FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

KOOPALINGS : THE TEENAGE YEARS

by Foxy Boy

CHAPTER IV: SHOWDOWN

Even if Mario had the presence of mind to vocalize, not a thing could do justice to the moment. Face-to-face with the spawn of his nemesis, blindsided by this confrontation.

And they appeared to have that in common.

"Roy Koopa!", Mario shouted, his Italian brogue thick through even the simplest of words. "You and-a your brothers have been a thorn in my side for decades! You-you..."

He lost his train of thought; Roy's inebriation was fast apparent. The muscled Koopaling who had only teetered on his feet, now held the lamppost for support, his glassy eyes far from focusing on the plumber mere yards in front of him. His complete uncoordination might have saved him; it caught his enemy completely off guard.

"Whassamatter", he slurred, "You not like titties?"

Mario's eyebrow raised. No surprise that he hadn't the foggiest what this meant.

Roy murmured on anyway. "Or, d'ya just not remem... remm... remememe-member Wendy?"

Mario's jaw flew open, disgusted. "You're... You're-a tossed!"

In actuality, Roy hadn't took a single swig of booze in hours; as if it was a brag next to the set of true detractors. He wasn't happy with a false accusation... His eyes, once so uncentered, now flashed with ferocity as he slang a swear-tirade and slurs too offensive to print in their sum.

"AND LET'T BE A LESSON T'YOU, PASTA-SKIN GAY-MOUSTACHED FAT MOTHER FUCK!!!", He finally finished.

Mario's jaw dropped. "I-I don't-a know what to say. This is-a new."

Roy, before so possessed with rage, bent down and began laughing hysterically. This he couldn't help, but Mario took it to mean everything up to this point had been a big joke, at his expense.

"So, you think that's-a rich? You won't when you're-a six feet under the pavement, koopa slime!"

After doubling over so hard at nothing warranted, he gradually shifted... Now, crying just as heavily, trying to again look Mario in the face.

"Oh God, I just... Want some fuckin' ends!!! " he whined, shoulders heaving with dry sobs. "C-can you front me some coin? Saheed, man up! You know me!"

Mario's rage softened. "You're-a serious. You don't even-a know who I am, do you?"

"ANSWER ME!!", Roy bellowed, totally ignoring the question.

Mario sighed. "Never dreamed of this. You're on another world." He paused, reigniting battle modes. "But that doesn't mean I'm-a going easy. You're Bowser's lapdog, so there's no choice but to-"

"-FREEZE, LARDASS!!!"

His hat turned quickly around. "Who-a the hell..."

He locked eyes with Wendy, who - along with Larry and Lemmy - had crept to twenty feet behind him. Her painted nails held a mini-rocket launcher trained straight on his forehead.

"I have a soft spot for cars with roomy trunks", she continued. "Now hands up, and let me see you back SLOWLY away from our brother."

Her hand was pretty superior, and he did the logical thing, slowly retreating from a disturbed prince, until no longer in range to attack.

"You're not so stupid after all", she finally said. Her teeth shone in the lights, gritted, one eye shut and the other up to the scope, plumber in the crosshairs. "Now, kiss your love handles bye."

But of course he had other plans. In obeying her order he'd stepped closer to a corner. Seeing his chance, he bolted around it, out of Wendy's sight. In her haste and the rage on its heels, she fired off one rocket, and doomed the side of a building with ear-splitting explosion and a mushroom cloud of black fiery smoke. She shot off too a silent curse, as the denizens in earshot screamed in fear that their city fell.

She, Larry and Lemmy wasted no time giving chase, but as they rounded the corner he was long gone, into any one of many four-way stops before them. Tracing him was a pipe dream.

"Fuck it all", Larry barked, "There's hundreds of these in just this district. He could taunt us for days."

"Exactly what you said about Roy", Lemmy replied. "I'll get him back to the palace. He needs TLC and to sleep that shit off." Glancing back, he saw Roy had buckled, passed out cold,... Giving the skater boy all the more mind to break off and return Roy to the safety of their 'base'.

"Lemmy, he's going nowhere!" Wendy scolded. "You can't leave us to linguini-breath! Two-on-one's still ffu-... Still screwed up! What if we do get there and he's that much warier?"

