Chapter Text
ACT I
Warui’s head hit the table with a loud thud as the tavern keeper’s hand pushed his face into the splintering wood. “How many times have I told you, Warui? I don’t allow panhandling in my establishment,” the tavern keeper scolded.
“I’m sorry, Carson,” Warui responds, trying to free his face from the rough hand, “I don’t have enough coins to eat.”
A sharp pain stung his cheek, his blood polishing the furniture.
“I just can’t eat what’s in the trash out in the alley again. I’ve been sick for weeks!”
“And how is that my problem?”
“I didn’t say—” He’s interrupted by Carson adding more pressure to his hold—the feeling even more excruciating.
Warui gasps. “I didn’t say it was your problem. It’s mine. I just need a few extra coins to buy a meal. I promise, I’ll leave once I can afford something.”
The tavern keeper looks down, and Warui can feel he wants to kick him out.
With a small pause, he lets go of Warui’s face and helps him up to see his scratched and swollen face—bruised from a recent beating and table cuts. A line of blood ran down his temple, trickling down his drawn cheeks and into the short stubble on his lips that he called a beard.
Carson sighs as he notices the table, now decorated in Warui’s mistakes.
He throws a nearby dirty towel at the slob to clean up the mess. Warui puts the towel to his cuts, the prior alcohol on the cloth stinging as it touches his skin. Warui makes a sound of anguish as tears fill his eyes.
“If I give you a simple meal, will you get out of my fucking tavern?” Carson asks.
Warui tries to smile through the soaked towel.
“Thank you,” Warui praises as Carson walks over to the back door where the kitchen staff resided. He looks at the disheveled man in complete disgust before calling the workers in the back to heat up some leftovers from the night prior.
“Sorry you all had to see that,” Carson calls out, walking back to the counter. “I apologize for the lack of hospitality, but I just want everyone in here to know that I don’t fuck with panhandling in this tavern. Understand?”
He looks over at Warui, his gaze piercing into Warui’s psyche.
“Understand?”
Warui nods as Carson heads back over to the back door to grab the hot plate of wasted food.
It smelled burnt, but it had been a while since Warui’s last hot—or at least warm—meal. Despite the scraps, Warui felt content to finally eat something with sustenance.
Once receiving his food, Warui continues to clean up the table area, trying his best to meet the tavern keeper’s standards.
However, through his attempt, he knew that nothing he ever did would meet anyone’s liking.
Warui wasn’t a people person; he desperately wanted to be someone that people actually talked to or cared to be around, but despite his desire for admiration he could never reach that fantasy.
Was it his unkempt yellow and purple beanie and work overalls, or maybe it was his lack of common mannerisms?
He could literally just walk into a room and be considered a walking embarrassment. His clothes smelled, he hadn’t bathed in weeks, he wasn’t the handsomest nor did he have any traits and talents that others would find useful. His only redeeming quality was his innocence, but it was unlikely for others to find innocence charming in the town he lived in.
No one was really welcoming in the little village known as Star Summit, nestled in the eastern corner of the Mushroom Kingdom. It was filled with criminals, wanderers, and broken dreamers, drinking themselves into a hostile depression.
After a couple of minutes, the tavern environment seemed to return to its casual demeanor. Everyone seemed to go back to having a good time and even Carson seemed to almost forget about Warui.
He looked up and kindly joked to the keep.
“I mean, Carson… Buddy… Why not just hire me? I know you could use some help, and I’m like a regular, so I know my stuff.”
Carson continues to ignore his pleading.
“I could help around here and then you wouldn’t have to kick me out for panhandling.”
He waits for a response, but Carson doesn’t budge.
“I mean, I used to work at the Bomb-Omb factory before—well, before it burned down, and I considered myself to be somewhat of a hard worker,” Warui continues to stumble.
“Listen, Warui,” Carson stopped what he was doing and looked at Warui. “I understand you’re young. What, 25?”
“23.”
“I’m going to be honest with you.” Warui stares at Carson, waiting for a glimmer of hope. “I don’t give a fuck about you, or whether or not you worked a day in your life.”
Warui’s eyes fall to the counter. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“I don’t like you,” the keeper continues, holding nothing back. “I pity you in fact, and that is why I’m allowing you in here for the final time. Okay? You need to get your shit together, fix your life, and get out of my damn tavern.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” Warui stutters, searching for encouraging words.
“You gotta figure it out, kid. Not me.”
