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KOOPALINGS: THE TEENAGE YEARS

by Eightane / Foxy Boy

CHAPTER XVI: EMPATHY'S RUST

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It took more than a minute, or one counted loosely, to have the doc succeed in wrestling Ludwig up from breakdown. Todd still wanted to stop him; his foot moved, but it abbreviated that and quit its progress in a split-second. Honestly, it was the man's job. No matter a prince or subject, sane or spazzed, the doc preserved control; Morton had no room for a morphine-riddled err by a brother with a broken arm and a boatful of baggage. Ludwig was guided back to his bed, arms and chest were 'pressed' to it and things whispered in his ear.

MD's are known for calm, near-ASMR ways of speech, but this was no psychologist. Forty seconds more and the appeals to an addled crown's-heir at last wormed their way deep in, soothed his half-flails. But the rambling continued; and for what it was, this had its time and place. "Look at the glass, there's light... You feel it, Morton. Tell me you do, come to us and say it-"

Standing up slow and anguished, but stable, the doc would have taken off his specs were he not painfully myopic. His words to Todd were tired; he barely even looked on the young man, instead to floor tiles, thinking deeper than this guest had the nature to. "He's not going anywhere, but you guessed that. Looks like I have many developments here, I'll pull the file for... His brother, it sounded like?"

Todd nodded. He didn't process doing this, but the notion was too right and imperative, reflex took reign. Numb heads might be best, if only for now.

The doctor squinted; or winced, in Todd's eyes maybe tested by the smoldering newcomers... God, it was true, wasn't it. A nobleman brushing death. Not so much an imminent corpse, since some part of Todd knew that if things were dire as that, there'd be scores of nurses, staff pouring in to help... But... Morton's still the family, and... Knowing this, why weren't there more already here...

Time was just in a sprint, too fast. And the room's only healthcare rep', his scrubs and scruples, would suffer if he had to play security for their first, milder patient. "I'm sending two RN's, they can watch over both your friends... If I had the time to go over all of the added odds and ends when His Highness is connected, well, that's mutton for another day. I won't kick you out, unless you make a scene or interfere with any turn that's necessary. I will explain that if you need. Otherwise, I leave for briefing, things you can trust won't drag. I'm no use to them otherwise." He glanced to the corner... A dust bunny, hung by a thread of cobweb. The need for help, and funding, was palpable. "Depending on what I hear, is where those two poor devils wind up. And, we'll hope the base floor is not our answer." He said no more aloud... And not showing his mouth before Todd's eyes, there was no figment of his lip-syncing just after; sparse, but something to the effect of how rare is the surgeon who loses a man with titles and keeps his head.

Todd put on a stiff upper lip. He gathered what he must, both the meaning cast his way and courage throughout. Doc was honest in the need to depart, but also its brevity. Nothing further while he chafed the floor with polished boots, leaving by the single exit. One nurse brushed by him, and was now attendant; the other had been paged from farther out in corridors, and so would be a moment yet.

He decided to stay... Todd would stick it out, until at least two brains and pairs of arms were there. This minor comfort was the least he'd take as sufficient, and the least was all he'd get. Looking one-third out the window, two-thirds to the weepy Ludwig; the latter was a mess, almost locked in curled fingers, like he clawed air, gnashing and regretting everything. So little was his to hate by lamentation, a man in stupor along for the ride. Somehow, Todd empathized, in spirit.

Nurse one had his helper arrive, and the fresh-in second caught sight of the two broiled alive... He squelched a gasp that became a puff of air, so barely heard, not important facing this. They checked Morton, his company and the elder prince. All three bedridden, two silent, one murmuring. Taller koopa nurse scraped the skin on Tom, careful as could be: withered on its wrist where the caretaker judged it, almost coming off in his hand. He quick-relented push on it, just barely doing what it took to get a feel for the degree of burns. Ludwig's rue and groping for the words to handle this put Todd and two males in scrubs to sniffles. "Come on, voice, accuse me, Morton, lay me on the griddle... I could have butted in, right? Fault me, I'll take it, loyal..." At first it would seem piecemeal, maybe, but every purpose in thought went far from muddled, more and more towards the real. Todd's eyes grew in kind, bit by bit, listening. "Share a ribeye with me upstairs, slap the shit from me. Anything, star, it applies! Swear by tomorrow, you can take it in vain, be there-"

They were loopy, though constructs the skater followed. As he put sullen ears away from nurses and awake prince, he yearned not to.

A female tone tore through his misery. From the doorway, and his mouth dropped; cool as a man could try and wipe his face, he did before swinging around. Who should be there, stepping light towards Ludwig... Leaning down, wielding eyes of worry and love, and faith... Esmerelda took Ludwig's cheeks in her cold hands, the nails painted rose in polished gloss. Delicate, her fingers, but strong as a pacifying force could hit his sweat-wrapped face. Her keratin pushed through his hair, tips through waves and tufts of her husband. Her thick lashes' elegance concealed from Todd how she took in sights of her restless honey. His mutterings were first desperate, then dodgy, then dispersed. He didn't go gentle into closure, but who could in this such time.

She combed his locks, her red enamel, cool skin that refreshed him in the trance he couldn't shake. "He's there for why you're here, love. Neither of you are Sisyphus. Trust the men in white, and me. I'm nowhere but here now." She showed utterance of the purest one can feel; self-effacing to the full measure. "Forgive me for anywhere else. Hear me. Talk however helps, but I want to be the one."

Ludwig might help his brother and Tom one way, now, giving space and rest. Esmerelda knew, and her quiet pleading - airy, slow and of inner assurance - said this without the literal. Her hands brushed scalp and cheek, doting, drawing bravery to be here, help him by just this touch. Todd gazed on her, seeing a Samaritan as much as a bride; power choked him up again, but just like prior he spoke by urge and reflex. Crackling in his voiced appeal was nothing to be hidden or held down. "He's in smithereens without you."

She took the tiny shred of time needed for a quick look his way; half a second, fixed to him, then down to where her heart belonged. "It seems he's a lot of that, whether I'm here or not."

"... W-well, only right now, right? I mean when I've seen him before..." He realized he'd been hasty. A change of subject was best. "... He has flown a little daffy. I think sleep will help."

She stroked still her husband's hair, his temples; she 'agreed' through her continuing peace-talk. "Rest, my love. Things will have sharper focus. Doctors go to work, and the changes will be upward."

Ludwig, in another world entirely, swam through the muddle to find her. His chin and nose rocked back and forth, slow as an oak chair of antiquity. "Tell them, he needs it... His shirt, say it to them... His luck..."

This was maybe the queerest morsel from his mouth yet; but the one he said it to knew all the points. She leaned in, wrinkling her nose from fighting tears, and sweetly pecked his T-zone. "He'll have it, sweetness. There won't be sleep without." She leaned up; what she watched was Ludwig smile, a goofy variant of normal. It faded to closed lips, closing eyes. He drifted off on the power of medical science, and the greater pull of she who wore his ring.

Todd had the patience of a commoner alright. "Was that something I should know?"

