{"sf1_id":1597214,"sf2_id":"YnLqRxY1","title":"Koopalings: The Teenage Years (Chapter One)","author":"Eightane","words":13307,"posted_at":"2020-06-29T17:20:18.000Z","tags":["Bowser","Drama","Koopalings","Lemmy","Mario","Morton","Wendy","iggy","larry","ludwig","nonsexual","roy"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1597214-koopalings-the-teenage-years-chapter-one","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/YnLqRxY1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/be/4a/be4a42d0-0b27-483c-a915-e9f05682aabe","description":"Originally posted LONG ago on Fanfiction.net. Basically it follows the Koopalings through adolescence, to tell what they've been up to over the years. Be prepared for intrigue. XD","content":"KOOPALINGS : THE TEENAGE YEARS  \nby Foxy Boy  \n  \nINTRODUCTION  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The last decade has seen Mario's threat to Bowser's dictatorship wane, and the fragile but somehow lasting peace has seen the Koopalings through adolescence and into young adulthood. As they are no longer occupied by assaults on their father's kingdom nor sharing in the responsibility to defend it, their lives have become steeped in the drama and obstacles that befall any normal, quickly maturing family. Though Mario cannot sit back forever as Bowser's power and influence continue to grow, he nonetheless remains in retreat as the Koopalings' lives are guided, albeit crookedly, by their own individual circumstances, and the gentle but unyielding pull of destiny.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \nCHAPTER I: REUNION  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; It was a scene undeniably morose. Outside of a leather bar in Grand Koopa City, Nameless to walk-ins as the neon sign had long been burnt out and neglected. A tall, lean silhouette was visible against the dim interior lights of the near-empty dive, his hair extending his height by no less than a head. As a lone Koopa sauntered by, he took no notice of the silhouette pulling a Zippo out of its pocket and leaning down to light a Newport. The figure silently enjoyed a few drags, blowing smoke high up in the air, as if boasting. Several more latecomers passed, and some were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the figure's face as their moving synchronized with headlamps of passing cars. All who saw its dour, self-assured gaze placed it immediately, and none dared stop to converse. They knew well he was above them, both socially and wealthwise. The only passerby that dared confront him was a small boy, young and immune to the unwritten laws of classism.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Oh, gee, it's Larry Koopa! Mr. Larry, I'm your biggest fan! My daddy told me about when you fought Mario himself!\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The boy was not mistaken. Leaning against the bar's window frame was none other than the youngest of the Koopa kids, his tight wife-beater nearly concealed by a black leather jacket. As he shifted his weight onto his feet, the chain that ran from his wallet to a belt loop on his faded denim jeans jingled with the motion.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The boy didn't seem put off by Larry's tough appearance, as so many others seemed to. Larry, who'd been looking down at his cigarette the entire time, now glanced up, uttering a cold phrase.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"If your Daddy had some fuckin' honour, he'd also tell you I lost.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The youngster was stunned at his idol's cursing. Still, he recovered and continued.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Everyone loses now and then. You're still the greatest to me-\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The boy barely got the last word out when he saw something fall out of Larry's jeans pocket onto the sidewalk.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"God damnit\", Larry muttered, the lit 'nail' in his mouth garbling his words. \"Now the whole pack's dirty.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He stooped down to pick it up, and the little boy backed up. Had Larry cared, he'd have noticed the youngster was beginning to feel uncomfortable.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"What the hell you doin' on this side of town, anyway?\", Larry continued as he brushed off the cigarette pack and stuck it back in his pocket. \"Shit goes down around here. Bad shit.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The boy didn't answer right away. \"Then... Why are you here, Mr. Larry?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry glared at the boy, finally pulling the smoke from his mouth. \"Because I'm here to do just that... Bad. Not that it's any of your G-D business, but do you see this bar behind me?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The boy meekly nodded, frightened by apparent irritation, by his fading hero.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"There's an empty bottle of Everclear behind the counter in there, and a slut bitch on her stomach in the back tied and gagged with her pussy full of little white legion and fifty of my hard-earned dollars. Now unless you want me to print your teeny face into the pavement, I think you'll scoot your ass back home. 'Cause if you don't, you're gonna to have to beat me there, because right now I'm feeling like finding your Daddy and punching his dense old lights out. Am I clear?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The boy was backing up slowly; sweat trickled off of his brow. Larry only smiled as he watched the youngster turn and high-tail it in the direction from whence he'd been happier.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He was gone, and Larry stuck the cig back in his mouth, taking two humongous puffs. Had he some decency left, he'd have felt guilty for scarring a kid like that, especially one that so obviously deified him until he started talking. As he snuffed the cigarette and thoughtlessly discarded it on the sidewalk, he heard a faint yell from inside the bar. Casually his head swung back to look in; the plump, haggard bartender waved him in. He again slowly leaned up on his feet, sauntered in like he owned the place... Considering his titled royalty in this burg, he pretty much did. But though the bartender was aware of status no less, he didn't hide his frustration, scrunches on the wrinkles. He spoke stern to Larry while the counter he wiped.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"I saw everything out there. You really didn't have to do that.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry chuckled lazily. \"Genius, that's why it was done.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"If I were you, I'd shift my choice of words.\" Intimidation lived apart from him.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry dramatised an insincere smile. \"You're right, I'm sorry. That's why it was done, asswipe.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The bartender's face flushed red, but he held his tongue. He knew better than to spurn Bowser's brood. \"I... Called you in for something else.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry nodded as he pulled the pack of Newports from pocket, now road-dusted. The barkeep took no initial notice, proceeding on.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"I've took a lot of complaints about your way with the other patrons, and moreso the waitresses. They say you mouth off to them even worse than you did that boy out there. You can either stop, or I'll do something about it. I'm your source, so risk crossing me-\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Tch. Yeah, right.\", Larry jeered as he produced the lighter from another pocket. \"You ain't doin' shit, and you're no actor.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The bartender turned more and more furious each passing moment. He struggled keeping his composure.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"And you... Can't smoke in here, you know that. If you light that, you'll have to put it out and you the same...\" His cadence tripped, at last coming undone.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry stared on vacantly, put the flame to the tip and his mouth to the filter. He said naught as he took that long, deep drag, and blew it out straight in the man's face, igniting a coughing fit. Larry waited 'til the target regained his breath to reply.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Make me, big shot.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Bartender's countenance was purple. His hands trembled with fury, and Larry laughed. \"Go ahead, I'm waiting. Step it up.\" He opened his jacket. \"I'll even gift you the first shot.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The barman, naturally, did nothing, only marched to the back biting his lip. Larry shot him the bird once he was mostly out of sight, and headed out the door. Why care if the scorned joe had other things to reprimand; he had squat to say back.  \nAs he left the threshold, something bade him freeze in his tracks.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; There - double-parked on the curb with engine still running, loud but mushy bass booming out the whole body - was a cherry-red Viper, the deep shade stained violet at the bottom by its colour meeting light from blue ground-effects. For a moment, he just stood there statue'd, then the engine cut off, the bass subsided and the driver's side scissor-door flung open.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He saw smoke before the driver's face even entered view. Once it leaned out the ride, Larry instantly placed the bald head and member's only pullover, the dark camos, likened to his but bigger and heavier, more suited to a taller, thicker frame.  \nAgainst the streetlights, the driver was next to invisible as he made way around the car, his heavy boots crunching leaf litter that hilled the gutters. Larry smiled as soon as he'd recognized, and it only grew as the male approached, stopped inches from his face, and exhaled the full contents of his lungs through his wide nostrils. Though most dissipated before Larry's face, the smell was unmistakeable. Something of a 'shotgun', fine cush.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Red hair?\", Larry asked, showing more emotion than either the boy or the bartender had seen from him.