The Origin of Pete

Chapter 3

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Getting word out to their friends is, naturally, the next step. As the various residents of Free Country, USA loiter around The Stick, Strong Bad regales them with a retelling of the proposal—embellished, of course, in true Strong Bad fashion.

“Yeah, he pretty much begged me,” Strong Bad says breezily. “Sang me a whole song and everything.”

“Uh, Stwong Bad, you sang the—”

“Shut up.”

“Conglarjulations, you two!” Coach Z says. “Ooh, I just love weddings! Say, Marzipan—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww.”

“Well, congrats, boys,” says Marzipan, gingerly sidestepping the scorned coach, “if you need floral arrangements, I’d be happy to—”

Strong Bad cuts her off with a grimace. “We’re not doin’ flowers! This ain’t a wedding for girls!”

“You’re not doing flowers?”

The forlorn voice behind him makes Strong Bad freeze, and he hesitantly looks over his shoulder at his daughter.

“It’s just… I really, really wanted to be a flower girl,” Pete sighs, sadly kicking a pebble at her feet. “But if there’s not gonna be any flowers…”

Strong Bad blinks. Then he turns back to Marzipan.

“…How much for flowers?”

Marzipan smiles. “We can work out the details later.”

Behind Strong Bad’s back, Pete instantly perks up and winks at her.

“Bubs, you can officiate, wight?” Homestar asks.

“Legally, not since ‘86,” Bubs replies. He pulls a fake moustache and glasses out from behind his back and places them on his face. “But Stando Mudtrungler the Third, Esquire still can!”

“Gweat! Weally glad we’re keepin’ this whole wedding thing above-board,” says Homestar cheerfully. “Pom Pom, you have got to be my best man, man.”

Pom Pom bubbles. Homestar gasps.

“Woah, you’re a wedding planner, too? Dang, P-Dawg, you do it all!”

“A wedding planner?! Why didn’t you say so sooner, man!” Strong Bad pushes his way past the others, producing a thick folder from Trog-knows-where and shoving it into Pom Pom’s hands. (Flippers?) “That there’s my list of demands, so get to woik.”

Pom Pom stares at Strong Bad coolly for a moment, then opens the folder and flips through the papers. He frowns, then bubbles. Strong Bad’s jaw drops.

“‘Unreasonable?!’ What part of pyrotechnics, a fog machine, a t-shirt cannon, and a pegasus-drawn chariot made entirely out of Hot Pockets is unreasonable to you?!”

Pom Pom bubbles again, annoyed, and Strong Bad wilts.

“You can’t find a pegasus on such short notice? Ugh, alright, fine. I guess Strong Sad in a horse costume is the next best thing.”

“You know, Strong Bad, this isn’t just your wedding,” Marzipan says pointedly. “Have you asked Homestar how he feels about any of these ‘ideas’ of yours?”

“Aww, it’s all wight, Mawzipan. I told Stwong Bad he could be in chawge of that stuff.” Homestar puffs out his chest. “I had one wequest and one wequest only.”

All eyes are on Homestar now, eager to hear whatever oh-so-important request he could have made for his coming nuptials.

“Balsa wood cubes,” says Homestar.

The group exchanges glances.

“…Balsa wood cubes?” Marzipan echoes carefully.

Homestar nods. “Yep, balsa wood cubes. I said, ‘Stwong Bad, I’m puttin’ my foot down! I won’t have this wedding without balsa wood cubes!’”

“And we’re gonna get you all the balsa wood cubes your little heart desires, baby,” Strong Bad coos, pinching Homestar’s cheeks. “But enough about allat. Let’s talk cake!”

“Did someone say cake?” says a familiar jovial voice, as an equally-familiar monarch and his loyal Poopsmith approach the assembled characters.

“Wow, what a completely unexpected appeawance fwom the King of Town,” says Homestar.

“No, wait, this is perfect!” Strong Bad exclaims. “If anybody knows anything about borderline-unethical quantities of food, it’s this guy!”

“Oh, well, I don’t like to brag,” says the King. Strong Bad pulls out another folder, this one labeled “CAKE PLANS.” It’s nearly twice the size of the one Pom Pom is holding.

“I’m thinking twenty-six tiers minimum,” says Strong Bad. “This thing needs to be a threat to public safety.”

The King chortles. “Only twenty-six? That’s child’s play!”

Strong Bad grins. “That’s what I like to hear! Thanks, Kay-Oh-Tee! Maybe you’re not the most pointless character after all!” He turns triumphantly to address the others. “All right, losers, we’ve got one week to pull this off because I’m not gonna wait any longer than that to get my pwaughty on! This better be the kick-buttingest wedding that Free Country, USA has ever seen!”

