As promised, here's the next chapter! I don't know when I'll be able to update again so let this tide you over [please bear with me :)]
And since I can't PM right now [wacky laptop] here's the answer to your recent inquiries:
yes, in hindsight that was foolish of me to put in the part about the mermaids killing all the men in their race; so I'll just change the '...killing any males born among them" line to "...many" and any other question regarding them will be answered in the next couple of chapters. They have a small role to play in the plot later on.
The spaces and stuff being messed up was a formatting issue due to my having to type first in Notepad, then correct everything manually onto the website [see above about the wacky cpu]
I had to tone what Bowser did in the rough draft of the last chapter waay down [site regulations] and besides, he is supposed to be 'laying low'. We'll see how long that lasts ;)
sadly, I know nothing about Persona or Dangan Ronpa, and the only thing I know of Fire Emblem is that there's two princes/friends [?] named Ike and Marth. So sorry.
Thanks for everyone who's been leaving reviews and supporting the fic! You guys are awesome, seriously!
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Mario or its franchise; it belongs to
Nintendo and their affiliates. I just am really grateful to its creators for giving
me such a wonderful game and media series to write about!
I also don't own anything related to Harry Potter, all that belongs to J.K. Rowling,
but thanks go to her as well because, using her wonderful work, I can expand this
story to make it more interesting.
I also don't own anything related to Naruto if you see me throw a little of that, too.
Chapter Fifteen
I feel like I'm in purgatory, a certain brown-haired ex-plumber thought to himself as he sat across from an unholy amount of paperwork. Just doing the same thing over and over and over...
That was the underside of being a soon-to-be king; there was never a shortage of paperwork to be done and there was always some clever reason behind it; for instance, he was now dealing with selecting new candidates for leadership positions and, before he could interview the potential workers, he had to figure out which ones were best for the job. In his world, this process was reminiscent of wading through hundreds of resumes, except he'd be hard-pressed to find, 'battle the fire monkeys during the Great War' under anyone's list of achievements back home.
Though look at me, He pondered absently, so I guess you never know.
And speaking of that, Mario was beginning to wonder if he wasn't paying for all his years adventuring and traveling and otherwise avoiding a mundane existence altogether. Surely it felt like the universe was forcing him to make up for the bullet he'd dodged by having the life of a prince instead of the fate of a normal, nine-to-fiver. What else could explain this?
Can't win 'em all, he figured, because though this task and others around the palace were mind-numbingly tedious, they couldn't trump the fact that he was living in a luxurious castle with servants and citizens who adored him and, best of all, he was married to the single-most wonderful woman in all of existence.
Beautiful, smart, gold-hearted, he thought, knowing her looks alone were legend.
If Helen launched a thousand ships, then Peach had started at least a dozen wars. Peach was also known for her inexhaustible kindness, even towards her enemies. That was an annoying trait at times, as proved in the incidents revolving around the Dark King, but overall Mario loved her for it. And the woman was incredibly clever and intelligent, as she'd proven time and time again, sometimes in the heat of battle and sometimes among the company of her advisers.
Not to mention she always seems to know me like no one else does, Mario added.
He leaned back in his chair for a moment and only then noticed how stiff and sore his back was. It ached on its way to meeting the cool wood chair behind it as the plumber-turned-royal lolled his head over the back of his seat. He couldn't say how long he'd been sitting in a hunched position over the table, just skimming over sheet after sheet of ink-filled parchment. Obviously many hours had to have passed. There were no windows in his war room, nor was there any source of comfort amid the stone floor, rigid chairs, and cold hard table. Even the dim lighting seemed harsh on his eyes. He rubbed at them now with his head tilted towards the ceiling and lamented his decision to choose to work in here instead of his personal office.
His office had a nice, warm oak desk and a huge red rug that spanned the entire floor. There were healthy, friendly plants that offered up a word or two in conversation when the mood struck them and a wide window with a great view of Her Majesty's private gardens. The lights in there were natural during the day, and well-lit by lanterns along the walls in the evening. And the chairs; there were two of them on either side of the desk and they were plush, comfy, and absolutely perfect for pulling back from whatever task he was doing to take a brief little nap...