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The dark figure smiled. \"The one and only. A pound of high-grade and a quarter bag of K.B. from D.P. And he threw in a spliff to show respect. Called it \"prestige tax.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry laughed genuinely. \"Love that mother fucker. How is Dirty Pete?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The figure nodded slightly as he spoke. \"Good, good, he's clean since the cops busted Saheed for that storehouse of dime rocks next to his place off Bluevine. I guess seein' your street bro put away for fifteen can make a body give up runnin' hard.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry chuckled. \"Sucks, Roy. Ol' S' was an awesome suuuhn'gun. You know how many trips I used to take with that motherfucker?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Roy nodded. \"Every one. I miss him too, remember when I'd walk in the front door, ten in the morning and you were laid out on the carpet with no less than three skirts and five empty blotter tabs on the coffee table. I'm shocked the fuzz didn't pick you up when they busted him, knowin' how you hung around.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Lucky I was home when they stung him. I still remember the phone ring when I was kicking Morton's ass at Tekken. He called me first... Shit, heard him on the other end like I never pictured, tellin' me he won't see sun for a looooong time.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Yeah, good thing he won't rat on you. He had both the means and motive.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry shuffled, deep in the role he'd preened for years, hardened. \"Know this: he does, and I find a way to light his ass up from outside the four walls, like he's wise to. Besides, we go way the hell back... After hearin' how long he's in for, I went straight to the fridge and poured a whole pint of Bacardi down the sink for his old ass. You know I don't abuse that shit.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Fuckin' A, you'd-\", Roy laughed. \"You'd live on it if the day came.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"I did for a week. Check that memory.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Roy nodded. \"Yeah, but it had to wrap after day seven. You were so wasted you came onto Wendy's best friend, and she's not havin' that. Sooner put your ballbag in a wood vice.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Heheh... Really, I'm glad you stepped in.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"What are brothers for?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"True, true. D'you gotta watch on you?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Nah, but when I got out the dash clock said about two, two-thirty. Dad's probably sittin' up worrying.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"So you headin' back?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Afraid so. Want a ride?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Affirmative. I need sleep, or I'll have a hangover the size of me tomorrow.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; They both guffawed heartily, much to the chargrin of the few unfortunates in earshot. They jumped in the car and, with one hellish rev of a souped-up engine, sped for home.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Home, of course, being the castle. Lavish beyond description, outside the city, abreast of the hill it rose from. Larry and Roy cut what should have been a thirty-minute drive down to ten as the elder son cut manic corners, like he was placing in the Indy pole. They passed several police cruisers on the way back to Koopa compound; none dared even turn on their lights, let alone give chase. They all knew.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; For every inch Larry and Roy were given, they took a mile, finely priveleged. All of their bloodline did, though none took advantage like those two. It was sketchy to say where they'd gone wrong; in truth the sum of seven were bad seeds one way or another. But none matched the partying, abuse and living on the edge that characterized their every day's existence. Morton maybe knew their minds, to deal with some reduced problems in alcohol, though his meek and \"loner\" temperament stayed him from larger trouble, or the infamy to inevitably couple it. Bowser, Iggy, Wendy, Ludwig and Lemmy were witness to their grandoise sins constantly when around, but rare was the time a single thing got done. The years gradually worsened that pair; four loved ones had grown to accept it, a part of their personnas, afraid that to confront it they'd be driven even further than they'd already slid. A once-close-knit family had been dealt huge blows by other losses... Bowser's and their own failure to subdue Mario's periodic show, hurt further by the awkwardness of adolescence, confusion and peer pressure that's woven into any teenage life, let alone the influential and royal. To say they were not as they were a decade prior would be gross understatement... One could call them a family in the barest sense.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; But they held one thing in common... Intense aversion to the Plumber and all his cronies, the do-gooders, the pharisees. Whether or not they were ever fully-aware, he factored in their entropy; a piece of the puzzle, their strength's deteriorating. They held fast to it; come hell or high water, if he dared show his face on the stoop of their gates, they would be there as one to bring him down, restore order. Perhaps then they'd find the grounds to band together.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; But unless and until that day, their paths largely seperated, leading individually and co-mingling on occasion for sake of a few words or - in Roy and Larry's case, debasement.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The new moon was out tonight, and uncommonly dark when Roy pulled into the castle garage, swaggered in alongside Larry. As it was so late, only silence-vowed guards observed them slink in. Quietly to their rooms, filing much of the night into booze-erasure, to sleep away what little remained.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"...F-f-fuck.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry awoke to sounds his eldest brother, Ludwig, playing a passage from Rhapsody On A Theme Of Paganini. The Koopa kids' bedchambers shouldered up to a grand ballroom and the grand piano therein, so Ludwig's serenade was more than apt to wake Larry and reveal to him his crippling hangover. Unsurprisingly, Larry had little bend for classical music, and atop that his condition made each note pound into his brain. So overbearing, it took several huffs to gather the strength to sit up and shout.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"STOP FINGERING THE PIANO, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; His own yelling wreaked havok on his headache. The pierce was so intense that he couldn't even tell that Ludwig swiftly stopped, and was equally ignorant of that edler sibling's footsteps down the hall. He was on the cusp of leaning up and yelling again when his squinting eyes caught sight of him: the classical Koopa, half-into into the flush of his bedroom door.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"You ass, you know I practice at dis time every day.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry's reply was delayed and uncharacteristically meek. \"You don't practice before three in the fucking evening, and you know it.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"It EEZ three in ze fu- In ze afternoon.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Ludwig hated to curse, as did Wendy and Iggy. Among the household they alone shared that.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry bolted up with a wincing scowl. A pain unbearable, worse than any payback he'd known before.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Shitfire\", he muttered, barely loud enough for Ludwig to hear. \"I overdozed and I STILL feel like roadkill.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"You resemble it, too.\" Ludwig's smart-assed reply would normally get Larry trying punches, but they both knew the rattled prince was in no state to lash out. \"Vat did you do zis time to kick your own ass?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry sighed, rubbing temples. \"Two beer bongs, a blunt of high-grade herb, a fifth of Everclear. And probably something else. The fuck's it matter.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Ludwig rolled his eyes. \"You're determined to unravel, eh? At least Roy paces himself.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry growled. Roy was brother and confidant, so by proxy it grated on him hearing others speak high of the bully when he himself was on the rocks. It coulnd't help but feel they were trying to turn he and Roy against each other.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Anyvay, forget how stupid and reckless you can be, you're still my baby brother. I can at least fetch you something to dull the pain, though I'm don't see much that vill take it avay completely.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry nodded weakly. \"Aspirin's fine.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Ludwig turned and went to retrieve the medicine. Ordinarily, amongst Larry's many pet peeves, his biggest was to be a \"baby\" anything, but once he knew Ludwig willingly brought doctoring, he wisely chose to dodge the arguable slam.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; With the pianist gone, Larry took the window to gather his head as best able. Still in the clothes he had worn yesterday. So trashed on a plethora-cocktail he hadn't strength nor presence to undress. This now worked in his favour, to still have the pack of Newports and a straw from the drinks he'd killed en masse at the bar he was likely never allowed in again after his \"talk\" with the proprietor. He always kept straws from dives he patronized, and for this reason, one none of his circle knew of, even Roy.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He concealed both items in a reachable jacket pouch, hearing Ludwig round the corner by his doorway. Straightaway, his thoughtful brother held in front of him two tablets, which he took without so much as a 'thanks'. Ludwig wasn't taken aback, and left without another word. He knew he'd earned his keep already, done more for Larry than the wreck deserved.