly figure."
"Prove it," grinned Falco.
"Ah, what the Hell. Today's my cheat day, anyway," huffed SwimFitDeep.
Both he and Falco signed up for the next round.
The Boos in charge of the contest set out fresh slices of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream. Falco, SwimFitDeep and the rest of the newest contestants were given nametags and assigned a place to sit. One Boo explained the rules to them while another rallied the growing crowd. As the round was about to start, more Boos took their places behind the contestants and gently held their arms behind their backs. Whoever ate the most pie slices within ten minutes would win the contest.
The Boos gave the signal, and all of the contestants dove into their pies, sucking, slurping and making a mess. As soon as a contestant finished a slice, a fresh slice was set before them. Here, Falco made good use of his beak, using it to hold the pie crust in place while rapidly slurping away the soft filling and whipped cream. Then, he'd clamp the crust in his jaws, hold it aloft and then slide it into his mouth. And a Boo would give him another plate, and then the cycle would begin again.
Ten minutes elapsed rather quickly, and once the final results were tallied, Falco had just barely squeaked ahead of SwimFitDeep. The latter smiled good-naturedly, his face smeared with whipped cream and pie.
"Second place, zero guilt," he said.
Falco was awarded the first prize—a free Microsoft Surface Pro 3. SwimFitDeep was awarded the second prize—a Boo-shaped music player. All of the participants received a T-shirt, discount coupons for their next Boo Woods tour and a free meal at one of the restaurants in the area. The audience gave the contestants a round of applause, and then the Boos shooed them away to prepare for the next round.
"That was some great pie-eating, my friend," said SwimFitDeep.
"Same to you," said Falco.
"Mmm—glad to see that you're really into this year's JuBoolee," piped up a female voice. "Would you like to stash your prizes on the bus before continuing your experience?"
Falco whirled and found himself face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her long dark blue hair hung in bouncy curls and stopped near her waist, an alice band keeping it out of her face, and there were white pearl earrings on her ears. Dark sunglasses obscured her eyes, and her lips were accentuated by light pink lipstick. She was clad in a violet, one-shoulder gown with a crescent moon-shaped gem affixed to the chest area, and expensive perfume radiated from her. In her arms was a small, violet-furred kitty with long eyelashes and three tails, eyes half-lidded, purring softly as the woman rubbed her fur.
"Hello, SpaceAce," said the woman. "Hello, SwimFitDeep. Thanks for coming to our little field trip."
"So," said Falco. "You're the elusive H.G."
"Yes, I am. And you're the enigmatic SpaceAce."
Falco held out his wing. "Nice to finally meet you in person, H.G.," he said.
"Likewise," said H.G., slipping her hand into his wing to complete the handshake. "I figured that it would be safe to make a personal appearance, since everyone attending is firmly pro-King Boo."
"And plus, this is a shindig celebrating your idol," said Falco. "Not attending this would be a missed opportunity."
"Indeed," smiled H.G. "Would you like to meet my precious little kitty?"
"Uh—as long as she won't try to eat me," Falco replied. "I am a bird, after all."
"Don't worry—she's harmless," H.G. said disarmingly.
She whispered something to the kitty, who lazily poked up her head and studied Falco. There was a string of white pearls around her neck, and her eyes were bright blue.
"Hi," said Falco.
"Go ahead—you can pet her," said H.G.
Tentatively, Falco reached out a wing and placed it onto the kitty's soft fur, causing her to stretch out in H.G.'s arms. Then, the avian rubbed slow, comforting circles into the kitty's back before scratching her behind her hears. The kitty purred delightedly.
"You are so cute," said Falco. Looking up at H.G., he said, "That is one cute kitty. What's her name?"
"You can call her P.K.," replied H.G.
"P.K.? What does that stand for?" asked Falco.
H.G. smiled. "The Purr-fect Kitty," she replied.
Falco rolled his eyes. "Of course."
P.K. bumped her nose against Falco's wing before smiling at him.
"Aww—she likes you," cooed H.G.
"Thank God," laughed Falco. "Not all birds and cats have to hate each other. Right, P.K.?"
P.K. meowed softly.
"Good point," said Falco.
"Would you care to take a walk with me?" H.G. craftily asked.
"Uh—sure," replied Falco. "See ya later, SwimFitDeep."
