#I myself am a former theatre kid that will always have a soft spot for it

[peaches2217]

How do you feel about Mario being just a closeted theater kid at heart? especially Romeo + Juliet, maybe even shyly coming clean that in highschool he tried out for Romeo and memorized the love sonnet.

ANON I LOVE THIS

So @itsavee4117 had the idea a while back that Luigi was a theatre kid, which I wholeheartedly accept as canon. And while Mario was more the sporty type, he was still unusually romantic and sentimental for a teenage boy. So now I’m imagining Luigi encouraging him to broaden his horizons, try out for that play, here’s this super romantic monologue you can memorize for it!

And ultimately he decides it’s just… not for him, whether because his own brand of anxiety keeps him locked into his own habits or he just genuinely doesn’t have the patience for play practice. Still, he always retains a soft spot for theatre, in all its beautiful melodrama. He’ll happily accompany Peach to performances and get every bit as sucked in as her. And, of course, he’d perform one or two of those monologues just for her~

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #71: Boxer.

Written: 3/19/2017                                                                Backwards Week

Half of the crowd had wanted blood, and so they screamed for it, but these were not typical boxing fans, they only showed up to see the Orca himself, Bruce the Killer Whale, a heavyweight boxer who suffered from alopecia, and had gained a lot of attention from the media not only after he had killed a man in the ring, but also when, only two days before, he killed two other men in self defense. People had showed up to see carnage, but the standard boxing fans had been put off be these new comers, these blood lusted trend hoppers who would forget about the sport in a matter of hours after the match, and so arguments began, about whether or not boxing was brutal or civilized. Being unaware of the rules, and the defensive styles employed by some heavyweights, the fifteen minute fans began to use wrestling to back up their arguments, which led insults like “dumbass” or “shit head” to be thrown around, and even though they were unoriginal they still angered plenty of people. However, not a single fight broke out, and instead there was just a large amount of tension and hurt feelings, because even though so many had showed up with the intent to see a man get beaten to death, they were not aggressive people themselves, only voyeurs of violence, containing the same curiosity that would lead one to slow down to examine the aftermath of a bloody and mangled car wreck. Some of them believed that this made them civilized.

When the Orca finally came out, the crowd set their differences aside and all began to cheer him on, but he seemed to not notice the crowd, and only walked to the ring as if it were business as usual. His body was covered in bruises, but this didn’t seem to worry the man, and he took his place in his corner. Hardly anyone cheered for his adversary, Gerald, who was unknown to the temporary fans, and was generally unpopular with the long term fans, because the guy had been the most generic boxer in the history of the sport. The only fans he had in that arena, which amounted to a fourth of the crowd, were painfully average people themselves, a mass of people who all were eerily similar to one another, and who thought of him as a hero for the average man. Too long had exceptional people tried to play themselves as average, and Gerald was one of the first unrememberables to make it big, even if most boxing fans forgot who he was, like he was some background character in the large scheme of things.

Gloves touched, the bell dinged, and the crowed watched in silent anticipation, waiting to see what would happen. Orca moved in, threw a jab with the left, immediately hitting whats-his-name in the face, causing him to stagger back, nose bleeding, expression blank. The large man came in for another strike, faked left hit right, Gerald ducked, and in an astounding display to everybody in the crowd, began to pummel the Orca with such speed and precision that most spectators only processed half of what happened, and before anyone knew it, and long before anybody knew how it happened, Gerald clocked his opponent right in the face, causing him to drop to the ground.

The referee scurried over to count to ten, most of the crowd chanted for Bruce to get up, but he just lied there, unmoving. The countdown reached its end, it was a knock out, and the most forgettable members of the crowd stood up and cheered, seeing this as a win for the average man, the age of great men had finally come to an end.

