§3 Sloth
It was a great honour for a child of Angel Land to be chosen as one of Palutena's royal guard. Only the fittest, healthiest and most blue-eyed of Angel Land's children were eligible for selection, with the selection process continuing from birth to the age of six, when the lucky successful few joined the Angel Scouts. From this point on, the parents would never see their son or daughter again, and they never had any say on whether little Johnny/Janie joined the Scouts or not, but then why would they want to? It was the greatest honour an angel could receive!
At entry, the new scout got his or her new name – something memorable and yell-able, like Pit or Kary. Then it was four years of non-optional gruelling training, at the end of which you graduated into Palutena's Army proper. After that, the only direction was up – you could be promoted, to corporal, lieutenant or, for those who showed special distinction, Palutena's own guard. The one highest rank of Captain of the Guard was usually taken by an angel of thirty years or up.
Pit had become a scout at four, finished it in two years, spent three in the army, two more in the guard and become captain of it at the ripe old age of eleven. And in all that time he had never had the slightest idea who his parents were, or been allowed to find out. He could have been a Project Z clone for all he knew.
It was this, along with many other matters, that clouded Pit's thoughts as he drove the Saturn Pork Bean east through Eagleland towards the industrial metropolis that was Smashville. His hair was back in front of his eye and the metal music was plugged into his brain again. He looked at the miles of grey tarmac in front of him with an empty unseeing stare. He felt immensely lonely.
"Pit."
He knew that gentle, melodious voice, which easily drowned out his music. Clenching his teeth, he attempted to concentrate on the road in front of him, but despite his best efforts it faded into a peach-coloured glow until the only thing he could see in front of him was the woman with green hair, dressed in a simple white robe and immensely beautiful. Shutting his eyes did no good – it was if she was emblazoned onto the undersides of his eyelids.
"Listen to me, Pit," she said in a voice that almost sang.
"Leave me in peace, why don't you?" shouted Pit. "If you won't help me, then for Palu… For pity's sake leave me in peace!"
He could see the two of them now, standing against a radiant orange cloudscape, facing each other in conversation. He could see himself hunched and withdrawn, and Palutena gentle and radiant as the noonday sun.
"I cannot see my most trusted soldier like this, dispirited and lost," said the goddess. "Thus I appear to you once more – to let you know that, even after you have left my service, I am still with you always."
"Oh yeah?" shrieked the angel. "Then where were you when I like asked for an army to stop the LOVE? Where were you then, huh?"
Palutena's voice remained completely untroubled. "As I told you, Pit, to send my forces down to fight the LOVE would leave Angel Land unguarded at the same time as drawing attention to it. My first priority must always be my people and their protection."
"More like your protection!" shouted Pit, tears squeezing from his eyes. "You're just like the Yoshis! Selfish right until they show up at your door!"
Palutena stepped forward with almost feline poise and gently wiped Pit's burning cheeks. He tried to push her away but could not.
"Pit, I know you are angry with me," she said in her unchanging tone. "But I wish for nothing more than your safe return. You are wasting your time here. Come back to my side."
"No!" said Pit sharply. "I'm not wasting my time any more."
Palutena looked almost put out. The watching Pit smiled.
"Okay, so I spent a long time being too afraid and lazy to do like anything," he saw himself say. "But this is different! I'm helping to save the world, with the League of Legends. I'm a legend! Not just in like some tiny country in the sky no one's ever heard of, but across all the planet! I'm a hero!"
There was silence in the peachy clouds. At length Palutena spoke.
"This is really what you want, is it?"
"Yes!" shouted Pit.
"Fair enough."
The conversation, the two figures and their celestial backdrop began to fade. Slowly their place was taken once more by the motorways and roads of southern Eagleland. As the image dissipated, Palutena turned away. Was that it? Was she just going to leave him to fend for himself? She couldn't! She couldn't just desert him!
And then she was gone.
"Yeah, you better run!"
More huddled than before, Pit continued his lonely drive, the caves and small cityscapes giving way to trees and open fields, all of them utterly deserted save by Porky's mutants. Walking trees and mushroom-dog hybrids watched the Pork Bean drive by, while from inside Pit surveyed the landscape in confusion.
One New Pork City… Two New Pork Cities. And, just visible on the cloudy horizon, a third New Pork City. All of them had their respective Empire Porky Buildings intact, despite the skyscraper's destruction following the epic battle in which both Porky and the Project Z clone of Ness had been destroyed. Pit was unsurprisingly bewildered.
That they were holograms or illusions or something, this much was certain (or else Eagleland had done some really quick building work over the last three days). What was not was who would order them now that Porky was dead, and who would create the illusions now that Project Z Ness was dead, or evaporated, or whatever. They could have created another Ness, but the LOVE conversation overheard in Hyrule Castle seemed to suggest that clones took a while to make, and Porky had only received the Ness clone after that, less than a month ago. And that raised the question of how Porky had kept the people of Eagleland subjugated before that. This was all ignoring the fact that for some reason Eagleland was still as empty and abandoned as a ruin.
Questions built upon questions upon questions, and made huge piles of questions and put them between slices of bread to make question sandwiches, and spread thick chunky question on top.