"Sis, put up some confidence, you got Dad's military brain and that mindfuck of a war weapon. Could we leave Roy out here, incapacitated, after shit's gone down? They'll be riots, and the panicked drugheads, we're not on the money side of town. I don't wanna cave Mario's skull just to circle back and find my big bro with a knife in his throat 'cause some pissant saw the chance to snatch his wallet."

Wendy wanted to argue, but conceded. Lemmy headed back to Roy, while they charged ahead, combing the streets for any sign of overalls or 'stache crumbs. The skater dangled arms and bemoaned it... Time for him to lift something twice his body weight.

***************************************

For the first time in years, Iggy couldn't sit still.

Not since kidhood had something irked him so deeply. His brother's absence toyed with his conscience - half due to his not intervening in months past, half because he couldn't even be there, seeing problems solved and Roy back to safety. It was all he could do to occupy the couch, twiddle thumbs, pray to any and all gods he knew that Roy come back in one preferably-sober piece.

His reverie was broken as the hall's door swung open, Ludwig behind it. The scientific prince bolted up, not at all expecting this.

"Ludwig!", he shouted as if staring upon a long-lost friend. "You're... Here?"

An eyebrow raised. "Yes, vy vouldn't I be?"

"Well, I was certain you'd be in Deerfield Heights helping protect Roy."

"...First I've heard of it", Ludwig said level, peeved that he'd been left out some loop. "Just vat does Roy need protection from?"

Iggy proceeded to lay out all events leading to their current quagmire. Before he'd even finished, Ludwig was fit to be tied.

"Vy vas I not informed of zis!?", he almost exploded. "My brozer's halfvay across town, moments from mauling by Mario, and nobody s'ought I'd like to know!?"

Iggy's shrug was drastic and poised to where he caught none of the blame. "I had no idea myself before half an hour ago when Dad informed me. Don't ask me why Wendy didn't pass it along."

Upon hearing this something occurred to Ludwig. He fumbled through his pocket, pulled his phone, and as eyes darted over the screen, fury gave way to a melancholy sigh.

"I should've known. Esmerelda must've svitched it off for ze show vissout telling me." His body jerked, in a brief but controlled display. His anger he killed.

Iggy understood, now was the time for reassurance. "He'll make out fine; we've all had trails much worse. Four of them, and one of Mario, and we're much more familiar with this territory than his dirty sack."

Ludwig chuckled, nodded, drooped his head and rest a gentle hand on Iggy's shoulder. "I suppose it's guilt, for being out of reach vith indulgence. I don't expect forgiveness, but I vould ask it."

Iggy smiled despite their impasse. "Ludwig, we're of wealth and power. That's what the significant do: take advantage."

Ludwig's meek turn betrayed his pride in an admirable brother. "How true... And vise."

It was clear to Iggy how hard his elder took this day's turn.

"Where is your better half, by the by? Resting up in the Malibu Dream Condo?" Iggy joked. It coaxed a tiny smirk from his unsettled company.

"Out in ze car. She's alvays saying natural, exterior light is best for adjusting hair and makeup... God forbid she enter ze castle vis ze least flaw, and have all ze servants gaze upon zome ugliness she believes to have."

"Hah... Well, how was the show anyway? Good? Bad? Reality-show-level terrible?"

Ludwig's normal, polite demeanor made its exit. "I don't really care to recall at ze moment."

Iggy nodded halfheartedly, gazing down to carpet. Times like this, small talk had either unsteady welcome or none.

"I guess now we wait, hope, trust and if all else fails, pretend", came his deadpan assessment.

Ludwig's despondency grew past the ability to answer.

***************************************

It was a tall order, searching anyone out among the endless sea of pavement and buildings. Under normal circumstance, Larry and Wendy might breeze through by simply following the crowd, but with actual soldiers vying for the shot at bringing Mario down, and the chaos brought about by an errant rocket, Deerfield Heights swamped with grief and unfortunates. Between Larry's no-mercy fighting style and Wendy's heavy weaponry, it would be a cinch to join plumber to his maker; if they could find him.

"Fuck!!" Larry bellowed as they turned their thirtieth nondescript corner. "How's it this hard to find a four-foot-three walking stereotype in the heart of a koopa city!?"

"And that's why Dad... Hates his guts", Wendy shot back, short of breath from scrambling this way and that. "But once we catch up, all that's left do is... Get my hands around his scruffy little jelly neck, and-"

"-IF you beat me to him, sis. I have as big a score to settle as you."