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Once Ludwig vacated, Larry forced himself up, shuffled over to the door, shut and locked it, winced as the deadbolt scratched inside the jamb. He shuffled back to bed, sat on the edge, and still clenching the pills in one hand, pulled out both the straw and cig pack and laid them next to his person. He produced a lighter, set that down beside him as well. Then, the smoke pack he picked back up, and using meticulous care as not to tear the foil liner, gently freed it from the pack, and folded edges up into a bowl. From there, he laid the pills in center of the newly-minted tin tray, reclasped the lighter, struck it and held it to their powder. They went up in crackling flame, and smoke... He quickly dropped the lighter, brandished the straw and sucked the grey cloud through it. This he did repeatedly, until there was slim pickings left of the intended remedy but black and grey ashes.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; His headache was gone, but only because he could no longer feel his head.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; For some fellows, the last thing they'd want in the depths of a bender's penance is to jump back on the abuse train. But here he was, weathering the pain as one weak by age and character might... Distracted, to the ends he chased  \n.  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; As he warmed the mattress top, his head swimming with unique highs from pill smoke, one stray cogniscent thought spilled into him, as if he reading it in place of thinking it. The subject, its time and tone, forced attention.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"I can't remember rock bottom, I hit it so far back. I'm there carving it wider. Roy has a ride, if I could sew myself back up I... I could get there, he wouldn't coddle me. Our friends'll flip if they saw... Our friends, geezus... In prison for half their lives. The same shit I'm doing... Mother of God, will my blood guarantee I walk forever? Sooner or later it comes down. The dipshits who know my vices'll coast around Dad's open mind. The second he parks it on me, it'll be an eight-by-ten cell. And the judge... They'd pay to have permission, throw the book at me, look at who I am. What's my life when I'm doing this shit? If I keep in it the future's worthless, either rotting on the row or from disease the cheap floozies I rawdogged could have. Never even had myself tested. Fuck knows what's flowing in me. Three years, I've railed back and yukked it up with the guys. with Roy, and now the commoners still living free like us. Take any one of 'em, put my face on theirs...\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The punch held such power he threw back on the pillow; did something not done in eons... Weep.  \n.  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He was drained, recoiled with each sob. All things considered were inherent fact, and no soul had succeeded where his sense of logic now rode. In a handful of ways, he may already face deadly mistakes. Whether it be a fast friend outside family protection falling then to ratting him out, or a drug lord come for vengeance and the debts he massed for a fix, or a sexually-given killer that crept into his body with the last bimbo that exchanged with him in cheap pleasure.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Walls crumbled. Right then and there, his decision beared. Assuming he held a chance, never would this fortunate son stroll into risk or destruction. He would quit cold turkey, all his crutches: booze, weed, crack, pills, acid and coke. Never so much as stuff a 1 into a dancer's loose G-string. He saw no choice, and even if he had, to go elsewise would be signing a death warrant. A thousand days had been one nonstop, aimless party, one that met its end. He blinked; his eyes dried, and spiting the burn-high his mind cleared, given an emotion that had all but expired; thankfulness. To be around, privy to another chance at change, before a a face or fate made it tragic.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Immured to the pain now, he shot vertical, took the foil and gave it to the wastebin. Again he stood, this time to unlock the door. Instead of lying back down, as his body pushed for, his trembly fingers opened the door. He possessed newfound purpose. Before all else, he knew what must be done.  \nHe'd apologize. To a great many people, for so many things.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Thus he set out to contact and amass the six closest to him, and prove his turning a new leaf. Crowd them in together, returning their bond, their family.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Wendy was radiant.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; At least, that made up the concensus among the men to frequent Le Baron steakhouse, bastion of the town's artsy sector. Several months she'd earned every dime of her own money, waiting tables at this upscale eatery. As if she required a job, of course, considering her background; she worked for the experience, and appreciation. The atmosphere that hems in any classy bistro when the lunch crowd is in full swing, it spoke and she listened.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; It was indelible she had a talent wooing money from the male patrons. Give her five sentences to fling at him, and she could have his bank info. How the brattiness of childhood transposed into adulthood; it had blossomed to a knack for manipulation.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Perish the thought that she ever tried to be easy, or by any means 'loose'; but she'd flirt gingerly and you'd swear she fell for you between the salad and the entreè. And done in such metering you'd never think her the least bit insincere. This gift served a curse besides, marked her in the sights of female co-workers. She watched her step... Cattiness just soured when her title preceded her.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; There was no cause to reduce her; discounting this vice, she may be the most on-the-ball of any Koopa noble, in stark contrast to a troublemaker in grade school days. Gender and pursuits alike, the polar opposite of Larry, Roy and Morton: never taken a sip or done anything unsavory, she rarely blew up, and even chipped in a portion of her checks to charity. If attractive outwardly (her fairness owed to makeup and hairstyles, as the tabloids pointed more to than a natural beauty), she was moreso on the inside. Every single lad - and a crop of married ones - from saint to lush that ever had the destiny to sit at her tables were too eager to let her know.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Not blind to the affection she received, either. In the time of her employ there, she counted one hundred twenty-eight wandering eyes, seventy-five requests for dates. Six proposals. And of the latter one came from a hitched man whose wife was at the time in the lavatory.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Much as she received the attention, no intent filled her of making good on them, innuendoes or non. Recently she'd dated a man whom at first proved genuine and affectionate, loyal to a fault. Come to find out his loyalty chased money... She broke it off upon a few months, but only with damage already done. A heart not broken, but fractured, and to enjoy a man's company would have to wait, at least by this point in her life. His saving grace was not mistreating her, not hardening her spirit. But she hadn't lacked effects from the uncaring turn. The praise given her flew past her head, back into the city smog with each consumed meal and paid check.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The bistro was in footprint of an office building... Just down the block was the nail salon where Haley, her best friend in a middle-class Koopa a year her elder, gave mani-pedi's. With the princess's break hour they'd often meet in the boutique, dish on all manner of things, until the fifty-ninth minute. Her friend was a true stunner, long and sandy brown hair with pronounced natural curl, petite features to contrast a well-developed busom. In another life Wendy could resent such good looks, but for the divide of money and power, a license not to mind too much. Had only one of them both these qualities, interactions would be negative. The girls owned unique blessings, and the fact of level poses in society's eye wound them together.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; At the same time Larry'd been at home deciding his better direction, she had come on shift. It may go without saying she had no idea what occured, his coming to terms. Five o' clock that night would have her home and open to him. For two further hours, she occupied her element, weaved between socialites with grace one could observe and think of ice skating.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Her strengths included focus, and for her line of work nary less would do. But every now and then, as she carried simple things like a pitcher of water through the seating or opened her writing pad to jot down a brief order, thoughts would float away. Whatever it said about her, very often the ends were things troubling her, common and in vapors of relevance.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"I wonder if I should go by the market on the way back tonight and get some chicken salad. I could really go for that and some ham, maybe pimento loaf. The last time I had one was with Morton, when we stayed up for that marathon of Trading Spaces. Yeah, it must be, he'd brought out that six-pack of King Cobra. Got so cutely loud...\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; She chuckled. When upon things like that, she'd laughed through a sniffle. He was neither Roy nor Larry, but her favourite brother was still seldom around. Bowser bought him that canary yellow Mustang last birthday, and not a soul knew why he disappeared for hours, days, weeks at a time. Explanation when she asked the one time was that he hopped between friends' houses... In the past season he'd moved out, severed social ties the kingdom over. Leading up to this, it wasn't unusual he leave and not show for a month or more, and when he did, he came across as halfway-there, no excuse for prolonged absence. When sober, he was quiet and somewhat antisocial, but when a bit buzzed it brought out his voice, odder still behaving more as a loner. He could stop at a few light beers and shut himself off, in his room the major part of a night, binging on TV or just lying on his bed. Doing nothing of apparence, maybe staring at the ceiling. She looked in more than once; saw on him a look of thoughts each stay. The study of intangibles she couldn't miss, but neither know.