He wasn't aware a minion guidebook existed, and maybe it's better to pretend it doesn't.
How Morton Breaks the Rule:
The sun hangs above the sky on a lazy afternoon in the hidden civilization of Tulip Town. Morton always loves the feeling of the sun on his scales since he experiences the dry temperatures and glaring sun of the desert whenever they're assigned fortresses. Over the course of his life, he's come to appreciate the barren gold sands of the desert and, his favorite part; its consistent sunny days.
Right now, the blaring sun cooks his exposed scales and it's like the security provided by the toasty warmth of a blanket cascaded over his shoulders. His familiar bright friend looms over him, persistent and always there even when momentarily shrouded behind a stray cloud.
Content, he kicks his feet to an upbeat melody stuck in his head brought on by Larry practicing his DJ mixing skills. The bag of seeds he brought sits beside him on the bench and Morton gathers up a handful of seeds in his palm, gingerly lifting it before sprinkling it onto the ground beneath his feet.
The birds are quick to peck at the ground, noisily chirping and squawking their praises as he watches with a continual joyful warmth spreading in his chest.
Some days, Morton gets this urge to slip out of the castle, traversing through various pipes to find a suitable place to enjoy the sun and bathe in its radiance without anyone fearfully shouting at the sight of him. It's how he found this quiet little town full of Toads, Goombas, and various species of Koopas isolated from the prejudices of the feud, living their lives harmoniously between the thick forests.
Here, they barely register his existence, living in their fairy tales without a care. He can't help but enviously witness their jovial lives from his spot, aimlessly wondering if he'll ever reach that level of tranquility. Realizing he's moping, he perks up on the park bench he's currently lounging on and coos to the cute little birds gathered in front of the bench.
The small park is located in the town square, a glistening fountain, bordered by the town's namesake, bubbles up clear water a few feet away from him, casting a cool mist upon his face when the wind slightly stirs.
The birds especially love the fountain and they splash their wings clean or take a meager sip before darting towards Morton's bench. He tosses the chattering songbirds an after bath snack of various seeds. His handful of seeds litter the ground and the birds make clean work of their free lunch.
Smiling like a happy goof, his carefree expression turns melancholic when he notices his sagging, empty bag beside him. Mourning his last good handful, he evenly distributes the seeds to the little chickadees and sparrows waiting for thirds.
Eyes scanning the collection of birds, he names off their species in his head; black-capped chickadees, robins, song sparrows, and a lone female cardinal. Morton debates if he has time to run back to the store to buy more food; he'd hate to disappoint the collection of birds he's gathered.
Although, he realizes his friend should be here any minute. Coincidentally, and perfectly timed, he hears someone call his name as the thought passes through his brain. He raises his head to spot Toad, Princess Peach's loyal companion always at her side, waving frantically at him while carrying a hefty paper bag loaded with various items spilling from the top.
Toad jogs over to Morton and his tiny winged-friends, nearly bringing him and the groceries with him when his clumsy feet catch on a slanted brick on the pathway. Thankfully, Toad remains upright, yelping as he teeters back to balance himself.
Toad's helpless shriek startles some of the more timid birds, they flutter rapidly away, but Morton knows how courageous the birds are when food is right in front of them. They'll flock back in minutes, after everything settles.
Toad smiles at Morton in greeting, skillfully dodging past the braver birds still eating by his feet, and plops next to Morton on the bench, leaning over to examine Morton's empty bag.
Toad lets out a drawn out whistle. "Wow, you're already out of seeds?"
Morton nods sadly, shoulders sagging. "Morton got too excited."
Toad's friendly smile morphs into a knowing smirk as he digs into his bag, noisily searching for something. Like a magician, he pulls out a full bag of seeds and lets out a cheery 'Tah-dah!' as he sets the bag beside Morton.
Morton beams his appreciation, eagerly opening it before digging his hand inside the bag. Toad chuckles and waves it off with a bashful grin before his hand joins Morton's to grab a handful for himself. Morton gingerly tosses down more seeds and, like he predicted, his flock returns in full force, chittering away like nothing happened.
They sprinkle more food for the birds in a calm and comforting silence until Toad purposely clears his throat. It has the desired effect as Morton looks up at him, a brow raised questioningly.
"Why do you like to feed them so much?" Toad randomly asks, dropping more seeds at Morton's feet.
