He could watch the movements of the rudder post cross-legged for hours. According to the numbness in his bottom, it must have been hours. For Luigi, in its simple yet effective functioning, this mechanism exerted an attraction that bordered on fascination. It was hard for him to believe that the shipbuilders of that time could build such complex sailing ships without the technology available today; especially the rigging of which each component had to be accurately measured and fastened. And before the steering wheel was invented, they made use of basically extended sticks. Together with the special feature that it had to be steered against the direction of travel. How many accidents did this cause in the past?
Suddenly the planks under him vibrated and creaked at short intervals until it ended abruptly and Luigi felt a presence in his back. The weird photographer, armed with new theories about the dirty business of the Toad? Or the captain himself, who finally wanted to see his money? Secretly, the plumber wondered why he didn't first insist on a full cash register. Although, in that respect, it should be clear: either they paid him, or he would abandon them in the middle of the sea. Without any prospect of help arriving before he made the long way to the bottom. The place that became the final resting place for many ships.
Just as he gave his inner cinema free reign, his hair stood on end: He would never have thought to say that about himself, but in that case, he would have preferred every ghost house. From there he could at least flee; rather difficult in the middle of the blue nothingness. Paired with the certainty that one didn't know what was lurking beneath the surface. Wasn't it paradoxical to have explored more of space while the oceans of the own planet remained a mystery?
"How much longer do you plan to actually sit here?" asked a female voice, where Luigi wasn't sure whether there wasn't a touch of amusement. "But if the rudder fascinates you so much and your bottom can endure it, don't let me bother you. I just wanted to point out that there's more to the Soup hen than just the main deck." She fell silent, probably to wait for the plumber's reaction. When that didn't happen, especially since Luigi was still about to turn to her, she grumbled quietly and added, "At least more than the rudder post."
The ghost hunter glanced past her to the resting anchor on the ship's side. True, why shouldn't he get up and look at the rest? Didn't he want to let the anchor into the water anyway? At full speed, this was a... suboptimal idea of course, but the inner child made it through. It was simply too tempting to throw all worries into the wind and just do it for the fun of it. As everyone knew, especially the forbidden things exerted a great appeal.
But first, he had to get up. A somewhat more laborious undertaking, as the legs also had fallen asleep.
"You know, this isn't a bad idea at all" Luigi agreed and gratefully took Beanelda's hand which she offered immediately when his awkwardness was noticed. Still, the ghost hunter swayed from side to side like a drunk. But soon the blood circulated in the circuits and brought back full stability.
Then he asked the lady, "What brings you down from the crow's nest anyway?"
"Well," she replied hesitantly and rubbed the back of her head, "I had to find out that it's actually quite boring when you can't see anything but water, water and more water." Luigi hunched his shoulders and turned his palms outwards, commenting objectively: "I could have told you that as well. I reckon the sailors at that time had to partially struggle to not die of boredom."
"And that for weeks without calling at a port?" Beanelda continued the thought seamlessly and the plumber nodded with a serious face. The eyes of his interlocutor jumped nervously back and forth, unable to grasp a point until they sluggishly looked at the ground. Did their romantic idea of a sailor, who experienced daring adventures, wrote down in memoirs and received the honours of a hero at home, just snap in two like a hit mast? Thus the woman appeared to him like a child who had to digest that Santa Claus didn't exist. Shouldn't especially she know about it?
But Luigi didn't want to be like that. Immediately he touched her arm, received a surprised expression on her face and said with a wink, "Come, let's explore the vessel together. Would be a pity if you couldn't show me one or two things, huh?" Where once was a mouth that drifted off into sulking bit by bit, there was now a bow bent skywards and in her eyes, the same passion with which the plumber most likely associated with her was ignited.
"Right! Better than getting upset about the portrayal of seafarers in the media!" Beanelda turned her back to him on the spot and approached a small hatch, embedded in front of the mainmast. The plumber was satisfied: That way the lady wouldn't come across such outrageous ideas like distracting the Toad so that she could search his cabin. He followed her.
In no time at all had she opened the centrally divided plate and waved Luigi over. But she didn't even wait for him to come and immediately dived down inside. Not only Mario, but also his Polterpup would have been in good hands with the young adult considering his energy and enthusiasm for new things. Just as both of them romped through the big wide world and could find joy even in the smallest stone...