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Closest to him of all of the Koopa kids, and usually the one in arm's reach when he left to spend durations alone. She assured herself, never took it personally, realizing it played out more when he drank. For a responsible user, though, signs point to it bringing out a nature one just cloaks at other times. She could mourn his absence, most of all when times were good and they hung out as if no distance existed, until his mum goodnight. More than any other part of her life she missed him, hated whatever could be pushing him away, fostering a gap. Weeks on end now, he hadn't spoken, not to his bothers, not to her. The one person who restrained her from pining for the closeness, their youth and the brighter days, drifted into his own space. But she managed, in stride as much as possible, avoiding to overblow or feel sorry for it. Lemmy was always a close second, an auxillary, her other favourite. Without a doubt he'd be there when she shuffled out, as he always was. No exception allowed tonight; as she pondered the past four days, his denying that with a rare scarcity 'til the wee hours, she refilled a glass of tea and planned to call him later. She didn't doubt she would reach him, this never changed, and he wasn't prone to end phone prattle. Chatty in a way she could supplant.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The shift that night passed quick. She hung her apron on the wall next to kitchen, practically jogged out the front door, got in her purple Trans Am and headed home. At a red light she dialed him, he picked up on the second ring. All the way to the castle they traded little happenings since dawn, and only after she was home and the car parked that they finish and hang up. Since she was in the front gate, and poised to head upstairs, to her room and respite. He would be there soon, he promised. She recalled the kid days with an idle threat; then he made sure to tell her as much.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; As structured as Wendy made her life, Iggy took this further. Like all save for her, he held no trifling job, but spent himself in personal pursuits. Science headed these, a lab that he built from ground-up in the castle basement. Over a year went into it, him buying every single beaker, tube and compound himself, spending figments of the family fortune, at displeasure of Bowser. Complaints remained inactive, since after liberal amounts of time, blood, sweat and tears, the turnout couldn't fail to dazzle. Lay a single glance on the breadth of it and all was worthy.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; To descend the narrow, rickety stairs that led the main hall to the lab was like warping to another world. Iggy's pride and joy was likened spacewise to a high school gym, and every few feet for the facility's length were room-wide tables packed with glass assets, test tubes, formulas, solutions. In the low light of the gas bulbs from the ceiling, the entire archive shimmered. Glass refracted the rays, coloured by each flask's contents. It was sometimes so intense as to rival the prism of a laser show, albeit unmoving, orderly, bathing him like windows of a church. As to this, he endorsed it as religion of its own.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Though the sheer lot of chemistry, mixed elements were nothing short of mindbending, he knew what and where things were free of exceptions. No assistants served him. Few even saw this vault beyondhim, save for Lemmy, who might come down sparingly when home. He only ever talked with Iggy, visited, but the four-eyed prodigy would goad him towards at least one or two tasks, a little help when it was called for. Lemmy couldn't mind; they were twins, he'd do everything short of die for him. Past this, there still remained slight unsettlements for Iggy's blind devotion. The craft eclipsed his world, even eating and sleeping. He was cautioned by the family's physician. Kamek spoke ill of his low weight.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The prince had a stereotypical dearth in the way of friends. Not awkward, or bad in social steads; give him the time and place and he'd relate to anyone. Rather he chose his time be whiled away in impenetrable science, tinkering with sundries from rooster's crow to the wee hours of next morning, stopped only for a mini-length irregularly to rest, eat, or whatever else came necessary. He only had the lab finished and running a short time, so most experiments were in testing stages; the few he saw to completion sat on long shelves in a corner, untouched since they were first set there. The methods used to make them and see them through were the point. Purposes were well and good, and should he ever need them, safe and out of his way... Though they owned an objective or use, to Iggy it was mere potential from the moment they hit that place.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He toiled away, creating things never similar from one to the next; he'd craft a sweet, fragrant drink one day and the next a superacid corrosive enough to melt stone to foam. He needed no one to school him on procedures of handling, dealing in hazards. He slipped up never, spilled nothing, forewent none of the proper safety in his rushes... Talent for all facets of these were unparalelled.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The thing was, they amazed only him. No one outside family even knew his whereabouts, let alone of this huge under-haven, and while the handful realized its complexities and admired his devotion, it stopped there. Science was in his blood and none of theirs.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; No despising him for it, not even jokes of any kind. He was blessed in that they understood if nothing else, and allowed him the berth unlimited. Now and then, they knew he'd emerge from the bowels of their palace, consuming, resting. When he did, he was always met by a few of them, and company was positive for the time he left his own little world. Then the inevitable excusings, the closing of a tight basement door and back to unavailability.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Just a few days after putting his final beaker in place, he had invited the full clan down to share in celebration; by a miracle all accepted. To show them around the nooks and crannies of his space-age play room, it took literal hours, a tour he was too happy to give. For the most part they listened and hinged on his descriptions of things they knew zilch about, occasionally halting to study a particularly odd formula or marvel at geometrics of the tubes connecting glass to glass. Larry even joked that if Iggy would rent him out some space down there, he'd make killer meth and they'd split the profits. Iggy laughed, before the stern phrasing that on no uncertain terms that wasn't happening. Bowser was also along; he stayed in back, never seemed too committed or deposed. He'd never say it for fear of crushing Iggy's spirit... He expected this offbeat son to be world-renowned, devise cures for all manner of terrible diseases, something useful or lucrative. Not likely if his talents never saw the light of day. But, it was Iggy's choice of what he wanted in life, not his own. He left well enough alone, though that day they seldom spoke, something hardly changed upon future climbs out of the lab.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Such is how it was, day in and out, one project to the next in a seamless cycle bare of reprocussion. Iggy's pure white coats became his wardrobe, all times except in sleep. The two he owned were cycled out with family's laundry, and should he ever find the worn one dirty, he could pop up surface-way fand find the other, clean one by the basement door. Servants took seriously his order to meet this sans-questions, nosy mouths would not be tolerated. But a man that smart knew how they toiled, and in passing he'd offer gratitude, for work and overlooking reclusiveness. His way was hermitude, married to his work and outside the realm of change.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; No prince more loved his life, contentedly. His pasttimes varied, his needs simple. For the kingdom he was nonpareil, a soul matchless in any world.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Lemmy, meanwhile, was as apart in demeanor from Iggy as they were alike in looks. Being twins, they had mirrored features, but Lemmy's lack of glasses and far-more pedestrian style, painted them so radically different they hardly came off as related.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; His hair was long, straight, down to his shoulders, often draped to the back of a threadbare T-shirt; some of these older than his friends, treasures from a kitsch town skate shop. Always in shorts, even at the dead of winter when everyone bundled up in tiramisu-deep layers.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Lemmy rode boards, pure and simple. Picked up his frist at age six, and in the fifteen years since had honed his skills to nothing short of pro. In fact, you'd be hard-pressed to see him off his treasured four wheels, whether at home trying tricks and grinds from ramps and rails he'd set up, or riding the city streets with a galavanting posse. Of all of the royal kids, you were most likely to see him no matter where you were. He might show in the most unexpected places, ollying whatever low objects stood near, grazing the paint from fire hydrants then simply riding off. He and the entourage he kept did everything from grind down escalators to 360 Kickflip to the awning of a burger shop, chatting and snickering the whole time, filling locales with glee even if it's only theirs.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; As random and - let's face it - illegal as their doings could be, try and find some who vocally minded. They were street legends among kids; the senior set considered it good luck when they passed by, for who knows how superstitions start. When Lemmy or a henchman performed technical stunts, the high schoolers met this with cheers. Even some stick-in-the-mud adults appreciated them, or merely the skill and in-shape antics displayed. All this Lemmy never acknowledged, his admirers nor the critics, only did his thing.