"Fair... Enough," she gasped, trailing him around another building. After all the time they'd spent searching, they couldn't guess their luck would quickly turn.

But fortune proved itself saintly.

There he stood, in the center of the road's yellow lines, stopped short and glaring straight in their pupils. Larry guessed he'd been running towards them from a prior point to now. While his fists clenched, the knowledge he'd finally have revenge for all of Mario's crimes - a mountain of setbacks done to the Koopa kind - sent adrenaline through his hypertensed veins.

But the moment that plumber caught the outline of their faces, he dashed off, aware of being outnumbered.

As they gave blood-curdling yells and resumed chase, the scene wasn't unlike a B-grade action flick. Bedlam and a confused, desperate mob beset them at every turn, and despite Mario's plumpness they could scarcely do better than keep up with him. Wendy's words went as if from the king's lips; he indeed cursed Mario for things like this, plus a host of others.

Without the slightest warning, their prey halted, spun on one heel and shot a single fireball. Though missing them, this brazen attack had a purpose; in a marvellous stroke of luck the fiery projectile grazed Wendy's rocket launcher, melting a critical component, rendering it hot junk. After testing this with a few fruitless attempts, she lobbed it away, huffing a mix of shallow, rapid breaths and righteous fury.

"YOU'RE REALLY PUSHING IT, YOU FAT BASTARD!", she snarled, leaping desperately towards him. He sidestepped the poorly-planned tactic, a slight smirk below his moustache while he watched her face hit asphalt. Larry tried to lead in with a sucker punch, and also met a timely dodge.

As the embarrassed Wendy sprang back on her feet, she stepped to Larry's side. Together they backed Mario towards a nearby alley - Faces tight in hellfire intensity - and the glint of fear manifested on his pale features. It got to where his one choice was being backward-led in his dim dead-end, but as his spine met brick and they leapt to tackle him, he hopped up and onto their despicable faces, caught one of the adjacent walls and repeatedly leapt higher. In mere seconds he was sixty feet above them, above their touch.

"Goddamned circus act!!" Larry growled, "And some convenient bullshit!"

But as it left his lips, they watched the plumber leap down to open pavement, giving a brief glance, classical taunt.

"I'm gonna FUCK YOU UP, y' retard showoff!!", screamed the koopa prince; he and Wendy rejoined the chase. Mario thanked them with a second fireball, bidding them quickly tuck and roll to either side.

Out of nowhere he skidded to a stop, and leapt to the arguable safety of a copper storefront awning. For what seemed like forever their expressions traded righteous indignation, all three out of breath and at an unspoken stalemate for useful tactics. It was Larry who finally broke silence, with the obvious accusation.

"You were dense enough to try makin' mincemeat out' my bro?! Last mistake of your life!!"

Wendy's eyes narrowed to agree. Mario, unfazed by most all up to this moment, responded with finger pointed in quasi-dramatic fashion.

"So long as Roy's in-a Bowser's camp, he's on my hit list! Koopas are all-a the same, and I protect those who can't fight for themselves, they are many. But-a since you turtles always wanna take it-a personal, I can just as well start with YOU!!"

His stout Italian legs dipped in controlled strength, steadying to jump with full might. His targets went to dodge, but stilled in reaction; Mario practically slammed the ground in a ducking manoever himself.

Only he had seen the bullet whiz by his temple, and even at terrific speed it was clear to be no standard pistol ammo... This Wendy confirmed by a look behind her, from where it had flown. She stared straight through an 'interruption' in a row of solid plaster and brick.

As her focus went long, the origin came known.

Close to twenty yards distant, Morton leaned on an alleyway wall, fingers wrapped around a still-smoking souped-up .357. The look of a hand cannon with worlds more punch.

Despite the atmosphere, a smile found Wendy's lips. "Morton! I never thought you-"

"-I'm a child of the the city, sis!", he quickly provided. "Besides, look at us. It should be second nature."

By now, Mario carefully moved to stand, with a turgid stare through Morton's aim, now centered on his very un-bulletproof chest. Knowing little else to do his hands went for the hazy sky, asking mercy, as the gunman enjoyed hearty chuckles at the shaking of his knees.