She looked, and showed blankness in the absence of an eye-roll that would've come off unseemly. "It's not implied, but you can, there's no problem." She wanted to look on Morton; she caught a glimpse on the way in, but averted when queaziness came strong and quick. This was not her element. She tilted neck Morton's way, almost like the preppy girl she was in years before. "He always sleeps in a certain shirt. Ludwig's mentioned it, said it's light green and has a white symbol, an axe and a staff. From a movie or something, they saw it as toddlers." She drew a breath, and coughed petitely in this place's air, notes of iodine and IV fluid. "It must have struck a chord, profoundly. I've never seen it."

Todd, though, very much had; the colour, the two objects... As an adolescent male, those he knew. The film was explosive, alright, in ways a teen would hold to. He hashed this out, thinking a diversion would play well on their pathos. "Saints in Svandley, it has to be! There's never been a better rescue action flick. Hahah, I... I wonder if Morton also loved the part where they drop into a clearing after hitching on an enemy Huey? When I saw that as a kid of, I think, 8?... I never knew I could love a scene writer... Eh..." He tapped his noggin, and tried again. "... Screenwriter?"

Esmerelda nodded, confirming him. She appreciated what he tried to do. The nursemen walked around, checking dials, prepping a caddy for IV, assessing more vitals and skin on their pair of critical cases.

... Three seconds later, someone showed up, and they were redirected. Not by orders or thoughts, just presence. The man of Wendy's life, lately, decided he wasn't done with this, or vice-versa.

Todd smiled out one corner of his mouth, before it faded, his thoughts never far from questions with Morie close to him. "You lose something, bro?"

Morie had looked chipper enough, whether put-on or non, but this got him 'walled' in his countenance, a defense put back up. "Nah. My bullhockey, maybe, I'm fine." He nodded once, brief like he inflicted it on Todd. "You?"

Strange time for Todd to play the motivator. "Not well at all, man, are you seeing this?" When he caught in his peripheral the twitch of Ludwig's wife's brow, he realigned things. "I mean, they'll be alright, soon enough, but we're all on eggshells. I don't blame you scooting."

The nurses looked to be one thought away from soft-evicting him; it clearly stretched their patience, a new occupant. Esmerelda ignored much at the time; some for how she lacked a slang-to-King's thesaurus. But no judgement there, just exclusion, and with her hands on the table, next to Ludwig's either ear. Watching him sleep. Viewing his mouth, his eyes, still as handsome for all he'd been through. The other two on gurneys, though... Morton sputtered, and the nurses, drawn in a beeline to this, attended him. One looked up to the returning friend. "The room's already over-capacity. We can't let you stay, I'm sorry. Please, it's best."

Morie, in this case, offered little resistance. "Understand. You guys take care of them, that's for you scrubs and these two family-units."

Todd, had he ears that swiveled, would've swung them high right now. "But I'm not fa-"

Morie patted his jacket, loudly. "Shit, I forgot my smokes!... Oh right, you can't use them in here. I'll meet up with you some other time."

Todd... Got everything this attempted. His correction died. Inside, in some corner of him, reservations wanted to.

But Morie had one thing more, itching his tongue to fling. He turned to go, but bade Esmerelda see him one last time, his back in the leather. "I want to ask, If Wendy's to be found downstairs, anywhere, and I have plans for her... What should a fella say?"

Laughably impetuous. Esmerelda hummed slight and smirked. "That's a kind of mouthful. Well, you have a talent for compacting and distilling things to a, let's say, casual bite-size. I'm prone to say it's part of what she sees in you." Esmerelda said the rest for him but to Ludwig, since her eyes were challenged being elsewhere. "Rely on that, and I feel you can't go wrong."

He, and to a smaller curve Todd, put on their comforted smiles. Morie left with a jacket's slight swish, the most regal he may look in a lifetime.

Todd processed. What had that slouch just confessed, offhand... And done for Todd, with antsy nursing staff, who knew he was no more blood to the clan than that rough-clothed teddy bear.

An arm reached out. It wasn't his, nor Esmerelda's. And not Ludwig's, slumbering as he did.

The tattered sleeve and hide, blood specks and fabric warped by half-melt... Morton wasn't out. And close enough to Ludwig's bed, as they lay, he found the will. Laid the ruined palm and wrist on his brother's gown, sheer and crinkling over bare scales.

His other arm lifted. This one took more work; tendons inside it were all but destroyed. Todd saw him struggle and shake, heard him belt out a groaned grunt, grating and loud... He stepped over to the bed. Carefully, he took the forearm in his hand. Ignored the nurse's orders to leave it be. Sat it where he could tell Morton wanted it, on the breast and shoulder of his Tom.

Esmerelda hid her face. Sat up, and forced a stare to the corner, elegant as one could. Morton mashed his words together; lips were mangled where the 'S' and 'N' and 'M' were insoluble. No one could tell what he said, not half a sentence. But in a string, never losing breath, he put his lungs into the love he spoke, no language getting in the way.

He'd not rip that sheer dress over Ludwig sleeping. His fingers couldn't bend; so that paper-thin veneer was Ludwig's skin to him, the purpose served. His mind, behind red blotches in sight from burnt and burst capillaries, wanted only for crown-prince and the one who ruled his ticker, their hearts to feel this. Then, and only then, did his rough sigh clatter and lead him to unconsciousness. Dreams.

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The ground was filthy with splintered earth, jagged pieces ejected when the king jumped to confront their menace. They were stained red, of the troops and souls lost for the cause, in hours that led up to now. Bowser stood wide, twelve times the legspan of the man who resembled an insect to him. Looking down, he had no pause for honour; cracked a fist on the dirt, and Mario sailed off in a yards-strong arc. The poor plumber couldn't hope to approach this giant; and anything he did in the past, that armour that was fresh and new would check it in no time. He couldn't lay a finger on the monarch; but it seemed the behemoth couldn't strike him either.

"Come FACE your new home, worm!!" Roared the king. "Where my power sends you! COWARDS dodge, you duck your destiny!!"

Mario's dusty trousers rolled with him, out of melee range, up to his feet. His defiant eye taunted more than his mouth. "No, the cowardly rule through-a strength of others. You can-a break me, but where are you without them!?"

He looked oh-so-swift across the deathscape, limbs, lost men and women, the wages of conflict. Bowser did some of the same, but his belly shook with a short laugh, then launched a longer chuckle. "You have it backwards, midget, they're nowhere without ME. Or did you forget that a place with no leader has no place, and not an anchor to throw? Where have I led you, without even a word?"

Mario wanted to rebutt, something about anchors keeping ships moored and stagnant, going nowhere but deterioration. Bowser brought his hands up, though, and clapped. The sound itself had the Italian squeal; ringing in his ears was deafening. He held them, so briefly; in this time, Bowser swept him with a spiked tail. He tumbled head-to-heels; the scalp hit the dirt, concussed, and blood squirted from tears in his denim, the tail spines having met their mark succinctly.