"See ya," said SwimFitDeep.
Falco and H.G. walked through the festivities together.
"I remember being a little girl and watching the King's coronation on TV with my parents and P.K., thinking that it was just the coolest thing in the world," H.G. was saying. "On that day, I told myself—that was the kind of person I was gonna be. Driven, tenacious and successful—a champion of the misunderstood."
"And you are," said Falco. "Not only that, but you've also inspired others to champion the misunderstood as well—including me."
"Aren't you already doing that?" asked H.G. "Defending a galaxy and all?"
"Well, yeah, but—you know what I mean," said Falco. "I met the King, and it opened up a new chapter for me. I'm recovering from the end of one friendship and giving another a try. So—aside from watching the King's coronation, what's your story?"
"My great-great grandparents owned this popular hotel," said H.G., "which they passed down to my great-grandfather, who passed it to my grandfather, who passed it to my mother—who planned to pass it to me."
"Planned? What happened?"
H.G. growled. "A hostile takeover, that's what," she spat. Then, she smiled, "but my mom, dad and I rose up, and we took it back. And then—we decided to move onto greener pastures, so we sold the hotel. Nowadays, I'm running a hair and makeup salon. But I'd sure love to go back into the hotel business someday. It feels great, giving someone a place to rest their bones."
"Whoa. That's an odd coincidence," said Falco, "because thehelp and cleaninggurl work at a hotel, too. Should you decide to go back to your roots, do you intend to steal them away from their current place of employment?"
"In fact, I do," cooed H.G., "and you—you can be our first guest."
"Here's the thing. I don't really have time to stay at upscale hotels, since I'm constantly helping my team pinpoint new threats to stop," said Falco. "That's more or less the thing. But I appreciate your offer."
H.G. fished out a compact mirror and some powder, which she applied to her face with a powderpuff. "That's okay," she said. "I can always think of other guests to invite. Tell me, though—how did you meet Luigi? And how did you fall out with him?"
"I talked about our falling-out at my first meeting, but—the two of us met in 2001, after, well, y'know. And we were very good friends—until he let his ego get the better of him. There really isn't that much to tell."
"There isn't? Or is there a lot you don't want to tell?"
"This is something I'm trying to forget about," said Falco.
"You don't wanna talk it over with me?"
"Not during such a special occasion."
"All right. But if you need to get this off your chest—don't be afraid to come to me or to the others, yeah?"
"Don't you worry, H.G."
"We'd better head back to the main stage," H.G. said after a while. "They're gonna cut the cake in about 20 minutes."
Arm-in-arm, Falco and H.G. strolled toward the main stage, where they could hear an orchestra playing.
"Look, H.G.—I know things are a little awkward on account of Luigi being my ex-friend," said Falco, "but I promise you—I'm not going anywhere. I've got my word and my b—ls, and I won't break either of them for anybody."
"Hm—that's good to know," said H.G., "because I'm going to tell you what our King told you earlier. Enjoy yourself in my fan club. Get to know your fellow members a little more. But don't ever, under any circumstances, try to [bleep] me, because I have zero tolerance for that. This will be the only time I'll warn you, so listen very carefully. Don't [bleep] me, Falco Lombardi. Don't you ever try to [bleep] me—or my King."
Her voice had hardened, and her face went to ice as she spoke those words. Still snuggled in H.G.'s arms, P.K. slit her eyes at Falco and hissed softly.
"I won't," promised Falco as the main stage came into view. He could see Maestro conducting the orchestra, giving off a sophisticated and confident air as he did so. "I swear to you, I won't."
1.1.1
"Mario? Mr. Sakurai will see you now."
Mario finished the last of the soda he was drinking, disposed of his trash and followed the receptionist toward Mr. Sakurai's office. I will keep calm, he told himself. I will keep calm.
At the office door, the receptionist paused.
"Don't yell at him," she entreated. "Don't hurt him. And most importantly—don't break anything."
"Okeydokey," said Mario.
The receptionist opened the door and let Mario inside.
Mr. Sakurai was waiting for his red-clad guest at his desk. "C'mon in, Mario, and sit down," he said affably.
Taking a few deep breaths, Mario obliged.
"Drink?" offered Mr. Sakurai.