"So, you're more skittish of this piece than a rocket launcher?", Morton indulged, lined up with a target that was, to him, lower than a paper silhouette. "Guess you've guessed how accurate I am with this sunuvabitch, you got one warning shot. Needless to say I don't support your presence around here or my bloodline, so you get the short version. Mess with Dad, I kick your sorry ass. Mess with me, I'll make an oil painting from your innards. But you mess with ANY of my siblings, especially when they can't fight back, and you're already so fucking dead they'll be nothing left to cremate. Not even dust floating on a hot breeze."

The panicked plumber had sweat bead on a furrowed brow. Staring straight down the barrel, his far-known bravado was nowhere to be found.

"Now", came Mort's continuation, "We got bigger fish to fry, I don't expect you to get that. What you can get is off of this street, out of this city and the fuck back to your miserable corner, before I turn your head into a pasta strainer. And NEVER forget the day you were blessed by unimaginable mercy."

The now-speechless hero was intuitive, knew he'd been bested and quickly scampered off. Many stopped cars were vaulted in his retreat from whence he came.

Morton watched him disappear beyond the jungle of chrome and concrete, then approached his brethren. Both had barely caught their breath, caked with dirt and blood from such an adventure. While they stooped to clean themselves, he pivotd, surveying the carnage almost totally caused by simple city panic.

"I hate missing so much action, but after getting your message I did the best I could."

"You didn't miss so much", Wendy replied, annoyed mostly at how her clothes were ruined. "We ran around like headless chickens and got what you can't even call a tussle. Maybe a 10K sprint after one homely wild goose."

"Yeah, lucky for us", Larry added. "Lemmy was here, but he opted back with Roy after we found- well, rescued his ass from that goose's wrath."

Morton gave a concerned sigh. "Then they did run across each other. You know what this means."

Wendy was a smidge puzzled. "Not really. Care to tell?" She fiddled with her hair, before realizing it was hardly better off than her outfit.

"Well, unless Mario's just a complete waterhead, he saw Roy's usual self these days. So he knows at least one of us is easy pickings..." He trailed off. "And don't hate me. Letting him go might appeal to his humanity, maybe pierce that bias he holds... Motherfuck, I should've just pulled the trigger, eh..."

"Don't beat yourself up, he's gone for now and by my guess quite a while. Probably headed back to Peach's castle and eat through the pain. Cake or pie." Wendy joked, trying to relieve some of the stress.

"But he'll return. Always sooner than you'd think.", Morton added, a hint of loss in his tone. "He and that perpetual score he invented."

Larry's expression was of clear but resigned disappointment. By all means it was time to change the subject. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I'm stumped how Lemmy plans on handling Roy. It can't be a piece of cake - hah, sis - tryin' to skate back to the palace with two-hundred-fifty extra pounds of-" He stopped short, wincing as he clenched the lower part of his left shin. Wendy and Morton joined in concern at his signs of strong pain. "Fuck", he managed to shout. "my muscles feel like they're on fire."

"I'm not surprised", Wendy said, somewhat relieved at a simple answer. "Withdrawal's there for a reason, and this ghetto marathon couldn't help."

"Well aware of that, sis", Larry snapped. "I don't think it's the time to-SHIT!"

His grip on the troubled shin was tighter; it looked to be swelling. The pain, no doubt the child of some compounded causes, quickly waxed unbearable. "I mean it's been botherin' me all day, but now... It's one hell of number on me."

"Hey, agony won't excuse you from manners, potty-mouth", Wendy half-joked inapprpropiately. Gaining a better handle on their crises, she knew he'd be going nowhere fast, and turned to Morton. "Looks like two of our beloved'll be carried back tonight." Still trying to lighten the mood, and failing. Anyone could place her melancholy fear.

The star-marked koopa prince gave a gentle shrug. "Here I thought I wouldn't set foot in there again if you paid me, but if you need help with him - and that's a good bet - it's an okay exception."

Wendy nodded. "The car's just over there, thank God" she continued, pointing where she, Larry and Lemmy had first piled out. "If the mobs didn't mob it. Plumbass led us in a perfect circle. But, as Iggy would say, my back strength is indirectly proportional to the distance and incline of my route and directly proportional to Larry's un-thin keister."

"Fuck you", he almost laughed, putting on a brave face.

Morton bent down to help him up, took one arm and Wendy took the other. He was lugged with care back to what would serve as their ambulance.