He wheezed. Bowser knew there was time to speak; things this menace should know that so clearly escaped him. "Blow all the hot air your pasta breath wishes. It won't bring my men back. You tried to pin it on me? Where's war without an aggressor? An invader, seizing the day by their throats!?" He picked up this tiny bug of a man by his hair; the shocks that endured from that bolt were so much dimmed now, just a tickle for his scaled paw. Mario's bloody mouth chattered; teeth that were still in, not halfway across the glade, grinded to take the pain of dangling by scalp carpet. Bowser had every license needed for a full explaining. "How dare you evince to turn them your way. I believe in my troops; they're my arms, and I their backbone. We're as one, covering this realm, by their wish and my grace. You would never know that word. What honour lives in you, wanderer?" He squeezed down; this drove Mario's hair deeper into his digits, pulling harder on the traumatized curls of Mario's head. The plumber's eyes pulled to slits; his mouth threw open with pained wails. Bowser continued. "War to you is to knock on my door, when I've only ended the fools who splatter my people on their hands? What genocide have I shown you, even when I strived to liberate YOUR friends and fans, defecting to the side without defect? Have I killed in anger, or in striking back, what do you see in the past!?"

Had Mario the freedom and lack of agony to say... He'd have no fitting answer. Not now, at least, and this the king well-knew. Around them, sheer columns of ground lay sideways, shuttered by that one jump, like hoodoos 'harvested' and laid sidewise. But there would be another jump; when Mario tipped back his shoes, floundered and whipped his body upward to swing and get to mouth's-reach of the koopa holding him. He caught the meat of Bowser's palm in a rough, jagged chomp, blood from his lost molars mixing instantly with Bowser's when he bit into the flesh. There was a seethe, a breath of hot fury, no shout; but Mario fell from his grasp, and just as this started, he clocked the king's wrist with a hard left hook. Meteor Smash on the thinnest part of the green ruler's brawn, and hard enough to feel in his reptile bones.

Aides and workers inside the castle heard the flagrant rage, a roar not of pain but a grudge strengthened. Then they fell, the timbers quaked, the stone floors jostled under them like a box of BB's shaken. Bowser leapt again, but though from the ground and not a high perch, it was twice the fissure. Cracks opened up around him; one would have caught and trapped Mario, if he hadn't been in midair, like a ragdoll, or a hapless squirrel bashed by a truck into roadkill. Soldiers around them yelled glee, some in tears of happiness. It looked like he was gone, the red-and-blue murderer, down to stay. Imagine their shock when his feet hit the dirt; not his dead body, but a recovered man who took a deathblow and spat in its figurative face. He came down on two feet alright, but one hand soon hit the ground with it; unable to hold up self, feeling only pain and at the same time feeling none of it. He had one other hand, and this made a sparking, fiery fist. There were no flowers. He'd gained back fire, but from where? What had catalyzed this mercy, a favour he'd never be worth?

Bowser cared not. He drummed the dirt, fist after fist, following a human who just barely ducked, rolled and "tripped" free of his reach. He was the elusive sprite. The rabbit in the castle basement. He was become dodge, the destroyer of time, eating it away while Bowser throttled with bare knuckles, armoured shoulder, his horrible tail. Mario found precious millieconds to toss fireballs, their flares sometimes missing but never weak. And three found their mark; two made hot spots in the king's armour, singed him by the melting steel on his leg and chest; and the third, the koopa king at last had reason to scream. His nose was blackened; crinkled on its tip, a first-degree reminder of why this human cur stuck in his craw. He put raw hate into words. "YOU FUCKING RAT TURD OF A SIXTH-RATE FLUFFER, I'LL TURN ALL YOU LOVE TO DUST BEFORE YOU!!"

He unleashed the fires of hell from his own shell-shocking scream, thousands of times beyond what gloved fingers on Fire Mario could shed his way. Bonfires from baritone, incineration in letterless word. They were off-target... Mostly. But Mario's right leg, dragged behind him in his scramble, was unlucky. The ankle-down caught its blast near full-force. The plumber splayed himself. Body writhed like a worm in an acid bath. He had two thighs, two knees, but now only one calf, ankle and plod. Below his high-shin on the right side, skin and muscle had vanished. Burned away, and the bare, jet-black stump of his legbone caught the wind, and had him beat the bloody ground with fists, in a pain unparalleled. Crippled now. No power star or mysterious help from lightning or God-knew-what could save his chance to walk. Bowser's anger went dim; then mellow, and the steadiest sour grin wound over him, defeating all but his innermost pleasure. He stood tall, ignored his nose and burning chest, and leaned down to the human scum. He could've picked the pecker up by his pickled leg stump, and had its ashy end break off and shorten his lame limb even further; but he chose the GOOD leg, the one who could hold its near-pulverized owner. Mario swung upside-down, swaying in gentle swoops, Bowser playing with his half-dead 'toy' like a true child.

"Only now do you understand. Or is that assumption?" Bowser milked his glee, and the wavering shouts of Mario's high whines; no hero could be silent in this torment. "Is it misconception, to say you get the picture? I always thought it was laid out quite well. I'm the guard dog, pipsqueak. I am good and decent to those who respect me and my lands, those I preside from and the ones your friends squat on and say they value. But when your bloodthirst brings you here, carrying with you their ambitions to stir and topple and abuse my trust, under some abstract 'good intentions', you've found the road to hell." He blew into Mario's face; smoke, thick as cream poured in coffee, choked out the grating whines. No more falsetto from the fettucini bandit.

"Do you wish for death?"

Mario said nothing. Gave no satisfaction of the kind, though fluids rushed to his head, pain only growing and insisting to break him.

"Is it your prayer now to have your book closed, now that no more can be scrawled?"

The plumber held one eye open; that stare on the vicious king, his bright red coif and fangs, the blistered schnozz, had the only fight left in him. Words were murmurs, in strained bursts with heaped pauses. "You think... I'ma the only... One... Then you'll wish... Your story ended with-a mine..."

"... HA. I overflow with doubts. But your death, right now? You'd be a martyr. Far from justice, you agree?"

Mario coughed, ignorant of where this was going. He wished one thing of his would die, his ears. But they held on and heard his fate.

"No, that's not what we'd have in a perfect world. The one I've made, and will expand, to the delight of those who sent you thinking low of me. They'll learn. And you will too, from your cozy new hostel." He shook the sickened Mario, not knowing he was nauseous; A few good whiplash-jigs to and fro, light and brittle as a flowerstalk, and Mario gave up his lunch. Carrot bits, rotini, the brown of a light tea, tomato juice, stomach bile. It poured into one of twenty man-sized gaps in ground, the memory of the king's jump. So much more than that of his nimble fuckstain of a foe, at last, finally, inherently done for.