None of them made Pit feel any better.
o o o
The massive double doors swung open with a groan. Any town gate worth its salt has a long, low and imposing creak, and Smashville was no exception in this regard. Pit's footsteps on the stone floor echoed ominously through the stone gatehouse, lit only by two flaming torches on the walls.
"Hello? Anyone here?" he cried.
"Hello."
The voice came from behind him. Pit leapt into the air, but managed to choke down his scream. Turning around, he saw what was definitely a dog but looked more as if it had been cobbled together from two different breeds. It had the flabby jowls of a bulldog, but the small nose and, underneath its green hood, the alert ears of a German shepherd. In addition to its smart red jacket, it also had what appeared to be a large metal eye patch, the core of which flashed red occasionally.
"I'm Cooker," it said flatly. "What can I do for you?"
"Er… hi!" said Pit with false cheeriness. "My name's Phillip Lightwing. I'm going to like visit a friend in Smashville, if that's okay!"
"It's not. All entrance to Smashville has been banned."
That explained why all the roads in had been blocked off. But it did not explain…
"Banned? By who?"
"Master Porky, of course."
"But Porky's dead!"
As he said this, Pit choked and covered his mouth with his hands in a way that completely failed to repress memory of what he had just said. Then his hand flew to his bow and he prepared for conflict.
Instead, Cooker's one good eye softened, while his eye patch's display became fuzzy and indistinct. He tottered unsteadily up to Pit, coming up to his neck, and looked at him with a pathetic expression.
"Are… are you with the LOL?" he said in a hoarse voice.
"Er… maybe?"
Cooker waddled over to a telephone attached to the wall, picked up the headset and dialled in a number, all the while looking hopefully back at Pit.
"Kapp'n Kabs? I want a cab from the gatehouse to the Town Hall please. That's where Nook is at the moment, right?"
"Wait," said Pit, his eyes wide. "Tom Nook?"
"For a visitor," continued Cooker. "He says he's on special business. Okay, thank you."
He spent the entire call staring at Pit. After replacing the handset, he waddled back up to him and, looking from side to side in exaggerated fashion, beckoned him down.
"Please help us," he said. "This town is cursed. Master Porky has done horrible things to us all. Especially me."
"What's he done to you?"
Cooker pawed at his eye patch. "Originally, there were two guards to this gate. Booker and Copper. Now, just one. Do you have any idea how much torture it is, to have two different personalities yelling in my mind? All for the sake of 'cool'."
"But Porky's dead now!" whispered Pit. "I saw him die."
Cooker shook his head sadly. "He never dies. He never, ever dies."
A horn outside cut short any further questions.
"Go now," said Cooker softly. "You don't have long before they come for you too."
Going through the gatehouse's other door with a final look at the dog-beast, and feeling much less secure than he had done when he entered, Pit stepped out into the world of Smashville.
o o o
He sat in the back of the yellow taxi as it hummed along the Smashville main road, looking out of the window. His driver was Kapp'n himself, founder of Kapp'n Kabs – he was a reptile who had run a boat service until it ran into financial trouble, and who had been rescued from poverty by the finances of Tom Nook. It was Tom who had invested in Kapp'n Kabs, now a thriving taxi firm. However, Kapp'n still maintained the nautical vernacular and a passion for sea shanties, much to Pit's annoyance. There were only so many times he could hear "Cucumbers, cucumbers, they make me strong" before switching his music player back on and staring out of the window.
The most striking thing was the emptiness. Although they drove past houses, restaurants, clubs, pubs, bars, shops and all sorts of places that should have been full to bursting, the only people Pit saw were a few Smashvillans (easily identifiable by their large skulls and propensity for being talking animals) running from one place to another. Not only were people not being allowed into Smashville, they seemed to have been chased out of it.
Other than that, he mostly saw factories, roads, more factories and one small park with a cherry orchard, a fragment of the old Smashville refusing to adapt to its more recent changes. Not long before the LOVE had taken over, Smashville, which had relied for income on its fishing and tourism industries, had been pushed to the brink of bankruptcy by the financial decisions of an inept yet unopposed mayor. In what had seemed like its darkest hour at the time, Tom Nook had stepped in and effectively bought the city. He turned a semi-rural environment, mostly trees and grass with some beautiful beach, into a fully urbanised cityscape focusing on manufacturing. It had dragged Smashville out of the muck of poverty and into the muck of pollution, and now everywhere was grey housing, grey industry and grey shopping centres with Nook's beaming mug on them.
Tom Nook… Who hadn't heard of him? Ten years ago, he had just been another village shopkeeper. It had been a mixture of razor-sharpness, contacts and (they said) a certain disregard for rules and standards that had made him the head of an international chain of supermarkets only five years later. Now there was a Nookington's on every other street, and in an age when everything was LOVE-owned Tom Nook was still very much in charge of his own business. Rumour had it that he had even paid off Smashville's LOVE overseers, first Meta Knight and then Porky, to retain some degree of autonomy. And now Pit was going to the Smashville Town Hall, where this retail mogul was in the flesh?
"An' here's the Town Hall, me hearty!" crowed Kapp'n. "Now, ye'll be talkin' to Tom Nook about some livin' space here. He'll fix yer up!"
"You mean… I'm just meant to go in there and… and like ask him for a house?"