It's a valid question with a simple answer. Well, simple to Morton. He deduces someone as small, squishy, and cute as a Toad wouldn't understand his dilemma. Don't get him wrong, Morton is proud of his giant mass since his burly physique helps protect his family when it matters most. And they seem to appreciate his muscles too.
Well, actually, Roy despises how big he's growing because he claims he's losing the competition (whatever that means), and there are times when Morton wishes he was as tiny and charming as Lemmy. He wishes to experience the benefits of being seamlessly adorable.
Unfortunately, most people choose to avoid him because he's as intimidating as an unmarked monolith, standing tall and shadowing smaller creatures while Lemmy has a collection of admirers and friends that flock to him as much as the birds flock to Morton.
His gigantic growth spurt isn't his only issue. Words are difficult for him to say aloud. He doesn't understand why his words can blend like beautiful poetry on paper and sound so well-thought out in his head, but then disassemble and fall apart.
He may as well be speaking garbled, childish gibberish when he attempts to breathe life into his writing by reciting it out loud. It's frustrating, it's the reason he rarely speaks, but he tries to enunciate and convey his feelings with his expressions and gestures alone.
He knows—though no one has outright said it—that the castle occupants and soldiers under his jurisdiction think he's dumb. He knows his enemies probably think he's a bumbling idiot without a brain inside his thick head. It… it hurts to think about. The self-depreciation he suffers from only gnaws a bit deeper every time someone looks at him with their condescending stare.
Animals don't have the capacity to cast him that stinging look. He likes how they rely on him, even if it's just for food. They don't care if he scrambles up his words or butchers his sentences, they don't care how big he appears; they trust his gentle pats and handouts.
"The birds aren't afraid of Morton or think he's dumb," Morton finally responds to Toad's question, cupping out his hands in front of him as an offering. A little finch lands in his palms, tiny head flickering as it studies him before pecking at the food.
He smiles when some of the finch's friends join their companion, deeming it safe enough to indulge, proving his statement. No matter how big or scary Morton appears to others; the birds don't shy away from him. No prejudices, no regarding him with anxious eyes, no screaming for help; it's just Morton and his friendly group of birds.
"I'm not afraid of Morton either," Toad proudly exclaims, chest puffed. He startles some of the more overly cautious birds with his naturally high-pitched and scratchy voice. When Morton directs his attention to him, Toad's heroic cadence falters. He sheepishly smiles, glancing down at his knotted hands, appearing smaller than normal.
"I mean, I thought those things at first, but you're not so bad," he admits with a tinge of remorse. It warms Morton's tummy to know he's liked by someone other than his siblings. Especially someone so fragile and defenseless.
This little friendship they've forged happened as sporadically as Iggy's convoluted ideas.
Toad and Morton coincidentally met in this town, practically colliding when Toad turned the corner with a handful of supplies, unable to see over his messy stack. Toad screeched in terror, dropping everything, and causing quite the commotion amongst the townsfolk who, without any knowledge of the outside world and its problems, deemed Morton a docile creature and let him be.
From there, Toad became convinced Morton was up to no good or partaking in some secret, diabolical plot. He not-so-inconspicuously tiptoed behind Morton, taking notes and snapping pictures, while Morton pretended not to notice.
Eventually, Toad grew bolder until he cornered Morton, interrogating him, and threatening to bring Mario next time if Morton refused to supply answers. Confused by his insinuations, Morton explained his frequent visits to Tulip Town and the reasoning behind them.
To Morton, the simplicity and quaint atmosphere of the town makes it beautiful. The local wildlife thrives as much as the townsfolk and every street corner contains a fresh bloom of tulips. What wasn't there to like about the town?
Toad, at first, appeared insulted, like he couldn't believe Morton thought he was stupid enough to fall for that excuse, before it morphed back into seething distrust and empty threats. It was as transparent as a glass window that Toad didn't believe a word Morton had said.
Not at all persuaded, Toad still tailed behind him like a loyal shadow, testing Morton. Somehow, as the days passed by, the maliciousness Toad displayed turned to confusion, then uncertain suspicion, until he landed on reluctant acceptance. How this friendship took off, Morton chalks it up to luck because the coincidences were too coincidental to explain.