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Not in so much as a blue moon was he seen without buddies. His best and closest, Todd, built like a brick wall and half a head taller than Roy. Always tailing the prince, often following a lead or sometimes doing the mirror-opposite to attract gawks from onlookers. He hated cigarettes, coughed just to think of stuff burning, but carried his trusty minibottles, Jack or Jameson most often, and if Lemmy stopped to rest it could be at the store so Todd procured another. One at a time, just for long-lived tingles. It was anyone's guess why he even bothered if he never got to 'plastered'. Speculate that he liked the taste... Or that he really was drunk, but such a gifted boarder no one could tell.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Behind Todd was usually Bret, a koopa at his sixteenth year, whom they affectionately called Little B'. A hair below five-feet-three, but due to this he rode faster and jumped it higher than any of them. All bets were off, however, if he tried to grind. Never boardslid anything, crossed a railing, a ledge, not even an attempt. Fear came in odd places, a basal revulsion like Todd's to burning heat. He never brought himself to try, and the clique didn't urge him. So if the rest slid down a stairway rail, he'd jump the steps instead. And ohhh how he'd jump. Not one fall or undershooting of a mark blemished his record.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Last in line rode Walt. While the rest of them made it a daily thing, he was around on weekends. Taller than Little B' at five-feet six, but four years younger and in middle school. He never started a trick beyond a manual, which he held almost indefinitely. It wasn't out of the question to see him on two wheels the whole day, behind his older friends and their more varied stuntwork. A quiet fellow, but when he broke this 'rule' it usually served to tell them a joke or some wild happening of his school week. They'd take well to his stories; reminding them of younger days, and what his age saw that even Lemmy's raising hadn't precluded. Teachers, the line who corralled tweens and had to be off-kilter themselves.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; That's how the troupe were always seen, to the four corners of the kingdom. Be walking through the park, or stepping off the bus, you'd likely see them, the prince in front, jovial for something Walt revealed about some teacher, or in his hormone-haze a female student. Todd close behind, leaping/planting where he did, Little B' swerving impossibly sharply so as not to fly right by them, and Walt up on his back wheels as an angled caboose.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; What even gossip mag's didn't pick up on was Lemmy's unspoken crush. One day, when they'd rounded the corner of a building, she just... Appeared, on her own board, decked out with stenciled blooms and blue spirals. She perfectly kept up with them, her long brown ponytail in the wind and sometimes swatting her sparkly belly shirt above her low-rise jeans. They were starstruck; watched her as she weaved between them, working her way up from rear of the pack, and in a quarter-block's ride time got to Lemmy. None of five said a thing, and she stayed beside him for tens of blocks, neither she nor Lemmy interacting, but certainly looking, before she veered off at an intersection.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Afterward, she'd appear in the same way no-warning at least once weekly, and never exchanged with Lemmy anything substantial. It was the four crewguys' guess whether or not in the three months that this had been occurring, they'd had 'contact ' behind the scenes, despite that sense would tell them he didn't live secrets. At the closing of a first two weeks, he referred to her as his \"girl\", and when he'd speak of her to the guys or family, the topic was he hoped to \"see my girl today.\" Not the most orthodox bond around, if it could even be called such, and just a matter of time 'til it grew to as much a legend in the streets as Lemmy and crew themselves.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Lemmy's worldly possessions ended at his clothes and deck. From the first set of wheels, blank and nameless, what lasted him ten of his fifteen years in the culture. A banner day was his seventeenth birthday; Bowser found the only gift he knew the boy'd appreciate... A teal 'Birdhouse' with replica Burnquist autograph, and a can of spray paint to design as he'd want on the bottom. Lemmy took the can, starry-eyed, and first thing he did was hand it off; to his brothers, Wendy, to his buddies, and it soon carried their initials forever. He'd let them all bleed that can dry, never putting a thing on from his own hand. Where he went with it, high and low, a part of them would be right there. One day his unspoken, his Girl would have her whole name there, and be the only one. One day, he vowed, provided they would ever talk.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; So for his own intents, the skating prince was mobile, outside castle life, to the point some servants believed he slept on his board going fifteen MPH. If he left his pals for long, he stopped in with Iggy, and then back out on the asphalt or on the course behind the castle. When he'd pass on, he would want that they set up a ramp on the roof, push him on a giant body board to his far-below resting place. Macabre, sure, but if nothing else a bitchin' sendoff, and the few who knew this 'will' rode with him. Todd, Bret and Walt had all sworn if he did, they'd be right behind him, and that should shed some light on their type's attitude for much of life.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Though the twins stuck as radical opposites, they shared a characteristic, being their passions were few, narrow and seen to.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Sophistication was Ludwig's middle name, the hallmark of the eldest Koopaling.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; All through child years and into his adult ones, hailed in studies as dedicated and on the piano a prodigy. His love for both failed to fade, even after the praise leveled off, quite ironically made to be expected of him by others, once grown to where compliments weren't automatic. Praise had never gone to his head such that he believed himself infallible, but it did its part instilling self-confidence, annoying to some but refreshing to others, up to interpretation. He nary went a day without his piano; loved it like his own spawn, and it became the outlet for the spirit, an avenue from which to paint all manner of pictures and convey emotion's spectrum, with a few strokes of the ivories. Through the years he'd wielded this extension of himself, a part of him holding innermost thoughts and desires... Often it was the only way capable to express for a world attuned, the ears around him too eager for commanding fluorishes and soothing serenades, fostered by the skill and steady hand. Rigor blossomed like a babied flower under practiced regimens; he self-disciplined to engage and thoroughly enjoy, right down to the strain itself. Perhaps it lay in the family's blood to have one or two great loves in life... Whether true or not, he wouldn't prove an exception.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Ludwig was, inexplicably, the only Koopaling to yet attain a post-high school education, Bowser having sent him to Barenstone, a 4-year university for the gifted. His graduation was with honours, no more than a month from his twenty-third birthday. Given his age, his level of adjustment, he became the first of Bowser's children to wed.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; His wife of two years, Esmerelda, was... Less a witch than her name might mislead to belief. She proved, in fact, a lovely and loving woman, admired by all the Koopa clan. Born to the most eminent commoners in Grand Koopa City - Her father headed an oil powerhouse on the prestigious South side - and she was rarely seen without lavish, flowing dress and copious fine jewelry to adorn her hands, ears, neck. Seeing how both she and groom-prince were well-to-do, much of the public thought it an arranged marriage, the pride of two upstanding bloodlines. Rather it was their decision to wed, not tradition or any piece of paper's. They'd met at Baronstone, fallen for each other, been engaged outside the scruples of some stuffed shirts or the like. Many days after school concluded, Ludwig gained permission from the headmaster to remain in the auditorium for a few hours' practice; he and Esmerelda would whittle down to dusk while he advanced his phrasing; maybe piano, maybe talking more cultured and befitting than mere pickup lines. He'd play a striking classic, Prelude in C or Intermezzo or their tonal peers. Her voice would accompany it, trained and operatic, majestic stacatto that characterized her style. Should they be there shortly following class hours, those faculty that loitered to close the lesson plans were treated to the duo of sheer talents. They'd been approached by several; those having no problem saying they were too talented to be anywhere but Carnegie Hall. Ludwig would thank whomever, and Esmerelda, brought up to be humble and ladylike, would only smile and plausibly deny.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; It had been a season's lapse from their coinciding dates of graduating when they'd gone to the altar, joined in marital permanence, and Bowser, quite simply pleased at the wife his eldest son attained, expected an immediate blessing with the pitter-patter of little footsteps around the castle.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; It was not to be. Esmerelda was a wonderful and caring wife to Ludwig, but her one shortfall was impossible to remedy.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Barren.   \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Despite her perfection in other ways, she'd never carry Ludwig's children. The prince, heir-apparent to his father, nonetheless of kind and understanding heart, never felt contempt for it or believed fate cruel. It couldn't be helped, and he gladly comforted her as eyes might mist when they'd be out and about and see a baby carriage, or pass a stuffed bear in a luxury boutique. He only hurt to know she hurt more by her limits than he could; she bore the pride for both of them, doubly crushed by the curse of her mother. She'd been one of eight: the single one that survived more than a few hours after delivery. She breathed sure that this was how those tragedies had manifest in her own generation. But, she'd once thought to herself, 'They had finally had me. They were comforted; but to try and lose so much, that many, I will never curse that on my Ludwig.'  