A Bad Night
Kirby / Meta Knight
Kirby / Meta Knight
“Hey. There’s a bar.”
No.
“Gooey, there’s a bar. There’s the bar.”
No.
“You’re not giving me much to work with here.”
Kirby, for his part, thinks they deserve it. It isn’t often they actually go out for drinks – neither have gone in months by this point – and today’s patrol is worse than it’s been in a long time. A few too many demon beasts and a few too many needy folk needing assistance for his liking.
And it’s autumn, and it’s cold. Alcohol can warm a guy right up.
Kirby looks again over to the bar, one of the few actually in town and the only one that’s good. In the shade of evening its windows are bright against the landscape, a lantern among many on the streets. Eye-catching, intentionally so. It’s loud even from his place across the street.
But that’s not the only reason he’s staring.
He usually isn’t one for alcohol. Neither of them, not really. But. When your favorite drink is on sale for over half off, you can’t just. Turn your nose up at it.
Indeed, there it is, right on the sign. The Galaxy Shot, a rainbow plethora in a cup drawn with expert care and highlighted with a one-night only deal, sitting on a chalk stand by the door.
One night only. Those things are expensive even on a good day. They won’t tell him where they get the recipe.
One night only.
“…Just one. You don’t have to come with – you can go home, tell mom I’ll be late!”
He moves, takes a step.
And then stops by a sheer force of will against his thoughts, the sharp needlepoint of ire and reprimand that is Gooey’s mind. Like some avenging demon he descends, one mind atop another like a heavy insurmountable weight, and with it, a near incorporeal claw on his pauldron.
Nobody else would’ve felt it. Kirby does.
No.
Gooey doesn’t say it. Gooey never actually says anything. He isn’t exactly a words person. But Kirby fills in the blanks just the same, and that is what Gooey says.
“Look, I’m a grown man—" Incredulity, quick as a snap in Kirby’s direction—“—and I can handle my liquor! Come on, it’s been forever, Gooey. Look, what if I brought you along instead of going home, huh? What if I paid? My treat, I’m loaded, you can take your pick! And you can supervise like you always do! Would that make you happy?”
He knows Gooey and he knows Gooey isn’t quite the same as him as far as fun drinking goes. Gooey’s private. Gooey doesn’t care for that kind of thing unless it’s special. And he’s not trying to pressure him, honest, he just—wants to loosen up for once.
With his favorite drink, at over half off. Preferably.
Gooey tightens his hand on Kirby’s pauldron and turns him so that he is facing Gooey directly and, notably, not the bar. The expression in his eyes is much familiar.
Images, in his mind, too quick for any normal person to process. Looking down at his own self passed out on the ground, surrounded by drink. Dragged limply through the window, feathers trailing the entire way. An impression of annoyance and tired resignation.
Kirby’s gotten drunk before. Kirby’s indulged before. Gooey has been through it and knows this time will be no different.
“Gooey, you have absolutely no faith in me. I’m older than I was then! I’m better than that now. Come on, just one, I promise.”
He gives Gooey his best award-winning grin, bright and toothy. Gooey remains unfazed, but that’s fine, and kind of expected anyway.
It won’t be like that this time, he tells himself. He’s just going to take advantage of a good situation and go home. He’s going to have one of his favorite drinks and everything will be fine.
“Come on, pal, let’s go. Like I said, you can be the designated watchman if it bothers you so much.”
And Gooey, hand grabbed off of the pauldron and held aloft, can only deflate like a balloon and let himself get dragged along for what is more than likely going to be a very bumpy ride.
No stopping Kirby when he sets his mind to something. Not ever.
---------------------------------------------------
It isn’t often that they can all go out, Meta thinks. Not with Kes’ proclivity for the weather and Tulok’s still frail sensibilities. Being part of a family of Ice Leos has its cons, even if he wouldn’t trade them for the world.
It’s why he prefers autumn so much these days. Cool weather but not too cold, a nice wind to pick things up, cloudy skies and the rarity of the sun over their heads. Kes isn’t bothered and Tulok, unable to handle much of either extreme, thrives at his best.
Those days are the best bets they can all have to actually go and do something together, and on days like today, nobody wants to waste that chance.
