The Price of Heroism

Waluigi's leer stretched from pointy ear to pointy ear when he reappeared in the TV room. Still hunched on the couch, Wario barely glanced at him. “All right, what did you do?” The question sounded almost bored.

The lanky fiend listened for a moment to make sure they were alone, and then whispered with a snicker, “I'm gonna lay the thickest case of Stockholm syndrome on that girl. It's almost too easy.”

The fat man raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Why?” Waluigi looked incredulous. “Because it's fun? Because I can? Why not?”

“Because the giant turtle is gonna smash the place apart looking for her.”

Waluigi rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If I can kick Psycho Iris's smokey butt, I can fling Bowser to the moon.”

“Hm...” Wario considered for a bit. “She's just going to stay with us then?”

“Hopefully,” he beamed again. “Voluntarily, even. Ha!”

Grubby fingers twiddled the kinky mustache. “So we're gonna steal his princess right out from under him, and she's not even gonna know she's been stolen.” A matching smile grew inch by inch across the round face. “It might be a little funny. For a while. If I can get some more ass out of it.”

“It's gonna be a lot funny for a long time,” Waluigi corrected as he settled in with another beer. “But don't be too pushy, huh? You gotta let her think it's her idea. Don't ruin it.”

Wario clutched his chest with mock offense. “Ruin it? Never.” He sipped from his bottle. “Subtlety may not be my specialty, but I can manage it when I have to.”

“Good.” Waluigi raised his beer. “To the mildly annoying chuckle-heads.”

“May we always land on our feet,” Wario snickered.

Bottles clinked, and then the pair of doppelgangers returned to their regularly schedule evening.