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; At times she took it in stride, realized it for what it was, no more than chance anomaly. Bright sides existed, to wit it saved her unbelievable pain, unknown to her. As she slowly made peace, she and Ludwig, the love they both shared for each other, and the wonderful feeling just being together. And she knew, if the time ever came that he grew discontent having no heir to his name, they could adopt. She foresaw he'd be a father not so prideful he'd balk to raise another's child, like so many others she might've found had the fates not been kind to her, sharing his heart.  \n\u0026nbsp;  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; So far they lived content, and if Ludwig felt the pangs to expand his family he had yet to speak of it. Bowser, having been fond of his daughter-in-law (plutonically) had endowed them the fabulous, unoccupied guest quarters in the castle's tallest tower, their lavish home within a home. Exclusive and so richly furnished none besides the King and clan had laid eyes upon its wonder, from a posh marble fountain to a bed with sheets of the finest Mongolian silk; to obtain it Bowser'd spent enough to buy a separate mansion in the city as palatial as the bride's family homestead, and more. She and Ludwig's life was often said to be the finest in all the kingdom, frequently from townsfolk that assumed things out of jealousy. Few imagined any tradeoffs, or excuses for unhappiness.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The glamour never eroded their respective humility, or thankfulness uncommon for blue blood. Instead of needlessly hoarding their wealth or spiting those below them in class, at their request the grand ballroom far below in the castle stayed filled with guests of all means and social classes. No excluding the poor and destitute, many of whom would never see so much as a single brick in the castle's outer walls were it not for Ludwig's prodding his father to receive them. Sometimes known as the Samaritan prince, he thus was the motivated to mingle and blend them with his own peers. The Koopa king would shirk at such people in his abode, but for Ludwig's own accomplishments the pride it instilled in Bowser melted stoic and cold heart.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; But though Esmerelda loved her husband and his open ways, she struggled to feel comfort around his brothers and sister.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Not that she felt their awkwardness and hangups were troubling, or that they'd shown dislike for her in word or action... They served to remind her, brethren of her soulmate, that there was not to be a generation by her, and whether or not any ever stewed on this she always felt they did. They must, she thought. It must wear on them to know that their eldest brother's talents, his teachings, end at him.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; From these errant doubts and self-convincings she hid her soul in their lavish abode, whenever any of Ludwig's siblings were to be found. And he, perhaps detecting her evasion, never pressed the issue. Respect and cherishment ran far too deep to make her face what she had no mind to.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He often graced them, family within castle's walls. Sharing his time with Wendy, Lemmy or whomever else, he went without her. They saw shares of his time, and she renewed herself to make him happy and sociable, and happy once done and home.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; The only word that accurately described Morton would be loner.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Since he'd left of the castle, he never kept a circle of any kind, for any time, no matter where actions took him. Iggy was open, just overfocused; he detested socializing across the board, quick to avoid a chat if he could sidestep it.  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Truly he was different. Made a conscious decision to dodge those who crossed his path, with an exception.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Even the job he sought was tailored to his quirk. Sorting and filing papers for an insurance company, toiling over nothing more than pages and print all day. Departing in the evening, he made a beeline to his one-bedroom flat on the Upper East side, never stopping to linger where not totally required; the grocer or the tailor knew him, that made up the extent of it.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He was the only Koopaling to cease living at home. Moved out four months prior, befuddling Bowser by the announcement of his choice to give up his share of the family fortune, go and be acquainted with poverty. He brought in little from a desk job; the checks barely made utilities, food, some beers and his half of a two-way split rent. He shunned even basic cable, and took a taxi every day in place of the expense of a car. A bus was cheaper, but a bus put him in line with others.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Not one of his family laid eyes on him in months since he had left. It's not that they'd shun him, or didn't know his whereabouts... He'd given express instructions not to bother, and when they begged the reason he stated flatly he was busy and didn't own the time. Plus they couldn't call him: he didn't pay for a phone.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He and he alone knew why to live out his life in hermitude, and all due to the fact that there was one man he didn't avoid.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Rewinding to his birth, he'd been difficult. Bowser's late wife suffered labour for thirty-nine hours; when the docs at last pulled him into this world, she lay so tired from the ordeal that she swiftly fell unconscious. Thus, it was the King himself who in the delivery room first spotted that unusual birthmark, the star over his right eye, and took it as a good omen for the rest of his new life. Out of this he gave the child the highest honour he could fathom: naming Morton after his grandfather, Bowser's own dad, Morton senior.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; But with the favour came great expectations that Morton often found impassable. Bowser wanted him as the smartest boy in school, the strongest and fastest athlete, the most admired and courted prince, and on and so on. Despite some measured talent for all these things, he occasionally slipped up as anyone would, but at these times the King was never sympathetic. He needlessly berated each failing, no matter if the overall performance was flooring, just not winning. His loner streak wasn't from the start, but acquired; friends he once had and were close to all through his first ten years drifted away, forced out by a prince spending all his spare time in work and study just to ensure he'd outpace his competition and thus keep Bowser off his back. It continued well through tween years, as Morton, despite his being next to youngest of the family and much to his chargrin, was also unbenevolently informed of a command that he bring home a girl before any his brothers, even Ludwig, to carry on the name. Not even promised a title.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Of all the things ordered of him by his father, this was the only one he knew he couldn't do.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Fastforwarding, but still three years prior, shortly after a birthday he'd begun taking a particular interest in a classmate by the name of Tom. Even though his age was no more than Morton's he was already six feet in height, built indelibly well, and it was rumoured he could benchpress well over a thousand. He sat directly in front of the prince in first-period English, and Morton didn't yet know why he found himself detoured by the intimidating koopa's biceps and straining to concentrating on schoolwork. This of course made his grades suffer, which considerably worsened Bowser, and things took a dive when Morton learned the location of the gym where Tom worked out, and cashed most of his free time there when Tom was gonna be toning up. Replacing his home studies, redacting Bowser's reach on him.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; One day when they were both on weight machines across from each other, Morton finally grouped up the nerve to stop, approach and introduce himself. Greetings were met with a smile, they soon got to talking, something Morton missed dearly since his social life collapsed so long ago. One subject led to another, and in the span of half an hour Morton learned alot about Tom and about himself. They exhausted topics, so much they cared to discuss, until Morton and his brimming spirits led Tom to a stall in the far corner of the gym's restroom. The torrent-rage of hormones let the gym rat Koopa take his innocence.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; So began a whirlwind romance behind the backs of Bowser and every person else. Morton's grades rarely climbed above D or D-, every evening spent at his new crush's apartment on the West side, where they talked, ate, opened up and did all manner of things he knew Bowser'd never accept. To Morton these eves were his whole day, the rest was only so much black-and-white fuzz, a necessary bane that he couldn't deal without.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Newfound happiness with Tom still only went so far... Bowser's stern, unfeeling criticism, impatience and a lack of explanations took their toll with every curse and ultimatum. Morton held out only 'til he could graduate high school, then locked down in this present job, packed up all his possesions and left with little more than a muttered, cold goodbye.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He moved in with Tom, whose job waxed inadequate against the rising cost of living without someone else's income. Ever since, Morton shared with the only one he felt could be trusted with who he was.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; And Tom waited for his taxi at the apartment building each weeknight. After strong and heartfelt embrace they'd ascend the steps together, sip wine and seek each other's arms. Sometimes talk whisked over how many stacks of files Morton organized that day, or how large a house Tom helped build on his framing crew. Or they might silently enjoy each other's presence and relaxing at the end of stressful days, truly a commoner's respite. Though Tom did well for himself as skilled labour, they lived simply, saving up for the day when they'd be able to bank a nice house out in the country, a place untouched nor bothered by anyone. Their exclusion-tactic was mutual, driven by both unaccepting families and the fact that no one else in town would likely 'get it' much more.