Oh yeah, Mario noted as he sat up, those naps are why I came in here. I needed to get this done no later than tomorrow morning, and that means no naps, no distractions...
The prince stretched his arms overhead until his lower back popped satisfyingly-
...and no comfort, apparently, he finished wryly.
He sat up in his chair and ran a hand through his thick brown hair. His hands were glove-less for once, bare for all their callouses and scars. He wore not his uniform or any other formal garment, but a pair of black slacks and a lightweight white shirt that followed his muscular frame and curved without a collar under his neck. At his wrist where a watch was latched he glanced, checking the time. He still had a few hours left until midnight, so there was that.
But then his stomach growled.
When was the last time I ate? This morning, maybe...he couldn't be sure, not when the last eight to ten hours had bled into each other like the ink blots and the words at the corner of the pages of parchment.
It's been too long, I know that much, he grimaced. I see why they call them hunger 'pains', or was it 'pangs'? I'm starving.
But Mario didn't get up immediately because he was determined to get his work finished before morning came.
The sooner I get done, the sooner I can eat, was his motivation.
Funny, he'd only been at it for another five or six minutes before his hunger reared its head again, but he tuned it out once more. After ten minutes, it was hard for him to concentrate, but he pushed on.
I'll finish soon enough, he told himself.
Fifteen minutes went by and he was struggling to focus.
Am I even making a dent in this stack?
Twenty passed and he officially reached a state of mind where he was able to just block out everything else and devote his senses to breezing through the mound of papers as quickly and efficiently as possible. It was probably no surprise that when, ten minutes after that, he didn't even notice when someone opened the door, stepped into the room, and shut it behind themselves. He was still penning something furiously when they sat a few chairs down to the right of him and set something heavy onto the table, followed by something slightly less heavier, and then cleared their throat.
He wasn't even on this planet anymore.
Gone was his mind from the natural, physical world around him. Where food was involved, he'd become single-minded. So the person opted to take a different approach. They stood and picked up their items and walked over to Mario. From in front of him they removed the paperwork which did well to snap him out of his work-mode. He blinked, then lifted his eyes to the person in question.
"What the...Peach?"
"Good evening," The woman greeted, laying a kiss on his cheek.
But that was the only thing she said to him before taking the covered silver platter and setting it down in front of her beloved husband. She removed the lid and steam and good smells wafted from the plate underneath. Mario could've swooned.
Piled high with fragrant sauces and seasonings and bits of gourmet cheese was a piping hot plate of spaghetti and meatballs, complete with garlic bread and a small bit of parsley on the very edge of the huge plate. Peach shook her head lightly at her husband, who'd begun to salivate over the meal, and fixed a napkin under his neck. Her fingers were cool and gentle as she tucked the cloth under his shirt's neckline, and while near him she kissed him again, this time on the jaw. He had eyes only for the food up until then, but when his wife kissed him a second time he turned grateful cobalt eyes on her and kissed her right on those petal-soft, smiling pink lips. He kissed her for a good moment, for when he let her go she was flushing faintly.
"You must be really hungry," She remarked with a demure smile.
"You have no idea!" Mario declared as he adjusted himself in his seat. "You came just in time. I thought my stomach was gonna' eat me!"
Peach chuckled at the ludicrous claim and took the other item she'd brought with her, a thick glass bottle, from the other side of the table. She opened the dark pink container and reached under the table for two of many clean glasses she knew Mario kept there, along with his companion bottle of scotch. She poured the harmless, fizzy pink drink into two cup and set one down near Mario. He immediately took a sip and nodded his thanks.
"You're amazing, you know that?" he told her. "You really are a blessing, Peach."
She colored under his praise and said softly, "I knew you'd been working all day, and I know how much you love pasta."