"The best thing I could now do, is prove what you never accepted; you're neither special nor invincible. Exempt, neither, from facing what my criminals, defectors and slime like that encounter. Have you heard of my hostel, Mario? It's so, so cheap. Just pay your fee through the chains and cuffs. All the bread and water you can scarf, and I know how big that mouth opens." He grinned wider; not just for ever-greater assurance, the longer Mario had no way to fight him; but for once, the gleam in that greasy thing's gaze was fright. He had the man by the balls, and his foot by its toes inside shoe leather. Mario feared him. Orange drool dripped a thousand degrees from lizard lips. "Who knows, you may reconnect with a few chums in there. Long-lost lads or loves. They'd certainly die to hear your opinion on our health plan, it keeps you thin and beach-ready!" He had already been luscious with indulging the insults, but one more now, to conclude the victory. "Ribs and ripped skin are in this year."

Mario knew, before all this oration wrapped, where Bowser would put him. He'd seen a dungeon before. But the koopa king's, he hadn't, and despite such loss of fluid - dripping dull black-red from his leg stump - he had enough to sweat, its uncoloured lubricant rolling down him chin-to-upended brow.

"It confounds me, amazes my brain every day," The king stated in less-cocky notes, "How you held your own for years. This battle was brief. So much to where you dishonour the war, caving. Or perhaps I just grew tired of you and destiny took notice." He seethed in pin's-width mouth scowl, but his eyes were held in ways not congruent, wide and with remembrances, images behind.

Mario knew no context for the putdown; it was a phrase he didn't care much to dissect, swaying head-down under the giant green hand, still dripping blood, colour draining from him. Bowser might pick him apart, though, in the bowels of whatever hellscape-prison waited, and if it be his calling... They agreed on one thing, this skirmish was quick. Curious armour, a new addition to the koopa king's methods, the plumber assumed to be behind his loss. All he could know, however, boiled down to the last he said to Bowser, a conclusive thought while he faltered all other ways: "You... Really believe... You're-a manifest king... Of... All..."

There had been incredulity, while the words snuffed slowly out. He didn't go out in sudden terms - no falling limp like a bunch of reeds inside those claws - but a gradual loss of mettle, courage alive but body wilting, until his red-flecked blue eyes sank, lids devoured them, and no more was felt or heard in Bowser's grip.

Bowser, his happiness, came on brilliant as starlight. Unfettered joy, and though he'd never cry for bliss he'd not come closer than now. His fangs dug into the gumline, clenching it and his arms in subconscious flex of might. He yelled it into his captive's ear, only now, the Italian wouldn't wake. On the edge of death, but this was always planned for; behind the king, two men from infantry showed in a whiter version of troop colours; they were medic-trained. Keeping this fool alive was a mission of no mercy, and hating him as their leader did, they brought the First Aid briefcase and latex gloves with sick impunity. Greedy to revive him, back into pain. Bowser turned, noticed them, and handed down the fallen enemy, entrusted now to them. After all his relishing, he closed the book on Mario alright, but on the part where he cared anymore. "He's nothing now, just the same as killers, rapists and thieves. Even with power, when he had excuses to think I'd entertain him... Oh why go into it? Take him away." Clues of baggage seemed to infect his ending; but a king doesn't stammer, and didn't.

Open-ended, how he spoke and kept the last ideas to lend Mario time or effort. He was too right, that louse was no more a threat now than a wingless fly. It could be said that he wished the greasy fuck had respected his rule... And mind, and most the push from below made of more than himself... But those behind that would now see to the plumber's destruction. Their king had struck the blows; and the ones who fight hardest gave Bowser tickets to ride this win, and had the enviable tasks. They, after all, could chide and tease the near-corpse while dragging him to ruin. And they knew much of the pipe-handler; if the fat bastard woke up, he'd hear how he's in the same hallowed lodging as his old friend KP! The great, late, disloyal, doomed.

A King - 'Bowser I', Of Dark and Mushroom thrones, today heinously coronated - wiped a mist from his brow; barely full sweat, but a bit into that realm. And his own, the castle grounds and hillsides that hemmed it in, looked as an honest apocalypse. More than pools and puddles of gore; scattered viscera, arms and legs and fingers, heads that rolled too far from the poor devils once belonging with them. Dirt piles and sharp-sided rubble showed even the Earth was scarred. He looked on all these. No scowl nor smile. Gazed up once to the greyed sky, under patchwork clouds... And clasped hands, locked fingers, dignifying them.

"Rest. This day is yours, and then mine." He spoke into the high, vast void.

He unencumbered himself, tossed the armour coldly down. Other soldiers would move these, clean the royal grasslands. Its weight had waxed uncomfortable.

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

"I believe you," spoke Wendy into the cold gusts between her and Iggy, and to the side Roy, on this chugging painted 'copter. "It's such a sound ride out here, right?"

Truth is it was reductive, slighting Iggy while they battled motion sickness. This clown-faced air taxi was the one that took the king and his heir out, and had suffered for it. The propellor hobbled them through an early wisp of yellow on the sky's blue, a lick of oncoming sunset. Already the day had been so wasted. Manpower at home, who knows what else abroad. Where three of the seven sought out, and no map to guide them. Landmarks scant, indispensible, otherwise this possessed no point. Iggy - knowing all this - let his played-up scowl to his sis be a distraction, not from task but skepticism. Science, after all, arms many with the facts to how little of hope there may just be.

"You wanted a brand-new sky taxi? Dial up Mercedes. I measured the warped arc of the blade's outer flange, and deduced that, well, we're going anyway."

Roy 'poof'ed out his mouth's corner. Scratched an itch on his neck, but it wasn't skin, more like nerves. Not a good time, his absence from impairment being felt. Rising, uncomforting. He had not a thing to add, but to have Wendy notice, much as a flick of her eyes to him and away didn't go witnessed.

But Iggy felt like he should bring up something pertinent. "We get to comb miles of this shitheap. At the absolute least we'll know where Kamek's allies aren't."

And Wendy had her two cents. "Sure, if you don't care what happens if they are around. We're in a giant fuck-me button."

Roy, and Iggy, stopped all thought and stared a hole through her face. Roy put a hand to lifting his shades, never mind the pain of light on them.

She knew why. "Oh come on, I'm scared. I... Iiii think the side is leaning!" She had a skitter suddenly, over to the side between rough and academic brothers. They now took up a crescent in half of the floorspace, or 'standing space'... And thinking quick, Iggy walked with careful ease away, spacing them back out.

Wendy was beside herself. "Iggy get back over here, that's gonna be the death of-" Then, she knew what he'd intended.

"Correction, not balancing the weight would be the death of us. Reliant on me, maybe?"

"... Thanks. And cute, I'll give you a pass for that one. Only since I freaked." She had an intense yet brief glare. Then, there was remembrance that they WERE on a mission of their own. She scanned down below, hundreds of feet, to low bluffs westward. A sand-ridden plain to the northeast. Across from her, Roy leaned one elbow on one side of ship's rim. He smirked; he'd happened to see a volcano's grounds. One side had the red of intense heat. Always a respectable sight to him, some of very little scenery he cared for. But no trace of two familiar figures; same with Wendy's vantage, turning up no leads. She cursed that this thing had autopilot but no built-in periscope.