"I hate saying this... We should try and get this done, and come back for Roy and Lemmy", Wendy considered out loud. "We turned left and right so many times to find that low-down eunuch it could take hours to retrace our steps, and Roy's, well, no medical emergency. Barring dehydration or lobotomy."

"No use trying to pick 'em up anyway", Morton dryly added. "Lemmy knows you can't cram five people and a dead rocket gun in a convertible."

"Not without a deer rack... Anyway..." Larry chucked as the ache would allow. He didn't know just how fast he'd been on a downward spiral, Roy's own situation was cause to forget; among other things in the heat of confrontation. Regardless, he wouldn't argue with Wendy, however much he worried for his bro's well-being; there's a difference between a willful, indisposed addict, and one who suffers through the horrors prevalent in recovery still attempting a life in the process.

"Thanks for comin' through in the clutch, Mort," he remarked, meekly. "Sorry you gotta cart my ass back to a place you wouldn't touch with a ten-billion-foot pole."

Morton only knew to smile. "Well if I didn't care about a brother in dire straits, I'd still be at home dishonouring Dad."

***********************************

Roy awoke to the comfort of his own bed, with blurred vision barely making out Lemmy's form. His passing out had tempered the extreme high, but only enough to allow a semblance of normal, coherent conversation.

"Ugghhh... The fuck happened to me?", he began, rubbing the back of his head as if it might help his troubles.

Lemmy smiled, purposefully. "You happened to you. Got so twisted you konked out in the middle of Deerfield Heights, after dark. It's a miracle you still have your wallet, and your kidneys."

"No shit", Roy almost cackled, but wincing from groggy aches. "Guess it was divine destiny."

The skater prince's act of a smile quickly faded, driven away by a furrowed look of incredulous authority. "Well the way things are going, I'd flatline if destiny had you see twenty-five. I don't care to play fortune-teller. I also don't want my gen' to be four brothers, a sister and a tombstone."

Roy's countenance was serious itself for a moment. Then a shift to ingratiating. "Why not? You could do boardstalls and grind across me all the live-long day."

Naturally, this didn't amuse. "Yeah, talk big now that you're not about to get your block knocked off. Guess who stopped by while you were in junkburg?"

"... I'm afraid to ask", Roy returned apprehensively. "An old girlfriend? "

"Hardly. Try a midget Pillsbury doughboy that screws pipes and murders indiscriminately."

Roy's eyes widened, and he threw his head back on the pillow. "Fuuuuck", he groaned, "That means I coulda had my candle snuffed at his hands!?"

"Not only that", Lemmy continued, "But your apprentice's weathering the DTs, to begin with, from the shit you got him started on."

Roy let out an impatient sigh. "I knew that, this morning, when I tried to get his ass up for Wendy and you - y'know, doing you a favour. Guess he started spazzin' bad at the mall for YOU to clue me in." He had his own cold way alluding that Lemmy wasn't king of bravery.

His male 'nursemaid' shook his head. "It was on the way back here, after thwarting you-know-who. Wendy's in his room, stuffing him with painkillers just so he can sleep. You have any idea what heroin does when it's out of reach?"

"Yeah, actually." The cryptic statement was more honest than Lemmy knew. "Well shit, how long was I out?" He tried to save himself from more preaching.

"Maybe forty-five minutes. Morton was here, but after helping Larry get in and situated he couldn't take this any longer. Iggy and Ludwig are in the TV room but I didn't say you're home. I'll let you pass the word, so they'll give your sorry ass the bawl-out it deserves."

Roy bolted up from the bed, feet hitting the floor as he replied. Blood drained from his head and he swayed. "Yeah, because... The whole place known you ain't havin' it. How convenient." His words - though ignorant - cut deep, and as he sauntered like a walking high-rise in the wind, past Lemmy and out the door, there died the will for retort.

The skater did speak, once the door shut. "I wish that was only chemicals talking." He finished detachedly, and rose to exit.

Roy didn't bother to see Wendy or Larry, opting to shirk the whole thing and make his way to the TV room. He stepped in to find Iggy immersed in some documentary on a high-numbered cable channel, but no sign of Ludwig.

"How's it not hangin', four-eyes", he slammed, "Seen the ol' married man anywhere around?"

"Yeah", Iggy distantly complied, never taking eyes off the screen. "He went back upstairs on Esmerelda's arrival. I'm faily sure they've retired for the night."