Mario hummed in delight as he took his first bite of the meal. He was in pasta heaven, all right. He took his time savoring the food, relishing in the taste of the diverse spices and herbs. He thoroughly enjoyed it all, and when he was almost finished, he began to look from his food to the woman who'd brought it. She was sitting down to the right of him, picking up where he left off with the paperwork. The notes she was making in the margins of the parchment were much neater than his, and her expression was adorably diligent and attentive. She sat up straight and her bright eyes darted from left to right as she read over everything carefully. Every now and again, she'd sip at her own drink, never breaking eye contact with the papers.
Mama Mia, what a woman, Mario thought with a warm smile and even warmer feeling blooming within him. He knew it wasn't indigestion, it was and indecipherable emotion founded on his intense love for that magnificent princess. He finished his food with a sort of love-sick grin on his face, glancing up at Peach very often. He couldn't say he'd lived a more perfect moment since his wedding and his little brother's birth.
"Peach?"
"Hm?"
"I love you, woman."
Peach gazed at Mario, eyes only slightly widened in amusement and surprise, and then beamed. She continued working, but paused to say.
"I love you too, Mario."
"Yeah, I can tell, my lovely, lovely wife." Mario chuckled.
After cleaning his plate, he picked up the parsley to chew on and closed the silver lid over the tray. He pushed that to the side and washed the parsley down with the rest of the fizzy pink drink. He was utterly contented. With a full belly and a heart full of affection, he grinned again at Peach and leaned back in his chair. Standing, he lumbered over to her and moved to take the paperwork.
"No, I got it." She insisted.
"I don't want you to have to do this boring stuff." Mario protested.
"Then we can split it." Peach suggested.
Mario nodded and took a little more than half of her stack of unread, unmarked papers. She noticed and swatted at his arm playfully, but he moved too fast for her to take some back. Mario went back to the head of the table and plopped down in his seat to work. He started reading over the first page and nearly reached the bottom before something occurred to him.
"I don't have another pen." He blurted.
Peach smiled down at her work and said, "Serves you right for taking more than your share."
"Let me use yours."
"I don't think so, Mario." Peach now grinned. "There's more of them in the stationary closet."
"That's down the hall," He pointed out.
"Exactly," She spoke knowingly. "Go on now, you need a break anyway."
Mario huffed without any real aggravation and shook his head at her, then stood and headed for the door. He went to the stationary closet, yes, but he also made another stop at the liquor cabinet and returned with more than just a pen. When he got to the war room, he shut the door with a cheshire-cat grin.
"What is that?" Peach asked, curiously tilting her head.
Mario said, "A little something to enhance your fizzy um..."
"Fizzy Punch." Peach supplied with a tugging smile. She asked, "What do you mean, enhance?
Is that Champagne?"
"Indeed it is, my fair lady." Mario grinned.
He settled in his seat and took another cup from under the table. He filled it halfway with Peach's drink, then poured enough Champagne to top it off. However, instead of taking it himself, he gripped the sides of the cup and slid it over to Peach. She caught it between fingers that were as gloveless as her husband's, and eyed said man skeptically.
"Go ahead," He encouraged.
She worried her bottom lip and gazed at the drink warily. She wasn't one for alcohol, all through her years of being groomed as a princess she'd been warned to abstain from spirits and wine unless it was a special occasion. But Mario was giving her a double thumbs up while wagging his thick brows ridiculously so, with a laugh, she brought the glass to her lips. It tingled on her tongue and left bubbles in the wake of its descent down her throat where it rested in her belly like a little bundle of warmth and sunshine, bringing a silly smile to her lips for a second. She carefully slid the glass back to her husband and turned back to her work.
Mario chuckled at her reaction before downing the rest of the glass himself. He then got down to work like his wife. But he just couldn't get into it. Maybe it was the good feelings hanging over from the excellent meal, or maybe he was just giddy around his wife, but he found himself pushing aside his work and pouring another mixed drink. It should have been noted that this one was comprised less of punch and more of champagne. He again slid the cup to his wife to let her have the first drink.
