PART 1: What It Is
CHAPTER 1
Lieutenant Sigel of the Mushroom Police Department entered his office dressed in a red bathrobe, in his hand a nearly empty cup of coffee. Small sacs had formed beneath his eyes from exhaustion, and his mouth was twisted into a tooth-bearing snarl.
Sitting in front of him was the apprehended criminal, a Koopa fast asleep at his desk in a swivel chair. Sigel had difficulty believing that the man before him had committed any wrongdoing, for he was far too old to be considered a threat to the peace, his head rapidly balding and covered in wrinkles and giant warts. Admittedly, he was dressed in black, spiked armor bearing the silhouetted face of King Koopa, but the time he spent serving the cruel dictator had probably ended years ago.
They woke me up to deal with this? Sigel thought. He set the coffee on his desk and prodded the Koopa on the shoulder. The Koopa failed to wake up, shifting around in the seat and continuing his nap.
Sigel grabbed the chair by the sides and scooped it out from beneath the Koopa’s bony rear, causing him to hit the ground with a loud thud that left a small crack on his shell. He scrambled to his feet, fear in his eyes. Upon realizing where he was, he calmed down and sat on the ground.
“You’re the guy they sent to punish me?” the Koopa said. “You’ve got a strict dress code.”
The attitude struck a chord in Sigel, but he maintained his composure and sat down in his reclaimed chair, legs crossed. “I apologize for this informal display, but your arrest came at an inconvenient time.”
The inconvenient time happened to be the preparations for the Festival of Heroes, a tradition held annually in the Mushroom Kingdom. Established by Peach after the Mario Bros. first repelled Bowser’s forces, it was a two-day festival, centered in the capital Toad Town, that spanned the entire kingdom. Mushroomers gathered and celebrated the arrival of Mario and Luigi with parades, fireworks, and large feasts.
Such heavy celebration called for large preparation, and even on the day before there were still many things to be done. Sigel had been relieved of duty for the next few days to partake in the festival, but the Koopa’s arrest had apparently been dire enough to warrant his return.
Sigel grabbed several files on his desk and skimmed through their content. “It seems you’ve been arrested for causing a ruckus down at the tavern Club 64. Starting a fight, severely injuring a fellow patron, and, overall, disturbing the peace.” He set the files back down. “Do you disagree with any of those claims?”
“If I may say, I was only acting in self-defense at the bar when a drunk assaulted me-”
“But you did get involved in a scuffle, am I not mistaken?”
The Koopa expressed visible frustration at being interrupted, but he nodded. “Yes, and what of it?”
“Then the charges still hold… What is your name, occupation, and home?”
“James Defonil, wanderer… fill in the last blank, buddy.”
It was an unlikely story. He looked too frail and too weary to be capable of traveling about without a home, not to mention the files also stated that he had paid for several alcoholic beverages before the crime occurred, drinks that were far too pricey for the average wanderer. Either he was a wanderer and had managed to swindle some money through some means, or he stayed at one of the local inns and believed that was enough to make him a"‘man-of-the-world".
Sigel took a notepad out of a drawer and scrawled "JAMES DEFONIL – KOOPA – BARFIGHT / DISTURBING THE PEACE" in large, bold letters. “Mr. Defonil, I’m not going to accuse you of instigating the fight or defending yourself, since that is a matter for the court to handle, but since the court won’t be open until the festival is over, we are going to keep you under heavy surveillance until then.”
“I understand, but you aren’t going to find anything.”
“If that is the case, then you might be able to make it through the court hearing without any trouble, perhaps even be let off the hook without a jail sentence. All we’ll do is keep you close by so you don’t leave town before then.”
Defonil sneered through his teeth and let out a hoarse, whistle-like noise that raised the goosebumps on Sigel’s skin. “Just to let you know,” Defonil said, “I’ve got no place to stay in this town. Inns are filled up, beds all taken… Where do you think you’re going to keep me so I don’t get away?”