Carson shakes his head, as if snapping out of this trance of actually caring about Warui.
“Now finish your meal and get out of my sight. You smell like old garlic and it looks bad for business.”
Carson pulls his short attention from Warui and continues helping out the other patrons at the counter, leaving Warui to finally eat his food.
A couple of hours passed.
The atmosphere within the tavern returned to its daily manner filled with laughs and pleasantries as Warui quietly ate his charred mush alone.
Through the loud chatter, a thunderous voice echoed from outside the door.
“Wahoo!”
With just that exclamation, the tavern patrons’ conversations seized and focused their attention on the entrance. Everyone within the closed space cheered, Warui paying only mind to his meal.
In walks a man in a brilliant red outfit and leather pants, holding himself with confidence in every step he took as he entered the establishment.
The cheers continued as the spotlight fed the crimson man as he danced his way over to the bar, gifting high fives to the patrons in his path and pointing to them with vanity and admiration.
Twirling and stroking his fully grown out mustache, he laughed.
“Where is my tavern-keep? I need his finest brew this evening!”
“One fine brew, on the house!” Carson laughs aloud. “Anything for our town hero.”
“No, no. You’re the real hero of this town,” the man in red laughs and cheers. “Isn’t he the real hero, people?”
Everyone cheers and laughs.
Warui listens to the crowd, but continues to mind his business.
“Tell me,” the keeper starts. “What tale of heroism do you have for us tonight?”
“Oh, nothing much as of recently.” The conversations die out slowly amongst the patrons, waiting for the man to continue.
He notices and smiles smugly. “I mean… I guess yesterday I did find a couple of goombas interrogating this mother and her child. No biggie.”
“What did you do?” one of the patrons asks aloud over the now silent tavern, all ready for another grand story from this famous stranger.
“Well of course I pulled the two aside from the grasp of these goombas, to make sure they were safe. Then I took my mallet and I bashed that first goomba's head.”
He jumps onto the counter, the keeper minding no business to his dirty shoes on the wood.
Warui stops eating, noticing the events taking place and questioning how someone was able to mess up the counter and not get yelled at by Carson.
The man begins pretending to hold a mallet, miming his violent actions.
“Right over the head! I go, one! Two! Straight into each of their heads. They fall to the ground, but they aren’t dead yet. I go over and check on the mother and little boy. I ask, ‘Are you two alright? Did they hurt you?’ and thankfully they didn’t do too much harm to the two of them.”
Small chit chat sprinkles throughout the tavern about the safety of the villagers.
Warui looks around casually before rolling his eyes and going back to eating.
“They thank me and ask if they can do anything in return,” he continues, brushing his mustache with his gloved fingers.
“I mean—of course, as the hero I am—I tell her, ‘No thanks necessary,’ before heading back to the goombas.”
The charismatic storyteller looks around, taking in the investment of the drunk patrons with a dramatic pause.
“I tell those fuckers that they came to the wrong kingdom and messed with the wrong man.”
The man acts like the goombas, getting on his knees to show how short they were.
“These guys start cursing up a storm—I mean that’s what I think they were doing, cuz I don’t speak goomba—but I could tell they were pissed because one of them charged at me.”
He starts to scurry on the counter on his knees, making fun of their shortness and mocking the way they looked. Everyone, including Warui—who starts to slowly take notice of the stranger—laughs at the impression.
“He bites me in the fucking leg! I was like, ‘Whoa! What the fuck are you doing? I know I’m a snack, but for Galeem’s sake, I’m not interested in pieces of shit.’ I kicked him off me and then bashed that mushroom shit-looking bastard’s—”
He cuts off, noticing the multiple Toads dispersing the tavern.
“No offense, y’all look great today,” he chuckles, pointing at them in acknowledgement.
They all laugh along with him as he gets back up on his podium, his distasteful mockery not phasing anyone.
“But yeah, I bash the bastard’s skull in. BAM! Dead. Absolutely demolished with one hit.” He swings the mimed mallet down with one heavy motion.
Everyone hollers and claps.
“What happened to the others?” someone calls out.
The focused quietness begins to chatter, all wondering the next part of the story.
“What others?” the man asked, confused towards the patron’s response.
“The other goombas?”
“Oh…” The man looks up, recalling the situation.
“Yeah… they tried to leave. While I was busy with the first goomba, the others decided to split the scene, but your noble hero Mario didn't back down.”
