Mission 238: Papers and Passion on Paper

From Accct Wiki

Marth leant against the desk and studied his fingernails, afterward sighing as he raised his attention to Link. The elf paced the floor apprehensively, hands cupped together near his mouth in worry, and troubled eyes darting across the floorboards as he stepped awkwardly across them. Marth grimaced and grasped the edge of the desk with both hands, cocking an eyebrow as he inquired, “Link, what’s wrong with you?”

Link halted and spun on one foot to direct his nervous gaze at the questioner. “Where’s Roy?” he sputtered, whimpering slightly. “He hasn’t come today to give me my daily cussing out session.”

“Isn’t that for the better?” Marth questioned, frowning. He raised a hand, palm up. “After all, you can’t possibly enjoy being yelled at, could you?”

Link hesitated. “No comment,” he eventually replied, lowering his hands at his sides.

Marth blinked. “ ‘No comment’ is a comment,” he replied.

“Well, then none of your freakin’ business,” Link retorted, placing his hands upon his hips.

Marth shook his head in disappointment. “You’ve been hanging around Roy too much, Link,” he sighed, burying his head in frustrated hands. “God help you the day you finally get out of this hellhole and go onto more important games of your very own.” He hesitated, mockingly displaying a thoughtful expression. “Oh wait, my bad – you already have your own games.”

“I do?” Link responded, tapping an index finger to his chin. “Wow… I must be important.”

Marth heaved a depressed sigh. At the moment when he reopened his mouth to reply, the door abruptly swung open and collided forcefully with the wall. As both swordsmen immediately glanced in the direction of the clamor, they each gasped, Link with content surprise and Marth with riled shock.

Roy stumbled through the doorway in a haphazard manner and collapsed onto the floor exhaustedly. His suit was torn and from his mouth drooped a line of dried blood to the underside of his chin. Link instantly slumped to his knees and gripped Roy’s shoulders to lift his colleague. “What happened?” he worriedly asked, eyes wide.

Roy hesitated and stared through his black eye at his colleague. “You… jerk… off,” he sputtered.

“No, no,” Link said, shaking his head, “I asked what happened to you.”

Marth slapped his own forehead in embarrassment. Roy struggled slightly until he was free of Link’s grasp, and then forced himself into an upright position, legs strewn about from his left side. He held up a shaking, bloodstained hand and pointed unsteadily at Marth. “You…!” he cried.

“Marth,” he answered, pointing to himself.

“You son of a-” Roy began, but halted himself to clasp his right hand over his aching side. He growled, “I swear I’d cuss you out right now, but I seem to have a severe chest wound… and it’s all your fault!”

Marth’s apathy was replaced by astonishment as Roy shakily rose to his feet. “Bowser totally mauled me because of you!” Roy shrieked, extending his pointing right hand toward his colleague. “And nobody mauls me but myself!” he continued, irately raising his voice’s volume. He took a precarious step toward Marth, shouting, “If I was going to be mauled, I’d do it myself!” He carefully allowed himself another step, his arm drooping slightly as he persisted, “I don’t know how many times I can rephrase what I’ve already said!”

Link cautiously rose to his feet as he witnessed Roy’s perturbed strides. Marth slowly retreated backwards across the floor until he bumped into the end table rested against the wall. Roy bit his lip deviously as he approached the fretful Marth, and he cackled menacingly, “Now it’s my turn to totally kick your ass!”

Link glanced at the automated clock sitting upon the nearby counter. “Roy, it’s almost bath time.”

“Oh, really?” Roy cried excitedly, smirking giddily and clasping his hands together as he spun around to face Link. “Don’t want to be late!” he cheered, half-skipping out the open doorway and into the hallway.

Marth allowed himself a moment to calm his hyperventilation. He then glared with wide eyes at Link, who smiled earnestly at him. “Link…?” he sputtered. “What-”

“Roy loves bath time!” Link answered, grinning.