Just laid a tormenting heaviness over his head, forcing it to the ground, pulled down his cheeks, filled his thoughts with a single question: What could he offer the dog anyway? His "mansion" wasn't a luxury dwelling, equipped with old furniture and utensils instead. Money for premium food was also rarely available, not to mention the latest toys. So why didn't the ghost run away long ago to find an owner who could give him a life in plenty? Luigi only had time! Certainly, he was, almost, always there when Jeremiah needed someone to play, walk and be physically close. However: what was the value of time if he lacked the rest?
"Are you coming now, or are you gonna stand there all day?" As suddenly as this paralysis appeared, it vanished again with Beanelda's loud reminder. Shaking off the last remnant, Luigi went to the hatch light-heartedly - and stopped firmly. The deck below was filled with a darkness that surely promised a welcome refuge to ghosts. Were there no lamps in operation? The bit of light from the hatch and the holes in the walls only helped marginally against the darkness. The mansion built by Boos in just one night came to his mind unintentionally, where he walked through the door for the first time in search of Mario and was soon attacked in the salon. Full of uneasiness, he wiped his forehead, breathing quickly. Hadn't a shadow just moved in a corner?
"What's the matter, afraid of ghosts?" the photographer mocked laughing at the bottom of the stairs, only recognizable by her clothes. Luigi's face became just as gloomy as the room itself: if she only knew what he had had to deal with... He swore that if they met even one astral figure in it, he would use her as a shield! And then capture the vessel and steer it straight home. And go to jail. Still a better option than drifting alone on the sea or wandering around in a haunted house. Jeremiah could visit him in his cell at any time.
But not today, not now. Once he took a deep breath and let his finger bones crack, he stepped on the first step. A short break, then the second. When the stairs weren't transformed into a monster or a slide to his delight, he sprinted down the last steps and stopped next to Beanelda.
In the steerage that smelled subliminally of fish, the sound of the sea was almost contained, giving way to the groaning wood. Not only under the soles, but also from the sides and from above. No place where the plumber voluntarily wanted to stay longer, especially not for sleeping. How did the crew endure this hundreds of years ago? Perhaps it also came from the age and it would have been quite pleasant at that time. If one forgot about the dozens of sailors of course; each with his own hammock, some snoring loudly, others still partying or playing. A youth hostel, on the other hand, seemed to be a children's birthday party.
As expected or feared, storm lanterns hung on the masts and walls, but they were switched off. However, as soon as the eyes had adapted to the lighting, at least the coarsest could be seen: a few barrels and crates up ahead at the bow, a table with a chest in front of those and two buckets next to it. So far without cannons though, as Luigi had to discern disappointedly.
His companion didn't want to waste time any longer and let herself be attracted by the chest, but noticed the open hatch too late and stumbled over the edge - in a lightning-fast reflex, which was preceded by a shrill scream, Luigi grabbed Beanelda by the shirt and pulled her back with sufficient momentum so that she fell back and buried him under her. A short, quiet moment, then they laughed.
"Could you be a little quieter, please? We want to sleep here!" He was too busy standing through the throbbing pain in his chest and back moaning to let himself be intimidated by the unknown voice. So he looked at the stern while lying down, where they hadn't looked yet. Two deck chairs next to a ladder, that's what it looked like to him in the dark, with moving silhouettes on them, crystallizing themselves over and over only to merge with the darkness again. No glow in the colours of the rainbow, so he didn't have to jump up and ask the captain for a vacuum cleaner.
"Really, back when I was still in the army, they would have let us walk through the woods at least ten times for disturbing the peace! Fully loaded! Twenty kilometres there and back! And then a hundred push-ups! Those who had no arms had to break stones with their heads until the officer got tired of the tragedy! Afterwards..." From then on Luigi only perceived the words as a peripheral phenomenon, just as the waves belonged to the background noises of a harbour and were only picked up consciously when one decided to listen. Yes, definitely not a ghost. They wouldn't have wasted their time with long monologues and came down on him like a ton of bricks instead.
"I, I apologize for my husband," his neighbour spoke warmly with the security of a grandmother and giggled. "He has... well, how can you say... become somewhat cynical. Believe me, he doesn't mean it personally."
"And HOW I mean it! Look at this beanpole, he can neither lift nor walk a hundred metres without collapsing! And someone like that is allowed to have arms!" A sabre pierced his heart, parallel to the pressure that built up under his eyes. Beanelda had risen in the meantime and offered him her hand to pull up; it couldn't come from that.