"Arr! Go on, he won't bite!"
Pit got out of the taxi with legs of jelly, Kapp'n beckoning him towards the grey concrete block with the clock on top of it. It was not quite as big as Pit had expected from the Smashville Town Hall, although it was just as ugly. Somebody had made a feeble effort to brighten things up by planting massive white daisies in some small plots around the front door. It was a dismal failure.
The wooden double doors were the only concession to the old ornate building which had been demolished a year or so ago. Inside them was a white room that reminded Pit of Mushroom Kingdom hospitals – small and cold and unpleasantly sterile. The only decorations were some wooden benches and copious posters littering the walls, mostly depicting an old tortoise pointing with a cane and saying "Vote for me!" Behind a shiny metal counter was a white pelican dressed in a second-hand suit, shabby yet carefully cleaned and patched, and as she waved invitingly to Pit she seemed like the only warm thing in the room.
"Hello!" she said as Pit walked over, stepping carefully on the slippery floor. "Welcome to the Smashville Town Hall!" She tilted her head on one side and looked at Pit questioningly. "Are you new? I didn't think anyone we were letting anyone into Smashville at the moment."
So I saw, Pit did not say.
"I'm here on special business," he said. "Name's Phillip Lightwing. Your gatekeeper knows I'm here."
The pelican nodded, and although her eyes remained curious she seemed satisfied.
"Nice to meet you, Phil!" she said, shaking Pit's hand warmly. "I'm Pelly, personal assistant to Mayor Tortimer. If you're waiting for him, he's just in a meeting with Tom Nook at the moment. He'll be finished shortly."
"Er, actually," said a slightly embarrassed Pit, "it was M-m-mr. Nook I was hoping to see."
"Oh!" said Pelly, looking faintly disappointed. "Well, he'll be finished shortly too. We owe such a lot to him, you know. He paid for the renovation of this building!"
Spent as little as he could on the outside, Pit did not say. And on your suit. You'd think that once you'd practically bought up an entire city you'd try to make it look nice.
They stood and looked at each other awkwardly for a while, Pelly seemingly bursting with questions but too professional to ask them and Pit not wanting to seem too inquisitive. After a while Pelly busied herself with sorting some papers, and she was humming and doing this when an automatic door behind her slid noiselessly open.
Stood in it were three beasts. The tortoise looked even older in person, with glasses, a white beard and that walking stick to support his doddery frame. He topped off the effect with what was once probably quite a chic top hat, but which was now coming apart at the seams. On either side of him stood one raccoon dog, the pair bearing resemblances to Tom Nook beyond their smart blue suits. In fact, apart from their open innocent eyes and small stature they looked identical to the shopkeeper.
"Ah, welcome!" croaked the tortoise, hobbling forward. "New arrival to the city, yes? We heard from Kapp'n. My name's Tortimer, the charismatic mayor of this municipality! Heh heh horf!" And he descended into a coughing fit.
"And I'm Timmy Nookling!" squeaked one raccoon dog, bounding forward and grasping Pit's left hand.
"And I'm Tommy Nookling!" squeaked his twin, doing the same on Pit's right.
"We're Tom Nook's nephews!" squealed Timmy. "Tom's busy today, so we've come to visit Mister Mayor in his place!"
"…his place!" finished Tommy, who had been mimicking Timmy a second later.
"Welcome to our humble city of Smashville," said Tortimer, recovered and shaking Pit's hand. "Mr. Nook – and by extension his nephews – will be in charge of providing you with accommodation. He is also the owner of Nookington's, our local supermarket. Pelly here is the town hall clerk, and I…" Here he broke off for another coughing fit. "…I am the mayor! I am in charge of everything!" He spread his arms wide. "All hail me!"
Pit saw Pelly looking sympathetically at the old figurehead. The Nooklings stared at the floor awkwardly.
"So, then, welcome to Smashville!" said Tortimer. "Mr. Nook – and by extension his nephews – will be in charge of providing you with accommodation, and he's also the owner of Nookington's, our…"
"Mayor Tortimer, I think it's time for your nap!" said Pelly quickly, extricating herself from the counter and grabbing the tortoise's gnarled hand. "All these meetings and greetings tire you out, you know! You need to rest now."
"Oh yes, of course, of course," muttered Tortimer, allowing Pelly to lead him into the back of the office. "Well, nice to meet you, young… er… boy! I hope I can count on your support in the upcoming election! Vote for me!"
Pelly opened the door and pushed the chelonian through, still muttering to himself. She gave Pit a quick glance as she followed, her eyes conveying a mixture of worry and hope. Then she was gone, leaving him with the raccoon dogs and the sound of the clock from outside.
"The election's not until winter and he's the only candidate," said Tommy sympathetically.
"…candidate," mimicked Timmy.
"You must come with us, outsider," continued Tommy, dragging Pit by the left hand towards the door while Timmy did the same on the right. "Our uncle's in charge of providing all new arrivals to Smashville with the best quality of accommodation!"
"…accommodation!"
Kapp'n was waiting for them, waving from his taxi. It was getting dark and the sky was hurling large globules of water at the ground. The Nooklings put up umbrellas with Nookington's logos on and struck out towards the cab; as Pit followed them, he noticed that the giant daisies had disappeared. Someone must have picked them. He got into the seat beside Kapp'n while the Nooklings fastened their seatbelts in the back.