Peach shifted in her seat when the glass arrived in front of her. She blinked and glanced pointedly at her papers and then back at her husband. He just shrugged flimsily and maintained a grin. Peach shook her head and took a sip, this time more confidently than the last. She was surprised to find less of the Fizzy Punch and shot an accusatory, mock-scolding glare at Mario, who just laughed. She slid the glass back to him.
It couldn't be said how many times they did this, going back and forth, but with progressively more and more champagne being imbibed, the pair began to relax considerably. Mario's grin grew lopsided and goofy, and Peach felt as if her bones and muscles were as malleable as soft wax.
This feels strange, she observed almost like a third-party, but it does feel sort of good.
Her head felt light and she kept smiling for some reason, as if in anticipation of some hilarious punch line. It was harder to work without reading over some words or lines twice, not for blurred vision but for inattention. She wanted to get up and do something, to move, but rigid docility instilled within her throughout her childhood kept her seated. Mario wasn't faring much differently, for he didn't get that brain-bleached feeling like he did when he took shots of scotch to the head, but he was getting sensations akin to those of his adventuring days; hyper, boisterous vibes that made him feel invincible and reckless.
That could explain why, having put a bit too much gusto behind the action, he sent the glass full of drink careening towards Peach where it toppled over and spilled all over the papers in front of her. She'd tried to catch it but her fumbling resulted in no success. For a moment, both of them just stared at the mess and the only sounds that could be heard were the steady drip-dropping of the liquor from the table onto the floor.
Then they both burst into a fit of laughter.
For Peach, it was true laughter, something she was beginning to indulge in more and more since she got married. She didn't care how she looked for once as she giggled out loud with her eyes on her husband. Mario was laughing even harder, for he loved to laugh and this seemed as good a time as any. But promptly he grew sober and stood, and lumbered over to his wife. He stood over her and Peach blinked unsurely, wondering what he was up to. He bowed low at the waist and waved out his hand with a flourish.
"Would you indulge me in a dance, sweet Princess?"
Peach giggled and blushed a bit and said, "But Mario, there's no music!"
Mario began clumsily humming a waltz and bobbed his head to keep time. She couldn't say a word for how hard she was laughing now but graciously took his hand and rose from her seat. Instead of a dress she wore wide-legged white silk pants with a wide waistband and a dragging hem, and a plain, short-sleeved red blouse that was loose but still cut nicely against her upper body. At some point, her curly pent-up bun transformed into a messy one with errant locks on either side of her face. Her chuckles died down but a sweet smile remained on her lips as she let Mario lead her in a whimsical, sweeping dance around room. He was bad at avoiding the table, and every time his foot or hip came in contact wood his humming would give way to an 'oof!' and she'd be torn between her concern for him and her amusement at his antics.
"We should stop!" She declared louder than she intended, but then, Mario was humming VERY loudly.
He said, "Why stop now?"
"It's too small in here!" Peach laughed, "We may fa-"
She couldn't have called it a moment sooner, for at that moment Mario's two left feet ushered them into an impromptu encounter with the stone floor and they fell in a tangle of limbs near the door.
Somehow a chair went down with them.
The room was flooded with the sound of their laughter and Mario, ever the romantic, scooted against the nearest wall and drew his wife up near him. She couldn't recall a time where she'd smiled and laughed this much, but that could be due to the copious amounts of champagne she'd ingested tonight.
She laid her head against Mario's chest and he rubbed her arm lovingly, propping his chin on the top of her honey-colored hair. She closed her eyes and listened to him continue to hum softly. This time he wasn't humming some nonsensical tune, he was humming something soft and heartbreaking and tender, and the song was accompanied by the thrumming beat of his heart right under her ear. She never felt more loved than she did now, and she knew it'd be this way for as long as they were together.
She also knew she'd probably wake with a crick in her neck.
"Master Luigi?"