Marth hesitated and stared in a different direction. Suddenly, Roy bolted through the open doorway and clenched Link’s suit collar within his hands, shrieking, “It’s not bath time! I just had bath time a few hours ago!”

“Aren’t you about due for another one?” Marth interjected.

Roy turned his head slowly, narrowing his eyes at Marth and released Link’s suit jacket collar in one swift motion. “I’m not in the mood anymore,” he sneered, altering his stance into one of nonchalance as he adjusted his own suit jacket collar.

“I suppose that whole bipolar thing really does come in handy,” Marth muttered under his breath.

Link smiled heartily. “This is just like that time when we went on Dr. Phil, you guys.”

Marth remained silent. Roy wiped the blood line from the side of his mouth and then crossed his arms in frustration. “I’m still pissed at you, Marth.”

“Sure you are,” Marth retorted, glancing at the ceiling with disinterest.

Roy’s right eye twitched. “As soon as the happy side of my bipolar thing passes, I’m still going to kick your ass.”

An awkward silence followed. “Just give it a moment,” Roy added, pouting.

Marth hesitated and eventually shifted his uninterested gaze to his fingernails for another study session. Roy huffed, scoffing, “Alright, so, forget it!” He threw his arms out from his sides, brow depressed in frustration. “This is all your fault, Marth!” he protested.

Marth casually perked up an eyebrow, his focus still set upon his fingernails. “Who would’ve guessed?” he replied, finally glancing up from his hand at his accuser. “It’s never anyone else.”

Roy straightened his posture and folded his arms closely to his chest. “Yeah, well, it can’t be anyone else when…” As he trailed off, a shrill racket pierced the room. Roy instantaneously turned his torso to witness Link, and cocked an eyebrow. Link only smiled with nervous embarrassment and lifted the stereo from the floor to return it to the countertop.

Marth shook his head and then explained, “Roy, if you can’t run this thing, maybe you should give up while you’re ahead.” He snickered to himself, and continued, “After all, you’ve gotten people pissed off at you, shot yourself, and gotten mauled by an illiterate turtle on steroids.”

Roy pouted and sneered, “Like none of those things have ever happened to you, Marthy!”

Marth hesitated. “Well, I’ve never shot myself, anyway.”

At that moment, the clamor of the telephone ring vibrated throughout the room, causing Roy to instantly direct his gaze at the object. He bolted toward it, shoving Marth aside in the process, and swiftly lifted the telephone from its receiver to answer, “Hello, you’ve reached Red, Blue, and That Other Guy Incorporated. You’ve got a job, and we need one. How may we help you today?”

“Uhh, yeah, hey,” the caller clumsily answered.

Roy narrowed his eyes as he awaited the caller’s continuation. “Well?” he eventually questioned, tapping his free hand atop the desk in frustration.

The caller hesitated, and eventually persisted, “Well, I’ve got a job for you guys to do.”

“Well, der,” Roy hastily replied as he stood up straight and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Come on, spill the beans, then, Mr. Ambiguous.”

“Roy, this is Mario,” the caller answered. “Don’t call me ‘Mr. Ambigious;’ you can call me Mr. Mario.”

Roy frowned. “Isn’t that your first name?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Mario replied, “but it’s also my last name. Get it? Like, ‘Mario Brothers?’ ”

Roy’s eye twitched in confusion. “So, then your full name is-”

“Mario Mario.”

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s grandmother,” Roy whispered, his voice tinged with surprise.

“One would hope not,” Mario replied. “Anyway, Roy, what I want you to do for me is-”

Roy interrupted, “Hey, where’s your accent? Luigi had the same problem.”

Mario’s sigh was apparent through the telephone. “Look, it’s my day off, and-”

“Oh, come on!” Roy squealed with budding excitement. “Just once, please!”

Mario hesitated, and Roy eagerly awaited any word from his client. “Fine,” Mario eventually sighed. He cleared his throat and then proclaimed, “It’s-a me, Mario!”

Roy giddily pressed his available hand into a fist and screeched, “Whee! How fun! Okay, now that that’s over, what’s your freakin’ problem, Mario, my man?”