"Let's go and see yours, hm?"
"…yours, hm?"
o o o
Pit sat in his bedroom with knees up to his chest and his red blanket tucked around himself, listening to the howling wind and the similarly howling gyroid downstairs.
"The best quality of accommodation" constituted a two-floor two-room house with no heating or plumbing. Upstairs was a wooden floor, a small bed and a telephone so old cavemen might have used it to complain about the decline in mammoth populations. Downstairs was a stone floor and bare brick walls, with decoration consisting of a cardboard box, a candle on top of it and a radio playing fifteen different channels of interference. The toilet was a pit outside and the shower was falling from the sky, and Palu… goodness only knew what he would do for food. And when he closed his eyes, he thought that he heard the scuttling footsteps of cockroaches.
The journey had been short and mostly uninteresting. Kapp'n was absorbed in his own marine world, and the Nooklings muttered to each other, obviously utterly uninterested in Pit. Thus he turned on his music player and watched grey wet house after grey wet house pass by, with the occasional grey wet factory for variety. He had the misfortune to see something else as well – a grubby bungalow emblazoned with flashing neon signs, proudly declaring it to belong to the "Able Sisters", of which the scantily clad bipedal porcupine with the hugely inflated chest, winking over her neon shoulder, was presumably one. It had made Pit feel quite ill.
They had continued in this way, Kapp'n failing to raise anyone's spirits with his nautical airs, until they reached the house. It had a garish yellow roof that resembled ectoplasmic green in the darkness and precipitation; other than that it was a bog-standard grey terraced house, which did at least have the benefit of a patch of grass and a solitary giant daisy in front. The tour around the establishment had been unsurprisingly brief, after which Timmy had given Pit a jiggling metal cactus-robot as a gift. They had called it a "gyroid", and apparently gyroids were all the rage nowadays. It made him rage all right – the wretched thing shrieked like a banshee sat on a drawing pin. After getting it wailing, Tommy had tossed him the key, the two had muttered something about a mortgage and they vanished off into the night, leaving Pit feeling lost and alone.
Why had she left him? This thought kept cycling through his head. Palutena came upon him in a vision every month, which invariably ended with her pointing out how lazy he was being and how little he was doing, him shouting about her not helping and him telling her to push off, which she would reluctantly do. But this time, she had just left, of her own volition. Had she abandoned him completely? Was he alone?
Maybe he was alone. Alone in a strange land, with no one to assist him. But he'd show them. He'd show them that it took more than a draughty house and a strange dog to scare him. Once he got back, they'd acknowledge him as the greatest hero of all!
These thoughts gave him a new confidence. He got out of his bed, threw off his headphones and looked defiantly out of the window, out into the rain. Time to show the doubters that the soldier who had saved Angel Land from the dark armies of Medusa still had it. Afraid? Pah! He was afraid of nothing!
Nonetheless, the first thing he did with his newfound confidence was to hurl the gyroid head first into the road.
o o o
Pit was woken by a loud rude knocking at the front door.
It had not been a good night. The rain had eventually ceded and stopped drumming on the thin roof, and the bedroom was cosy enough. It had been a long time since Pit had lain in a comfy bed of his own. But Pit's fears were not so easily banished, and when he slept it was fitfully and intermittently. Once, he woke up to see what looked like eyes peering in at the window.
But now it was morning, and birdsong was filtering through the windows, and the "bam bam bam" on his front door was refusing to desist. Quickly pulling on his clothes, and wondering whether getting some more from a Nookington's might be a good idea, Pit ran down the stairs, yawning broadly, and pulled open the door.
"HEY YOU!"
The area in front of Pit's house was well paved, but that had not stopped the furious brown mole from digging his tunnel up through the middle of the slabs. He was waving his pickaxe around with such gusto that Pit was afraid it would either knock his yellow mining hat off or embed itself in Pit's stomach.
"Did you break this gyroid?" he yelled, holding up the offending article. It still shook and gargled slightly.
"Er… Yes?"
"NO LITTERING! I don't want to have to be coming over to your house every day, busting my head on the sidewalk when I come up, but believe you me I'll do it if I have to!"
"Sorry sir!" said Pit, waving his arms frantically. "But… I mean… It's not exactly clean around here anyway! All the like pollution…"
"Did you just… talk back to me?"
"Uh…"
"NOBODY TALKS BACK TO ME! And do I look like a cleaner to you? 'Cause I ain't. I'm the law 'round here motherfucker, and don't you forget it!"
The mole took a couple of deep breaths and stuck his pickaxe into the ground.
"Whoo. Got a bit carried away, huh? After all, you're new in town. Jeez. My doctor keeps recommending me to take long walks on the beach, but my legs are too stubby for me to enjoy them, and the beach is all dirtied up anyways. Anyway, how-de-do. I'm Mr. Resetti, head of law enforcement in Smashville and champion digger."
Pit waved awkwardly. "I'm Phillip. Nice to meet you…"
"Ah, don't lie to me, boy," said the mole. "Never nice to get yelled at first thing in the morning. Now, you just don't go doing things like that again, y'hear? Or else next time you see me, I'm gonna be wearing my angry hat. And lemme tell you, it's one ugly hat. Trust me on this one. You trust me on this one?"