Iggy might have brought one, if his mind wsn't on his baby. It lay in the corner, on its side, padded by blankets. Roy had sure tossed a few laughs his way, when they first scrambled in minutes prior and the brainiac had fucking swaddled a gun. In... Less mature moments, there could be a 'phobic joke in there somewhere. Just why he didn't choose to, he wasn't sure he even knew. The glasses on Iggy helped him make out to 20/15; he had a tiny leg up on both siblings present, though it failed to make out more or closer than height and maybe scalp colours, on ideal angles only.

He hadn't clued in on them. Four minutes of this, periodically asking of each other's progress, getting headshakes. Wendy had a shorter fuse, with the gusts pitching them a few degrees while skimming under clouds, in the sadly-true plain sight she'd assumed. So that, and having one face not present nor sought out that had fears seeping into her, she struggled. "My God why don't we just head back. We're not getting close to them, we're only less hidden the further out and I'm not crashing in flames like Earth's Cecelie of Greece just for trusting a JUNK novelty plane!!"

She kicked her heel on the carpeted floor. The whole vehicle shimmied. So much for doing that again.

"Wendy," Iggy called out, "If we're not out doing something, and Larry and Lemmy stand even a toothpick's width better odds with us meeting and relaying this, then what do we do?"

Roy sank his head and undid, chin-to-neck then raised back up. "He's right y'know. Wanna stay where there's plumber troubles? You like a little troop blood on your loafers with your morning walk?"

She all-but-crunched her lips together, contemptible to him, but just went back to looking. It wasn't Roy after all who vexed her. And he'd hear why, once she was back; no matter how it came out.

The orange in the clouds over and around them darkened so slow; now to sherbet-pop or that neighbourhood. At where Iggy presently looked down and scanned the land, pipes adorned a wedge of jungle. But plains stretched far beyond, before the mountains. Larry, his own company, they weren't headed that far. Only a river spared the distance of monotony, a bank with trees where there stood some outside of the delta but in patches; not enough for safe cover. Honestly, for Iggy this was a kindergarten puzzle. "... My God, we're dense.

"Eh?" Roy said with a sublime half-notice. Wendy heard as well.

"Follow where they must, not just could. This threads up the north plain and reeks of stealth." He directed them to his line of thinking, and sight. Rapids were near the mouth, and Iggy took controls off automatic. He didn't trace above the stream, that was a sure way to get two brothers killed. His hands steered zigzags near it, no rhyme or reason, and that would hide their mission if discovered. They would be seen, in that event, and doomed... But not betraying two below's coordinates. It was all they had.

There started an earnest look by all three, all around. In the waterflow, the understory, reeds and wetlands in treeless area far as the horizon's curve. No towns underneath, not even hunters in this area, too devoid of wildlife... Curiously, for areas that should be teeming. But all was not in vain, and Iggy locked more on the river than either female nor male helper, as they covered the outer parts by happenstance. And by this same chance, he assumed, confirmed, opened eyes wide and pointed down with an arm's jerk and some hearty pitchy cries. "Hey, I believe we're in luck! Check where I'm targeting with a point!" His odd way of saying it mattered none; Wendy and roy both ran over to look, and felt their mistake immediately. Both happed back but gazed down to the southern-middle of water's meandering.

Wendy contained only bite-sized chunks of her elation. "Yeah, we're gonna get down there and amp up the buttkicki-"

There was loud *pop* from the clown car. Their air chariot had blown considerably more than a fuse; from the base had come a definitive explosion. They did not vaporize, or lose all buoyancy, but this was the optimist's view; the handrail-lip wobbled like a top near its final rotate-rolls. Wendy screamed; it pierced Roy's ears more than his shorter brother, but just made him wince. They all sweat; grabbed on for dear life, and rode out a slow, miraculous remission of the copter's troubles. Whatever broke didn't crash them. A stopped heart might, but either way, Iggy rammed his hands down on the steering stick and put them into controlled dive. It would not be a tailspin, or swan dive; He winced himself, for Wendy's nails digging with deep fear into his back for anchor.

She shouted in some choice words, also things she'd never otherwise be caught dead flinging orally. They lost a yard a second. 250 feet altitude, 247, 244... 235, it was accelerating, and Wendy shrieked for him to govern it. He had it just fine, and she thankfully found this out before time for impact. He knew the gyroscopes well; they set down slower than they came in, but chunked the spinnerguard through mud, a basin outside the water's flow. Sheets of waterlogged dirt flew out ahead of the sliding, halting aircar. They could get it out later, if the damn thing's safe, if he also spent a minute de-claying the blade.

Wisps of smoke burst from the exhaust pipe; stress on the whole contraption was mentionable. She, the gladdest to climb out and leap off the cursed-looking clown-thing, caught her breath. "I... Wanna say I'm glad we're on dirt even IF it's soggy. And after we get home, we're dousing this in gas and starting a weenie roast."

Iggy laughed, just because it felt good to. "Hey, nothing against that. Plenty of dudes love a good wiener, just ask Roy here." It was an unusual putdown, but he was unusually smug, knowing if not for his knowledge and speed their landing would be incineration. He elbowed Roy below the clavicle, a place firm enough for hits.

But the tall, stout prince had distractions; jarring symptoms, doubts of himself and the past that led to how he now felt. It was maybe the worst time in quite a while to needle him, no less with a gay joke. He didn't stop the rising sneer, his hike of blood pressure or the red coming over his face. His arms did the thinking for him, and close to Iggy, he reached out, snatched the brother by the collar and shook him like an ugly stepkid. "Funny huh!? I ain't like that, shut your fucking mouth and stick to your dorko-SHIT y' tiny goddamn DWEEB!!"

Iggy yelled in short order for him to let go. He started to struggle, but wouldn't have to for long; Wendy took it upon herself to leap in, slap the fire out of Roy's chops, step forward to follow him as he stumbled back and dropped Iggy, and end by laying her painted fingertips on his nose and squeezing. "We'll have none of that, right!?" All she said. All it required. The tone, high and seething, echoed from God-knows-where.

He went lax, shoulders dropped. One side of his face drew up to scowl, petty proof of unbrokenness. "What the fuck ever. I made my point." Dignity preserved, at least inside his own mind, he turned to hide the red of embarrassment. Iggy hadn't fell, but dusted himself off anyway... Instinct, after his school years. She looked over, made sure he was well, and they went on instant guard when a figure jumped out of the trees before them. In order, close to far, it was mudflats, the green-and-brown interloper, aspens and willows by the riverbank, and the sloshing current. They were in the right place, and this heavy-armed son of a bitch... Was just who they wanted.

"Larry!" The femme among them cried. And this was literal, once she made it past the wet ground in high shoes, and fell into a hug with her youngest sib'. He was wide-eyed, hair was mussed, camo in a grey-brown sheet of the same mud as what ruined her Louboutin platforms. He'd been crawling, or wrestling. He was a damned mess.

She kissed his gritty cheek like it was dirtless. "Things ok? Where's Lemmy?" Her sentence waxed louder near the end; fear of only seeing him was already growing.