“Well, it’s my and Peach’s anniversary tomorrow, and I want you to write her a love letter for me,” Mario answered. “Judging from last year, cannons are not romantic.”

Roy thought for a moment, and then questioned, “Wait, you guys aren’t married, are you? How the hell is it your anniversary tomorrow?”

“ ‘Anniversary’ as in the first time I rescued her from Bowser’s castle without having some stupid Toad pop up and say, ‘Sorry Mario, the princess is in another castle,’ ” Mario responded somewhat angrily.

“Okay, whatever,” Roy shrugged. After a moment of silence, he gave a half-laugh and held a triumphant fist at chest level, pronouncing, “Well, you’re in good hands, Mario, my man! I just so happen to be the most romantic, articulatory person in this whole freakin’ building!”

“Don’t you mean ‘articulate?’ ” Mario asked.

Roy huffed, “No, I don’t.”

Mario hesitated, but eventually replied, “Alright. Well, here’s what you can do: you can write the letter to Peach and then drop it off in her postbox for me. I trust you know where that room is.”

Roy gestured with his free hand and muttered, “Sure, why not? Something about a postman and a frog – I’ve got it, Mario.”

“Alright, then,” Mario reluctantly responded. “Just be sure to sign it as ‘Love Mari-’ ”

Roy slammed the telephone into its receiver and then spun around, hands on his hips, to face his now bewildered colleagues. Marth scowled. “You’re not romantic or articulate,” he sneered, frowning. “What in the world did you agree to?”

“I’m going to write a love letter for Mario to Peach, since it’s apparently their would-be anniversary tomorrow,” Roy declared, giving a weak thumbs-up with his right hand. “I guess that journalism class I took in high school will finally pay off.”

Marth’s eyes grew wide. “Roy, you had better let me do that,” he objected. “If you write that letter, then there’s no telling what will happen between Mario and Peach because of your idiocy.”

Roy dug a finger into his ear and muttered, “What are you trying to say?”

Marth shook his head, though his expression remained fixed as staid. “Roy, I am being totally serious with you-”

“Can I do it, Roy?” Link interjected, happily clasping his hands together in anticipation.

Roy laughed mockingly, “Yeah, right, Link! Like I’m going to let an idiot like you write a love letter.”

Link’s subsequent frown accompanied his emerging blush. Roy ran an index finger across the underside of his chin, pondering aloud, “I wonder what I should say to the dumb broad.”

Marth bit his lip with growing apprehension and then opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the piercing noise of the telephone ringing. Roy stared at the object, allowing his hand to descend to his side, and then mumbled, “That better not be Mario again, or else I’ll have to be mad at him, too.” He slowly lifted the telephone from its receiver and timidly answered, “Hello, you’ve – umm, yeah. Hey.”

“Hello,” came a high-pitched voice.

Roy snickered with surprise. “Well, well, Mario! Looks like you’re trying to prank me again.” In an instant, his expression deepened into one of ferocity as he pointed in a random direction, shouting, “It’s not going to work this time! I’ve got cameras in here!”

Link gulped and nervously glanced around the room. Marth merely sauntered toward his colleague and then placed a consoling hand upon Link’s shoulder, shaking his head in reassurance.

The caller was timid in his persistence: “I, uhh, need your help with something, Roy. This is Young Link.”

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, Young Link, I wasn’t expecting that freak voice of yours to be… yours.”

“Sorry,” Young Link replied earnestly.

“Yeah, you should be,” Roy replied. “Anyway, you know, I never did really figure out how you can coexist with your older self.”

Young Link’s response was delayed. “I don’t know, either,” he eventually answered.

“Well, punk,” Roy began, smirking to himself, “what’s your problem?”

“I’ve got an essay due tomorrow for Super Smash Elementary School, and I need you to go make copies of all its components,” Young Link answered.

Roy’s jaw hung open. “ ‘Components?’ ” he questioned accusingly. “How many ‘components’ are there to a frickin’ essay?”