Once again the elderly lady of an unknown race spoke in his direction, "Just don't pay attention to him. He likes to talk when the day is long." It was at this point where Luigi slowly asked himself whether both were married and if so, he should express his condolences to her. The ghost hunter couldn't, didn't want to imagine how she survives to live together with him. Better he fled right into the cargo hold, otherwise the oddball might get the idea of demonstrating what he had learned in the military. If he was a soldier at all and not a latrine cleaner.
Meanwhile, he separated from the photographer and moved to the stairs. But not before blocking his ears with mental power. At the same time, he begged quietly to not be drawn into a conversation by the two. Just don't make eye contact, just don't look at them, just don't...
"What's your name, young man?" Aggravated, he clenched his fists. Just a handful of footsteps were left! Now he couldn't just walk without a word or sneak away with a lie; his upbringing forbade it. And if he learned one thing from observing a quarrel between his brother and a hearing-impaired pensioner, it was the seniors who could teach one the meaning of fear. Seeking help he looked back to Beanelda, but she was already rumbling noisily in one of the chests. He tightened his gloves: he had to survive that alone.
"Luigi, very pleased', he replied slightly bowed, completely without signs of his strained nerves. Quick, it was now a matter of throwing his own question at her before she told of her grandchildren! "What brings you both to the Soup hen, if one may ask?"
"Only our golden wedding. Therefore we thought..."
"Soup hen?", her husband interrupted her in disbelief and jumped up. "I thought we were going on the Iron Nessie!" Then he yelled, "Damn it, Pira T.! I should have known something was wrong when we were the only ones on board, everything creaked and reeked of fish!"
"But Goombekker, honey, it's only healthy for your respiratory tract!"
"I don't care, I hate fish! Period!
"I won't be spoken to like that!"
"Now don't be such a baby, I..."
This could probably be called quite lucky in the circumstances, immediately opening the ideal escape route for Luigi. Now or never! Sneakingly he overcame the remaining distance while crouching and began his descent into the cargo hold. But not without sighing at the ceiling and letting an index finger circle next to his head first. They celebrated their golden wedding?
Below a light was on.
As soon as he arrived he walked crooked, sent out a half-suppressed scream, swayed to the side and had to reach for the rungs in order to prevent falling over. Nervously he ridiculed his own carelessness. Luigi might have known that he wouldn't find an even floor in the depths. Except for the difference that it was only at second glance that he noticed what he was currently standing on: a rib of the hull. Despite its age, the artificial ribcage carried the structure tirelessly and withstood the forces of nature at all times. Together with the planks, everything that kept the sea from crushing every living creature below deck. He actually knew that he had nothing to fear. Such barges had been built for the high seas and therefore could solely be sunk by force majeure and attacks. And yet: there was this feeling, this nagging that pulverized his confidence like sand. Too many memories of apparently safe situations that had nevertheless ended in disaster by every trick in the book. An inadequately tested pixelator by E. Gadd, which had even been manipulated by King Boo, finally cemented that anything that could go wrong would go wrong. What prevented a befuddled whale from colliding with the Soup hen and tearing down most of the wall? Being below the waterline was tantamount to a death trap for the ghost hunter, where no one could predict when it would go off.
Therefore, he decided to look through this deck superficially at most and then leave on the spot.
The clamour of the unequal couple could still be heard clearly. When did it stop? Not foreseeable for the plumber. Almost as if they were duelling with the hull about who of them could drive Luigi's desire for an ear protection up. Another reason why he wanted to go up again.
In contrast to the upper floor, all the lamps on the walls and masts were switched on. Some dark corners remained nevertheless, but with friends and comfortable furniture, he couldn't deny the place a discreet homely atmosphere. In addition, a bit of food for the nerves and light alcoholic drinks and the floating rumpus room was created. He was amazed at how light could influence the effect of a room. Without the lamps, Luigi was sure he would have gotten a heart attack.
Towards the bow though, planks had been laid out. Like the steerage, a large square opening was present for loads, although it surprised the stay-at-home why a cover was missing. Beanelda could have seriously injured herself. Presumably early cost-saving measures? Who cared about occupational safety when volunteers queued?
