Chapter Text
Kazooie was not the sort of girl who liked weddings. They reminded her of all kinds of unpleasant things-- primarily simpering sisters and cousins who wanted nothing more out of life than to be a nestwife and hatch a brood of kids. Then of course there was the fact that marriage ceremonies bored Kazooie to tears. This ensured that she was not a happy breegull on the sunny morning she and Banjo set off for Bottles' house in the Banjo-mobile the Lord of Games had given them. They were on their way to pick up Bottles (which made Kazooie quite grumpy) before driving to Hailfire Peak for the wedding of Banjo's sister, Tooty (which made Kazooie even grumpier).
"Do I have to go?" Kazooie asked for the fourth time, sticking her head out of Banjo's backpack as they bumped along the path towards the Jinjo Village, near which Bottles lived.
"Yes, Kazooie," the honey bear said patiently. He had dressed up for the occasion, going so far as to wear black slacks instead of his usual shorts, along with a bowtie. "You're a bridesmaid, remember?"
"I wish I could forget," grumbled Kazooie. That made the situation even more annoying. It also didn't help that it was Tooty's wedding-- Banjo's sister was not one of Kazooie's favorite people-- and that it was being held on the icy side of Hailfire: Kazooie still had nightmares about dead aliens and Yetis with giant feet.
"Well, if I have to go," she snapped after a moment of silence, "does Bottles have to come? Why can't he get a ride with someone else?"
"Because he wouldn't go if I wasn't making him." Banjo glanced over his shoulder at Kazooie; she felt slightly sorry for giving him a hard time when she saw the sad look on his face. "You know how he feels about. . . uh, relationships and stuff. He said the last place he wanted to go was a wedding. But Tooty would be really hurt if he didn't come."
"Yeah, I guess." Kazooie sighed and slumped back into the backpack, bemoaning the fact that Banjo was too nice for his own good-- the kind of nice that meant he did what was best for his friends, even if they didn't like it at the time. If it had been up to Kazooie, she would have left Bottles at home. After all, if he didn't want to go to the stupid thing, why make him?
Because he needs to get out, her conscience declared. . . a conscience that often sounded a lot like Banjo. He's been all alone in that house for years, and he's hardly left it since he got back from Showdown Town-- doesn't even go to the bar anymore. He needs to be around people-- and he needs to see a happy relationship for a change. Even Kazooie had to admit that it was a happy relationship-- Tooty and her fiancé Moggy were perfect for each other. It would do Bottles good to see them together and to be reminded that all marriages didn't end the way his had done, with Mrs. B walking out and taking the kids with her.
It must've really hurt him, Kazooie thought reluctantly. For so many years, he just disappeared from our lives until L.O.G. brought him to Showdown Town, and then he lied to us about what really happened-- like old Curlers and Coffee would let Grunty run her over. But then. . . why should Bottles tell me his secrets? She knew it was a good question, especially considering how she had felt when Bottles had finally admitted the truth that his marriage had collapsed. Kazooie had been happy.
They had reached the Jinjo Village, which Banjo skirted on his way to the mole's house. Bottles had stayed there even after his wife had left him and taken the kids, but this was the first time either Banjo or Kazooie had been there since Banjo-Tooie. Kazooie's sense of foreboding grew as they approached the burrow. I don't want to do this. I don't want to go to a wedding with him. . . .
Banjo parked in front of the burrow and hopped out of the car. There was no answer when he pounded on Bottles' wooden door, and Kazooie poked her head out again hopefully.
"He's not home. Let's go!"
"Kazooie. . . ." Banjo sighed, then knocked again.
To her dismay, they finally heard the mole call, "Just a minute!" from within. The door finally opened to reveal a flustered Bottles in a black jacket, struggling to tie his necktie with his awkward claws.
"Aren't you ready yet, Beetle Breath?" Kazooie snapped. "We're already late." Of course, she didn't care if they never made it to the wedding, but she was quick to seize on any opportunity to pick a fight with the mole.
Bottles glared at her through his glasses and turned away, gesturing over his shoulder at the duo. "You might as well come in. I'll be ready in a minute."
Kazooie looked around curiously as Banjo shuffled in. The house had definitely fallen into disrepair over the years. It wasn't just a messy bachelor's (and bachelorette's) pad like Banjo's was; it showed signs of definite neglect. Besides the papers, books, and bits of machinery lying around, the dirt walls had crumbled in places, and the ceiling looked as if it were in a losing battle with gravity.