He put this to rest, eyes less spazzed now that he'd had a moment to see they were really here. "The other side, by a boulder. There's a huge clearin' you can't see from here, it looks clear-cut. If Kamek's allies stripped this place, it won't be unguarded..." He already knew to ask, and fear, before the next thought came out him. "... You shouldn't have come. Way too close, all of us."

"It's fine by me, there's reason in this. We come bearing gifts." She wore a smile once more, maybe a little giddy, as she loved munitions hardly less than her family fellows. She turned back toward Iggy, and wouldn't you know it, the lean scientist had it in his hands. Pure-cast white, almost like a plastic toy, but so thick and heavy comparatively.

Larry, who had one of two huge fucking deathbringers on this sanctioned trip, still almost hit the ground with his dropped jaw. "Uhhh, okay. You're about to tell me why that thing's so rad I'm half-chubbed, right?"

Luckily Wendy wasn't hugging him still by the time that joke premiered. She and Roy chuckled, and Wendy knew to let Iggy give the lowdown. His hard work, so his moment. Roy more just still had his head elsewhere to preclude himself 'starring' in this moment.

Iggy set off on a verbal scramble. "It's thirty-five pounds of cast deuterized PTFE with a bakelite shell, since you can't hold the teflon undercoat. Had to be that, since the ammo eats through 99.99471% of other solids and suitable materials. The initial warning here is to BE DEADLY CAREFUL with this, don't break it, throw it, anything that could damage the rounds."

Following at least most of that, Larry had to ask straightforward, a smile depeending on him with the growing awe. "What's the ammo then? I'm guessing it's closeout on the assfaced toadies if they get hit with the payload."

Now, Iggy's shining moment swelled his heart. "The specifics are intricate, but in layman's terms, or king dad's English, have you chanced to witness a rat thrown into a vat of sulfuric acid?"

He didn't expect Larry had, but, they'd both had the same chemist tutor in childhood, despite just one retaining blurbs. "Yeah, comes up a skeleton. That's what's in here? Kickass, bro!!"

He held up for a high-five, but was left hanging. "Not so fast. I used that to say, imagine five quintillion times that strength. Or a million billion billion times the corrosion." He didn't want to have that goofy grin, but playing it cool took so much less raw happiness than the present tense. "I strongly discourage calling my bluff. Envision what would happen if I'm right."

Larry's eyes were larger now than ever. He took the launcher, carefully, and examined every side like it was made of diamonds. "I... Can't think of when you're ever wrong, and about this shit, never..." He was more than awestruck now, just mentally humbled. It took one vision of using this on the dark wizard himself, the outpouring of melted bone and noxious fuming goo where Kamek had been... Just thoughts of it, and he then looked to Wendy. She wore confusion, as he handed it just as slow to her; once out of his hands, he slipped one into Iggy's, shook it strong, friendly, loving, and threw his other around for a squeeze. Wendy 'awww'ed, holding the BFG, which was good for a laugh by Roy at the absurdity.

"Man," Larry said with respect, "Big-brain bro's got a war pedigree! You got new acclaim in my eyes, al-right!"

Wendy could wait no longer. "Hey, I know you're bus- well, we're all in our own motives here, but can you get Lemmy here? Just a minute, I... I want to see him." She was pensive, and he so very much understood.

The chill eagerness turned to a lower, demure assurance. "I can, it'll just be a minute. Might have to convince him you're really here, right now he wouldn't believe."

This made less than perfect sense to Wendy, or the other two... Puzzlement endured, while he turned, leapt over puddles and peeked through underbrush. Like he had to be careful, even just getting his brother from ten feet ahead. His sister didn't want to feel like something was off, and yet...

He swung back around. "Heheeh, you might wanna take a rain-check. He's doing something he wasn't before. We all have to once a day. You, eh, get me?"

At first she didn't, but when Iggy nodded with a 'Yessir', somehow it jogged her noggin into guessing. She kind of hoped their field rations included bath tissue, for his sake, and that was the last she wished to think about it. Her tone was level though low, disappointed yet in optimism. "Do me a favour then? Tell him sis loves him, and I'm ordering you back as a duo, not a solo act. And tell him watch for chiggers." She, being she, would know.

He chortled. She handed back Iggy's brainchild; he took it, and the healthy respect for it was soothing to the glasses-wearer. Iggy had serene smile on, when Larry spoke at him. "Thanks a billion bro. Or, a million billion billion? Hahaha!" It just sounded too strange to him; he laughed, and felt endorphins surge, reassurance. The added power, from seeing his own here... The present they brought, made with love, warm concern... So long since he'd felt this, outside of a pipe. It was coming back, his life, what it really was, before all of...

... Roy hadn't glanced much his way. Truly, things were hard to confront, and in his race to catch up with redemption for once Larry wasn't who trailed him. He'd come to terms with this role switch, surely. For now, he had this to say: "Glad if it helps, bro. Stay in the shade, they can't have you when the eyes don't hit you."

"... Yeah. Shadows help." Larry wanted to be so much more eloquent; but those words, said to Roy above all, stated more than it seemed. "Thanks bro. And you Wendy, for braving... A ride in that thing." He knew her less-publicized aversion.

She confirmed him in that. "Hah, it's the last time for a while. I love daddy but why he needed a flying Jokermobile I'll never know." She wished there was a place to set down the gun here, where it wouldn't get wet. In the copter was too dangerous. So though she ached to embrace him, never let go, never let him out into the unknown fear... She held back the mist, and told him to go with safety and her love and hope.

Roy had only "Yeah bro, have fun if you can!", and still concentrated on hills in the distance. They wouldn't see him break down. Iggy smiled more, and bowed, for the service he performed, crafted with his own affections. They'd relayed it, and as they all understood, their part in this must be over.

"Listen," Larry started, and before any more took a pause to be resolute. "It's a short road to victory. I mean in every way you'd think, we flush 'em out of their caves and wherever the fuck they hole up, and the cowards are toast. When you think of us, make it about the stories." He held the launcher high, straight for sky and clouds. "The fuckin' tales we'll have. Old nanny Finster never spun THAT kinda yarn when we were toddlers!" He sort of chuckled, but they all could only be so glad in this moment. He sped it along, out of need. "I gotta get back out there. Longer I wait, well, you know."

"I do." Wendy said, and tense and loaded as it came out it neither helped her heart nor theirs. But he looked down, gave one concrete nod, and a parting, warm goodbye.

"Goodbye", yelled back Iggy, to a man stepping toward brushcover and river shore. "Though it isn't that at all."

"B-bye." Roy bellowed. He definitely looked at no one now; tough to wipe his face quietly in a patent coat.

Wendy was the last he heard, before back to the path and mission. "If you get hurt, send me a picture... Morie wants to be a surgeon."

His duty called; he could not stop to process, but to them became slimmer, lighter peeks of himself through more and more foliage. The layers ate his view from them; they silently thanked the stars, it could be that way.

There was silence, twenty seconds. A bit more than that, and then Iggy broke the sanguine reverie. "We still have to mend this car's integrity. Come on Roy, help me lift the thing?" He didn't know what state Roy's mind took up, but did know how to appeal to that lunkhead. "I can't do it, but it's no bother for you."