Apart from that, there was little to be worth seeing. At the back, barrels were stacked with some distance to the walls so that one could pass them. And a moving… thing, which hid behind the mainmast, but emitted a white light around it.
As such, Luigi had seen everything here and would have been ready to return. Since he was already here, however, and the white light stood out too much for his taste given the yellow tones present, he couldn't help but give in to his curiosity. Especially because it seemed to wander. Possibly a hanging light bulb? Considering that it hadn't been mounted in the middle though, it likely was the result of quite a sloppy installation work. Afterwards, under a sudden outbreak of sweat, he thought of a ghost but quickly rejected the theory again because the lamps were on after all.
Luigi carefully balanced from frame to frame until he reached the planks and took up position in front of the mast. Then he looked out from the side...
As if pulled by Donkey Kong, he snapped back, pressed his back against the fortification, opened his eyes wide and held his breath. This white, round body. The stubby arms. The two little black eyes under lowered brows. The huge grinning mouth that looked like it had been widened in all dimensions with invisible tape. The oversized headphones and the headscarf.
"Are you all right?" His fingers only pressed harder against the wood and if he had Mario's muscle power, he would have drilled holes. Slowly he turned his head to the side - their eyes met, the creature directly in his comfort zone. And with ghosts, except Jeremiah, this was nearly one kilometre. As the crow flies.
"You look white as a sheet," King Boo's minion continued and he took off his earphones. "Do you suffer from constipation? Do you have to go to the loo and really go boom? Should I call a doctor?" The monster seemed worried, but it was unmistakably a feint! As soon as Luigi even showed him his vulnerable side, the villain would knock him down from behind with the help of his scrubber, or worse still, lock him in a painting and offer him to his wicked Highness as a present! No, it was now of utmost importance to land the first blow! They might possess the gift of invisibility, but no one could escape a sneaky blow to the face! On the other hand, Plan B would also be possible: Discharge the pressure screaming and break through the decks in one powerful jump. This should really attract the attention of all persons on board.
Luigi had to act. And now! It wasn't without reason that offence was the best defence! So he used his remaining courage to clench his left fist, put on the most brutal face he knew and bellowed as he gained momentum. Then the blow buzzed through the air. Tore up the wind like a jet fighter the sound barrier, targeting the monster's nose. Tried to beat it up so badly, it would run to the king shaking and tell him horror stories about the cruel man in green. The mention of his name should be enough to strike the tyrant with terror! Because he was the green missile! The original with ten per cent chance to set the Soup hen on fire!
Then his dog and he would finally be able to live in peace. Unless Bowser visited Peach again, that was. So maybe tomorrow.
The ghost's eyes were stuck to the flying bomb. Was paralyzed with fear, considered whether the will was written and the inheritance was fairly distributed. That was how Luigi imagined his thoughts and they cheered him on. He could literally smell his horror: namely sweat.
Fate should decide in a few moments! Nothing could save the Boo anymore!
A few more centimetres, highest precision maintained, and...
Soft and squeaky, Luigi's fist landed on the crook's elastic skin. Immediately the scrubber slipped and it fell to the ground. A superior smile: He had disarmed his opponent! Another hit and he would leave the cargo hold as a hero!
"No. Just no." His opponent raised his arms and revealed his nerves in a grumbling manner, "The skipper doesn't pay me enough to deal with retarded hobos. I'll go up now and demand more money, otherwise he can do this nonsense alone!" Then he got rid of his equipment, flew up and slipped through the ceiling.
Rigidly Luigi saw the point at which the ghost had escaped his rage, whereupon he threw himself jubilantly on his back, made a quick backspin and came to a halt in a pose.
"Oh yeah, Luigi number one!"
Back on the steerage, the plumber was delighted to notice that the seniors were indeed asleep. He had probably successfully kept the war of words in the middle of his own battle from getting into his eardrums. And as peaceful as both lay there, they seemed to became reconciled again or had to admit defeat out of exhaustion. Wasn't that somehow also a way to express one's love? No matter how fiercely one argued, affection always prevailed in the end.
And what did he want to do now? Apart from the cabin, everything had been visited and until they moored in the harbour he had a lot of time to spend. In general, however, he could only say that the voyage on a time-honoured ship was less exciting than he had hoped. The attraction of the new had long since vanished and it resembled a visit to a museum of history: one headed for the areas of one's own interest, examined the exhibits, read the descriptions and went through everything when one was done. Finally, they told their friends that they thought it was quite nice and invited them to a session of Bomberman next.