"So that's it?", Roy continued. "I thought for sure you two'd have smoke to blow up my ass for today."

A fervent shake of Iggy's head. "I'm not king Dad, and Ludwig has better things to attend, if you know my meaning. I will say you're smarter than any of this, and don't assume I'm so aloof as not to see. In addition it's neither my business nor place to solve. Your choices are yours to weather."

Roy nodded approvingly, lower lip poked out. "At least somebody's not challenged. Look, I'm still kinda floatin', so I'mma be upstairs and sleep this shit off."

"Actually, you're not", Iggy corrected, "I appreciate you reminding me, Dad wants you up in his quarters ASAP, and that was from at least twenty minutes ago, so if I were you I'd scoot like a worm-infested ditch-sleeping mutt. That shouldn't be a stretch."

"Tch. Fucking great", Roy muttered, remarkably not set up to pound him for the sass. " 'Least I don't have to wonder why, as if that helped."

Iggy smiled, vindicated. "And if I were you I'd try to locate that iron medieval breastplate I made for ballistics experiments. It may prove invaluable."

Roy only shook his head, flipped the bird and opened the door to the hallway. He knew the score, and a million-to-one said he wasn't up for friendly visits.

Once he'd made his way several flights up to the floor of the throne room, he found it vacant, save for a single Troopa at the door in jet-black armour of chamber-guard's tradition. He was promptly redirected to an empty spare room several doors down. Miffed by this surprise extention to his journey, he made his way there at comfy speed, slowly pushed open the creaking door and found the objective. His majesty sat in silent repose, upon a worn chair against a dusty table, his chin resting on a heavy fist. No other furniture filled the room, so as he entered, he was forced to stand as his father ceased the vigil.

"I'd like you to do something for me," Bowser uttered, the syllables low and rigid. "I want you to close your eyes, and let your mind paint a picture of what you're about to hear. Don't say you're too high or tired, I'll SEE how high you get on the gallows."

This, combined with a somber base in Bowser's tone, discouraged Roy from showing that careless flippance others received. Well-aware of his father's short stock in patience, his eyes went swiftly shut. So he couldn't see Bowser's head lift from his hand; he could only hear him rise, trading his dour tones for those of one disenfranchised, as he began to pace around a son of bitter waste.

"To begin," he strongly observed, "Imagine you hold the enviable seat to command untold acres of land and millions of subjects. Imagine if every head and heart inside your influence, capable of higher thought, hinged on all that leaves your lips... Be it orders, promise or predictions. Can you see it yet?"

Roy couldn't help but smile, mid-wide. His mind spun some grandoise visions of the splendourous power, hedonism and control over the masses. And it was because of this that Bowser chose that method; he'd guage what his words drew from Roy's imagination. As he viewed the proof of clearly pleasurable thoughts, his pacing ceased, directly in front of Roy.

"My suspicions are confirmed," he stated. "I wouldn't be far off the mark if I guessed you're seeing a throne, piled riches and droves of the eager women at your toes."

Roy nodded, still with his eyes tightly shut. The king himself, ventured an unintentional smirk as his pacing resumed. Once at Roy's side, he faced the table, curled his fingers in and busted the fuck out of it with a jackhammered blow. Roy's heart leapt into his neck. The eyes were open now.

"Here's how it really works." He saw nothing of Roy's peace, having chased it to doom. "The riches you see, every cent is from taxes levied of those people's heads, in exchange for things they demand. The normal, everyday sort... Such as provisions, infrastructure and the assurance - or no less than the appearance - of safety. That self-same thankless throne brings a multitude of troubles, problems I juggle daily like some exhausted slave of a travelling show. And those people would NEVER pledge their minds to whom they don't alternately respect and fear. Now, open your eyes. NOT the ones that are bugged out right now."

Roy's tremble confronted the grave image of his father's grimace, mere inches from his own face. He jumped when he breathed, what his father chose to ignore.

"Now, imagine this how you like. Vast swarms of discontents, in a riotous rage, beating down the walls of my castle with the sole plan to drag me out by the tail, pound the life from my body and leave the vultures to pick at my remains like so much sun-baked roadkill."

In his terrified state, Roy thought of little to improve his standing, but knew this might be the only chance to speak for himself. "Dad, I doubt you'll see that happen, ever, if that's what this is all about." The second it left his lips, he knew it to be a very poor choice.

