Chapter Text
Waluigi leans against the wall, observing the pit crew working on his kart. Rosalina rattles off a set of numbers, and Baby Luigi, a newer engineer to them and nicknamed as such, runs off to get some various parts. Rosalina’s been in the Mario League as long as Waluigi can remember, even being in smaller promos for the league as far back as twenty years ago. Despite this, they don’t seem to have aged a day. She doesn't usually strike up conversation, and Waluigi, ever the introvert, doesn’t either. She seems nice, however that always seems to waver just the slightest whenever he comes in once again with his kart in some state of disrepair.
With how much he and Wario fight, Waluigi’s offered to fix his own kart. He actually would be, if it weren’t for Rosalina actively stopping him.
“Can y’all, like, calm down for a minute?”
Waluigi looks over at the mechanic. “What do you mean?”
Rosalina rolls out from under the kart, their cheeks dusted with smears of grease. She studies Waluigi carefully, reaching for a tool on a nearby stand.
“You and Wario are constantly at each other’s throats. I mean, I’ve gotta admit it’s a little entertaining to see y'all both tragically failing to annoy each other, but at some point to just have to concede. Like why do you guys hate each other anyway?”
“I don’t know, he…” Waluigi throws his hands into the air as if attempting to catch the word he’s looking for.
“He just sucks,” he finishes, dropping his arms in defeat.
Rosalina quickly crosses her arms, before moving back under the kart to continue working.
“Just sucks, sure ,” she says sarcastically, drawing out the last word.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean he sucks something, that’s for sure, but I bet that’s not what you’re talking about.” Waluigi scoffs at the bad joke. He chews on his lip as he figures out his next words. “Either way, I don’t like him; he doesn’t like me. That’s kinda it.”
“Okay, just, you know, try to actually get along once in a while. I think y’all would really like each other if you tried.” Rosalina rolls out from under the kart one again, taking the oil cloth off her shoulder and placing it on a nearby table. She walks past Waluigi, and takes a moment to flick his forehead. “Kart’s done,” they say as they walk away. “Please try to keep it nice for more than one race this time, thank you.” She opens up the garage door and nods at Waluigi to wheel his kart out. After carefully positioning his arms inside and his feet away, he does so. He pushes the kart around the turn into the main holding place of the garage, finding the spot labelled with his name. Or, with what was his name, now scribbled out and replaced with “NOODLE BOY” hastily scrawled in big blocky letters.
“Goddamn him,” Waluigi whispers under his breath. If Wario was going to vandalize his property, he could at least try to be a little creative. He lightly traces his finger across the engraved metal, feeling the deep grooves inlaid to make the marks. It was going to be too much of a hassle to work on fixing it right now, and besides, Waluigi could just draw a dick or something on Wario’s to even it out. He sets the car into park and heads out of the garage, giving an unnoticed wave to Baby Luigi as he brings Shy Guy’s kart in to repair.
Waluigi was never allowed to play other sports when he was younger. His family was a racing one, through and through. Coming from a small town with an economy based solely on the construction and repair of karts doesn’t give you much other choice in recreation, and having your parents counting on you using racing as a way to get out doesn’t either. Subsequently, Waluigi never really became acquainted with anything other than racing.
That changed, however, with his addition to some of the upper leagues. It wasn’t unheard of for racers to play tennis in their free time, and Waluigi quickly found he had a talent for it. It became his destressor, his way to relax after games. He bonded with many others over those late night games, discussions about their pasts and histories weaved around the high-pitched thuds of the tennis ball. As people came and went their stories did too, and their words faded into nothingness with the call of the scores into the brisk night air.
One never quite left, though. Luigi and Waluigi just got along, in a way that Waluigi never has with anyone. They just clicked. Deep late-night discussions over long, pointless matches turned into stupid inside jokes between close friends. When Luigi got an invite to the Smash Brothers league and Waluigi didn’t, he turned it down, making up an excuse to the tune of “I’m not ready to move up in the leagues.” They both understood the real reason.