The big ol' jerk smirked; flexed his neck once, a rogue chuckle. "Right you are, Einstein. Let's put some brute force to this lame duck."

Iggy laughed out loud, more than in much of today. "I like that phrasing. It's neat."

Roy smiled wider; teeth showed. Wendy, dabbing under her eyes, had a quiet snicker. She walked up, and looking over them work, had faith. It would not be pulled from her.

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

It flew in on the winds, in a half-literal sense; a gust that carried leaves and bits of soil also carted in a single sheet of paper, through the purple-red carpeted throne room of a spellwielder. It came to stop still airborne, two feet over carpet, but the breeze too had arrested itself. Wind became colour, filling in the outlines of the sentry. A toadie, but acted on by Kamek's simplest rune. Out of sight, until the sitting dictator whispered it away. The enchantment abated, and he could view the low, humble bow from his trustee. He acknowledged with only a quarter-smirk; the toadie didn't see it, but he was thankful anyway; the truth of how he didn't burst into flames in an instant, or worse, proved his master's approval.

And the master salivated, a hue of orange in the caustic weep from his maw. "You come to me with good tidings. Else, you'd not come back. Am I correct?"

The toadie knew well the answer. "You are always right, and good, Your Most Exalted."

"Ancestors rejoice, young one. I have your scroll, you may leave me. I read best in the company of purity, and you may all reach that someday." It was a slight at once understood and seen as respect; they had the chance to grow in favour with him. And the toadie bowed, almost vanishing in his own robes to the floor, but standing and turning to leave by fleet feet. No telling what the tardy received, who dared loiter in his presence. The doors were slammed behind him, four guards to do the honours in their ribboned cloaks that stood in for armour. They feared nothing around him. He read, silent and stern; his egg tooth peered out amidst his lip-curl in a pose of study.

The toadie had been sentry for the prairies of the seventh parcel, what Bowser coined "Grass Land". Such a simple fool, that pretender. He brought good news alright, and Kamek's brow first perked, then reached new heights, a smile wrapping his warped face. "If I hadn't read it with my own eyes... And sensed no ills of lie or fabrication..."

He learned of what had befallen Bowser's troops, in that clearing where they'd been surprised. Total loss, nary a bone left in the burn. The souls of their dishonoured dead must be shrieking a thousand curses in their circle of the inferno, it was certainly a cleansing heat what brought them through pulverization to damnation. The overgrown lizard would feel this one. There would be consequence to this massacre, and all of it good fortune; an entire wing of the false kingdom was unguarded, and smelled of promise and the ripe harvest of its resource. Koopas would be found there, surely. The camp had been but a figment of the whole savannah; tiny Koopa settlements dotted the level steppes. They would not be prisoners, political or otherwise. Nor turned to this side with a chance to self-redeem. There was only one fate, the decision made and ordained before Kamek even bore this world. In his palm, now, it spun ever-down to the last day before rebirth. Ascension to his right before the ancients... They would side with him, they already did, these fallen infidels were evidence and nothing more to him.

He snapped his fingers. Three different toadies walked up, from hidden alcoves even other allies scarcely knew. The gifts and methods Kamek employed were on sickening rise. "I know not your names, but if you honour me in this task, all the land will know you." They stared intently, sure their destinies hinged on what orders he flung. "You will amass our left flank. They will fly to the sixth, and look for stragglers who escaped seven. There is naught in terms of cities there, but military outposts of the scoundrel abound. I want any who enter there cut down like wheat. I want the outpost to be living memory, in those bastards who have YET to see my wrath!!"

They felt the heat of his breath, and one fought off his cringe while it singed him, strong and substantive. He didn't show it, and thus lived. Kamek had little more to say, as indeed he hadn't in the recent days. Time and its march troubled him, only since it was what bought the 'king' a pithy chance. "We are embroiled in the heart of reclamation. If you falter, all hope forsakes you, not the reverse. Fell the beasts." He wouldn't explain, and would never need to. Their bows were even more prostrate, and with kamek's hands raising, all three were draped in multicolour fineries. Each like a rainbow in lengths wrapping their cores, inscribed with scrawls from a tome even they had never seen but held reign over them, through their vessel. Kamek was their bridge, and they his reach into this cursed land. There were no words for what this deceptive linen robing hid in its innards, what they themselves became. All three vanished, but not on the wind like Kamek's child on guard. Their travel split time and energy, arriving at the border on air a thousand feet high. Like a rift opened and spat them there, elegant in hovering wreaths.

The sky was their place of free anarchy, but it happened they were not the only side with air support. Chance had it that a lone paragoomba glided by, and close enough to throw a stone through the air there were suddenly three aliens in his sights. Aliens? Or were they balloons, in clo-

.... It was the first thought that goomba circulated, and his last forever. From the closest 'being' there shot out a scarf, changing first to a tendril then lance, and yellow-green drips, so much faster than the eye could trace. The colour was acidic, and its severity meant in less than one breath by them into their yarn-coats, he was dissolved through where it whipped him. The parted pieces around the lance-lines fell, in chunks now speechless and lifeless, toward the green grounds below. No one would know in Bowser's keep; anyone here was as good as gone.

Back in Kamek's reaches, that emperor sat restless. He'd just ordered a full guard on the underground; no doubt the finest elites were under his feet right now, pacing the halls. They and Kamek alone saw the inner reaches of his stronghold. And only he had context for what they housed down there, and currently, concern. There was unease; something struck his instinct that was in no scroll or word-of-mouth he'd yet received. IF that big coward in the bourgeois palace had an ounce of wisdom, and IF it applied certain measures, there was contemptible chance. But Kamek had plotted out, covered his ass. They - any who came for a social call - would not thieve it. No mitts with a Koopa's claws would be laid on the book.

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

Larry's hand dipped into the cold water of the stream; it held a canteen, and after a day's progress it had been empty more than a short while, but neither he nor his compatriot had stopped. They didn't want to, a call of duty on their hearts fixing them to it. He watched flow enter the metal mouth, while his palm ached in the chill amplified by current; but didn't feel shakes, maligned thoughts, the bothers of earlier. Clarity was on him, for all his tunnel-vision in that regard...

... And this put sharpness in his words when he looked downstream, and saw Lemy unzipped. In a stance over the streambed, filling it with a non-clear liquid. Even the worst dumbass would know right away what went on. "Dude, what the fuck!? You see what I'm doing right, you got a death wish w/ poisonin'?"

Lemmy looked his way, raised a confused brow, snickered a tad and laid it out there... Figuratively. "You're above me, goofus. which way does gravity take it?"

That certainly jogged his memory of what school taught, if he'd been more apt to pay attention... But he strove to save face. "Well you still don't know if even a trace can make it back this way, rivers can do funny shit."

Lemmy by now looked a bit more nonplussed; his stream petered out. "I think maybe we should leave the calculating to Ig's. But fine then, I'll just go in the grass now-on. It'a just kill it, so, hope you're fine with that."

