DEATH OF A PLUMBER

Note: This story takes place right after "Plumb Skulls", my other Mario fic.

Chapter One: The Passing.

I couldn't really remember the exact weather conditions on the day we learned our dad had died. Balmy perhaps. It was funny though, since the rest of the day's events are still perfectly clear in my mind.

We had just undergone a mistrial at the hands of the honorable Judge K. Koopa due to the tampering of evidence -- specifically, a plunger and a pair of extremely large glasses -- and the last thing we had ever expected to endure was a death in the family right after the proceedings.

We were given a specially-lined phone that tapped back into the mainland, which was quite unusual for a courthouse. It was then when the news came, that Papa had passed due to old age. I'll never forget the look on Brother's face as he was given the startling news.

Mario and I were, quite simply, stunned. We had been raised and taught by our father, and the tools he had given us were still attached to our belts. To us, he was invincible. Why did he have to leave us now?

I sat, gently squeezing my green cap in my hands. It was our father who designed the L and M on our clothing, much to the dismay of my brother. To him, it felt like he was carrying Papa's name, which he really did not want to do. He had always thought of himself as his an inferior successor.

Papa was our role model. We did everything like he used to do: hop over obstacles, climb to high places, and collect coins. We the money we'd earned, Brother and I went into business and became the Super Mario Bros. we are today.

Having received the chilling phone call, we promptly entered our prepaid taxi and made our way into the darkened streets of the night. Awkwardness soon turned to gloominess, and Mario and I refused to talk to each other until after the service.

---

"We are gathered together on this somber day to witness the final resting of Mario Varnis Mario, local plumber, hero, and friend. Some say he was more skilled in saving damsels than unclogging sinks, but he was always the heroic figure in the eyes of those who looked up to him. He had his trademark mallet, which he'd obviously passed down his first son, but his ability went beyond any simple tool or item. His knowledge was his best asset, and that is quite simply why we are here today."

The crowd acknowledged Peach's hastily prepared eulogy, and it was finally time to lower Papa into his place of eternal rest.

---

As we returned to the limousine, Brother and I were once again locked in silence, and nothing would break it, even as we made our way toward the Princess' secluded property.

The car had chugged its way over the cobblestone bridge and across the moat into the castle. We could see the pennant flags were already at half-staff as the vehicle swept under the archway, and the servants' eyes focused solely on the marble floor as they saw us.

We stepped out and greeted a visibly disconcerted Princess Toadstool at the grand foyer, which seemed to have been darkened out to suit the troubling mood. She too refused to speak, and instead gestured us into the dining room for a solemn dinner.

The servants apparently chose their least colorful food for us, reflecting the emotions we were going though. I supposed this was a challenge for the caterers, since their trademark was to make their meals as bright as possible. So, unfortunately, the only digs at the table were burnt mushrooms, toasted bread, and dry leaves.

Before we could eat, the group had an impromptu moment of silence. It wasn't so bad, except that it lasted 30 minutes. Perhaps it would have lasted even longer, if it hadn't been for Mario's sudden sneeze, breaking the concentration.

After that ordeal, we had been invited to sleep over until we could get over our uneasiness. We agreed, and were given the darkest rooms in the murkiest part of the castle -- to be appropriate for the situation, of course. The two of us couldn't bear to see our tool belts hanging near the beds, so we stuffed them out of sight, in the adjoining guest closets.

I watched myself in the mirror. So this is it. Mortality. I picked up a pair of scissors. Maybe I should trim this moustache -- make it stylish, neater.

What am I saying? I tossed the blades into the sink.

Later, I decided to lay in the bed, though I knew I wouldn't get a blink of sleep.

At that point, I had forgotten whether I had actually begun to dream, of if I had stayed awake; Strange shapes emerged from the ceiling, and swirling starbursts of color made their way across the walls.

But then, if just for a moment, I could swear I saw someone's face.

Papa?