The next year they simultaneously gained invites to the Mario League, otherwise known as the top, the best of the best. Named after famed racer and worldwide sensation Mario Mario, who also took over as the head of the league. He stopped racing long ago, his son taking over the family lineage. Waluigi always looked up to Mario Mario, something else passed down to him from his sister. Unfortunately, his active years ended before Waluigi ever got the chance to see him in person, but that didn’t matter now. Now he had the chance to meet the man!
Conveniently, the Mario League also has a history of tennis as a pastime. Of course there are those who don't partake, like Bowser who spends his time playing the sax, but it was enough for the league to store portable tennis nets with their other supplies.
Unfortunately, the list of tennis players in the league is big enough to include, unfortunately, Wario. Apparently that’s how he and Luigi bonded after his addition. Waluigi would be lying if he didn’t say it made him a little jealous, and it just so works out that lying is what he does best.
When he makes it to the small, makeshift tennis court, who else is there but Satan himself. No- that gives him too much credit. Maybe like a lower level demon or something. The stone that gets stuck in your shoe, the spill that you don’t see until your socks are soaked. Either way, he is currently on Waluigi’s court, and that is a problem.
Waluigi prepares a taunt, but decides to go with a basic glare for something a little bit more classy. He grips his tennis racquet, knuckles white as he wraps them around the handle. The pebbles roll out from beneath his feet as he steps onto the makeshift court, bare spots left in his wake. Wario throws the ball at him, purposefully aiming for his face. The ball bounces off Waluigi’s nose, making him scrunch his face in pain, and he fails in an attempt to catch the offending ball. It lands in the pebbles a couple feet away.
Wario barks out a laugh. “Get good, Noodle Boy! Now I see why Luigi’s always complaining about needing a better opponent!” He teases, a wicked smirk etched across his face. Waluigi doesn’t get a chance to retort before Wario leaves.
Face pink, Waluigi bends over to grab the flyaway tennis ball. He tries to regain his dignity, awkwardly overthinking his movements. While coming back up, he goes too quickly and has to wince at a sharp jolt of pain in his head from the brisk movement. After looking around, he continues toward his position on the field. Luigi suppresses a smile, looking down to avoid giggling.
Giving his overalls a small tug downward at the hips, Waluigi turns to his friend. He silently takes the tennis ball and tosses it in the air, watching and moving slightly to catch it.
“So,” he starts, “you ready to tell me your little taste of gossip?” He emphasizes the last word, quirking an eyebrow.
“Not exactly, but I’m sure you’ll love your little date with me and Wario,” Luigi retorts.
The shorter bends his knees slightly and raises his racquet, steading himself in preparation to hit Waluigi’s serve. The taller throws the ball directly into the air, and, after particularly twisting his racquet, whacks it. Luigi runs toward its direction, carefully swinging just so that it bounces perfectly back over the net. The two go back and forth, the air quiet save for the soft ppht as the ball bounces between their racquets. Their eyes are glued to the ball as it flits between their sides, mesmerized in concentration until a small misstep on Luigi’s part causes the ball to freely bounce away. Luigi wrings his head as he jogs off to catch it.
“Yeah, baby! Fifteen love!”
“Otherwise known as the first point in the game.” Luigi’s voice deepens in sarcasm. “You’ve still got a long way to go to get your info, Wal.”
They continue back and forth, counting points every so often when the other messes up. Waluigi wins the first game, making sure to gloat right after the tennis ball narrowly avoids Luigi’s racquet.
“You realize it's the best out of three, right? You haven’t won anything just yet.”
“What do you mean? Just one more game, and I get the fun little tidbit you’re just refusing to share with me! And, I don’t have to spend any more time with Wario than I have to.”
“Alright, we’ll see.” Luigi trails off, smiling. As Luigi throws the ball to serve it, he hunches back down into an alert stance. The two start their second game, falling back into the steady rhythm. They play with the ease and concentration of those with a love for the game and nothing better to do, the ball a metronome as it flies between the sides. Their second game progresses slower than their first, with both Waluigi and Luigi putting their all into winning.