"Geez, think this place is messy enough?" muttered Kazooie. Banjo tried to shush her, but Bottles heard anyway. He gave her another annoyed look, then turned his pointed nose back downward as he continued to struggle futilely with his tie.
"Uh, can't you fix your tie in the car?" Banjo suggested after a moment of that.
"No! I have to see how this one looks so I can change it if it doesn't match--"
"For crying out loud!" Kazooie extracted herself from the backpack and stalked over to the mole, glaring. "Tooty'll be a grandmother before we get there at this rate." She shoved Bottles' hands aside with her wings and tied the necktie herself, muttering in aggravated little clucks.
"Kazooie--" She glanced up at the mole when he spoke, then immediately regretted it. The surprised and grateful look in those absurdly magnified blue eyes embarrassed her.
"Let's go," grumbled the breegull, turning back to the backpack. Banjo had picked it up and was rummaging through it.
"Hey Kazooie, where'd you put the camera?" he asked, poking his square nose into the bag.
"I didn't put it anywhere," she snapped, her frustration at Bottles edging into her voice.
Banjo extracted his nose and gave her an exasperated look. "I told you to put it in the backpack so you could pack it where it wouldn't be in your way."
"And I told you there wasn't room, so you'd have to put it in the car!" Kazooie threw her wings into the air in irritation.
"If you did, then I didn't hear you."
The breegull narrowed her green eyes at him. "Are you accusing me of lying?"
"L.O.G. forbid," Bottles muttered sarcastically, his whole head turning back and forth as he watched the argument.
Banjo sighed in a strained way. "No, Kazooie. It doesn't matter whose fault it is; we'll just have to go back and get it."
"What?" The thought of bumping and jolting all the way back to Banjo's house was too much to bear. "Why do we even need the stupid camera? I'm sure Tooty'll have a billion of them, and Mrs. Boggy's going to have a billion more, and--"
Banjo gave her a look that made her stop short. "Kazooie, it's my sister's wedding," he said brusquely. "I know you aren't happy about it, but this is important to me. You can wait here with Bottles while I go back to the house, but please, don't cause trouble this time, all right?"
If anyone else had said it, Kazooie would have exploded, but coming from Banjo, the words only made her feel guilty. She was aware of Bottles staring at her in amazement when she muttered, "Fine. I'll wait here."
Banjo nodded, then went back to the car without another word, leaving the backpack with Kazooie. As she heard Banjo start the car and drive off, Kazooie was painfully aware of being alone with Bottles. She glanced at the mole, only to find him looking back. They glared at one another and both looked away.
Why him? she wondered gamely as she resolutely turned her back on Bottles and stared at a shelf of books instead. Of all the people I could be stuck with. . . . Kazooie clenched her beak and traced the spines of the books with her eyes. And he's probably thinking that he's stuck with me, the one who always causes trouble. . . the one who was happy when Curlers and Coffee walked out on him because I was jealous of her. . . .
"Uh, Kazooie?"
The breegull jumped a little and squawked, "What?"
"Does the tie look okay? I mean, the color and all?"
Kazooie sighed and half-turned to look at the mole again, who was watching her hopefully. The tie did look okay-- in fact, Bottles actually looked. . . well, cute.
"You're wearing a black tie with a black jacket," Kazooie declared, turning away again. "Even you can't screw that one up, Goggle Boy." Attacking him made her feel a little more in control, as if she didn't think he was cute or like it he when he looked at her like that.
"That's easy for you to say, Chicken Legs-- you don't even wear clothes!" Bottles sniffed, sitting down in an overstuffed armchair that was quickly becoming understuffed thanks to a hole in the fabric. "You could have at least put on a necklace or something."
"You just love telling me what to do, don't you?" Kazooie grumbled as she idly read the titles on the shelf. "Just because you gave me a few moves one time. . . . When you get good enough to be the hero of a game like I am, then you can boss me around."
"I am good enough!" snapped Bottles. "I know all the moves, after all. It's all L.O.G.'s fault for not giving me my own game! Why, if he had let me fight Gruntilda, I. . . ."
Kazooie tuned out the mole's rambling when her eyes were attracted by a bright yellow tome on a particular section of his bookcase. Craning her neck downward, Kazooie read the book's title: Hero Moves for Dummies. The book was well-worn; its spine had even cracked from frequent reading. Next to it was The Complete Idiot's Guide to Being a Hero, an unauthorized biography of Mario and Luigi Mario, strategy guides for every Final Fantasy game ever (which collection continued over the next three shelves), 101 Surprising Uses for Feathers, and Starkweather's Guide to Murder Weapons published by some company called Valiant Video. (Probably where Jamjars got the idea for grenade eggs, Kazooie thought.)