Pit nodded mutely.
"Good. Now SCRAM!"
In a flurry of earth, Mr. Resetti descended back to his home, somehow managing to leave behind no trace of molehills or broken paving or any signs of his presence. All that remained was the little man who had been standing behind him, about half as tall as Pit, completely red and with a large familiar-looking daisy sprouting from his cranium.
"…Hi there?"
The red man had eyes and a nose, but no other facial features; yet it still managed to make a little squeaking sound and look happy to be addressed.
"Are you one of the giant daisies?"
A nod, a squeak, a smile of the eyes.
"Do you like know the way to the town hall from here? I ought to explore the town, but I can't remember the way…"
Another squeak, and the red man was running ahead down the path, bouncing up and down and beckoning for Pit to follow him. Looking around briefly, Pit shrugged his shoulders and followed his new friend. Better a silent plant-man than a talking dog.
o o o
This was all trees once.
Pit wandered through the concrete jungle after the plant man, looking around somewhat cautiously (for fear of seeing something as soul-destroying as the Able Sisters' establishment). Some trees still remained, and a few even put forth feeble attempts at fruit, but it was a far cry from how Smashville had been before Tom Nook had urbanised the place. Flying over it on missions for Palutena, Pit remembered the fruit orchards, the lush green grass, the scattered detached houses with their cheerful-looking animal residents, going fishing or bug-catching or digging for fossils. Now the fish and arthropods were the victims of the factories' pollution, and any fossils had been tarmac-ed over.
The plant man squeaked and led Pit down a dark alley between two rows of terraced houses. The alley was lined by dustbins and some patches of bare soil where paving stones had been forgotten or destroyed. Poking from these were more giant daisies. Pit followed his guide, his right hand clasping Palutena's Bow tightly under his tunic.
"You there. Boy."
The voice came from nearby, and sounded faintly elastic. Pit scanned around frantically, but could see no one in the alley save the red man, who looked equally bewildered.
"Down here."
Pit looked down between the dustbins and saw, peering up at him, a small beige blob on two feet. It had a large nose and whiskers, no discernible mouth and a pink cloth wrapped around its body. If bits of this description sound familiar, that is no accident.
"Hey! You look like that vehicle I had to leave outside the gate!" said Pit.
"Sssh!" hissed the creature. "Not tell. In disguise, zoom."
"Are you Mr. Saturn?" asked Pit, bending down. "The note on the car said…"
"Guess right, boing. Listen careful now. Time is short."
The red man bent down beside Pit, and both listened to the blob.
"You think you finish Porky in Eagle-ish Land. We think so too, but much wrong. Porky flee. Maybe flee here. I try find out, ding ding."
Pit moaned. The villain had been in the Empire Porky Building when it collapsed. How could he still be alive? Maybe Cooker was right. Maybe he never dies.
"Porky man do much bad things to Smashville, Boing. You find out what, save town before finish you."
"But wh…"
"Search for pigeon with the museum. Ask for coffee. Much good. Zoom zoom."
"'Pigeon with the museum?' But what…"
Too late. Mr. Saturn was off and living up to his last words, his little feet propelling him surprisingly quickly out into the road. Pit stood still for a minute, before turning back to the equally bewildered-looking red man.
"Right," said the one with the mouth. "We need to like find a 'pigeon with the museum'. So I'm going to ask at the town hall, see if they know anything, and you tell me if you like sniff anything dangerous…"
Behind the red man was a yellow man with ears but no nose, and a blue man with a mouth but no ears. Other than that the three were identical, and the new arrivals had appeared so suddenly they might as well have burst out of the ground – as indeed they probably had done.
"…and you let the blue guy know if you hear anything, and then you shout. Got it?"
The men nodded, and Pit turned around, almost bumping into a purple daisy man broader than he was and a thin white one with large pink eyes.
"And you squash anybody who tries to stop us, and you… look at them in a creepy manner and make them feel uncomfortable."
The new members of the happy crew nodded in turn, and the six of them set off together for the town hall, the red one in the lead and Pit starting to feel his stomach's reminders that he had not eaten since his arrival in Smashville.
o o o
Time passes.
The plant men had left Pit outside the Town Hall. Inside, Pelly had been only too happy to share not only her map but her breakfast sandwich (which was a pathetic enough affair as it was – bread, butter and a few pieces of brown-ish lettuce) with the young "Phillip", suggesting that he visit the museum and the beach. Once the tourist highlights of Smashville, Pit could not quite believe the pelican's assurances that they remained as scintillating as ever, but confronted with the afraid yet hopeful look in her eyes had no choice but to promise to visit them both and assure her that he would enjoy them. Pelly looked grateful, but had to hurry off at the sound of a coughing fit from the back room.
With his vegetable cohort leading the way, Pit walked down the empty streets towards the Smashville Museum. The buildings grew more and more decrepit as he made his way, following dirty signs that pointed to what in a previous time had been the pride and joy of the city. Pit was too young and too foreign to remember the days when global newspapers had trumpeted it as "home to some of the greatest collections in the world", but if he was not he would have.