Sweat drips down Wauluigi’s nose, hanging on the tip until it has the weight to fall. He shakes the damp bangs out of his face, tracking the ball as it soars back to him. As he brings the racquet up, he unconsciously swings his right hand backward. Eyes still glued, the racquet swings forward…
...and misses. The ball falls to the ground, bouncing twice then rolling. Bringing the back of his right wrist to his forehead to wipe away sweat, his racquet limp in his other, Waluigi sighs. Luigi talks after a gulp of air.
“15 love. Let’s get my win over with.”
“Not a chance.” Waluigi tosses the tennis ball over to Luigi for him to serve. Luigi throws it up, hitting the ball just beyond the opposing side of the net. Waluigi, caught off guard, runs up to it, not reaching it until directly after the second bounce.
He groans, bringing his fingers to his temples.
“30 love.” Luigi says, fatigue framing his words. He makes his way over to the net, holding a gloved hand out for Waluigi to drop the ball into. “You better start catching up, or else your ‘advantage’ means nothing.”
“Trust me, you won’t even have to worry about the third game.” Waluigi steps back as Luigi serves, once again snapping back into concentration.
The air is cold now, biting Waluigi’s fingertips as he plays, the salty brine of the ocean burning his throat as he breathes. He has to win this, of course he will. He’s an excellent tennis player, and while Luigi is too, Waluigi’s got tricks up his sleeve to win. He gulps down air when he gets the chance, his opponent dashing to the ball on his side. Some part of him wants to lose just so this game ends, cause goddamnit he’s tired.
Soon enough, he loses the ball and Luigi serves the game point. Their second game is essentially gone now, but Waluigi still has the third. He doesn’t know why this feels so high stakes for him; it’s just Wario, and as much as he hates the guy, he can deal with him. But here he stands, heaving large breaths, hoping to lose but not being able to. His arms are so tired. At least Luigi has the advantage of being able to switch the hand that’s holding the racquet. They’re packing up today. Waluigi wonders if they’ve already put his kart away. They probably have, knowing the efficiency and speed they try to maintain. At this point, the place he’s drawing his stamina from seems to be a mystery. He could drop and immediately fall asleep if he felt like it, but instead he’s still playing, still up and active. He feels cold now, but maybe it’s just the sweat and exhaustion. It was supposed to be a warmer day today, but next to the sea that’s never quite reliable.
And it ends. Waluigi is still standing, awkwardly assessing what just happened, with the tennis ball rolling to a stop against some rocks.
“What if we take, like, a short break or something,” he asks between breaths. Luigi, unable to speak, nods. He takes a sip of his smartly planned water bottle, something Waluigi completely didn’t think to bring. Luigi, noticing this, holds it out for Waluigi to take a sip. He waterfalls it, holding it slightly above his mouth for the water to pour into. After handing it back, the two sit on the ground cross-legged. Luigi leans into Waluigi.
“You know, I would tell you just how much I’m gonna beat you, but I don’t think you have the energy to listen.”
“I can literally feel your heart it’s beating so hard. You’re a liar.”
“Lie, omit the truth, what’s it matter, really?”
“Says the person who’s ‘too much of a saint to ever even consider sabotage’.” Waluigi hits Luigi lightly, and the two dissolve into laughter.
After a moment, they stand up.
“So how about we finish this, and I get to learn what you’re keeping from me?”
“Sure, you tell yourself that.”
Waluigi grabs the tennis ball from where it was lying and tosses it a couple times, testing the weight of it in his hands. He stalks back onto the court, racquet in hand, and takes his stance in the center.
The world seems to stand still as he inhales, savoring the cool bite of the wind. He shuts his eyes, spinning the tennis ball in his hand as he prepares to serve. The ball flies up, rotating slowly midair. It seemingly stops in place, peace maintained as it holds. With the faint thwack of the impact between the racquet at the ball, it falls, flying toward Luigi’s side of the net. Luigi dashes forward, stumbling slightly as he goes to hit the ball. It rebounds off the rim, bouncing several times after hitting the packed dirt.
Waluigi smirks. “Looks like this is gonna be my game.”
“Deuce.”
Waluigi sighs as he jogs over to the fallen ball. Ten minutes and the game still refused to end, them trading advantages back and forth. He doesn’t think and just throws, softly smiling as Luigi runs to get it.
“You’ve got to give me some sort of warning, dude!”