“We’ll…” Sigel hesitated, realizing that Defonil was right; there was no place to stay with the festival so close. Leaving him in a jail cell wasn’t a good idea either; no officer was willing to take guard duties during the Festival of Heroes, and any who did would be easily swayed by the promise of being relieved of duty, even if it meant allowing the criminals to be set free for the night. There was no telling how desperate some men could get. “…figure that out, but I guarantee a decision will be reached by tonight.”
Defonil sneered and Sigel understood what he was thinking: You’ve got no plan; completely uncoordinated and short on time... Fools.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Sigel said, “I will be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Defonil said with a shrug.
Sigel got to his feet and walked towards the door, but not before taking one last glance at Defonil. Even if he did have an attitude problem, he still didn’t seem like a large threat. Nevertheless, the higher-ranked officers, who in turn took orders from various people working in the government, had gotten paranoid as the Festival of Heroes got closer and closer. King Koopa’s tendency to attack during celebrations had led to several units of the Mushroom Army being dispatched to Toad Town, and it seemed that a lone Koopa bearing the Koopa Clan insignia posed too much of a risk to ignore.
It was just wasted effort to Sigel. Less than two months before, the Mushroom Kingdom had come out of a small-scale conflict with the Koopa Clan over disputed territory, and although the amount of Mushroomer fatalities was miniscule, the Koopas had suffered heavy losses. A quarter of the army had been wiped out over the course of a few months, and the heir to the Koopa throne, Prince Ludwig, had been severely injured in a sea battle. It would take more than a year to recuperate after such a defeat.
Sigel closed the door behind him, locked it, and then walked down the hallway, intending to make a stop by the locker room to get dressed in uniform before consulting his superiors on where Defonil should be placed. The snarl remained plastered on his face, his mind filled with thoughts of anger, frustration, and vengeance at the paranoia of those around him. He wanted to go see his family, get a breath of fresh air, and partake in the festivities without worrying about crime and threats to the peace.
He wanted the Mushroom Kingdom to be free of worry just once.
~~~
Defonil sat on the chair Sigel had previously occupied, his weary limbs outstretched in a large yawn. He felt oddly claustrophobic in the stuffy office, unaccustomed to such a small space when he often spent his time in endless fields of green. To be locked in a small room with no windows, too much space taken up, and little ventilation was too much for a free spirit.
Being arrested wasn’t too fun either. He got a lot of dirty gazes throughout his travel in the Mushroom Kingdom, but never had he been accused of "disturbing the peace". It’s not like he went out of his way to cause others trouble, even when drunk. Rather, the trouble had come to him in the form of a large, bulky Mushroomer who harassed him for being a Koopa, and he only fought back after receiving a large fist in the face. Who could blame him?
At any rate, it was nice that they would allow him to walk free until the trial, but that also meant being constantly observed by blue-suited Mushroomers ready to lay down the law on the slightest misdemeanor. He considered possible ways he could get away from the entourage of police, but he considered it too risky. It was either get out now or wait until the trial and hope for an innocent verdict, both choices of which had plenty of risks involved to keep things from being easy.
Defonil closed his eyes and hoped he could get back to sleep, but found himself unable to. His frustration at the local law enforcement kept him wide-awake; a little too awake. His mind directed all anger and spite at the police and constantly reminded him how they were clearly acting upon their xenophobia. He got more and more riled up until…
The telephone on Sigel’s desk began ringing, startling Defonil. He stared at it as if it were a foreign trinket found in the far reaches of Plit. He had seen phones before and knew their function, but he had never really taken the time to use them himself, for there was no need to get in touch with anybody when traveling alone.
Yet his curiosity was piqued. Sigel was gone and he had left his room in the hands of a criminal, a risky move that had obvious consequences. If he wasn’t around to take the call, then Defonil would more then happily do so on his behalf.
Defonil picked up the phone and put it to his ear, attempting to replicate Sigel’s voice. Ventriloquism was one of his hobbies as a child, and as weak as his vocal chords had become, he could still manage some mimicry.
“Hello, this is Sigel of the MPD,” Defonil said in a rough, grating voice that was much like the real Sigel’s.
“This is Sammy’s Carriage Corp,” the voice on the other line said. “I’m the chairman, Sammy Defante.”
“Do you need anything of our men?”