However, the Orca never got up, and when he was checked on it turned out he did not have a pulse, and within a short amount of time he had been declared dead. Reactions were mixed. The average members of the audience began to loath Gerald, started to boo, because since he had killed the killer, that had made him somebody noteworthy, somebody exceptional, and it lead the boxer to turn out to be just another noteworthy person who tried to appropriate their marginal culture. Some of the temporary fans were upset, because it had been upsetting that the killer had been killed, but the others just wanted to see a man die either way, and were cheering on the winner, who they would forget about only moments after leaving the arena. The standard fans were mortified, they just wanted to see two men beat the ever loving shit out of each other, or even two men try to beat the shit out of each other, while one prevented himself from being hit, but this was too much. ———————————————————————————————————

Waiting for the match, hearing the faint roar of the passionate crowd, Bruce decided to call his wife before he began. He figured that she would appreciate this, mainly because he had a ritual of staying out of contact with her, hours before he stepped into the ring, since he loved her too much and needed to have full focus. This match, he figured, would be the first and last one that didn’t require much focus, so he made the call. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she tried to sound blase, but he could hear the suppressed excitement in her voice.

“I’m going to step into the ring any moment now, and I was thinking-”

“Why not call your amazing wife?”

“Yeah, that was it. I was also thinking, after I win this thing, we should go somewhere. Lets go out of the country, me and you, lets actually enjoy ourselves for once.”

“What about your training, its not like this is going to be your last match, and you always talk about how you always have to stay in shape, how you-”

“Forget about that, I have the rest of my life to keep fighting. I just want to spend some time with you, see the world, have some fun, you know. I want to enjoy life at some point. If I can’t do that, then what’s the point of all of this fighting, what’s the point of all of this money? Is this supposed to be my life, I mean, is this all there is? Am I supposed to wait until my body craps out on me, and all of the sudden we’re two old shits, trying to have fun with our brittle bones, too weak to do anything more than-”

“Shit, Bruce, are you having a mid life crisis?”

“No, I-”

“Just buy a new car or something, get some bedazzled clothing, what’s with all of this? Why does this all have to be so complicated?”

“I just figured we should leave the country at some point. The only reason I’ve even left the state was just to fight, there has to be something else to do.”

“I don’t buy this, this is way too sudden. Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking we could go to Russia.”

“Russia, what the fuck is in Russia that you want to see?”

“I heard that it can be beautiful there, its just-”

“If you want to see a beautiful country, then why not somewhere like Vietnam? Why do you want to go to a country that is mainly just wastelands of snow and ice? What the hell as gotten into you, what’s your reason for this? I know damn well that you hate the cold, and you know that there is nothing we could do there that would be better than any other part of the world. What did you get yourself into, Bruce?”

“I didn’t get myself into nothing, don’t worry about it! I just want to go on vacation god damn it!”

“Did you go talk to those god damned gangsters? Have you gotten yourself wrapped up in something shady?”

“Of course not, you know that I would never fucking do that. And besides, those guys are fucking Russian, there’s no way they would have me go all the way to their own country to do any shady shit that you think I’d get involved in. That’s not how those guys work, they would just do it anywhere, they’re everywhere so why would I have to go there? Why would I leave a god damned trail? Did you think this through at all, or did you just want to bust my balls before I have to bust some punks face in? I go through all of this effort to call you before a match, and now you’re-”

“Well you didn’t have to call me Bruce! Anyways, you’re the one who’s wanting me to buy tickets to Russia, and who are you fighting anyways? I thought you always had to focus? The fuck is going on here?”

“Nothings going on, how many times do I have to fucking say it?” His coach walked in the door, heard Bruce yelling into his phone, and walked back out, deciding that he would come in when the fighter had cooled down.

“Whatever! Whatever! I’ll buy the tickets, that make you happy, huh?”

“Of course it makes me god damned happy. Nothings made me happier. I love you.”

“Love you too, now go bash that guy’s face in, make sure to knock a tooth out for me.”

“I’ve told you, it doesn’t work like that, we have bite guards.”

“Well, knock that out then. Who are you fighting anyways?”