“Never! I’m tired and want to win,” he calls out while returning the ball. They go back and forth, silent save for their breathing. Waluigi would have to admit he’s beginning to feel worried. It was not the easy win he’d expected it to be, and both he and Luigi were putting in their all. Of course, Waluigi knows Luigi’s weaknesses, but the thing about being intimate enough with someone to know their weaknesses is that they also know your own.
Luigi is ambidextrous; Waluigi is well aware of this. But what he also knows is that Luigi, when they play, puts all his focus on whichever arm he’s using. As Waluigi returns the ball, he carefully aims it toward Luigi’s empty right hand, hoping that, in a moment of distraction, Luigi insteads uses his right to hit the ball. The shorter raises his free arm, about to bring Waluigi’s plan to fruition, when at the last moment he realizes. His left comes from where it was resting and whacks the ball, sending it on the right path to hit Waluigi square in the chest. He collapses, the soft impact of the ball unexpected.
“God, you thought that through so much better than I expected. Your advantage.”
Luigi laughs slightly. “To be fair, that was mostly intuition and luck.”
“Just take the compliment.”
After taking another sip of Luigi’s water, this time unprompted, Waluigi grabs the ball to serve. Part of him wishes for the game to just end, fatigue and hunger nearly winning over as it approaches 12:30. He hasn’t eaten lunch yet; probably should later, for the good of his well-being. The rumbling of his stomach harmonizes with the whistle of the ball being served, the game put back into full swing. Waluigi’s playing is more relaxed now, the consequences of losing forgotten through his fatigue. Luigi’s motions reflect a similar feeling, with him tending to swap the hand holding the racquet between plays. They go back and forth, basking in the comfortable ambiance.
Waluigi isn’t thinking as he plays; not about the ball nor the score, not about how he’s packing up later, nor about making plans for food with some of the other racers. He lets the muscle memory take over, his subconscious brain making the plays for him. Maybe the ball speeds up, the Adagio falling into a steady Andante. Maybe instead it slows, and Luigi calculates his plays more. Waluigi can’t say either way, his mind blank as the game continues.
The calm stops when he stumbles.
His foot turns to the side as he runs to the ball, leaving his gait to become offset with his speed. He doesn’t reach the ball as fast as he usually does, and as he swings his racquet, the ball reflects off of the metal ridge. It falls to the ground, pathetically hitting the side of the net.
Luigi continues running for the ball before the realization kicks in. With the second bounce, Luigi gains the second point to his advantage. He stops in place, looking Waluigi in the eye.
“No way.”
“Okay wait- what if we just-”
“That’s the game!”
“Or, you know, maybe you could c-”
Luigi’s voice lowers as he smirks. “You’re joining us for lunch today.”
“I’m not sure, I already made plans with Bow-”
“Are you hungry? I’m hungry?”
“Luigi, I swear to God…”
He steps into the tent serving as their garage, taking in the empty room. Several tool kits still lie on the ground, not yet having been brought back to Delfino’s vehicle repair shop or packed with the pit crew’s items. It smells like restless adventure, the air it always has whenever it comes time to move again. However, this time a discrepancy stands out. Boo’s kart sits stationary in the garage, some of the larger scratches fixed up by, presumably, Baby Luigi. The roughly dyed white mess drapes the kart as it does when xe’s actively racing, and some of xyr other acquired features like the better intake port for shells are still attached. Waluigi wonders if they’ve just decided to do Boo’s after they’ve packed up everything else, or if something else is going on.
His questions are answered when Boo xyrself walks into the room, kart keys in hand to move it out of the garage.
“Oh hey, Boo.”
“You can slap on the king title at any time, bud.”
The tent is quiet as the two both think through their conversations, searching for a topic to make it less awkward.
“Y’know, the last race was my final.”
Waluigi’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Last race? But that would mean… “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been trying to get out of the league for a while, and they finally accepted my request. My friend is picking up me and my kart from here.”
“How’s that possible? We’re in the middle of the season! That was the first race of the season! How’d you get the league to accept that?”
“Well, my replacement ,” Boo waggles an eyebrow as xe almost sings the word. “is a little person of interest with the league. They’ve been trying to get him in for a while now, and apparently he’s good enough to make his way back up from my god-awful last place.”