“Well, there’s the rough draft, the final draft, the works cited page, the research, the persuasive essay, and-”

“And this is all for an elementary school?” Roy interrupted, eyes wide with shock. “Sounds more like a college course.”

“It’s a very good school,” Young Link replied.

Roy rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Young Punk. This is extortion, man!”

“Either way, it’s due tomorrow,” Young Link insisted, “so, I’d really appreciate it if you could run down to Kinko’s and get everything copied.”

Roy grinned. “Right, then, whatever,” he said, bored. “Just, uhh, pay me, and whatnot.” With that, he set the telephone gently into its receiver, and then spun around to face his colleagues once more. “Well, well, looks like we’ve got more work than I really would’ve liked for the day.”

Link’s expression beamed, and Marth muttered incoherently under his breath. “What’s the other job?” Link asked, giddily bouncing with unease in dress shoes.

Roy carefully ran a hand across his black eye. “Well, apparently your younger self needs some stuff to be sent to Kinko’s for copy-age!”

“Yes, I was never much of a scholar – always procrastinating,” Link answered. He hesitated. “I mean, I’m not much of a scholar now – err… he’s not much of a scholar, even though he’s me, and-”

“Link, shut up for awhile before you give yourself a brain tumor,” Roy interjected, sighing afterward. He redirected his reluctant gaze toward Marth, and then lifted an index finger as he explained, “So, here’s the plan: you’re going to go to Kinko’s with Link, Marthy, and I’m going to write this stupid love letter thingy.”

Marth gasped and protested, “No way, Roy! You go to Kinko’s with Link, and I’ll compose the love letter. I’m… much more articulate and impassioned than you.”

Roy cocked an eyebrow. “What are you saying?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes.

Marth fell silent. Roy widened his eyes to their original width and honestly continued, “No, I mean, what are you saying? I don’t understand your big, fancy words.”

“Never mind,” Marth replied, crossing his arms as he drooped his head. “Some people just don’t understand me at all; they merely lack the ability to comprehend.”

Roy stared at his sentimental colleague for a moment and studied. “Say, Marth,” he eventually began, grinning slightly, “you seem to be all sappy and whatnot; why don’t you-”

“I’d be happy to write the letter,” Marth interrupted, smiling sincerely as he unfolded his arms and placed them behind his back.

Roy grimaced. “Hell no! I was going to say, ‘Why don’t you go to Kinko’s with Link to balance out his stupidity?’ ”

Marth slumped his shoulders and sighed intensely. Link placed a hand over his mouth as he witnessed the following silent tension between his colleagues. Roy bit his lip, grinned, and concluded, “So, it’s settled, then!” He clasped his hands together awkwardly, and then added, “Link, get me a piece of paper.”

Link raised his eyebrows and scoured through his traditional video game hero storage… thing, and then lifted a spiral notebook and a pencil. He offered the items to Roy, and then smiled as Roy accepted them with reluctance. Roy flipped the cover open and stared down at his previous doodles in the notebook. “Hey, there’s that cow I drew,” Roy announced, grinning. “I’ll have to save this page.” He turned to the next page of the notebook and then glanced up from it at his colleagues, each of whom returned his stare. “Well,” Roy began smugly, sitting at the folding chair before his desk, “I’ve got a sappy letter to write. You jerks go ahead and find Young Link, and then go to Kinko’s to get his stupid essay copied, or whatever he said he needed.”

Link gave a half-salute and proceeded to turn around and saunter out the open doorway. Marth was hesitant, continuing to stare at Roy as the redhead began to scribble illegible handwriting upon the first line of the page. Marth shook his head and then proceeded worriedly after Link. When he drew alongside Link in the hallway, Marth sighed and anxiously pronounced, “Link, I have a bad feeling about this.” After Link glanced at him while continuing to walk, Marth bit his lip nervously and continued, “I mean, you know whatever he says to Peach is going to be offensive or just downright stupid, and then she’ll get extremely angry at Mario, all due to Roy’s senselessness.”