“You know, they keep telling me, but I can’t remember.” ———————————————————————————————————

Bruce always had a specific routine in the days before fights, which would include him taking his wife out to dinner the night before, usually to some big Italian place, and the night before that he would stay late in his private gym, training. Those nights were lonely, but the isolation was something he needed. So, to make it a little more bearable, he would usually leave a radio on, which would play show tunes, mainly since Bruce had a soft spot for musicals. When he was a teenager he would constantly audition for roles, but he was always turned down since he was a bit tone def, but in those self conscious years he was always worried that it was really because he was completely hairless, not wanting to face the facts that the kids who got roles over him really were better, even if he did want it more, and that’s just how life was. Although, musical theatre did serve as his gateway to boxing, because when he had waited in a parking lot for the kid who played Captain Von Trapp, a role young Bruce thought he was destined for, and beat the guy so badly that he never had the chance to raise a  fist in defense, the director of the show, who was a former golden gloves boxer, had seen it all and knew that Bruce had great potential in the world of boxing.

The man quit his directing career, persuaded the injured lead into not pressing charges by threatening to tell the theatre community that he was horrible to work with, and that they should look elsewhere for male talent, he called up his old boxing associates, and surviving on his savings, he became Bruce’s coach and helped direct that tone deaf youth to play the lead in the heavyweight championships.

As Bruce swung away at the punching bag, more for ritual than actual practice, and sung along to the lines of Hard Knock Life, a man, armed with a wooden bat, had entered the gym, undetected by the large boxer. Only when the radio was smashed, with a swing of the bat, did Bruce discover the presence of the other man. “The fuck is your problem, you want me to punch you so hard that I’ll knock your shadow off?” He normally wasn’t this aggressive, he just hated when people messed with his music.

“I’ve come here to,” the man tried to explain, twitching, staring the larger man down.

“I don’t give a fuck why you came in here,” pointing with a glove, “now you better get the fuck out before I lay your ass down.”

“You better-”

“No, you better realize what the fuck you’re doing. I’m a professional fighter, I’ve killed a man with my barehands, who the fuck are you to come in here and think-”

Beating the bat against the ground, furious at being interrupted, “Gerald sent me mother fucker! I’m here to make sure that you won’t be able to fight.”

“Who?”

“Gerald.”

“Gerald who? You sure you got the right guy?”

“He’s the guy you’re supposed to, aren’t you the killer whale?”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember having to fight nobody named Gerald, and, hell, I don’t know a boxer by that name. So get the fuck out, be-”

Screaming, the man beat the bat against the ground again, trying to look threatening, but he ended up cracking the bat in half. Then, confused, he dropped it to the ground, put his fists up, and twitched as he said, “Shut up, you’re trying to confuse me. I’m going to beat the shit out of you and thats that.”

As the mad approached, and Bruce entered his fighting stance, he asked, “What makes you think you can take on a man like me, hand to hand.”

“A shit ton of cocaine, that’s what.” The drugged up man ran towards Bruce, fists swinging, and the heavy weight knocked him clean in the jaw before the man got very close. However, he was surprised when he felt a hard object slam into his hip, causing him to drop to one knee. On his right, there was a short man, about 4’9”, holding a lead pipe, about to bring it down onto the head of the Orca, who also had to worry about the man in front of him, who was now running to attack him, about to do something unpredictable due to his stimulated state. As he considered his options, the pipe came down onto Bruce’s head, and, to nobody’s knowledge, dislodged his brain a tiny bit, and when the taller man drew near, he decided to jump against the nearby practice ring, bounce himself off of the ropes, and then use that momentum to send a well placed boot right into the asshole boxer’s jaw.

However, this plan was not well thought out, or executed, and the man ended up getting an arm stuck in the ropes, giving Bruce enough time to punch the shorter man, full force, directly in the face, knocking him flat on his ass. Then, he grabbed the prone man by his ankles, and threw him against the tangled man, which caused their heads to knock together, and before he could drop Bruce was up on his feet again, and began to send a flurry of blows into the men on the rope. Enraged, mainly because the unfinished melody of Hard Knock Life was stuck in his head, Bruce kept sending out punches for two minutes straight, and by the time he cooled off he realized that he had killed the both of them, and that he would have to get rid of his gloves, which were now covered in all sorts of viscous fluids. ———————————————————————————————————

When Bruce first scored free box seats to the opera, he thought that a wealthy fan had donated the tickets, but when he arrived at the balcony, he realized that the gift had significant strings attached. Seeing those scumbags made him want to leave the building, but he was a sucker for these kinds of shows, so he decided to bear through whatever the men would have to say. Waiting for him were three men who had been trying to get in contact with the boxer for quite some time, but he never messed with any sort of mob business, so they had to get creative if they wanted to talk with him.