“Wh- how? It took me years to get in, and I was named as one of my leagues most promising racers? There’s no way the league would let someone leave during a season for a new racer.”
“I guess this guy’s worth it. Anyway, you hungry? I was wanting to eat with some people before I was gone, but I guess they’ve all left by now.”
“Sorry, I’ve been forced into plans with Luigi. Bowser and Dixie are in need of somebody now, though!”
“Right, I’ll go find them. See you around, Wally.”
“See you, King.”
If Waluigi’s honest, he’s sad to be leaving Delfino. The city is gorgeous, and the tight streets remind him of his hometown. The salty scent of the ocean is different, but not unpleasant, and the rolling waves against the docks calm him.
He sits on a bench outside the restaurant Luigi and Wario decided on, homesickness subsiding with the near familiarity. This place is added to the mental list of possible places to live in the future, he decides, possible towns to head to after retiring from racing. It’s not like he can head back to where he grew up, with memories hiding around every corner.
Waluigi is yanked out of his thoughts by the acrid stench of sweat and unwashed feet, a signal to alert him that a certain overall-clad, mustachioed Italian has arrived. He glares at Wario from the bench, eye level as Wario stands.
“So you got bullied into coming, huh?”
“No,” Waluigi asserts. “I…” he almost tells Wario the truth, but, upon realizing it would probably make his situation worse, fabricates a quick lie instead. “Dixie needed someone to go with and Bowser invited her. I figured even you would be better than third wheeling the lovebirds .”
Wario smiles as a response, and Waluigi wishes he could slap it off.
They wait in silence for Luigi to show up. He had volunteered to help some of the other racers pack up their rooms, and evidently it’s taking longer than normal. Waluigi doesn’t tend to carry a lot on him, so he doesn’t worry about packing up as quickly as everyone else; he wonders if Wario does the same.
No, actually, he doesn’t wonder if Wario does the same. He hates Wario. Wario bad. Wario uninteresting. Wario evil.
The shorter sits on the bench next to Waluigi, taking care to leave a person-size gap between them. He examines his nails, picking at a hangnail now and then to fill the awkward silence. Waluigi twiddles his thumbs to achieve the same. Luigi should be here by now, right? Actually, this was probably all part of his plan. He was going to torture Waluigi, leaving him alone with Wario for ages. Luigi knows that Waluigi can only be so annoying to Wario before the awkwardness takes over, and it seems today they’re already sitting at that stage.
No. You know what? Waluigi’s going to make the best of this. He isn’t going to listen to Luigi’s plan, he isn’t going to sit here and take this. He is going to have an amazing meal, no matter who’s eating with him. Even if Mario Mario himself was in the room he’d still make the most of this lunch. Even if his sister was here, he’d have the best damn brunch of his life, with her silent and awkward and avoiding his eyes like she was the last time they talked.
He stands abruptly, Wario jolting at the sudden movement.
“I’m going to make sure we have a reservation, then I am going to spam the hell out of Luigi.”
The inside is comfortingly warm. He wipes away a drop of snot that had run out of his nose as the sweet aroma of fresh bread permeates. Wrapping his arms around himself, he sheepishly makes his way over to the hostess’ stand. He raises his eyebrows when they finish talking to a group of customers, them nodding their head at him.
As he talks with them about their table, trying to find the right name for the reservation, a cold hand shocks the back of his neck.
“Move.” Luigi feigns annoyance as he takes over the conversation. He whispers something to the hostess whose eyes widen as they beckon the trio to follow them.
They’re seated in a booth, Luigi sliding into the seat across from Waluigi and Wario moving to sit next to him. As they wait at the table, Waluigi and Wario stare at each other, Waluigi with suspicion and Wario’s etched with disgust. Luigi smirks as he looks between them, hands clasped on the table. He picks up a menu and looks it over as the staring contest continues, the silence stretching out uncomfortably.
“...you know it’s really not that difficult to win, right?”
“Shut up, dickhead! I would have if it weren’t for you breaking my kart.”
“Really? There was no evidence of any foul play, and even if there was, you’ve got no reason to blame me.”