Someone woke me up and for a moment I didn't know where I was. Laying on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place was strange at first, then I came to my senses and remembered that I was in the palace now. I'd woken early this morning and had breakfast in the dining hall but, with nothing to do, I'd found myself taking a nap in the middle of the day. Later I was supposed to go and see General Zair, but that wasn't until this evening. Unless it was evening now.
I sat up and blinked over at the person who'd called to me, a woman at the door of the guest room. I rose from the bed and went over to her, glad for my decision to keep my shirt on before going to sleep. I tugged it down over my pants as I walked and hoped there wasn't any slob crusted on the side of my face or anything.
"Hey." I said.
The woman, who I was taller than, said, "Good evening, Master Luigi; General Zair would have a word with you at the steps of the palace."
So it is evening, I realized.
Then it registered in my mind that she'd mentioned the general and I noted how she said this all in one breath; was everybody in Chai so efficient, even down to speaking and structuring sentences?
"Alright, thanks for letting me know." I told her, and I'd like to think I was getting better at interacting with people around here.
She smiled in a perfunctory manner before turning on her heel and walking brusquely down the hall. I stuck my head out the door to see where she was going, and lost track of her once she reached the end of the corridor where it gave way to the front area of the palace.
Ducking back into the room, I went over to the bed and straightened the sheets, then headed to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth again. And since I did all that, I went ahead and changed into a clean black t-shirt over my black sweats. Only then did I shove my feet into my trainers and head to the door.
I wonder why Zair wants to meet on the steps; I hope we're not going anywhere, I thought with fervor. I was still partially drowsy and just wanted to talk and go on about my business. Really didn't even feel like talking, to be honest. I wanted to go back to sleep.
Oh well, I mentally shrugged as I got to the front of the palace. Like the woman said, Zair was there in all black, like me, with his hands behind his back and his face all calm and pensive. I didn't know what that meant for me.
"You wanted to talk?" I said in greeting.
The General nodded but didn't look at me, rather, he stared ahead at the field in front of the royal estate. It was still mildly light out, so I could make out the guards and the swaying grasslands and a tiny bit of the city way beyond here. It was also quiet out, save for the soft whistle of wind every now and again.
"What did you think of the troops?"
I was prepared for questions, though I didn't know when and what form they'd come in, so when the General asked that I took a moment to frame my reply.
I stepped up beside him and said, "They're…unique."
I really didn't know much about them yet, so I couldn't say much more. That alone gave Zair something to chew on, though. He continued to stare straight ahead and I studied his profile, trying to figure out what he was thinking. I did see his mouth twitch in one of those brief smiles.
"That they are." He remarked.
"You said you selected them all?" I asked casually.
Now Zair faced me and leaned against the railing of the palace's porch. He leveled those intense black eyes on me and nodded. I was sorely reminded why it was a good thing he hadn't been looking at me until now; his stares could be downright unnerving. They made me feel like a petri dish under the eye of a meticulous scientist.
"Did any of them stand out to you in any way?" General Zair then asked.
I was about to answer negatively, but then three names flew to the tip of my tongue.
"There was one named Troy," I recounted, "And two girls named Portia and Lise-Marie."
Don't ask me which was which, though
"Ah, Portia." Zair hummed. "What did you think of her?"
I shrugged and said, "She was…the one with the purple hair, right?"
"Indeed."
"She seemed like an interesting girl." I answered.
General Zair chuckled and said, "Oh, I'm not sure I would use that word, but you'll see what I mean soon enough. Did you find out what further training your troops will be needing?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Uh, something dealing with the outdoors and nature and…stuff. And with prison, er, being imprisoned. And I guess with fighting and combat and stuff."
That sounded so much better when I was thinking about it yesterday, I internally groaned.
General Zair grew quiet and I wondered, not for the first time, what he really thought of me.
He said after a beat, "I believe I know who may be able to help you in those areas. But one of these days you'll have to indulge me with a personal account of your experiences with the old Dark King."