He plodded on, occasionally watching a stray Smashvillan rushing on its way and observing his growing ranks. The large daisies had found their way into every stray patch of weed-ridden earth, where they towered over clovers and dandelions, and when Pit walked past they popped out as one of the five colours of plant men. By the time he saw the tumbledown-looking museum he had an army of nearly one hundred multicoloured soldiers around him, making him feel a little braver. So what if Palutena wouldn't give him her armies? He had his own! And he marched along, chest puffed out, following their directions.
And time passes.
o o o
All was quiet down at the Roost. The brightly flashing slot machines and the dog-shaped jukebox sat unused in their corners, looking out at columns of chairs upended on tables. Behind the bar's counter, a dumpy green pigeon with black mustachios peered at his book through small glasses. He flicked through the pages with nary an upward glance until the Roost door slammed open, a sweaty Pit half-fell inside and the pigeon toppled off his chair with a squawk.
It had been an exhausting morning. Pit had dropped into the museum to ask its curator about any pigeons that might be affiliated with it, and had ended up being dragged on a tour of the exhibitions by a large and vocal old owl. The museum was obviously past its best – its paintings were faded, its fossils were falling apart and many of its arthropods and fish were dead or dying. The owl obviously knew it, and while he attempted to talk up the fading establishment he had tears in his eyes and slipped in many times how the museum was "entirely donation-run". Pit eventually handed over a small amount of Hylian rupees in pity. In exchange he received a massive feathery hug and learned that the curator's former best friend was a pigeon, but that they no longer kept in touch and if he wanted to find the pigeon he would have to ask the owl's daughter, who ran the observatory.
Tom Nook appeared to have paid slightly more attention to the study of the skies than he did to that of art or the natural world, for the pudgy young owless revealed that she had received a small amount from him to keep the observatory going. Upon knowing that Pit had met his nephews she asked whether they had mentioned her at all, and seemed quite disheartened at the negative answer. Nonetheless, she was more helpful than her father and told Pit that the pigeon in question ran the "the Roost" bar, and even gave him vague directions. Then she burst into tears and started stroking and talking incoherently to her bulging stomach. Pit caught Tom Nook's name as he ineffectually patted her back and, when this failed to elicit a response, quietly slipped out.
Having finally reached the Roost, the weary Pit was disheartened to see the outwardly open bar looking so closed, but the pigeon collected himself up and started pulling chairs off tables.
"Hello there," he said in a low whisper. "Welcome to the Roost. What can I get you, young man? A beer, perhaps? Or maybe something a little stronger?"
Pit had never drunk alcohol in his life. Palutena forbade it. As a result, he was sorely tempted to take the pigeon up on his offer, just to stick it to the (wo)man, but restrained himself.
"Just a cup of coffee, please," he replied.
Brewster froze mid-lift. Then he slowly put down the chair, walked up to Pit and looked deep into his eyes.
"Coffee?"
"Yes please."
"Coffee?"
"Er…"
"COFFEE!"
He had grabbed Pit's wrist, and the angel felt his hand lose circulation. Behind his spectacles, the pigeon's eyes had a manic tint.
"Is that you want, eh?" he almost shouted. "Coffee? Not beer or lager or spirits? Coffee? You want coffee, right?"
Pit tried to back away. "Er, not if you don't want to…" Why did the animals in this city have to be so terrifying?
The pigeon looked skywards, flapped his wings and cooed loudly. "Not want to! Young man, I was a famous barista once, renowned for my skills with the grinder and milk jug. Now, people only come here to buy alcohols." He spat the world out, soaking Pit in the process. "Sir, this is your lucky day. As a reward for making me feel alive again, you will experience the best java in the whole of Smashville, nay, in the whole world, free of charge! And I'll throw in a turnip sandwich as well!" He grasped Pit's head, rotated it and looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. "Hmm. I'm getting equal parts sweet and bitter, with a hint of sour and a milky aftertaste… I have it! Be seated, and watch Brewster brew!"
It was indeed an impressive display. Brewster ran behind the counter and suddenly became a tornado of whirling crockery. Cups, bottles and coffee beans flew about the pigeon's head in a truly hypnotic fashion, each one seeming as if it would surely fall to the floor and shatter but somehow never escaping Brewster's feathery grasp. A cup and saucer emerged out of the chaos, placed on the counter with barely a tinkle. Then the machines behind the bar began whirring and humming, while Brewster continued his dance with strainers and various glass implements. Somehow brown liquid appeared in the cup, then sugar, then milk and finally a spoon, arcing through the air, landed in the cup smoothly and with minimal splash. Brewster picked up the saucer tenderly in two hands and offered it to Pit.
"Here," he whispered, stroking his creation. "Take it and drink it while it's hot."
Pit raised the drink to his lips cautiously, determined to put on a brave face regardless of the taste. He need not have bothered. Just as Brewster had promised, the drink was equal parts sweet and bitter, with a hint of sour and a milky aftertaste; just as he had expected, it set Pit's taste buds dancing with unadulterated ecstasy. The boy was forced to put the cup down and savour the taste for a while before swallowing it, which he did with a massive grin. In the meantime, another cup and two sandwiches had appeared on the bar.
"Let's get comfortable," said Brewster softly, turning on some lights. "Draw up a bar stool and make yourself at home."