Still, he keeps an eye on them both, just out of force of habit. They’ve gotten ice cream, all of them, and as they take a slow walk to see the rare sight of town lit against the evening sky, he lingers just a bit behind.
Kes, with her cone, has complained about it before, but by now she’s learned to ignore him, and at any rate she knows that he isn’t exactly focused on her.
Tulok, beside her, a stark grey little thing against his mother’s bulk, is nothing short of abuzz with energy. Bright faced and cheery eyed, he practically mauls the two-scoop cone in his grip, piled high with all manner of toppings that his parents had allowed him to pick without limit. It isn’t something they normally do, but again, it’s rare for them all to go out. Meta figured a cheat day wouldn’t hurt much.
He looks so much like his brother in that moment that, for a small instant, it hurts.
It’s a shame that Kirby couldn’t be here. Kirby loves his ice cream, even if he probably would have bought out the entire shop all on his own.
(Kirby, a youngster, Meta, still new at being a caretaker, stuck with an irate ice cream shop owner whose entire store had been cleaned out between one minute and the next. He’d been paying the man off for months.)
Maybe next time, he figures. When the lad isn’t so busy. Winter is coming, and it usually brings with it more complaints, more requests, less time to idle as people prepare to stock up and hunker down. More monsters, crawling out of the dirt.
What unlucky timing for them all.
Maybe next time. He would enjoy it.
“Meta.”
Kes’ voice is a cool breeze that draws him back to the present. By now they’re in the center of town, winding steadily back home, and where they’ve stopped, they linger just in front of the square proper. People buzz, lights flicker, noise from all directions that Tulok seems taken with.
Kes gives him a look when their eyes meet. She tilts her head left almost imperceptibly without a word.
Meta does as bid. Turns his head towards the bar, not far away, and listens. He hears something, yes. Laughter, but also--
…Ah.
Alcohol hasn’t really been a topic brought on much at home. Probably should have been, in hindsight, just to educate growing boys about its dangers and best practices. If Kirby drinks, Meta hardly knows of it. Usually.
So, Kirby is at the bar. And by the sound of it, quite deep into his liquor too.
It’s. Not their business. Much as he hounds him, Kirby is an adult. He can drink if he wants, and at any rate Gooey is there if it gets out of hand. It’s fine.
Something smashes in the direction of the bar, then, with enough force to draw more than a few looks. Tulok included.
“…Meta.”
“Yeah, I know.”
---------------------------------------------------
The place is a wreck.
Meta has seen bar fights. Meta has been in bar fights, once or twice, when he was very young and very stupid. He knows a bar fight.
This is less a bar fight and more of a bar massacre.
Glass. Everywhere. Glass from shattered bottles, cups, the whole lot, and he has to be very careful stepping one foot in front of the other in case something nicks him. Chairs, overturned, and a whole table knocked askew.
Nobody around either, and that is what unnerves him most. Nobody except--
“Hhhhi dad.”
Kirby. Right in the thick of it. Kirby sprawled out, on his back, on the floor. Wings splayed wide like the avenging angel he is, blanketing the breadth of the main hall. Meta worries for his poor back over all that glass.
Kirby looks at him and his face is more red than pink, listing and fuzzy and barely aware of himself. His eyes only barely manage to land on Meta’s face.
“Kirby. Where’s Gooey?”
He doesn’t even try to argue. Kirby wouldn’t understand a thing.
“Uhh. Hold. On.”
His face twists, and he looks like he’s in pain, and he bites his lip and says nothing for nearly a full minute, and Meta is about to ask what he is doing when someone jerks, suddenly, at the bar.
Gooey. He’d recognize that form anywhere, even if he looks like he’s about to melt right into a puddle of goo where he’s slung limp over the counter. Meta can’t see him from this angle, only the turn of his back, but Gooey’s mask glints beside him in the light, halfway to falling off the counter.
Gooey. Maskless.
Meta immediately looks back at Kirby to avoid seeing something he never should.
“What were you thinking?”
“On sale!” Kirby points at nothing in particular.
Meta does not know why he even bothered asking.