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think,” Link replied, smiling with reassurance. “I think Roy can do a good job.”

“Link,” Marth began solemnly, “you don’t think at all.”

Link smirked. “Guess not,” he agreed. He then abruptly halted in the hallway and pointed at the nearest door, winking as he insisted, “This is Young Link’s room, I guess.”

Marth neglected to reply and merely opened the door, peeking his head nervously inside and inquiring, “Young Link? I’m here on behalf of Captain Dork-Roy to take your essay to Kinko’s for copying.”

Young Link perked up his attention to the intruder and leapt down from his desk chair. He blinked and then fished through the stacks of papers on top of the desk, and smiled to himself when he discovered his essay. He ambled casually toward Marth and extended his arms toward the swordsman, saying, “Thank goodness that you came instead of Roy.”

Marth allowed himself a moment to register this information. “Oh, really?” he asked, grinning as he accepted the small stack of papers. “And why is that, if I may be so bold to ask?”

Young Link crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t think Roy likes me very much,” he answered sorrowfully.

Link peered over Marth’s shoulder at their client. “Don’t worry, Roy doesn’t like your older self, either,” he answered, pointing to himself smugly.

“That’s because my older self is an idiot,” Young Link responded. Link fell into an awkward silence.

Marth, sensing the developing tension, grinned and hurriedly declared, “Well, we must be going! Thanks, Young Link!” He swiftly closed the door behind himself as he spun around in the hallway to face Link, clutching the stack of papers between his right forearm and chest.

Link pouted as he glared at Marth. “I wasn’t done with him,” he announced, pointing his thumb to his breastbone.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want you to get into an argument with yourself, Link,” Marth retorted. “You remember what happened last time?”

“The restraining order didn’t really work, though, Marth,” Link countered. “How am I supposed to keep myself away from myself?”

Marth shook his head and insisted, “Let’s just hurry up and get to Kinko’s as quickly as possible; the less time we waste, the more time you’ll have later to fight with yourself as much as you want!”

“Awesome!” Link cried, clapping his hands together once. “Can I drive?”

Marth’s nervous smile was replaced by a depressed scowl. “No, Link… you’ve got road rage.” He glanced away for a moment. “That’s why they took your license and then burned it.”

“I think the burning was unnecessary,” Link replied innocently.

“Depends on which angle you’re looking at it from, Link,” Marth retorted. He proceeded to walk in the direction from which they had come, and Link soon pursued. Marth glanced at Young Link’s essay papers. As he began to read, he perked up his eyebrows with increasing interest. “You know, this isn’t a bad paper for an elementary school kid,” he declared, turning his head to glare at Link.

Link brushed a few stray bangs out of his line of sight and remained silent. Marth laughed to himself, “Of course, you’re not the same as you were seven years ago, are you?”

“No,” Link answered, sniveling. “Back then I had it all: I saved a tree, which then wound up dying, but that’s not the point; I saved a bunch of rock-eating fat monsters from a giant lizard who breathed fire and lived in a lava-filled hole in a rock called Death Mountain; I saved some fish chick from the belly of a… bigger fish; I got some ranch girl to sing her freaky song to me that was like an aphrodisiac to horses; I got to dive into a moat to get a purple ocarina that Zelda had tossed, though I rather suspect she was aiming at me and missed; I traveled to a far away land with a really funky name to save a bunch of scary carbon copies of Hyrulian people from a moon that was going to fall and crush them; and I fought a flying mask with anger issues.” He sniffed and wiped an eye with his hand. “Where have all those adventuring days gone?”

Marth blinked and halted in the lobby, causing Link to stop beside his colleague and stare in puzzlement. “Link,” Marth began, a serious expression plastered on his face, “just a little while ago, you couldn’t remember that you even had your own games.”

Link hesitated. “Well, it suddenly came to me.”

“I see,” Marth replied thoughtfully, “and, this has, of course, nothing to do with your schizophrenia?”