Though, to Morton, it doesn't matter. However it happened; they're friends. Morton has a friend. Someone who enjoys his company without regarding him with fear. Stirred by the fluttering happiness in his chest, Morton gently bumps Toad with a friendly elbow.
"Toad isn't so bad either," Morton replies with a grin on his face. "He doesn't smell like mushrooms at all and he brings the best snacks."
Toad chuckles until his eyes grow wide like he's remembered something. "Oh! That reminds me—" Toad parts open his paper bag, digging through the snacks he brought. He pulls out a bag of sliced bread crumbs then shakes the bag. "I got some bread crumbs for the Cheep Cheeps in the pond. They're probably pretty mad at us since we forgot about them last time."
Morton beams excitedly, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the stragglers of seeds stuck to his palms. He hops off the bench, minding the birds still eating below him.
"Let's go," he practically squeals, shifting from foot to foot.
Toad nods in agreement and grabs his bag while Morton promises the birds they'll be back. Together, the Toad and Koopaling, the oddest pair to probably walk this park, stroll past the fountain and towards the pond in the center of the park.
To cross to the other side of the park to reach the playground bustling with children, a wooden bridge is built over the oddly shaped pond next to sagging willow trees dipping their branches into the water and bordered partially by cattails.
The wooden bridge creaks as Morton steps on it and, unconsciously, he shuffles timidly towards the center, wincing slightly whenever the bridge groans a bit too loudly. With his heavier weight, there's always this unfounded fear that he'll plunge into the water below.
He knows it's a silly thought, but when you have to maneuver your way through door frames or duck to get through certain corridors of the castle; you start to wonder if anything is built for you.
Morton and Toad stop in the middle of the bridge, hugging the railing, and leaving enough room for anyone to easily pass by them. Morton peers over the side and spots the red, shimmering outlines of the Cheep Cheep's crimson scales and their fluttering tail fins.
Toad hands Morton a few bread crumbs to toss and Morton doesn't waste time in doing so. The small school of Cheep Cheeps are alerted immediately by the disturbance above the water. The smack of their lips fills the air and Morton giggles. As he reaches for more bread crumbs, he notices Toad's dilemma.
Toad's height has as many downsides as upsides; he's too small to reach the railing and has to look through the horizontal wooden bars instead. His arm barely reaches through the space between the wooden bars attached to the railing.
Morton deflates, feeling a wave of sympathy for his poor, vertically challenged friend. Then, he gets an idea. He's inspired by Lemmy and how often the smallest Koopaling has ridden on his broad shoulders for fun.
Without thinking of the possible repercussions of grabbing at a skittish Toad, Morton hooks his hands underneath Toad's arms. Of course, it startles poor Toad.
Morton immediately feels regret crashing into him as Toad shrieks in alarm, flailing like he's drowning and waving the bag of bread crumbs in the air. Panicking, Morton quickly places him on one of his shoulders, patting his arm apologetically and mumbling 'sorry' over and over again.
Even if Toad claims he's no longer afraid of Morton, this is still pushing a boundary somewhere. Physical affection isn't something this friendship has ever experienced besides a high-five or occasional elbow bump.
So, why would he think this was a good idea?
Mentally, Morton scolds his lagging brain for not deducing this possibility sooner. He can feel Toad still shivering, trying to recover. He can't find the proper words to say, he chooses to say nothing.
"W-warn me, next time," Toad stutters breathlessly. Thankfully, he doesn't sound angry, just surprised.
"Sorry," Morton solemnly replies. He nervously twiddles his claws, afraid he's done something he can't repair.
Thankfully, the quaking fear doesn't last long for Toad, and he settles comfortably into his new position. He uses his new vintage point to his advantage, leaning slightly to toss down a handful of bread crumbs to the ravenous Cheep Cheeps below.
Morton watches Toad's eyes light up since he finally can witness their feeding frenzy without peeping through slits of wood. He lets out an elated chuckle and chucks another piece of bread as far as he can.
Morton doesn't know if Toad's nonchalance towards this situation is purposeful or if Toad is that comfortable being with him. He decides it isn't worth debating right now; all that matters is feeding their fishy friends.
With a happy smile on his face, Morton takes the handful of bread crumbs offered to him and tosses them into the pond. They both begin to laugh loudly at the silly antics of the overzealous fish.
Three down. Oof. Why do I like to torture myself?