“Sir Meta Knight!” Another voice, unfamiliar, jerking his attention away. “Thank goodness you’re here!”
From around the corner, down the hall, a face peers around. The bar owner, if Meta would guess, and by the shudder in their shoulders, rather terrified. No wonder nobody’s around.
They clear their throat and glance at their two patrons, and the look Meta gets is entreating. “Please take them home? They’re—” And they swallow, unable to finish. They don’t really need to.
“Aren’t you the owner?” Is what he shoots back, and he allows his frustration to bleed through even if this one doesn’t really deserve it. “Isn’t it your job to make them stop if they get rowdy?”
They cow back, bristling. It feels good, a little part of him thinks.
But he shouldn’t be so hard on them, even if they’re the owner. Not if they’re dealing with Kirby, of all people.
“Sir, you don’t—You don’t refuse service to the Savior of Pop Star.” They hesitate, as if turning over their words. “Nor the…Star Warrior? Who has. Destroyed. Gods.”
Kirby’s been sharing a lot tonight, hasn’t he.
“…I figured.”
As if everyone handing their goods and services to their favorite hero on a silver platter wasn’t enough. Kirby’s gotten spoiled rotten by this place and now there’s a healthy dose of fear there, too. Great.
He’ll deal with it later. For now…
Meta nudges his grand, star-conquering son with the tip of his foot and watches him roll to bat it away. “Come on. We’re going home.”
“Grandfather—Bate—Don’t want to.”
How is he even talking right now?
“You’re drunk, Kirby. We’re going home.”
“I’m not!” And if Kirby had been ten years younger and more sober that tone would not have flown with him. “Look, I—” The boy tries to do…something. Flails his arms and rolls with the crunching of glass, to get up? But the most he does is land on his stomach, half on his own wing.
He twitches and groans. Says something that might have been Gooey’s name, and across the way Meta sees Gooey jerk again before going still.
Fine.
“I’ll, take care of him.” He says without looking to the owner. Reaches down to heft Kirby’s bulk up into his arms, and he’s reminded of how little Kirby used to be in that hold, and for the second time he feels an instant’s sting of nostalgic pain. Not so little anymore.
“Can you take care of Gooey?” He asks without looking. Glass is digging into his arms from Kirby’s back. “Don’t look at his face. Put his mask on first. You don’t want to know what’s underneath.”
“Y-Yes! Of course—”
“Bringing them out from the back would be preferable, if we can. My family’s outside and I’d rather they not see their very drunk brothers.” But given this is a bar, the owner’s probably heard it all before.
And indeed, said owner does not look surprised at all by the request. Still, they agree, and both of them set to corralling the mess that two drunks have made.
This is going to be so lovely to explain to his wife.
---------------------------------------------------
“I’ve heard worse back home.”
How Kes manages to be completely unbothered by anything ever, Meta doesn’t know, but he would dearly like to ask and maybe take notes.
“Just…give me some time to take them home. Shouldn’t take too long, and I can call you all after.” Kirby’s back is going to need work, but he can hopefully do that in the privacy of Kirby’s room, away from everyone else.
“Take your time. The night air is quite pleasant, this time of year. Tulok will be fine. I hope they don’t break anything.”
Don’t let them, she says. He knows.
“Tulok?” She says, suddenly, turning to face the boy only just now finishing up his ice cream. He looks like a mess. “Would you like to go to the candy store before heading home?”
As Meta watches his family slowly make their way away, he can hear distinctly the sound of something breaking in the distance, the ring of a familiar voice following close behind. It sounds angry, this time, and that of all things is something they do not want.
…He’s going to need a drink of his own after this.
No.
“Gooey, there’s a bar. There’s the bar.”
No.
“You’re not giving me much to work with here.”
Kirby, for his part, thinks they deserve it. It isn’t often they actually go out for drinks – neither have gone in months by this point – and today’s patrol is worse than it’s been in a long time. A few too many demon beasts and a few too many needy folk needing assistance for his liking.
And it’s autumn, and it’s cold. Alcohol can warm a guy right up.
Kirby looks again over to the bar, one of the few actually in town and the only one that’s good. In the shade of evening its windows are bright against the landscape, a lantern among many on the streets. Eye-catching, intentionally so. It’s loud even from his place across the street.