“Well, not really your men, per se, but your unmarked cars. Due to the festival being tomorrow, all of our carriages have already been rented out for transportation and the demand is still strong. We’d appreciate if some of your spare vehicles could be used to fulfill the remaining demand.”
Defonil’s heart leapt with joy. Here was an opportunity he could use to escape and get out of town before anybody else found out, and all he had to do was craft a clever escape plan that could get him out of the police HQ before Sigel returned while complying with Mr. Defante’s needs.
“We can manage that,” Defonil said while trying to hide the smirk on his face, fearing that it would distort his voice. “You can send some guys over and they can pick up a few of the cars.”
“Wonderful,” Sammy Defante said. “We apologize if this is an inconvenience to your men, but with the Festival and all...”
“We are perfectly aware of the sacrifices that must be made for the Festival,” Defonil responded, wondering if that was something Sigel would say. “Come along to our headquarters and pick up a few of them.”
“Of course. Thank you very much, and goodbye.”
Defonil opened his mouth to add something when he heard a faint click; Sammy Defante had hung up, and it was likely he was off preparing his workers for a trip to the police station. In his mind, he felt a timer begin to count down to zero. Where it started, Defonil did not know. What he did know, though, was that it didn’t give him a lot of time.
He had to get out of the room before Sigel returned. Defonil had some experience with picking locks- nothing too complicated, but he doubted a lock on an office door would be difficult- and could manage if he had the right material. He searched Sigel’s desk for anything that could help him: a paper clip, business card, etc, but all he found was papers and more papers.
He opened the drawers and flipped through the papers inside. They were stapled together, and staples couldn’t reach far enough into the lock to be of much use. Amongst the countless papers, there were pens, pencils, and a laptop in one drawer, all useless in picking locks.
Defonil cursed his luck and slumped down in Sigel’s chair. He imagined what would happen if Sigel found a group of men outside claiming they were given permission to use police cars as public transportation. When Sigel would say that it was impossible and that he had given no such permission, they’d say that yes, he did, and that their boss had talked to him on the phone. Needless to say, Defonil’s punishment would increase by tenfold.
He wasn’t willing to give up yet, though. There had to be some way to undo the lock, or, if that failed, find an alternate exit. He performed another quick inspection of the desk, carelessly throwing papers to the side in hopes that something useful would pop up.
It was then that he felt his foot brush against something on the ground.
Defonil looked down and saw a plastic card positioned at his feet, covered in a few drops of coffee from the cup Sigel was drinking from. Its pink, flowery design suggested it was from Princess Peach, a woman whose favorite color was proudly displayed at every opportune moment. Picking it up, it read in an elegant, pink cursive:
“To Lieutenant Sigel,
It is my pleasure to invite you to the Grand Feast at the Mushroom Castle, where all of our kingdom’s most important figures will congregate for a night of entertainment and food. I will be present to greet the guests and discuss our bright future. We hope you’ll be able to attend!
That was of no major concern to him, though, for with the discovery of the card came the discovery of hope. The card was small enough to slip through the gap between the door and the wall, but thick enough that it could pick the lock without breaking, the perfect tool for the job.
He immediately got to work, sliding the card through the door and wiggling it up and down in hopes of finding the lever. It took a few unsuccessful tries and suspenseful moments when Defonil swore he heard Sigel coming, but after a minute or two he finally felt it. With slow, careful movements, the lever was lifted and the door unlocked, giving him access to the freedom he yearned for with all his heart.
Defonil quickly returned the card to the desk- a useless precaution, as it wouldn’t do anything to mask the fact he had left the room- and slowly opened the door without the slightest creak. He peeked out into the empty hallway, thanking DAD that he was arrested on the day when most of the force was off-duty, and slipped out without the slightest sound.
The lack of security went straight to his ego and he made no attempts to sneak through the corridor, apting to casually walk through as if the building were his home. As soon as he devised the rest of his plan to escape, he’d be out of town and back on the fields unhindered by the spread of civilization.
That was where he probably belonged, sleeping under the stars amongst the denizens of the forest, taking food from nature’s kind hands, and braving rain and snow. If there was a better way to live life, he had yet to see it.