"Yes, please," Mario replied.
Mr. Sakurai strode to his minibar and poured two glasses of brandy, carrying the drinks back to his desk.
"All right, Mario," said Mr. Sakurai. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
"I think you know, Mr. Sakurai," Mario began in a steady voice. "I came here for answers, and I'm not leaving until I get them."
"The update patch," said Mr. Sakurai.
"Particularly—the heavy nerf you applied to Luigi," said Mario.
"It had to be done," said Mr. Sakurai. "I needed to help keep the tournament fair and balanced."
"Is that it?" challenged Mario. "Or did you want to settle a personal grudge against my bro?"
Mr. Sakurai arched an eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean."
"There's really no use in trying to play innocent. I know everything," Mario said calmly. "I know that the Year of Luigi wasn't the best year for you financially, and that you held my bro accountable. I also know that you were complicit in this—Project Nerf."
"I assume Bentley told you everything?"
Mario sipped his drink. "He did, before a mysterious portal sucked him up, along with Jeff."
"I assure you, I had nothing to do with that," said Mr. Sakurai.
"I know—that's more in Crazy Hand's vein than you."
"Mario—I get that you want to defend your brother's honor. But those combos gave him too much of a competitive edge. Some of the Smashers' complaints were justified."
"They didn't so much complain as they screamed at Master Hand," said Mario. "Nonetheless, you willingly colluded with those Smashers and with the Bennigan Brothers to drastically alter Luigi's playstyle. Those other nerfs were just sprinkled in to cover your tracks. And because of that nerf, my lil' bro was tormented for most of the month. Two people beat him to the point of hospitalization in the Training Area. It got to the point that he had to take a break from the tournaments. Yeah—it was also because he wound up suspended, but still. Your decision to participate in Project Nerf caused my bro a lot of pain. And I just want to know—why?"
"Why do you think?" Mr. Sakurai shot back. "He's an envious, bitter man and a negative role model for kids!"
"Bitter? No," said Mario. "Envious? A little, but he knows how to handle it. He doesn't let it get in the way of helping me. And a negative role model for kids? Boy, you are really missing the mark. I'd say he's a strong positive role model, because he's gentle, patient and understanding, and he puts others before himself. You're just trying to justify what's essentially an act of petty revenge."
"Do you have any idea how much that stupid Year of Luigi business took out of us?" asked Mr. Sakurai.
"All businesses have bad years," said Mario, struggling to keep his voice level. "What do they do? They learn from them and make better decisions—instead of pinning the blame on one man and trying to make his life miserable."
But Mr. Sakurai ignored him. "That green b—d. Who does he think he is? He pines for attention without doing the work, and Nintendo just kowtowed to him."
"I'd better stop you right there, Mr. Sakurai," said Mario, "because let me tell you, Luigi does his fair share of the work—and more. During our rescue missions, he's in the thick of the fighting and takes most of that turtle's blows. When I fell ill with Bean Fever, he was willing to let monsters tear him apart in order to get the cure. When I was wandering through the deepest parts of his dreams, all of his thoughts were centered on me. When I was overpowered and faced with endless imprisonment and torture by the source of his worst fears, he defied all odds and came to my rescue. The Luigi I know is the most selfless man I've ever known, a man I should've acknowledged more, and he does not deserve your hate."
"He doesn't?" scoffed Mr. Sakurai. "Do you know how many times he's shown up here when I'm trying to work, dictating terms to me?"
"He just wants Daisy to have a shot at the tournament," Mario said, softening his voice. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"Oh—but there is," Mr. Sakurai shot back. "Allow me to explain. Your brother took something from me, so I'll take something from him. Princess Daisy of Sarasaland will never set foot inside the Smash tournament as long as I'm its financier!"
Mario shook his head in disbelief. There was no reasoning with this guy.
"Wow," he breathed. "You're not paying attention to anything I'm saying, are you?"
Mr. Sakurai said nothing.
"You had a bad business year, so you're going to take it out on not only Luigi but also on his significant other, two people who didn't do anything to you." Mario was beside himself. "You don't see how disproportionate that is, because all you're thinking about right now—is vengeance. It's consumed you, it's consumed the Bennigan Brothers, it's consumed Crazy Hand and the two Steves, and it's consumed everyone else who threw in their lot with Project Nerf."