“We see you have accepted our gift. Come, sit with us, we’ve heard this show is very good.” Said a toad like man with a thick, Russian accent.

“If I sit down,” Bruce asked, “are you going to try to get me to buy a time share or something?”

“Very clever, you are a clever man. No, we are not in the time share business, we are not interested in petty scams. We are interested in bigger ideas. How much money do you make from pugilism?”

“Its not about the money, I just like boxing.”

“Bullshit,” a large, bespectacled man piped up, “We know this is a big lie, Bruce.”

Attempting to make up for his impatient associate, “We have learned a lot about you, we may even know you better than you know yourself. Now, don’t interrupt, just hear us out. We went through all of the trouble to get in contact, we even gave you these great seats, didn’t we? All you have to do is hear our offer, and then we will leave you alone for the rest of the show.

“Now, you are a big deal in the boxing world, but of course this is no secret. You are scarier than prime Tyson, and only the toughest of boxers could stay standing in a match against you, while the rest get knocked out. You are an animal. Yet, we know that you do not really enjoy this, we know this is not your true passion. It is just a job for you, and maybe this is what makes you an even better boxer, the fact that you sometimes get angry that this is what your life has turned into, the fact that you have to fight to lie to yourself and say that you are really happy. I’m not here to analyze you, though, I’m just here to get to the offer, and I can see that I’m losing you so I’ll-”

“Just get to the point!”

“I was about to do that. You have quite the temper today don’t you? Anyways, Bruce, forgive my associate. You must know that it would be foolish to bet against you, correct? Especially against somebody as lackluster as your next opponent, what was his name? Jerry?”

“Wait,” Bruce interrupted, “are you saying you want me to take a fall for you? You want me to Lamotta myself? Are you fucking crazy?”

“Now now, wait till the end. But, yes, we do want you to fall, but there is more than money in it for you. Now, answer me this, out of all of the ways we tried to get in touch with you, why was the opera house the one that you couldn’t resist. No, that was rhetorical, you do not need to answer. See, we can make life better for you if you let things go our way, because there is, what is the term? A fuckload of money in it for us if you take a dive, but for you, we can give you a lot.

“See, in Russia it is easy to make it big in the theatre business. You do not need talent, you only need connections, and we have just that. Imagine you on the big stage, finally being able to do what you want, wouldn’t that be nice Bruce, wouldn’t you like that?”

Mulling it over for a second, “Are you saying you can make me a star in Russia?”

“Maybe, maybe, but that much is not guaranteed. We can get you the lead role in several shows, but we cannot promise you to have a career that would last longer than a year or two, since, in the grand scheme of things, you would not be bringing in too much money, just enough for us to do you this favor.” As the overture began to play, “Now, think this over, and you can give your answer after the show. Lets enjoy this, yes?”

Sitting with that untrustworthy group, Bruce’s first instincts told him to get out of there, but he was compelled to stay for the show. Then, as the show went on, he sat there in a trance, engrossed in the way he always was when he watched shows, completely captivated by the performance. And as leaving ceased to become an option, as time seemed to fly by, he started to imagine himself as the lead role. Then he started to think about other shows that he could lead, until all of the sudden it was intermission, and he stared at the curtain, imagining that the show was still going on, with him in the lead, and by the time the show resumed and ended, as the opera house filled with applause, the crowd rose in their enthusiasm, and roses were thrown onto the stage, all Bruce could think about was that all of this could be his, and the more he thought about it, the less of an option it became.

It would have been impossible to refuse.