Pit did as instructed, while Brewster sipped at his drink and took a peck of his sandwich.
"So, what brings you to the Roost?" said Brewster, in a voice as soothing and warm as his brew.
"Celeste told me you were here," replied Pit.
"Ah, old man Blathers' stargazing daughter. Blathers and I go way back. The Roost used to be part of the museum, back when it was a coffee joint. Unfortunately we fell out when I moved here and the Roost changed from coffee shop to bar. He thought I was selling out, catering to the lowest common denominator." He chuckled darkly. "Good thing I did, though. You've seen the museum, I take it?"
Pit nodded. The sandwich tasted much worse than the coffee.
"And why were you looking for me?" Brewster asked, wiping froth from his mustachios. "Surely not just for a cup of joe?"
Pit was still unsure whether to trust the pigeon. What would a small beige creature in a pink robe know about the crises of Smashville? Might as well ask the vegetable men he had left outside. However, in the light of having no other leads, he took a deep breath, looked into his cup and spoke.
"A friend told me that you might know something about Porky."
Brewster no longer seemed to be looking at Pit. His eyes were focused just to the left of the angel's head. Pit in turn looked past Brewster and into the glass eyes of the dog-jukebox. It was a white bipedal terrier, holding a guitar and with a menu screen of songs in its stomach.
"He made that for a start," whispered Brewster.
Pit blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry?"
Brewster lowered his voice so far that Pit had to lean over to hear it. "K.K. Slider was a brilliant musician, but strong-willed. Played here every Saturday once, even after it changed, giving out copies of his music to anyone who asked. Said music should be free. Well, the LOVE didn't like that. They can't tax something being given away for free. So one day, he walks out of here and I don't see him again. But this jukebox turns up on my front doorstep, with a label attached: 'A generus gift from Master Porky. You better apreshiate it, bird brain.'"
Pit gulped.
"It was all right in Meta Knight's day," breathed Brewster. "He left the city to itself mostly, and when he did visit to check up on things it always seemed as if he regretted having to do it. He set up the LOVE propaganda machine here, with all its speakers and screens and posters, but other than that he was a decent ruler.
"Then he vanished three months in, and Porky took over. The amount of posters and speakers doubled overnight, and we started getting broadcasts proclaiming the greatness of 'Master Porky' at all hours of the night and day."
Pit remembered them from New Pork City. Gruesome, unsubtle, sickening.
"That wasn't the worst of it, though," Brewster continued. "It wasn't long before people started to go missing. You'd get crowds of Smashvillans wandering the streets, holding up pictures of their loved ones and crying and wandering the streets. Others would simply come to my bar and sob into their pints. Sometimes you'd hear of someone being found, but they'd changed – either their personality was different, or they had robotic additions and couldn't remember where they'd got them, or after a while they suddenly snapped for no apparent reason and killed their families."
Pit felt like he was listening to his playlist, read out by a softly spoken pigeon.
"It carried on for ages like that, the population of Smashville slowly being whittled down, until people were afraid to leave their homes."
"Why didn't they leave Smashville?" asked Pit.
"Haven't you looked outside? There's a massive steel gorilla with iron balls attached to its arms, patrolling the outside of Smashville. The few who tried to escape – we never heard of them again."
Because they found out that the gorilla was a psychic hallucination and got away, Pit did not say.
"And then, about a week ago, all the roads in and out closed down," the pigeon went on. "On behalf of Tom Nook, his nephews told Cooker not to let anyone in or out. They said it was nothing to worry about, just a precautionary measure that would soon be lifted…"
Of course. Tom Nook, the money-hungry shopkeeper who had owned the entire city before the LOVE came onto the scene. Did it not make perfect sense that he was helping Porky out in exchange for being allowed to keep his grubby paws on his business and in Smashville's pie? Of course it did. Maybe he'd feel differently when faced with a hundred vegetable men and had an arrow up his nostril. Pit finished up his coffee and his sandwich – bleak though it tasted, it was his first meal since arriving in Smashville.
"Thank you for your help, Brewster," he said, standing up. "I'm sorry to have to leave so soon, but I think I need to do some shopping."
He put down a few coins in front of the pigeon's confused face, waved farewell and strode out towards the door; before he could leave, he felt a feathery appendage grabbing his arm.
"You're from the outside," whispered Brewster, his eyes with the same hopeful glimmer as Cooker's and Pelly's. "Tell me something, sir. Just before the way out shut, my customers from outside would mention an anti-LOVE group. They called it the ROFL or something. Do you think they might ever come here? Do you think they might come and save us? Before we all vanish, that is."
Pit removed Brewster's wing kindly but firmly and put on his best badass action hero face.
"Nope," he said. "This is something I have to do on my own."
Brewster wondered to himself whether his new customer needed a laxative.
o o o
The main Nookington's of Smashville was towards the south end of the city, and it was large. It towered over the trees around it, catching the rays of the high afternoon sun on its shiny metal exterior and beaming them directly into Pit's eyes. A large red sign bore the name of the store and its emblem of a leaf. Outside the automatic doors, which like everything else about the store were large, Pit stood flanked by his vegetable army who milled around excitedly, jumping and squeaking and numbering about two hundred. Pit was rather disappointed by the automatic doors. He had hoped to be able to kick down the front entrance and threaten whoever was inside with his bow. As it was, he would have to improvise.
