Misunderstanding

Unwanted Knowledge

Early the next morning, Bowser woke up with a start for the third time since finally falling asleep. He kept dreaming that he was falling, and it kept jerking him awake. This time, though, he didn't want to go back to sleep. It was just a couple hours before he had to actually be awake, so he figured he could bum around until the normal schedule started. Not to mention the fact that he really wasn't eager to get back to the previous hours' nightmares.

He sat up, threw his feet over the edge of the bed, and stretched. He yawned as well, and let the miniscule fireballs slip out and onto the stone floor. They sizzled on contact, waking up Bowser a little more, as they always did. Then he actually stood up, and realized that he'd left his shell on, so the bedsheets were torn up. They seemed to be even more demolished than usual, and Bowser realized he'd been tossing and turning not only before going to bed, but after falling asleep as well.

He muttered creative curses under his breath and stumbled into the bathroom. He needed a shower. His head was pounding, his eyes were sore, and he just generally felt unclean. He turned the nozzle and cringed at how loud and creaky it was. Then the water shot out of the shower head, and Bowser turned it up to the hottest setting. He wasn't in the mood for a cold shower, and turning it up to a lava like setting was the only way he could feel it.

After slipping off his shell and stepping inside, he was completely at ease. He always appreciated the feeling of the beyond steaming water on his scales. It was as if his worries were being tossed right away, which was something he desperately needed. He put his hand on the wall and leaned into it, running his hand through his thick red hair. It hadn't sprouted until a couple weeks ago, and he couldn't keep his claws out of it. It was a calming motion, not to mention a nearly bad habit.

He got his hand off the wall, washed his hair, then his body. All of the soaps and shampoos he used smelled strong, just the way he liked it. He had almost forgotten about the smell itself, and now felt familiarity and comfort in it. It reminded him of the indoor gardens; a little overwhelming and even somewhat intimidating. But once you got used to it, it was a pleasant smell that always meant something great was around. Bowser grinned, thinking that that "something great" was himself.

He took a little longer than usual in the shower, just enjoying the water, then he got out and dried himself with a worn towel. He walked back into his room with his shell tucked carefully under his arm. Before he put the shell on, though, he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to his window, which was beside his bed. He opened the curtains wide and looked down at his kingdom. The smog seemed to be pretty bad today, it was thick enough to cover the majority of the nearest city. He couldn't even think to see the others. He sighed and closed his curtains again. The smog problem was getting really bad, and he couldn't help but to hope that other kings with daughters would give up their land for their princesses' protection.

Shaking his head, he walked away from the window and to his shell. He slipped it on easily, finding even more comfort in its weight. Though the smell from the soap on his body was much stronger once he was actually inside of it. He walked around some, waking up some more, and attempted to think of ways to solve the smog dilemma before the business of the morning set in. He needed to think of solutions other than receiving calls from pitiable and desperate kingdoms. It needed much more consideration than just that, because even that wouldn't solve everything.

While his parents were alive and he was a stupid and rebellious teen, he would disguise himself and walk with the common people. He had talked to many, making up a fake identity and a fake voice to go with it. He usually asked about how some of the people had gotten to the Darklands, how long they'd been there, things like that. He had been practically starving for any contact with others, so even the most trivial and usually boring stories could hold his interest for hours.