The breegull gave a squawk of laughter, interrupting Bottles' tirade against L.O.G.
"Now what?" Bottles griped at her.
Kazooie could hardly speak for her snickering. "Y-yeah, you-- a hero!" she cackled. "When you got 'all the moves' from a bunch of books!" She turned to smirk at the mole, who was staring at her through his glasses and blushing vividly.
"Th-those are old!" he protested. "And I've hardly looked at them-- they belonged to Speccy anyway!"
"You lie about as well as Klungo conjugates verbs," Kazooie chortled. She leaned over and tapped Bottles on the nose with her wing. Her bad mood finally showed promise of lifting now that she really had a way to take it out on Bottles-- a way to humiliate the mole who had caused her so much embarrassment, and a way to squelch her feelings for him.
"You'll never be a hero, Beetle Breath. Everything you ever taught me came out of your little library here-- and anyway you probably couldn't do a single one of these moves yourself if you tried!"
Bottles spluttered angrily, but Kazooie pressed on before he could get any words out. "And what kind of hero hides underground all by himself, anyway? One who doesn't want to admit that he has no social skills whatsoever? Even your shrew of a wife couldn't stand you!" She jabbed his chest hard with her wing. "You're a failure-- a complete failure!"
The mole only stared at her as she drew back. Kazooie looked triumphantly into his magnified blue eyes, waiting for him to launch back a torrent of insults in return. . . and then she saw those eyes tear up. Every crumb of her self-satisfaction dissolved instantly, leaving her feeling absolutely wretched. She had only intended to make Bottles mad: hurting him wasn't what she wanted at all.
"B-bottles--" she stammered, for once completely speechless. But ultimately, it didn't matter: after only a few seconds, a wall slammed down behind those glasses, and Bottles' pain turned to anger. No, fury was more like it: Kazooie had wanted to make him mad, but this was more anger than she had ever seen in him before. In fact, it was more than she had ever seen in anyone, even Gruntilda.
He didn't yell at her or even raise his voice, but the seething tone in his words gave her a chill. "I have more 'social skills'-- and more friends-- than a raucous bird who doesn't know how to communicate beyond insults." He narrowed his eyes-- now downright icy-- behind his glasses. "And I thought you were my friend, too-- but now I know that you hurt everyone who ever cared about you."
"Th-that's not true!" Kazooie cried, actually taking a step backward from him until her tail feathers brushed the bookcase. "Banjo--"
"Hmph." Bottles gave a mirthless laugh. "Did you see Banjo's face when he left? You can't even be nice to him at the most important event of his life. In fact. . . I'm amazed that he even puts up with you anymore."
Kazooie tried wildly to think of a rebuttal. . . but she couldn't. He's right, she thought miserably. I was even mean to Banjo-- all because I wanted to hide my own feelings.
Before she could think anything more, something strange about Bottles caught her attention: something like a red glow surrounding him. Kazooie blinked and rubbed her wing across her eyes as the mole continued his cold, furious judgment.
"I hope the Lord of Games does give me my own game someday. . . and that he makes you the villain. Then I'll have the pleasure of shutting your wretched beak for good."
The threat sailed right over Kazooie's head; she was too busy gawking at her tormenter and marveling at how his voice had begun to sound strange, as if there were two Bottles talking at once. Then, as she watched, she understood why.
A second Bottles was rising over the head of the first: a horned mole glowing bright red, a mole she had seen before. As the original Bottles finished speaking, the newcomer echoed his last words, then hovered above him silent and grinning.
"Uh, B-bottles. . . ." Kazooie stammered, feeling her heartbeat accelerate in her feathered chest. The original Bottles glared at her again, but the fury was gone from his face; he only seemed tiredly resigned to her as usual. Then he blinked, noticing the red glow cast onto the floor about them. The mole tilted his head up, started, and yanked off his glasses to polish them hurriedly before shoving them back on and looking again.
"Wh-what?" he squeaked up at his doppelganger. "You-- you can't exist! Not unless I'm. . . dead." Bottles gave an audible gulp, but Evil Bottles only laughed maliciously.
"Oh, of course I can," he chuckled down at both of them. "I don't need you anymore, now that you've freed me."
"But how?" squawked Kazooie. "Before--"
"Before," interrupted the spirit, "I was born from the anger of your short-sighted friend's spirit at what the witch did to him-- I wanted revenge, so I followed you, Chicken Legs, and the furball to help you reach Gruntilda and defeat her."