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry missed Morton most of all. They likewise detested how the family chided them, Larry's vice and Morton's disappointing, and thus were close before Morton moved and severed ties. For a brief, magical window the sun would set as they downed beers and shots playing brawler games; it seemed to Larry this brother understood he wasn't meant to be like Dad, or the rest that would criticize what Bowser didn't, especially the dearth of friends. So when Morton left abruptly, not explaining, younger Larry felt betrayed, like he'd somehow been grouped in with the rest of them. This he hadn't shaken off, and factored in his hitting rock bottom shortly after with substances and parading out all hours of the night. He didn't suspect Morton's sexuality, otherwise he could put two and two together for the benefit of the doubt. He was fated to stew over Morton's absence, cultivate the heartache mixed with and dulled by all types of drug. Through it all he waited patiently for Morton to return.   \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; This hope held stronger with his new life. On this day, he grew determined to reunite, and the first task was to contact Morton, restore such things unspoken.  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He knew of all people Morton could become first to accept turnarounds, to welcome him and hopefully others back before his sight.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; But Morton, missing him as deeply, left it anyone's guess as to whether he'd forsake the bitterness, shadows of Bowser and relentless brow-beating endured for years. And to forgive his siblings for their inaction, even joining in from time to time.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry shook a glad fist in the air, now coming off the pills' procedure; simple internet research pointed him in the right direction, obtained the info for Morton's address. Every Koopaling elsewise could be easily sought, but Larry, at this point about to leave, knew Morton took no less than person-to-person. 'Could be it's better this way', he thought, as he pulled himself to a strong walk out, pulled out his phone and first called Lemmy, then Roy, then Ludwig, saying whatever it took to get them there. Wendy and Iggy would be home that night regardless. The black Harley-Davidson - 'borrowed' from Roy - he kicked into reverse out the garage. It ran smooth, no sputter; He's told them all lies ranging from Bowser calling on them to help with his dependencies. He'd save reveal of the truth for one moment, when they'd answered and arrived.   \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Conversation with Ludwig came last - sure to be the easiest - and had just ended when he pulled up at the door to Morton's flat. Close to four in the afternoon... Morton was freshly home, so to Larry's benefit he was too tired to berate when Larry's footsteps resounded and got him to the door. Here on their stoop stood a face he hadn't seen in an age. Only since it was Larry and no one else he didn't slam it again, but looked on his youngest brother with confusion, soon speaking this.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"What are you doing here?\", he stated in mild frustration. \"I told you I'm not coming back. That is why you're here, if you had to sniff me out.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry smiled, in a way he hadn't for a long time. \"You never said I can't visit.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"It's implied\", Morton coolly shot back. His hand rolled back on the door, about to shut it, when Larry interjected.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"-Wait, wait. You should hear something.\" He was sweaty; Morton obviously took time to whittle down, and he'd have to think to get this one home without a reveal. \"It's... Uh... I mean it's that I...\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Okay, cool, very interesting but I have to go now. Bye.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"WAIT! It's... DAD!! He says he's sorry about riding your ass all this time, he wants to apologize. He'll make good on everything.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Though Morton didn't cotton to the choice of words, he was convinced to stay leaning at the door frame. This was a good sign. Proved it wouldn't shut on him.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"So, the Fat One admitted it.\", Morton said, a teense relieved. \"Almost gotta believe in a higher power for that one.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Absolutely\", Larry lied, feeling terrible but ecstatic. \"I see into him. He'll never put you through that shit again, long as he lives.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Morton's head shook. \"With luck that won't be too long.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry's countenance fell, now anticipating Morton to deny him. But dashing all odds, the closeted prince turned up a smile, and replied with long-away vigor. \"Alright, so he talked you into talking me into it. Lemme get a few things and say a 'bye', I'll go and give it a chance.\" Morton made it half-clear there was no permanent return. He would tarry for a few hours, time enough to catch up with his loved ones, all five and this brother also. His place was with Tom now, this he knew.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry didn't. His brow raised with Morton's words. \"I thought you lived alone. Who do you say goodbye to?  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Morton's smile faded; he knew he had said too much. \"Uh, just a pet. My Great Dane, in the back.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry may be harder to fool than Morton. \"Yeah, right... Well, I won't care who's here right now, just come when you can. Everybody should be- I mean, IS waiting for us.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Morton nodded, and gently slinked back inside. Larry heard the muffled voices, then what sounded like... A kiss? Morton reclaimed the door, a change of clothes in hand, and it shut behind him. Larry'd promised not to ask and upheld this, or would save breaking it for later. So many crucial things should go well.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry hopped on the Harley, an unaccustomed Morton positioned awkwardly behind him, and they sped off home. Morton's head filled with lies; Larry's, who filled himself with silent prayers that all hell won't break loose when the purpose dropped.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Back at castle-grounds, Wendy had walked in from her shift. The grand staircase she climbed, and rounded the corner to the hall of their bedrooms. To some point she was surprised that Larry stood at the door, in decent street clothes. Moreover she observed his mannerisms, not so loose, a tad shaky. It became apparent he was sober. She didn't speak at first, but strolled past him to her bedroom and set down her purse on the vanity. Sure she had a million questions for him, but he couldn't be predictable. She didn't dream some months back of him walking by with a jacknife stuck out from his trousers. Of change she was cautious. This was more than weird, though... More than different... He was up to nothing, and like her bag she put aside hesitations.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"What's your business outside my door?\", she interrogated, hands on her hips. \"Looking for things to steal?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"No, sis.\" His eyes were stable and moist. \"I waited for you. We should talk.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; She crossed arms. \"Uh-huh... Now that you look like you're not out of your mind, I won't be talking to chemicals.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He nodded weakly and looked down at the floor. Shame broadcast itself to her, and little details put her heart to more expose itself. He'd won this at the least. \"Come on. Everyone's waiting in the foyer.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; She raised her eyebrow. \"Who? And waiting on us?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Roy, Morton, Iggy, Lemmy, Ludwig.\" At the mention of the second one her lips jerked, trembling. \"I have 'em there for something. I'd rather you all hear together.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Hardly begrudging any more, Wendy allowed him to lead her to the inner foyer, perhaps the simplest room inside four stately walls. It housed a simple few couches and lights, made for rest and silence, for anyone in this domain that wanted solace, no distractions. For Larry it would serve to let the cat out of the bag; forbidding a fallout of any kind, it would for the time being isolate them. Some things shouldn't spread like wildfire through the kingdom's word-of-mouth; this should be theirs.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; All other five Koopalings had taken seats, the two couches devoid of any more room. Skeptical stares and twiddled thumbs were all that seemed to challenge Larry's shot at this, walking in with a puzzled sister. Iggy and Lemmy sat next to each other, tolerating Roy on Iggy's side, whispering between themselves freely. Perhaps more a shock than their being in that room and nowhere else was Lemmy's being there alone. Larry's lie for him asked that his entourage be absent castle; at that time they were in the rear grounds on the ramps and iron rails built and abundant. Though the twins were of level mood, Roy not so much. Unfond of being forced with them and not Morton (whom he felt more in common with), this took a dumb toll; he'd be silent throughout, leaning his head back on his jacket's soft collar and staring up at ceiling tiles detached. No other Koopalings weren't clued in to the strong scent of weed emanated from his general area. It was the lesser of evils, though, so they overlooked it, seeing it benign in the face of what he and Larry inflicted.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; On the other couch sat Ludwig and Morton, dead-silent. Ludwig mentally congiled plans for a garden ball the next week, a request of Esmerelda... Their extravagant gatherings would do well to be outdoors for a change, such fair weather on the recent days and not on track to turn sour. Morton's secrecy was all the motive not to vocalize, save perhaps for his missing Tom already, How unwelcome his sunshine would be, most especially if truth were revealed.