But that’s not the only reason he’s staring.
He usually isn’t one for alcohol. Neither of them, not really. But. When your favorite drink is on sale for over half off, you can’t just. Turn your nose up at it.
Indeed, there it is, right on the sign. The Galaxy Shot, a rainbow plethora in a cup drawn with expert care and highlighted with a one-night only deal, sitting on a chalk stand by the door.
One night only. Those things are expensive even on a good day. They won’t tell him where they get the recipe.
One night only.
“…Just one. You don’t have to come with – you can go home, tell mom I’ll be late!”
He moves, takes a step.
And then stops by a sheer force of will against his thoughts, the sharp needlepoint of ire and reprimand that is Gooey’s mind. Like some avenging demon he descends, one mind atop another like a heavy insurmountable weight, and with it, a near incorporeal claw on his pauldron.
Nobody else would’ve felt it. Kirby does.
No.
Gooey doesn’t say it. Gooey never actually says anything. He isn’t exactly a words person. But Kirby fills in the blanks just the same, and that is what Gooey says.
“Look, I’m a grown man—" Incredulity, quick as a snap in Kirby’s direction—“—and I can handle my liquor! Come on, it’s been forever, Gooey. Look, what if I brought you along instead of going home, huh? What if I paid? My treat, I’m loaded, you can take your pick! And you can supervise like you always do! Would that make you happy?”
He knows Gooey and he knows Gooey isn’t quite the same as him as far as fun drinking goes. Gooey’s private. Gooey doesn’t care for that kind of thing unless it’s special. And he’s not trying to pressure him, honest, he just—wants to loosen up for once.
With his favorite drink, at over half off. Preferably.
Gooey tightens his hand on Kirby’s pauldron and turns him so that he is facing Gooey directly and, notably, not the bar. The expression in his eyes is much familiar.
Images, in his mind, too quick for any normal person to process. Looking down at his own self passed out on the ground, surrounded by drink. Dragged limply through the window, feathers trailing the entire way. An impression of annoyance and tired resignation.
Kirby’s gotten drunk before. Kirby’s indulged before. Gooey has been through it and knows this time will be no different.
“Gooey, you have absolutely no faith in me. I’m older than I was then! I’m better than that now. Come on, just one, I promise.”
He gives Gooey his best award-winning grin, bright and toothy. Gooey remains unfazed, but that’s fine, and kind of expected anyway.
It won’t be like that this time, he tells himself. He’s just going to take advantage of a good situation and go home. He’s going to have one of his favorite drinks and everything will be fine.
“Come on, pal, let’s go. Like I said, you can be the designated watchman if it bothers you so much.”
And Gooey, hand grabbed off of the pauldron and held aloft, can only deflate like a balloon and let himself get dragged along for what is more than likely going to be a very bumpy ride.
No stopping Kirby when he sets his mind to something. Not ever.
---------------------------------------------------
It isn’t often that they can all go out, Meta thinks. Not with Kes’ proclivity for the weather and Tulok’s still frail sensibilities. Being part of a family of Ice Leos has its cons, even if he wouldn’t trade them for the world.
It’s why he prefers autumn so much these days. Cool weather but not too cold, a nice wind to pick things up, cloudy skies and the rarity of the sun over their heads. Kes isn’t bothered and Tulok, unable to handle much of either extreme, thrives at his best.
Those days are the best bets they can all have to actually go and do something together, and on days like today, nobody wants to waste that chance.
Still, he keeps an eye on them both, just out of force of habit. They’ve gotten ice cream, all of them, and as they take a slow walk to see the rare sight of town lit against the evening sky, he lingers just a bit behind.
Kes, with her cone, has complained about it before, but by now she’s learned to ignore him, and at any rate she knows that he isn’t exactly focused on her.
Tulok, beside her, a stark grey little thing against his mother’s bulk, is nothing short of abuzz with energy. Bright faced and cheery eyed, he practically mauls the two-scoop cone in his grip, piled high with all manner of toppings that his parents had allowed him to pick without limit. It isn’t something they normally do, but again, it’s rare for them all to go out. Meta figured a cheat day wouldn’t hurt much.