So what now? Swim in the sea? Cast the anchor? Wake up the old woman and start a conversation with her? Chase the Boo off-board for good? Ask Beanelda for a photo? Let's see: Probably not, because she still treated the bow as her personal playground and had meanwhile reached the barrels. Let the skin be caressed by breezes? Sit in front of the rudder post again and observe the mechanism? Thoughtfully, he tilted his head and muttered to himself: Why not? The combination of both sounded like an excellent activity. A blow with his fist on the flat hand sealed his newly found motivation; that was exactly what he would do above!
At the lowest level, the ghost hunter heard a quarrel, and if he could filter one word out clearly, it was "hobo". Slowly his blood heated up until it boiled and adrenaline found its way into the muscles. If the sheet didn't have enough, he could give him more!
His head filled with just violence, he stepped on the main deck looking for his soon to be destroyed opponent. Instead of the Boo, however, he spotted a front of dark clouds on the horizon at twelve o'clock and how the sun spent its last hours of the day. It looked as though Luigi would arrive a little later than originally estimated. That's why he took his mobile phone courageously – a disappointed sigh slipped out: no lines. On the high seas, he certainly had to use a satellite phone to reach someone. Did the captain have an on-board electrical system? It didn't cost anything to ask. Afterwards, he would have a go at the crook.
On his way, the conflict dissolved and the ghost appeared from the aft deck. He held a steaming cup of attractively fruity-sweetly scented tea tightly clasped, as much as he could with his "hand". Shortly they looked each other in the eyes: Luigi burning to end him, the Boo, on the other hand, hoisted his eyelids tiredly to half-mast. Then he looked forward and phased through the floor. That's it!
Now the undercover tourist began his fourth ascent. That should have been enough exercising for today.
He wasn't greeted by a Toad with a certain attitude problem, but an orphaned tiller and an engine order telegraph set to full steam. The former jerked slightly as a result of the waves, let itself be guided by them. Were they still on course or had they lost their way in the meantime? Hopefully, they were brought home unharmed and somewhat on time! It would be a little unfavourable if the captain suddenly abandoned the Soup hen and left the passengers to their fate. Luigi could take over as a helmsman, but for the navigation, he was clearly the last choice.
The cabin door was open, fluttering in the wind without closing. He wanted to find out more about the suspected suitcase, especially to prove to Beanelda that they had nothing to fear. On the other hand, it would seem too obvious if he leaned against the side of the vessel and fixed on the bed. The hem of the peacoat was clearly visible behind it. This required the right time and a pinch of criminal energy. He already had warnings due to speeding, so the latter might come by hook or by crook.
A little later the hem exchanged its place with a loaded tray, four more cups on it whose scents revealed their contents. The same as the Boo had. The same one that made Luigi's throat feel all the dustier. The same that the stay-at-home really, really wanted to have. What was dripping on his collar?
"Here, would you like one too?" the Toad asked in an incredibly courteous manner, lifting the pad to the level of his own face and just as politely continuing, "I thought I'd offer you all a little compensation for our rough departure. Because who am I if I don't take care of my people, no?"
No breath passed, the plumber had already covered himself with the revitalizing elixir and greedily licked his lips. But he didn't get any further than a timid sip, as he flinched back and frantically fancied air as the liquid touched his tongue for the first time. "Of course it's hot, you bright spark," the owner mocked. "Oh, and please ignore the cleaner. Bellyache is his middle name." He cleared his throat. "But say, you certainly didn't come just to say hello, did you?" Luigi nodded and puffed into his tea, then he said approvingly, "So, first of all, thank you very much for the tea. It should keep me alive until our return." The captain bowed artificially, in which his tray was slightly tilted and the cups lost some reddish drops. "I actually wanted to ask when we turned around. The day is drawing to a close and something is coming up ahead, I'm afraid." For now, he kept the question about the satellite phone to himself. Not that the man got the impression that Luigi was one of those customers who behaved as if they owned the location.
"Yes, I've already seen the thundery front. But don't worry; as soon as I've made my rounds, we'll turn back. By the time this thing arrives, we'll be back in port."