"Oh. . . ." So he isn't really Bottles, not at all. And I thought that when he teased me, flirted with me that. . . that it was him. . . .
"So where'd you come from now?" Bottles spat, beginning to grow more bold. "I don't want you here!"
"From a much greater anger," Evil Bottles grinned down at him, ignoring the last statement, "because you still want revenge, am I right?" He gestured at Kazooie with his red claws. "You said yourself you want to kill her."
Kazooie gave a cluck of aggravation. "Thanks for reminding him, Pitch."
"I didn't mean it!" Bottles dissented. "It was. . . I wasn't thinking."
"You were letting me talk," crowed the spirit. "Letting me voice everything you'd held in for so long, your hatred for Fleagirl here because she always insults you, humiliates you." Kazooie waited for Bottles' rebuttal, for his declaration that he didn't hate her-- but it didn't come. Bottles only stood there, looking bleakly up at his dark side.
"I'm here," Evil Bottles finished, "to get revenge again-- not on the one who killed you, but on the one who's always put you through Hell."
For the first time since the whole ordeal began, Kazooie felt a bit scared. Evil Bottles had been mostly harmless to her and Banjo before-- but now he was different, meaner. . . scarier. I really did make Bottles angrier than Grunty did, if E.B. is so vicious in wanting revenge on me. He. . . really must hate me.
"Go on then," she growled up at Evil Bottles to cover up her worry. "If you want a fight, fine."
"A fight is hardly satisfactory," the spirit sniffed. "If it's anything like your fights with the witch, that mincing Lord of Games will just resurrect you until you defeat me. I have other plans."
Kazooie tensed, expecting L.O.G. to call down some kind of retribution on Evil Bottles for the "mincing" comment, but apparently the Lord of Games was otherwise occupied. Instead, E.B. swept down suddenly from the ceiling and scooped Kazooie up, grabbing her with one thick arm around her waist.
"Hey, put me down!" Kazooie screeched, struggling and pecking at him, but he didn't seem to feel it at all.
"Wait!" the real Bottles cried abruptly. "What-- what are you going to do with her?"
"Don't you worry your myopic little head about it," cooed E.B., not paying the least bit of attention to Kazooie's struggling. "Just consider yourself avenged-- go have fun at your best friend's wedding."
"N-no, give her back!" demanded Bottles. Kazooie stopped wriggling and stared down at him in surprise.
"Oh no, you're not getting all the fun for yourself!" retorted Evil Bottles.
"I don't want revenge! Just-- just give her back!"
E.B. glowered down at his counterpart. "It's too late! I'm sick of your love-hate feelings for this vulture anyway-- I'll get your revenge for you and get rid of the problem."
Kazooie felt her face grow warm under her feathers at the mention of Bottles' feelings for her-- even if she got the idea that they most often leaned towards the hate side.
Bottles' cheeks flushed too, but he looked only at his doppelganger, not at Kazooie. "Please. . . don't-- don't hurt her!"
Evil Bottles just turned away with a roll of his eyes and floated to the burrow's door, Kazooie in tow. She thrashed again desperately, trying to grab for Banjo's backpack as they passed it, but it was out of reach. Then she gave a squawk of actual fear when E.B. opened the door. There was no dirt outside, no earthy smell of the underground: instead there were flames, intense heat, and a faint whiff of sulfur.
"Let me go, let me go!" Kazooie shrieked, pecking wildly at Evil Bottles' head. He's-- he's taking me straight to Hell! She supposed that being an evil spirit meant that he could do such things, for the scene outside the door could be nowhere else-- not even the lava side of Hailfire Peak in a heat wave.
"Stop!" Bottles wailed at the same time, dashing for his doppelganger as fast as his short legs could carry him. "Kazooie--"
"Grow a spine!" Evil Bottles growled, apparently completely fed up. "You wanted to get rid of her, and I'm doing it for you."
"Tell Banjo to come rescue me!" Kazooie cried to Bottles over E.B.'s shoulder. Bottles stared at her, and E.B.'s grip grew even tighter.
"Kazooie!" Bottles made a final leap for them, closing his claws over her wing. But Evil Bottles snatched her away and out the door, leaving the mole with a handful of red feathers. Kazooie felt her eyes tear up and told herself it was from the pain of getting an impromptu plucking.
"Bottles--" She was cut off when Evil Bottles slammed the burrow's door, leaving his counterpart on the other side of it. Kazooie could see the mole's face through the window for an instant, then the door faded into a wall of flame.
--
To be continued