He looks so much like his brother in that moment that, for a small instant, it hurts.
It’s a shame that Kirby couldn’t be here. Kirby loves his ice cream, even if he probably would have bought out the entire shop all on his own.
(Kirby, a youngster, Meta, still new at being a caretaker, stuck with an irate ice cream shop owner whose entire store had been cleaned out between one minute and the next. He’d been paying the man off for months.)
Maybe next time, he figures. When the lad isn’t so busy. Winter is coming, and it usually brings with it more complaints, more requests, less time to idle as people prepare to stock up and hunker down. More monsters, crawling out of the dirt.
What unlucky timing for them all.
Maybe next time. He would enjoy it.
“Meta.”
Kes’ voice is a cool breeze that draws him back to the present. By now they’re in the center of town, winding steadily back home, and where they’ve stopped, they linger just in front of the square proper. People buzz, lights flicker, noise from all directions that Tulok seems taken with.
Kes gives him a look when their eyes meet. She tilts her head left almost imperceptibly without a word.
Meta does as bid. Turns his head towards the bar, not far away, and listens. He hears something, yes. Laughter, but also--
…Ah.
Alcohol hasn’t really been a topic brought on much at home. Probably should have been, in hindsight, just to educate growing boys about its dangers and best practices. If Kirby drinks, Meta hardly knows of it. Usually.
So, Kirby is at the bar. And by the sound of it, quite deep into his liquor too.
It’s. Not their business. Much as he hounds him, Kirby is an adult. He can drink if he wants, and at any rate Gooey is there if it gets out of hand. It’s fine.
Something smashes in the direction of the bar, then, with enough force to draw more than a few looks. Tulok included.
“…Meta.”
“Yeah, I know.”
---------------------------------------------------
The place is a wreck.
Meta has seen bar fights. Meta has been in bar fights, once or twice, when he was very young and very stupid. He knows a bar fight.
This is less a bar fight and more of a bar massacre.
Glass. Everywhere. Glass from shattered bottles, cups, the whole lot, and he has to be very careful stepping one foot in front of the other in case something nicks him. Chairs, overturned, and a whole table knocked askew.
Nobody around either, and that is what unnerves him most. Nobody except--
“Hhhhi dad.”
Kirby. Right in the thick of it. Kirby sprawled out, on his back, on the floor. Wings splayed wide like the avenging angel he is, blanketing the breadth of the main hall. Meta worries for his poor back over all that glass.
Kirby looks at him and his face is more red than pink, listing and fuzzy and barely aware of himself. His eyes only barely manage to land on Meta’s face.
“Kirby. Where’s Gooey?”
He doesn’t even try to argue. Kirby wouldn’t understand a thing.
“Uhh. Hold. On.”
His face twists, and he looks like he’s in pain, and he bites his lip and says nothing for nearly a full minute, and Meta is about to ask what he is doing when someone jerks, suddenly, at the bar.
Gooey. He’d recognize that form anywhere, even if he looks like he’s about to melt right into a puddle of goo where he’s slung limp over the counter. Meta can’t see him from this angle, only the turn of his back, but Gooey’s mask glints beside him in the light, halfway to falling off the counter.
Gooey. Maskless.
Meta immediately looks back at Kirby to avoid seeing something he never should.
“What were you thinking?”
“On sale!” Kirby points at nothing in particular.
Meta does not know why he even bothered asking.
“Sir Meta Knight!” Another voice, unfamiliar, jerking his attention away. “Thank goodness you’re here!”
From around the corner, down the hall, a face peers around. The bar owner, if Meta would guess, and by the shudder in their shoulders, rather terrified. No wonder nobody’s around.
They clear their throat and glance at their two patrons, and the look Meta gets is entreating. “Please take them home? They’re—” And they swallow, unable to finish. They don’t really need to.
“Aren’t you the owner?” Is what he shoots back, and he allows his frustration to bleed through even if this one doesn’t really deserve it. “Isn’t it your job to make them stop if they get rowdy?”
They cow back, bristling. It feels good, a little part of him thinks.