“You know what? Whatever. I don’t even care. I am going to enjoy my last meal in this town and take advantage of this place’s complementary bread.”
Luigi speaks up without looking up from the menu, smile evidence in his voice. “They don’t have the free bread.”
“It’s an Italian restaurant. Of course they have the free bread.”
“I don’t know, this place doesn’t.”
Wario turns to Luigi this time, accusations ready. “Your plan really was torture, wasn’t it? You love this, don’t you?”
Luigi shrugs. “It’s free entertainment.”
Wario and Waluigi make eye contact in a rare moment of agreement before both playfully going after Luigi. Waluigi has to admit, it does make the time pass before their food arrives, but he wouldn’t say it’s fun . Not at all. Wario is a bitch and he hates him.
“So I’m assuming you’ve heard Boo’s news,” Luigi questions through a mouthful of spaghetti. Before Wario has the chance to ask what he means, Waluigi jumps up in his chair in recollection.
“Oh yeah! Xe was vaguely telling me about it today. What do you know?”
It’s clear that this is new to Wario, eyebrows raised as he continues chewing his ravioli.
“I don’t know what I’m allowed to say at this point, but basically this past race was Boo’s last, and a new racer is subbing in for xem for the rest of the grand prix.”
“Wait, like taking over from last place?”
“Yeah. I actually-”
“Holy shit, he’d have to be awesome for the league to accept him!” The table vibrates with the low ringing after Waluigi slaps it. The fork sitting on his plate rumbles.
“I don’t know about awesome, but I guess he’s okay.”
Wario quickly swallows his food and sits up in the booth. “Do you know him?”
Luigi smiles, as if attempting to play coy about an exciting piece of information. He clasps his hands together. “Sure, I’ve known him for a while. Just about 24 years.”
“Wait-” Isn’t that how old Luigi is?
“But he’s only my twin brother, so there’s not too much to be said there.”
Waluigi yells, “You have a twin?” at the same time Wario says, “Your brother is joining?” Luigi told Wario about his brother, but not him? Really?
Luigi shushes them, the other patrons turning back away after the small outburst. “Yeah. I didn’t realize it’d be that important to you.” He smirks again. “That’s all I can say though, so please don’t try to get anything else out of me. You know I’d just break and get in trouble with the league again.”
Wario looks Waluigi in the eye. “Sorry, Noodle Boy. Looks like you’re gonna have to take the back seat while I figure out the new guy.”
“Aw, don’t do that. Then you don’t even have a suggestion of a chance,” Waluigi fake pouts. Luigi sits back once again as the two dissolve back into bickering.
Empty rooms have never been Waluigi’s favorite. They give him an unsettling feeling, make his bones tingle. Part of it reminds him about his room in his sister’s house after it happened, cleaned out of all his stuff and personality, much like the various motel rooms he stays in with the league now. All of his belongings fit into two suitcases. He knows he doesn’t carry nearly as much as the other racers, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about taking a while to pack everything up for the plane. He dresses in his clothes for tomorrow before taking a last look around the strange, barren room and heading out.
The plane is just big enough for two seats for everyone, which usually amounts to about 30 people. Waluigi sets his stuff down in his usual seat, then makes his way over to Luigi who he usually spends the beginning of the plane ride next to. Instead, however, he finds someone new has taken his spot.
The guy is shorter and heavier than Luigi, though his face bears a strong suggestion of a resemblance to his. He talks with a familiarity even Waluigi doesn’t have, clearly knowing each other at a more intricate level than anybody else. Waluigi sticks his hand out toward him. “So, you must be the new guy, huh?”
“I guess you could say that.” He returns the handshake, offering a sly smile. “Mario Jumpman Mario.” He shakes Waluigi’s hand as the taller freezes.
“Wait. Any relationship to…” The twins sigh in tandem as if this isn’t an uncommon question, Mario quietly smirking as he finishes Waluigi’s question.
“Mario Mario? I’m his son.”
“Oh,” Waluigi blinks his eyes in disbelief. The new racer is the son of the owner of the league? Known as the greatest racer of all time? Waluigi’s hero as a kid?
Well shit.