"Tom Nook!" he yelled. "Open up! Justice is here, and it wants a word with you!"
It was not the best line he could have come up with. A few minutes' thought and he was sure that he could have given the world a remark that would have gone down in the history of memorable quotations as a memorable quotation, but this would have to do. He had shouted it loud enough to silence his army, but not loud enough to elicit any form of response from the supermarket. After a few seconds of silence from within, the plant men resumed their chatter and Pit was left feeling pretty stupid.
"Nobody makes Pit feel stupid," he said grimly to no one in particular.
He marched up to the doors, pushing his way through the rainbow crowd. Motioning to the front-runners to stay put, he flourished his bow, stood on the mat in front of the store and as the doors opened struck a pose so badass that anyone inside would surely be stunned by its badassery.
The Nooklings looked up at Pit with big innocent confused eyes.
"Welcome to Nookington's, Mr. Lightwing!" said Timmy (or was it Tommy?). "We hope you enjoy your time here. Ground floor is household essentials, first floor is edibles, second floor is clothing, third floor is electronics, fourth floor is manager's office. Have a nice day!"
"…nice day!"
Feeling rather awkward, Pit hid his bow under his tunic and walked quickly towards the lift, not daring to look back at the raccoon dogs. He could feel his cheeks burning.
"Mr. Lightwing?"
One of the two had Pit's tunic in paw and was tugging on it. The other kept his distance and watched.
"A-are you angry with our uncle?" the bolder one asked. "Is he in trouble?"
Pit thought for a way of saving his reputation in his own eyes. After a while he found it.
"That depends whether he wants to co-operate or not," he said, pushing the lift button.
He then stood still for a few minutes, bouncing on the balls of his toes while the lift failed to appear and his recovered machismo drained out of the soles of his feet. The lift finally arrived with a short "ding" and Pit gratefully stepped into it, watching the bewildered expressions of the Nooklings as the door closed.
Mechanical humming noises, gentle ascension. Palutena, I have completely humiliated myself in pursuit of justice. If that isn't worth the full support of Angel Land's army when I get back, then I don't know what is. It probably involves torture.
Ding. Pit emerged outside a small automatic door with a number of security features: keypad, hand scanner, what looked like an eye scanner and some of the thickest locks Pit had ever seen. The manager's paranoia was evident, as was his carelessness – they were all disengaged.
Pit kicked the door down. It swung open without resistance and slammed against the wall, giving him the first satisfaction he had garnered since entering the building. This swiftly dissipated once the door bounced off the wall and hit him in the face. Gathering up what remained of his pride, Pit re-entered the room slightly more sedately.
It was a massive office, divided into two parts. The further part was living space, and featured a bed, a massive television and a running machine, all topped off with a light green carpet featuring the Nookington's leaf. The nearer part featured two shiny filing cabinets and several pictures of the generalissimo himself, sometimes with his two nephews. Said generalissimo was sitting bolt upright in his chair, blinking rapidly as if he had just been violently awoken from his sleep upon his exceptionally untidy desk by a door banging. This was probably because he had.
"Nooklings!" he yelled, his right paw scuttling over the desk as if seeking something. "An assassin! Call Resetti! Timmy! Tommy! Help!"
"Hello, Mr. Nook," said Pit, rubbing his jaw where the door had impacted with it.
Tom's eyelids, even when he was fully awake, drooped in a way that made the shopkeeper look perpetually tired, but beneath these his blue eyes were sharpening. They pierced into Pit's own, and the angel suddenly felt that Tom Nook knew everything about his past, present and future. He, on the other hand, was shocked at the change that took place in the raccoon dog. The eyes lit up, a stunned smile appeared on his snout and he suddenly radiated enthusiasm.
"Can it be?" he said in a clipped, well-enunciated voice. "Has the League of Legends finally come to Smashville?"
Don't be flattered. He wants you to feel flattered. He's guilty here, and he's trying to trick you into thinking otherwise. Stick to your guns and show no mercy.
"Tom Nook, I need to have a word with you," Pit said. "Outside."
Tom's face cycled from enthusiasm via surprise to outrage, eyelids hooded all the time. "How dare you speak to me in that tone, child? Do you know who I am, hm?"
"Oh, I reckon I do. I reckon I know more about you than you want me to know. Than you want anyone to know."
The raccoon dog's right paw was creeping towards a red button on the desk, half hidden by papers. Pit swiftly drew his bow, notched a light arrow and aimed it at the offending paw, his hand shaking slightly.
"Oh please," scoffed Tom. "You're twelve years old, thirteen at the oldest. You couldn't shoot AAAAH!"
The glowing arrow broke into flecks of light, leaving just the deep wound in the paw. Acclimatisation to violence was pretty essential for a member of Palutena's army, even if it was mostly against the damned souls that Palutena's archenemy Medusa commanded, who it was hard to feel much sympathy for. Then again, it was hard to feel much sympathy for the rich arrogant Tom Nook.
"Huh," said Tom, forcing a smile onto his face. "Looks like I was wrong. So, outside, hm?"