But he shouldn’t be so hard on them, even if they’re the owner. Not if they’re dealing with Kirby, of all people.
“Sir, you don’t—You don’t refuse service to the Savior of Pop Star.” They hesitate, as if turning over their words. “Nor the…Star Warrior? Who has. Destroyed. Gods.”
Kirby’s been sharing a lot tonight, hasn’t he.
“…I figured.”
As if everyone handing their goods and services to their favorite hero on a silver platter wasn’t enough. Kirby’s gotten spoiled rotten by this place and now there’s a healthy dose of fear there, too. Great.
He’ll deal with it later. For now…
Meta nudges his grand, star-conquering son with the tip of his foot and watches him roll to bat it away. “Come on. We’re going home.”
“Grandfather—Bate—Don’t want to.”
How is he even talking right now?
“You’re drunk, Kirby. We’re going home.”
“I’m not!” And if Kirby had been ten years younger and more sober that tone would not have flown with him. “Look, I—” The boy tries to do…something. Flails his arms and rolls with the crunching of glass, to get up? But the most he does is land on his stomach, half on his own wing.
He twitches and groans. Says something that might have been Gooey’s name, and across the way Meta sees Gooey jerk again before going still.
Fine.
“I’ll, take care of him.” He says without looking to the owner. Reaches down to heft Kirby’s bulk up into his arms, and he’s reminded of how little Kirby used to be in that hold, and for the second time he feels an instant’s sting of nostalgic pain. Not so little anymore.
“Can you take care of Gooey?” He asks without looking. Glass is digging into his arms from Kirby’s back. “Don’t look at his face. Put his mask on first. You don’t want to know what’s underneath.”
“Y-Yes! Of course—”
“Bringing them out from the back would be preferable, if we can. My family’s outside and I’d rather they not see their very drunk brothers.” But given this is a bar, the owner’s probably heard it all before.
And indeed, said owner does not look surprised at all by the request. Still, they agree, and both of them set to corralling the mess that two drunks have made.
This is going to be so lovely to explain to his wife.
---------------------------------------------------
“I’ve heard worse back home.”
How Kes manages to be completely unbothered by anything ever, Meta doesn’t know, but he would dearly like to ask and maybe take notes.
“Just…give me some time to take them home. Shouldn’t take too long, and I can call you all after.” Kirby’s back is going to need work, but he can hopefully do that in the privacy of Kirby’s room, away from everyone else.
“Take your time. The night air is quite pleasant, this time of year. Tulok will be fine. I hope they don’t break anything.”
Don’t let them, she says. He knows.
“Tulok?” She says, suddenly, turning to face the boy only just now finishing up his ice cream. He looks like a mess. “Would you like to go to the candy store before heading home?”
As Meta watches his family slowly make their way away, he can hear distinctly the sound of something breaking in the distance, the ring of a familiar voice following close behind. It sounds angry, this time, and that of all things is something they do not want.
…He’s going to need a drink of his own after this.
-The End-
Artist Comment:
November 28, 2025
-----------------
This story is soooooo old! It was made all the way back in 2022!!! XDDD Kirby and poor Gooey have a biiiit too much to drink. Meta Knight has to drag is sons home and get them all patched up before Kes and Tulok return. Nova knows Kirby is going to have a VERY rough morning when he wakes. (Don't feel bad, Kirby. Bate had to do the same thing to Meta once or twice before. XP )
--
The literature written for this illustration was commissioned by my good friend, Dogblog. (dA- Shadowrealmprincess) ^v^
November 28, 2025
-----------------
This story is soooooo old! It was made all the way back in 2022!!! XDDD Kirby and poor Gooey have a biiiit too much to drink. Meta Knight has to drag is sons home and get them all patched up before Kes and Tulok return. Nova knows Kirby is going to have a VERY rough morning when he wakes. (Don't feel bad, Kirby. Bate had to do the same thing to Meta once or twice before. XP )
--
The literature written for this illustration was commissioned by my good friend, Dogblog. (dA- Shadowrealmprincess) ^v^
Species © Nintendo/ HAL Laboratory
Interpreted characters created from said species © Rhylem
Interpreted characters created from said species © Rhylem