For what?
I, for the life of me, couldn't fathom why he wanted to know about that. Well, I take that back; as a man of violence and war, he probably found stories like mine to be interesting, or even entertaining. Weird, but to each his own.
"You want to-"
General Zair saw it the same time as me: coming up towards the palace was a group of troops and officials that made up Daisy's entourage. I didn't finish my sentence before I started climbing down the steps to meet her. General Zair held my back by the shoulder.
"Don't do that." He advised.
I frowned and said, "Why not?"
"Protocol." He said in explanation.
I could've sworn I saw another of his flashbulb smiles when I shook my head a little and kept going anyway. I hadn't seen Daisy in what was going on a couple weeks; screw protocol. But that kind of mentality wasn't even necessary because, before I even took my first insubordinate step, the group split and Daisy came rushing towards me with a smile that was full of relief and love and a bit of weariness. I met her halfway and couldn't wait to wrap my arms around her.
"Ah!"
She only hissed where I cried out, startled. Both of us broke apart for a second and looked down because that's where it hurt. I could see a dark spot blossoming on my shirt, making it stick to my chest. I rubbed the area and winced because I'd definitely been cut and was bleeding. In the same place there was a red spot on Daisy's blouse. She pulled down the neckline her shirt with haste and some of the troops averted their eyes. I didn't, as I wanted to see the damage and why it was done.
"Oh no, I completely forgot!" Daisy exclaimed.
"What is that?" I asked in regards to the piece of shimmering pink…something that was lodged in her skin.
She made a face and plucked it from her skin, then poked her cut as I had. This made her cringe and she took something from around her neck. It was the same shade as the debris in her skin was, so I had to assume that was where our injuries had come from.
"This," Daisy spoke, gesturing to the broken shell-like necklace, "was very important and I forgot I was wearing it. It broke when we were hugging, I'm sorry, let me see your cut."
I shook my head and said, "I'm fine, it's just a scrape. Are you okay? That looks like a lot of blood."
The top of her blouse under her neck was marred by a red splotch that was alarmingly wide in diameter for just a cut. I think she got the brunt of the 'attack'. She was still staring at the shell in her hands in frustration.
"I can't believe I forgot," she mumbled.
I think I stood with the rest of the people gathered when I worried after her health. In fact, one soldier present was so concerned, she stepped forward to solicit after her princess.
"Your Majesty," She began carefully, "should you not go at once to the medic wing?"
"Right, right." Daisy nodded absently, still frowning at the pieces of shell.
She sighed in defeat and just cupped her hands around it while walking briskly towards the palace. I kept up beside her and laid an arm around her shoulder. As we passed through the doors, I noticed General Zair staring at us.
To Daisy I asked, "Are you sure you're alright?"
She sighed again and leaned her head on me as we walked, nodding. She was leading us to the medic wing though that wasn't even necessary because I'd been there enough times to know where it was by now.
That and the dining hall, I added.
"I just had so much on my mind riding home," Daisy admitted, "And it was so light and I totally forgot about it, and by the time I saw you I was just so-"
"You know you don't have to explain yourself to me, Daisy." I told her gently.
"I know," She said quickly, "But that thing was really, really important!"
"Why?" I wanted to know.
She said in a lower tone, "In short, it could've helped me-us take down Bowser."
Both brows flew up as I glanced down at her. She knew I would want to know the details, and thus shook her head before I could ask her anything else.
"I'll tell you all about it once we're done in here." She promised, as we'd now reached the infirmary.
I nodded and wondered how something so small, so pink, could be any kind of help against the nasty old king.
Well it is pretty sharp.
A/N: Thanks for reading!
I'm surprised I was able to do this, honestly. My brain feels like it's full of mexican jumping beans [too much coffee] I'm so jittery and I can't focus and man I can't wait until this passes...that's my fault for trying to stay awake to work three freaking jobs...anyway, sorry for rambling down here.
See you next time!
~DymondGold~