Link grinned devilishly. “Or, maybe it does.”

“No more evil looks,” Marth shot back as he continued walking through the main entrance double doors, “it just doesn’t suit you.”

Link frowned. “Alright, then,” he agreed solemnly as he pursued his colleague. They continued to pace along the pathway around the east side of the building and toward the parking lot, where Marth halted, forcing Link to come to a stop beside him. Marth clutched the stack of papers within his hands, scowled, and muttered, “Oh, that’s right. We only have that stupid hippie bus to drive around in.”

“I like the hippie bus!” Link announced, giving a thumbs-up. “It’s so delightfully stoner.”

“Of course you’d say something like that, Link,” Marth mumbled, rolling his eyes. “Now, just get into the stupid car, please, so we can hurry up and get this over with.” He held the stack of papers in his right hand in order to gesture toward the Volkswagen with his left, and then returned both grips unto the papers. He waited as Link sauntered toward the vehicle and then opened the front passenger side door and took a seat inside, and then ambled toward it himself and shut the door on Link’s side. Marth then made his way to the opposite side, opened the driver’s side door, took a seat inside, and then shoved the stack of papers at Link with his right hand while yanking the door to a close with his left. He buckled his seatbelt, shot an accusing glance at Link, and then fished through his pocket until he uncovered the car keys.

After Marth had jammed the keys into the ignition, Link bit his lip and questioned, “Have you driven this before?”

“No,” he confessed as the car roared to a shaky start, “but there’s no way I’ll be any worse than Roy’s maniacal driving.”

Link glanced out the window. “I don’t know, Marth,” he began, “Roy would drive like a maniac, but it sure did clear the road of traffic…”

---

“Link, stop looking at that girl’s butt.”

The elf instantly redirected his attention to the fellow swordsman standing beside him. “Did you say something, Marth?” he asked innocently.

Marth muttered under his breath and gestured toward the nearby counter. “We’re next in line; can you not just wait a few minutes so we can pay for the copies?”

“We haven’t gotten any copies yet,” Link replied.

Marth rolled his eyes. “You have to pay the Kinko’s people first.”

Link thought for a second and glanced down at Young Link’s papers. “Well, that’s not fair.”

Marth began to glance around the building until his eyes halted upon a clock on the nearest wall. He grimaced and shifted his attention to his colleague as he muttered, “We’ve been standing in line long enough, don’t you think?” Link merely shook his head. Marth narrowed his eyes. “Oh, that’s right… you don’t think.”

Link merely smiled, and Marth rolled his eyes. Eventually, the woman in front of the counter ahead of the two swordsmen moved aside, and Marth breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God!” he said as he and Link approached the counter. Marth rested an elbow upon the counter and then made a gesticulation toward his colleague, stating, “We’re here to make a few copies of this ess-”

The shrill piercing noise of a woman’s scream interrupted Marth’s statement, instead forcing him to spin around and witness a sight that brought fear to his eyes and a lust for blood to his subconscious. Roy stood in the doorway, lighter clenched in his right hand and feverishly desperate expression plastered upon his face, and frantic people dashed about the store with no sense of direction or rationale. Marth’s jaw quivered as his eyes grew wide and he witnessed the innocent bystanders become people fleeing for their own security. Link elbowed Marth gently in the side and whispered, “Hey, look, Roy’s here.”

Marth instinctively shoved Link aside and bolted in Roy’s direction, leaping over toppled waste baskets and brushing off airborne papers and flyers. He bounded over one collapsed man, too intently focused on Roy’s insanity to assist others. When Roy tossed the burning lighter onto a nearby copy machine, Marth came to a screeching halt and collapsed onto the floor, hands drawn close to his cheeks as he stared up at the machine that enticed flames. He huffed and slowly rose to his feet, the penetrating noises of frantic screams and the cackling eruption of flames piercing his consciousness with increasing ferocity.

Roy stood proudly with his arms extended from his sides accompanied by a devilish grin, his suit torn by claws and bloodstained cheeks ignited by pyromania. Marth peered through the obstruction of his bangs at his demented colleague, and shouted, “Roy!”