The intensity of Bowser's gaze grew accordingly. "I will pretend you're being serious, Roy, for your sake. Consider what's happened today... Do you think I'd have you here, just to cull reassurance for my own PEACE OF MIND!!?"

He dove down and Roy screamed. The table, in five pieces, he swooped with one arm. Splinters flew across the room, a third stuck in the wallpaint from sheer speed. Roy gulped hard, sweat trickling down his shaking head. This seemed to ease the king's cultured rage, knowing it 'stuck'... But in his unspoken opinion, not enough.

"Of course," the father continued, "Those diverging scenarios have one thing in common: decisions. Those I make, as standing ruler of this imperfect land, in things political and personal, can have monstrous effect on how my people view me, and how they ultimately regard me. But I'm not alone in that obligation as you think I am. You, Ludwig, Morton, Lemmy, Iggy, Wendy and Larry are in the public eye, whether you reach for it or not. And likewise, what Joe Average on the street sees of any of us, will always find its way back to me. Always." He stopped, exuding a different sort of discontent. "Has any of this filtered through you?"

Roy nodded enthusiastically. He was not so torn up nor such a lost cause that he'd forget how with his father, everything flowed black and white. There was a right answer, and something else might as well be its polar opposite.

"I hope," The king growled. "But to be safe, I'll cut the rest down, so I can know you'll absorb it. My point in all this is that if you don't care in the least, we all look a certain way. What you did tonight could not possibly look worse. I'll count on receiving hundreds of complaints - formal and informal - from people who might live nowhere near that wretched Deerfield area, saying I'm not fit to be sovereign of an ant farm if I can't even control my own kids."

"Y-you can control most of them", Roy weakly returned, desperate for a way to lighten the fury. The escalation in Bowser's snarl and brow told Roy it was time to quit trying.

"But vividly not all", the king continued, still taking Roy's aloofness in sophisticated stride. "And there's a point in that old adage of the bad apple in the barrel. I think we can agree which one of seven has turned. Go ahead and think I know little of your private life beyond the stone of these walls, but I have ways to watch your every move, and for a good while I've been putting them to use. I know all about what goes through your system in the span of a day. I knew the same about Larry - that's right, knew, as to his change of heart - and I'm so aware of who's to blame for before, and who's ultimately responsible for his present state, laid up in bed with a body that's fighting him tooth and nail." He wiped below his mouth; some foam had ran out from the frothing. "I should enlighten you, as I saw to it something else was kept for me to reveal. Larry's legs are... Not too far from broken right now, and it's because he galavanted across that hell-hole searching for you. They'll recover, with time and care, but what they accomplished for his standing was absolutely priceless. Laugh and I end you."

One brow casually raised over Roy's other; Bowser elaborated. "Though I'd say many things about him I could apply to the useless heap of flesh in this room with me, he fought the demons of his past - and their pressure - to help you, and have you safe so I at least wouldn't be saying this wistfully at your graveside. It speaks volumes about honour. That's a word I'll safely say can NEVER apply to you."

Roy was now on razor's edge, keen of where things might be heading, and Bowser gave no pause before confirming his fears. "I've turned the other cheek far and wide, and sadly it took that wretched plumber's rampage to prove it. If I don't do something to teach you how men of nobility conduct themselves, you will destroy me, your brother, your life and all you could imagine. The only thing that possibly eases my spirit here and now is that I know exactly how to deal with you."

********************************

The silence at the castle gate was broken by the rough hum of a smaller engine. Pulling up in a Kelly green Accord, a lone koopa stepped out of his ride with a bouquet of daisies in tow, promptly strolling up to the call button as if he owned it. To the contrary, if ever there was someone who had the distinct look of not belonging there it was him. No less than six feet in stature, sporting a blonde crew cut... His arms and torso were in arguable shape, by no means toned. This rapscallion stood patient in his average-looking navy blue tee, denim slacks and well-worn Buster Browns. It was for the best that the servant charged with fielding all requests for entry couldn't see him as she gave the mandatory question.

"Who may I say calls, and for whom?", she asked, the curtness of her tone crystal-clear in spite of garbling speaker.

The teen leaned in to supplement. "Here to see Wendy. Tell her Morie's here, she's expecting me."

To be continued...