Realization then washed over the red-clad hero.
"But I won't let it consume me."
Mario downed the last of his drink and rose to his feet. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Sakurai," he said, "but there are a lot of things I need to do and a lot of apologies I need to make, and there are a lot of things you need to think about, too."
Mr. Sakurai met Mario's gaze and sighed deeply. "For what it's worth," he said, "I never intended for things to get this far."
Mario nodded and then held out his cell phone. "I'd like you to do a favor for me before I go," he said.
"What's that?" asked Mr. Sakurai.
Peering closer, the financier saw that Mario had drafted a Miiverse post.
"Hit 'Send'," Mario told him.
Mr. Sakurai hesitated. "What…?"
"Sometime this year, please," snapped Mario.
Mr. Sakurai knew that Mario meant business. So, he reached out a finger and tapped the "Send" icon.
"Pictures of you at the Project Nerf meetings, along with your rants about Luigi, are now circulating all over Miiverse," Mario said crisply. "Now everyone will know that you were a part of this ridiculousness." He smiled and pocketed his phone. "You have yourself a nice evening, Mr. Sakurai."
Mario turned and walked out of Mr. Sakurai's office. And he didn't look back.
1.1.1
When Mario returned to the Smash Mansion, he hoped against hope that Luigi was asleep. He was physically and mentally exhausted, and he wanted to get some rest before diving into a conversation that would inevitably become heated. A valet was waiting for him when he pulled up, and they exchanged silent nods as the former went to park the latter's car.
With quiet footfalls, Mario walked into the Smash Mansion and slipped into his room, softly closing the door behind him. He took off his cap and raked his fingers through his hair before replacing the cap and adjusting it to a smart angle. Then, he grabbed his remote, aimed it at the TV and pressed the "power" button.
His eye fell on the patch notes, thirty days old.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Mario gathered the patch notes into his lap, flipping through them until he reached the "L" section.
He studied the second red bullet point under his brother's name. He remembered the needless cruelty and stress which spawned from that one bullet point.
And then Mario broke.
1.1.1
Rory had just finished calling Amy when he saw Mario walk in and retreat to his room. Immediately, he dialed Master Hand.
"Yeah?" said Master Hand.
"Mario's back," said Rory. "Would you like the boys and I to bring him to your office?"
MH thought it over. "No," he finally replied. "I think we owe the little guy something."
"You're right," Rory said softly.
"Keep back for now," said MH. "I shall discuss this matter with him at a later time."
And then the call ended.
1.1.1
Mario was slumped on his bed, the patch notes slipping from his fingers and splaying onto the floor, his body quivering as silent tears rolled down his face.
Too much. It was all too much.
And then he sensed he was no longer alone.
Mario raised his head. Through his tears, he saw Luigi standing in the doorway.
And then Luigi slowly walked into the room, unsure of whether he wanted to hug Mario or punch him in the face. Taking in his brother's emotionally beaten state, he decided that the former was more appropriate. He'd just owe him a beatdown on the battlefield.
The man in green joined Mario on the edge of the bed, allowing his facial expression to soften as he rubbed his back comfortingly. His next course of action was to round his arms around Mario, drawing him into a soft but intense brotherly hug.
With that, the rest of Mario's walls came tumbling down. He returned Luigi's embrace, softly sobbing into his chest. Luigi responded by holding him closer, threading his fingers through his hair and whispering reassurances in his ear. He didn't know what had happened in Mr. Sakurai's office, but at the moment, it didn't matter. The two of them would have a long talk about this later. For the time being, Luigi was content to soothe his bro's pain in the best way he knew how—by hugging him.
It took a while, but it worked. Luigi smiled at his big bro as he recovered in his arms. First, his body ceased to shake. Second, his breathing evened out. Finally, his muscles relaxed, and Luigi felt his own muscles relaxing as he planted a kiss on Mario's forehead.
With a hum of satisfaction, Mario snuggled against his lil' bro, the beginnings of a smile scattering the storm on his face. Patch notes all but forgotten.
The brotherly embrace had done its job, and the pain was receding. Both Bros would pick themselves up, and life would go on.
However—it just wouldn't be the same. And they were okay with that.
End Season 3
Please read and review. A four-part epilogue will wrap this up.