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Not much chance existed for them seeing see eye to eye, from a lot more than differences. This Larry knew to be true and counted on, aware too that whatever the reaction to his getting back on the straight and narrow, gladness, skepticism or a mixed reception, would most likely guide the rest. Having them agree somewhere would be the first step in repairs, what he so desperately wanted, starkly since reality set in: The horror of addictions, each one now tearing at mind and body for another fix, disquieted. Hell on Earth was to face withdrawal, and Larry took to heart that bravery held hands with support, near-impossible if his strengths - the six he brought here - reniged on him.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Neither their pose nor actions went livelier as the small door he closed softly, giving privacy. All eyes were on him, all observing he was high on nothing. Their mouths were sitill as they marveled. He cleared his throat.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"All of us\", He started, eyes strayed from looking on them, taxed by shame and shiver, \"In the same space. You must think I called you for a reason, I spoke as much. None of you know the truth.\" Wendy, who came behind him and unseen by the rest, now stepped into view. She saw them, they saw her. Anger for a fib of his just couldn't live past these stares and the seven collected. \"By now you've noticed me, I'm not sideways on shit.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Roy piped up. \"Watch it, little bro.\" He came off as slighted. He'd put stock in their bond through lifestyle; to see Larry talk it down was disconcerting and threatened to ruin. Almost, but not quite.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry's was a meek smile. \"Sure you're not pleased there, Roy, and I get it. Something happened in my room today, call it what you like. But-\" he went on, his gaze over every intent face, \"I had to come clean. The same as now. We're all familiar, but who thinks of it anymore.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Wendy was the first catching on to his direction. Her eyes welled with a shine, holding tears. What she heard was that he thought as she long had.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Remember?\", Larry choked out, \"Glory days? A family, time together with what the hell ever came to mind? We thrived, and why? Even kids could know we were in it together. We faced trouble, made some of it... We faced Mario, or whatever else... Because we were...\"  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Everyone, transfixed, devoted to this. His voice broke up more and more as the waves swept him up.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Roy,\" he smiled in tears, \"You and Lemmy stayed up all night eating Krunchers and watching shit your kid minds shouldn't know?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Roy thought a moment, laughed. \"F'in yeah! Oh man, what was it... A Clockwork Orange, Fear And Loathing... Irreversible... What a hoot...\" He finished glancing at Lemmy, who nodded.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"And remember, Iggy\" Larry continued, \"We got into Dad's cologne stash and poured it over each other, and smelled like a department store? They ejected us from school a week because classmates were vomiting?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Iggy laughed from a healthy place. He hadn't forgotten at all, and obviously still thought fondly.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"And Morton\", Larry went on, almost losing his composure to melancholy, \"Man, you gotta give it up for the way we used to play so much Street Fighter that we burned up the disks we used 'em so much...\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Morton grinned and nodded. It was - since he'd been back at the castle - his first time smiling.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"And I- I can't forget you, Ludwig.\", he continued. \"In third grade, that little goomba girl fell in love with you and chased you screaming through the halls for three days straight before Principal Jones sat her down?\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Ludwig chuckled uncontrollably. It wasn't funny at the time, but sure was now.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Well\", Larry chuckled, and choked, \"Those days don't die, and ... I'm refusing 'em to. What would we lose. I'm not saying give up your time, Lemmy and Iggy, or Wendy her job, or for Morton to pack up and come home forever. It's not right for us to fragment like this. We're halfway good on our own.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Iggy had fodder for a joke, misty behind his specs. \"Too correct, and who needs being good.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Roy, playing the part of hardass, softened their somberness. \"We ain't that great together, either\", he quipped. \"Half of killer memories is us findin' humongous trouble, or shit that should've landed us there, anyway.\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"But,\" Larry was prepared, \"Always with more than one of us responsible. And we had a damn good time doing it. I mean, when Wendy raided the arsenal and took more explosives than a fireworks plant makes in a year, I distracted the guards for her to sneak in over and over to steal the shit. Eight-year-old me made good faces, eh?\" He looked over at Wendy, nodding with enthusiasm while bawling.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; \"Now, I wouldn't boss you around,\" Larry continued, \"D-\\*snrk\\*-Dad's cornered that market. But I know none of us want it all thrown away for the sake of growin' up. Hey... We ARE adults, who's to say that we can't shake up more that we ever did? It's a slight sacrifice on any of our parts to just kick it together, a little. And if you don't want that, it's fine. But before you decide, chew on this.\" He paused; it took a deep breath to continue. \"I'm already feeling the itches. The whiskey, and crack, and... And unless a few of you are there for me, I don't know how to last. Two, three, five, ten years down the road, I want this, and... To be there, for all of you.\" He fought the tears' rising. \"I've never wanted jack shit in my life like this. I'm gonna quit talking now. 'Cause I want to hear you... What you have to say, and because I'm too close to losing it...\"  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He and Wendy were wrecked, and Morton's throat lumped up. Though Larry didn't think nor care at that moment, they realized together that the youngest's words had cut them in reminding how long they'd neglected this, even heartache, in unison. Morton slipped far from recalling to ask why Bowser's supposed change hadn't come to light at all. Few words were heard for what seemed like hours. Almost dreamily, all the siblings in turn left the couches, put their arms around Larry, then each other, some tearful for the first time in a decade. No unwritten law of society or adulthood or manhood rang important right now... Their concern was to be there, for each other and Larry, now that bleakness had opened their eyes to what happened to them.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; After seven were embraced and appreciated, Larry wiped his eyes, and despite himself laughed a bit through lingering mist. \"The Koopas are in line, watch out heroes!\", he shouted, with joy that overpowered the wracking of his body. Even if Roy or Morton had reservations, or down the road abandoned newfound oneness, it was on them. He could feel only joy that they, in this humble room, had been opened to it.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Things looked up; moods were broken by casual jokes, more stories of old. They squeezed in on the small couches, and for the first time in years, the Koopa clan talked... About anything and everything. What had occurred with them all, what they'd felt over the long span, how they were shifting prioroties, their loves and hates, triumphs and disgusts, nothing left unsaid. In fact, when Lemmy checked the time, five hours got behind them.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Morton broke the news he couldn't stay forever. He'd sleep at his apartment for tomorrow's work. But he vowed to be back tomorrow, and recapture this, wherever it led or if it even involved having fun. And they witnessed he swore, and that he'd honour it. So, one by one, they supplemented. He and Ludwig were obliged to leave, but the further five stayed together longer; old movies were even dragged out and dusted off, tokens of the sense and meaning absent long with all of them.  \nEventually, the lights had to go out. Goodnights were wished; the partiers headed to their respective rooms.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; Larry was last out, somewhere around five in the morning when he closed his bedroom door, head pounding, skin warm. He turned down the bedspread, and in waves of chills, psyched himself to try and sleep.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; His face went pale, with heavy bags under his eyes; his whole body shook as he pulled a plush blanket to his neck. This set of maladies, this was the heroin, last lingering pieces of horror to bring him down for dodging its whispers. Nerves screamed, for what he put them and their bondage through. If he could even drift off, it would be miraculous.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; There was no denying that the next few weeks would be the toughest he'd been tried; but somehow, in the grand scheme of things, it felt trivial. He now had force to help every day's potential in this temporary suffering. Torment was a wee price to pay for what it mended.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; He gradually grew drowsy, caring less about the shakes and pain. The final conscious thought before he entered worlds of dreams: gratitude. Tomorrow's slate lay clean, to be sketched better, by seven hands.  \n  \n\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; To be continued...","series":{"name":"Koopalings: The Teenage Years","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1597216-koopalings-the-teenage-years-chapter-two.json"}}