Younger, but feeling like he had to be point-man on this pilgrimage, Larry was. "Sure am, I'm not the kind to sob over barley 'n' shit. Just picture it's Kamek's face on the stalks, you'll get by."

This was worth a laugh; Lemmy shook, tugged, shook more and zipped. Larry looked away with a straight man's endemic disgust. The skater-in-camo headed back to him, while he stood up and screwed the cap on their water vessel. "You can't feel too lousy, we're like two hours ahead of schedule? Check the sun's angle, and the bluff we passed; we might fuck their day to magic's hell before Wendy can dump Morie."

"Well it ain't a schedule, it's a projection. We're not checkin' off a day planner, we're strapped and headin' off to battle, 'bout the least likely thing to follow a script y-" He cut himself off, and came back with a sudden thought. "... Hold it, what about Wendy 'n' him?"

"What'cha mean?"

"That's what I'm askin' you, that was left-field as fuck." Larry didn't really confront him, though his posture said otherwise, sturdy and not exactly far from Lemmy's space. "I mean it's not like I give a shit, but I thought the same of you."

Lemmy's second confused spell relented, into a healthy laugh. "And you'd be right. I meant how she is w/ the men in her life. She's the Taylor Swift of the castle set."

"Oh. Yeah, could be..." Larry just sort of let it drop; there was nowhere else to take it anyway. There was a place to take them, over hill and dell, to fiery ruin. Preferably not their own. He stepped around Lemmy, rejoined his trek down the river, and of course his bro' was just behind. A silence came over them for some minutes, sloshing through damp muddy reeds, drier banks higher up from the waterline, 'steps' in the ground from erosion and the occasional wild animals' traipsing down to drink. When words were said again, it was Larry in intel-mode. "If we are ahead by that much, we might actually need to slow down. There's falls about three more miles our way, which means low ground beyond. Dusk or twilight would serve us better, hide us from anyone."

"If we see a soul. Whaddya reckon the chances?"

"I don't. It's about eliminating risk, I don't do balancin' acts."

"Clearly, from the past few years."

That was simply the sad fact of a joke ill-conceived, too personal, Lemmy's spur-of-the-moment flub. Larry stopped; looked straight outward, turned around while Lemmy apologized. He barely heard the 'sorry', but walked right up to him, put their faces together. Lemmy was at once annoyed, and his sibling was no better; it looked to blow up. Larry could've shoved him, bitched him out, anything of the sort. But whether he meant to or, or just menace the fire out of the boarder, he didn't get to. Lemmy glanced up, went into awe, grabbed Larry's shoulder with both mitts and shoved him to the side. "Watch it dog, look what's found us!"

Larry hit the ground flat 'n' hard. His eyes fluttered, he shook off shock, and staring with eyes red at Lemmy, he saw the prince hoist his gun. It was already up, pointing for the air. Larry fought pure anger to look where Lemy aimed; a single dot above the horizon, black speck on the hazy blue sky. Lemmy had 'quickdraw' down, but took a moment to center crosshairs. So Larry had the chance to gaze close at the object threatening them; and figured it out. "Whoa, whoa, WHOA!! COOL it man!!"

He practically dove upwards and smacked the barrel down; Lemmy's finger came a hair's breadth from squeezing the trigger, where it would by now have peppered the dirt, but was safely unfired. Larry's next second happened in perceived slo-mo: Lemmy's hair whipping as his eyes followed his piece, then wide eyes set back on Larry, and a brief growing ire before Larry could smack the shit right out of him. "Dude, either get glasses or focus!!"

Lemmy heard this, and like Larry just a conversation prior, had cause to think before lashing out himself. He humoured Larry's reaction and looked up where he'd almost unloaded; it was slow, travelling one direction, and... It fluttered. Tiny waves either side meant wings. It was a bird.

Larry did wind up shoving him now; but he wouldn't retaliate, only heard out his brother's grief. "Great idea Reb fuckin' Brown, let's mow down a hawk thinkin' it's a toadie or what-the-fuck-ever, just send the sound all up this valley! You won't have to worry about findin' foes, they'll know where we are from miles around." He wiped his mouth, there was spittle from frustration. "Jesus, I can't believe you."

Lemmy sat; his eyes fell low, pondering, but right as they went back up to Larry looming over him he had a bone to pick also. "I don't know why, it's a war zone buddy. Maybe the bullets don't fly yet, but if you were even the least bit wrong in what it was and still waited, we'd be piles of ash, or goo, or whatever his flavour of the month is. You know how he was even when he hadn't turncoated."

"Yeah, and that's not a verb, but I'm seeing the big pic here." He had arms crossed so hard the inner elbows were paled. But Lemmy wasn't having it, and bolted up.

"Fuck that, it's not how you win deadly force shit. You even listen to Triclyde, more than how to work these monsters?" He clicked a round out his weapon; it was wasted, but things were just that hot in the worst way.

"Triclyde's a moron and fell out of favour with Dad. He was made to teach us the ropes, and it's the last thing he did. Don't make me explain it."

This couldn't exactly be argued with. And Lemmy didn't try, but juked a bit, just airing out what the real issue boiled down to. "Since when did you care about verbs, or water science, or... Man, is this gettin' to you?" Doubts welled up with the accusations. "Are you already over your head bro? Cuz I'll say right now, you picked a fine time to start."

Larry didn't shout, hardly even scowled. He didn't walk up ultra-near or bless his partner out any more. Instead, he tossed out honest takes. "What I am is overwhelmed the way I should be. You look at where I just was a week ago, what I've shed like that dead bastard snake's skin, and... Well you might not think I analyze like Iggy, but I'm redeeming me. I don't want you goin' hog wild and failing the fuck out of this, but I don't care about dying. I'm thinking legacy. If I want to win, and live, it's so I can go back and..." He didn't know how to go on, what he should pick to help explain. "... Fuckin' hell I already said I don't wanna spend time instructin' you."

Lemmy nodded, but as callous as one can. "Then don't, since you ARE failin' that." He holstered his gun on his back, brushed off his ass. Larry's knees had been straight as broomsticks, despite two BFG's on him, one delivered just a mile back by three of those they left to fight for. Lemmy had a second to step back mentally; even if Larry hadn't really swung him back to caution, the faces he'd seen - Wendy's most of all, more remiss for fighting than he'd ever seen her, maybe more scared - they had impact. He stood loose, like the present fight went out of him.

Larry wasnt blind to this. While the rage left his gut, from somewhere in his mind came a phrase. He blurted it. "You feel encumbered?"

He hadn't meant for weight. And Lemmy didn't mistake this either.

Another few minutes went on quietly. They went to march once more. A slight degree slowed, a large share more centered. It was maybe the best thing that could happen, despite ill will in the moment. Now more than any hour yet, they had wits about them in a manner hard to define.

The light would be waning now. Every minute further, more river and prairie, less blue above and more red and orange. Larry wondered, in thought only, where Kamek had spies. The certainty of that, not an 'if' but a placement... Nothing drove his spirits as deep.

To be continued...