Warui’s mouth dropped in awe hearing the famous stranger speak his name.
The man in red was The Mario.
How could he have not noticed?
The red outfit, his signature red hat which dawned the letter “M,” the iconic mustache, and of course the stories of heroism that Warui loved hearing.
Within the last few years, Warui always listened in on the villagers' talk of the adventures of Mario and the daring things he did. The stories inspired him to be a hero, making him someone others could look up to.
Mario was his idol. No longer was the meal important.
All of his attention centered on Mario, like a pet following its owner.
“I ran over to the remaining goombas,” Mario continued. “Second goomba: BAM! One wack down and finished. The third was a little more difficult, but I still got ‘em.”
Everyone went back to their focused stillness, taking in the action.
“I took a few swings and kicks to his legs, breaking his legs so he couldn’t run away. Eventually the broken legs wouldn’t make a difference though, cuz I finished him off shortly after. The last one though,”
Mario chuckles, his previous endeavors almost playing through his eyes as he looked off into the distance.
“I grabbed him off the ground. He tried to bite me—the little monsters. I pushed my finger into his eye, making sure I didn’t puncture it fully, but to make a point! To show who was in charge. I told him to get out of our kingdom and never show up again, and to tell all his worthless goomba friends to never set foot in this kingdom again. I let him go and he hobbled away.”
The entirety of the tavern clapped, as if the best performance was just given. Sounds of admiration and praise peaking their way through the sounds of the applause.
“Hold up, hold up,” Mario calls out, trying to quiet everyone with his hands. “Thank you all, but I haven’t finished yet.”
The acclaim died down abruptly, the patrons smiling at their town hero.
“I walked up to the mom and kid as they thanked me again. It’s my job as your hero to help those in need, so I let them know I was there to always protect them. The little boy looked up at me with the biggest smile. He says, ‘Mawio, I want to be a heewo just like you.’ and I tell him he already is. He was brave, and being brave makes you a hero just as much as any other hero.”
He gestures to everyone upon his altar, the townspeople listening to every word spoken by Mario’s lips.
“Like that little boy, you are all heroes. You’ve all been brave in these hard times within the last year since that awful plague. But you’ve stayed strong. Thousands of people died, but they were weak. You all survived and that right there proves that the universe has plans for you all. Loved ones, friends, family lost, but you’re here to live their life and tell their stories and that strength is just the start of being a hero.”
Mario’s gaze goes through the crowd and directs to Warui, saturating him with hope. His focus remains on Warui, making him feel like they were the only two individuals in that room. Mario’s smile was kind and inspiring, full of encouragement and charm, and for that shared moment Warui felt seen.
For the first time in his entire life.
“You,” Mario says, directing his attention to Warui. “What’s your name?”
Warui couldn’t speak, remaining in a catatonic state. His hero was the first person to smile and acknowledge him.
A moment or so passes until he’s able to stutter out, “Warui.”
Mario laughs at Warui’s response, thinking that his answer was a joke due to the very nature that his name was derogatory and an insult.
Warui didn’t laugh.
“Oh, you’re serious?” Mario asked and Warui nodded.
He looks up at his audience.
“Warui here could very well be a hero too. This putrid and unwanted sack of shit can be a hero too.”
His gaze goes back to Warui.
As he’s about to speak more of this gospel he’s created for the patrons, he sees Warui smiling, his eyes filling up with tears of dreams similar to the little boy in Mario’s tale.
Mario’s grandiose smile subdues to a fragile and calming grin towards Warui.
Something about Warui’s innocence hypnotizes Mario into a trance of admiration and he chuckles to himself.
“This man, Warui,” he starts. “I’m going to make him a hero. How does that sound?”
Warui pushes away the tears off his reddened cheeks.
“Like, a real hero?” Warui asks, a feeling of hope washing over him.
“Yeah, do you think you have what it takes?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Well how about we find out. Do you want to be a hero? Alongside me?”
Warui nods yes, too engulfed in emotions to make out any sound.
Mario laughs aloud and everyone in the tavern cheers for the two of them.
Warui looks up at Mario on the counter, his silhouette resembling a god or something angelic as he puts out a hand for Warui to stand up. He takes Mario’s hand and stands up to look around. He notices the entire tavern is applauding, including Carson.
Was it for him?
Was it for Mario?
It didn’t matter, he was going to be something for the first time. He was going to make a difference.
He was going to be a hero.