The red-haired executive swiftly turned his head in the given direction and shot a menacing glare at his colleague. “Marth,” he began, his voice tinged with psychosis, “I’m here to help with the mission!”

Marth glanced around the building as the smoke ascended toward the high ceiling, and then turned to face Roy. “You’ve gone insane!” he cried. “You’re not helping! You’re burning down a building!” He coughed, and continued, “Roy, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Roy shrieked in response, “I’m helping! Jesus, are you deaf?”

Link darted across any open floor space and dodged fleeing customers in the direction of his colleagues. He leapt past an overshooting ember and then skidded to a halt before Roy. He then offered the essay papers to his colleague and smiled, “Here, now we can make copies!”

“Excellent!” Roy yelled, cackling maniacally. He dashed to the available copy machine that remained untouched and causally lifted the cover, placed the first page inside, and released the cover. He pressed two buttons upon the machine, smirked to himself, and then depressed the button that read Copy. Marth bolted toward his colleague, followed by Link, and gave a forceful blow across Roy’s face. Roy’s eyes fluttered for a moment, and then irately turned toward his attacker to give a wallop of his own. Marth took a step back and touched his hand to his mouth, and gasped at the sight of blood on his middle finger after he had departed his hand from his face.

Roy shrieked and leapt at Marth, tackling the swordsman with all his weight and pinning him to the ground, laughing menacingly as Marth struggled beneath his grip. “What’s the matter with you?” Marth spat as he fidgeted underneath Roy’s robust holds upon his wrists that were pinned to the ground beside his head.

“I’m helping!” Roy repeated as he gave a vigorous smack across his colleague’s face. “If we burn the building, we can avoid paying for the copies!”

Marth cried out in agony and, with a newfound strength, forced Roy off of his body and onto the open floor space behind him. He forced his right knee onto Roy’s abdomen and bent his torso down to take a swing at Roy’s face. Roy hacked up blood, which in turn stained his suit jacket collar, and then freed his own arms to strangle his attacker. Marth clasped his hands over those of Roy and choked out whimpering gasps, trying in desperation to free himself from Roy’s stranglehold.

When Marth had the opportunity, he managed to pry Roy’s fingers from his neck and then landed a successful blow onto Roy’s chest, causing the redhead to exhale with audacity. Each of the swordsmen stared at one another, gasping for air and exhausted from brawling and smoke inhalation. During the moment of calm, Link knelt down beside his horizontal colleagues and offered a new stack of papers from his left hand, smiling as he said, “The copies are done.”

---

Peach entered her room and flicked the light switch into the On position. She was clutching the contents of her postbox within her left hand and sorting through the envelopes with her right. She halted at an envelope with slipshod handwriting on it, and read aloud the words, “From Mario.” Peach hesitated. “Well, I was never aware that Mario could spell his own name wrong.”

She set the remaining envelopes and papers upon a nearby end table and then casually slipped her fingernail beneath the envelope flap to tear it open. Peach lifted the shoddily folded piece of spiral notebook paper and then unfolded it, reading aloud the words scribbled upon it: “Dear Peach, it’s-a me, Mario! Yeah. It’s, like, our anniversary and stuff. I, like, love you, and stuff. You’re, erm… pretty, and whatnot. It’s amazing how someone as short as me can, like, do stuff with you. You’re, like, twice my height, man. Anyway, back to the love and junk. You’re pretty and you smell like cookies. Moldy cookies, but cookies. I like cookies. I, uhh, also like you. Err, love. Yeah, love you. I love you. Umm… yeah. Make sure I pay Roy. Toodles. Love, Mario.”

Peach allowed herself a moment of silence to blink in confusion. Then, she clutched the paper and its accompanying envelope tightly, crying, “I never knew Mario was so romantic!” She wiped a teary eye with one hand and thought aloud, “I’ll cherish this poorly-handwritten expression of love forever!”