Then Luigi thanked him for the optimistic information and stepped aside afterwards. He listened how the owner, according to the irregular creaking, walked down the steps clumsily. No wonder, as the plumber was now convinced that the carrack hadn't been designed for such a small species. Perhaps for the ancestors of the New Donkers?
But now that the Toad was notably absent... and the door was open...
"Oh, by the way, I'd find it great by if you came down again. Thanks for your understanding and all."
Naturally. If a plan went so smoothly that you were practically waiting for a serious problem, the failure was as good as inevitable. Frustrated, he stopped his infiltration attempt and trotted after the captain.
While the owner moved to the lower levels together with the drinks, Luigi again placed himself cross-legged in front of the block and constantly tried to cool his tea down to bearable temperatures. From time to time he tasted it, felt it with the tip of his tongue: a standard fruit mixture for the small wallet. Since the ban from the local supermarket, in addition, a rarity in the kitchen. But where memory failed was this extremely bitter aftertaste. The desire couldn't stop it, because the neck cried out for more. More! Away with the sea salt! Like a monsoon, the tea should pour over the drought!
Blow again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Until it could be consumed without risk of injury. Through the throat with it!
Many passionate tea drinkers might want to chase him for this outrage with pitchforks. In Luigi's eyes completely comprehensible; such luxury foods weren't simply bolted down like sugared soft drinks. But, the creator has mercy on him, the sun wrung him out, the dryness reigned in the bottle and there was only water, water, water everywhere. Water that removed more liquid from the thirsty in cruel irony. In one go Luigi flooded his neck without even thinking about taking off. Loved every moment, felt life sprout. Prayed, it never stopped.
Then it stopped.
Sadly he looked at the bottom of the cup and witnessed a pitiful remnant that ended in fractions of a second as a red leftover. But what if the ghost hunter begged the captain on his knees for a second filling?
After the way too short storm tide, however, the bitterness returned all the more intense and deformed Luigi's face to a disgusted grimace. He spat, retched and stroked his tongue, hoping to remove the hideous taste somehow. That's what he got for giving tea not the respect it deserved!
But what flavour of tea was it? First enchanting the palate with fruit, just to spoil it? That made no sense. Why else would it taste of the dentist's narcotics? There were connoisseurs in the world who liked it, he didn't deny that. Instead of the owner, however, he definitely wouldn't have provided his guests with "exotic" varieties. Certainly an oversight or an obscure family recipe, similar to E. Gadd's pickled dandelions with barnacles in a diesel marinade. How Luigi had survived the dinner and whether the professor would be less, well, eccentric without this creation, was a question he asked himself to this day.
No matter how, no matter what, now was the time to hold out. The wardrobe had to be painted and Jeremiah needed a new collar. Red was ugly, pink it had to be! Why did a ship need two rudders and why did they go further and further apart? They had nice planks here. He liked green.
Energetically the plumber shook his head and rubbed his eyes yawning. Was he ready for bed now? As far as he knew, he had got up well-rested in the morning and had had a cup of coffee for breakfast. He needed a new washing machine in green. Afterwards, he should ask for caffeine instead of tea. His mind struggled hard against the heavy eyelids and after they had closed several times, he took a hand to help, holding them open at first. Apart from burning pain, however, it was of no use and to all abundance, Luigi lost his balance. Almost unbraked he fell on his back, hit the hard wood with his vertebrae. A paralyzing shock ran through his body and he whined - that however granted him a small, valuable moment of clarity in which any tiredness and abstruse inspirations were swept away...
Something was wrong. On some days Mario's brother was so tired that he could hardly think straight, but this definitely didn't go hand in hand with a loss of motor skills. At least not so suddenly. He only knew this from the general anaesthesia, also at the dentist when he had his wisdom teeth extracted. Pretty expensive business.
Anaesthetics would at least explain the bitter taste. So if he had unwittingly taken medication, then...
No.
No!
He mustn't fall asleep! Even his heart and lungs became aware of the implications and worked at full speed beyond their performance limits. Everything to stop the active substance, while Luigi was working his muscles to put him upright. It would already be a start if he could sit down again.
To his horror, however, the strength in his arms dwindled, so that they soon slackened and he lay back. Each one followed by the other organs, each of which switched into rest mode.
But he still had a bit of stamina left before the eyelids finally battened down the hatches...
"DON'T DRINK!"
"Hey bro! Did I ever tell you that the prime number of four is pi?"