“I think it’ll be the only wedding Free Country, USA has ever seen,” Marzipan points out.

“What about the Goblin and the Jibblies Painting?” Pete asks.

“They eloped, that doesn’t count.”

“Say, Bubsy, wasn’t you married once?” Coach Z asks, nudging him.

“Nope,” says Bubs, “only divorced.”

Chapter 2

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“Dinner’s weady!”

Pete’s arrival had unsurprisingly brought many changes to the Strong-Runner household dynamic over the years, and one of those changes was the frequency with which they all sat down to eat meals as a family. Gone were the days of “every man for himself,” scrounging up whatever unidentified leftovers could be scraped off of the walls of the fridge. (Well, okay, that still happens. But things get labeled now.) Strong Sad had said something about it being “good for psychosocial development” or something stupid like that, and Strong Bad, who didn’t care much for Strong Sad’s opinion but did care about his daughter, had begrudgingly acquiesced. And, well, it hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. It’s not like he and Homestar don’t enjoy cooking. (It also makes setting the following scene up a lot easier for the author, but that part’s not as important. No, really. Stop looking at me like that.)

Homestar places a steaming tray of lasagna down on the table and beams. “This was my gweat-gweat-gwand-neighbor’s secwet wecipe,” he says proudly.

As the others take their places at the table, Pete takes notice of the empty seat between her and Homestar. “Hey, where’s Dad?”

“He said he had to go see Bubs,” Strong Sad replies, scooping some lasagna onto his plate. “I’m not waiting for him.”

As if on cue, the front door swings open, and Strong Bad enters, carrying a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a guitar in the other. He stomps over to the dinner table and right up to Homestar.

“Here,” says Strong Bad, shoving the flowers in Homestar’s face. Then he takes the guitar, gets down on one knee, and begins to sing and play (poorly):

“Ciiiiircles, he’s spinnin’ me around in circles again Oh, that terrific athlete Somethin’ about the aaaages I really wanna marry him again… uh, I mean… for the first time…”

“Oh, Stwong Bad, this is so sudden~!” Homestar exclaims, blushing. Strong Bad rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Just say yes already, you’re wastin’ everybody’s time.”

Strong Sad stares at the scene from the other end of the table, fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Uh. What.”

“AWWWW,” exclaims Strong Mad. The Cheat just looks on with amusement, munching a breadstick.

“Now hold on just a second,” Homestar says. He picks up the bouquet of flowers and turns it around, examining it closely from all angles, then plucks off a petal and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Mm… yeah, this pwoposal’s, like, a six outta ten. Not sure I’m feelin’ the love, Stwo-Bwo.”

Strong Bad jumps to his feet, indignant.

“What the crap, man?! Do you want wedding cake or not?!”

“I’m going to eat in my room,” Strong Sad mutters, sneaking another bit of lasagna onto his plate before disappearing upstairs. So much for psychosocial development.

“Dad, come on,” Pete chides gently.

Strong Bad flails his arms. “No way! This is ridiculous! Why do I gotta be the one to propose, anyway, huh?! Why can’t he woo me?”

Homestar immediately brightens. “Oh! That’s a gweat idea, sweetie!”

Before anyone can say another word, Homestar grabs Strong Bad around the waist and dips him low in one swift, smooth motion.

“Stwong Bad,” Homestar croons, bringing their faces very close together, “my scrumptious little puddin’ pop.”

“…Um,” is all Strong Bad can manage, eyes wide as he fists the front of Homestar’s shirt for balance.

Homestar gazes at him, really laying it on thick. “Would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man in Fwee Countwy USA?”

Strong Bad’s already-mostly-red face is somehow even redder. “I. I, uh. Um. I– I–” he babbles, fleshtangle moving uselessly.

Homestar drops the sultry act just a little bit and offers the wrestleman a lopsided smile. “How was that? Pwetty good, huh?”

Strong Bad’s answer comes in the form of yanking Homestar forward and furiously crashing their weird mouths together.

Chapter 1

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“Boy, 90-Day Fiancé sure is cwazy,” says Homestar Runner around a mouthful of chips. It's another lazy afternoon in Free Country, USA, and the Strong-Runner family once again find themselves, unsurprisingly, in front of the television. Strong Bad mans the remote, his stubby legs tangled with Homestar’s longer ones. Their daughter, Pizza Party, sits on the floor in front of the couch, minding her own bowl of chips. (Homestar and Strong Bad are both fond of the “hint of lime” variety. Pete is not.) She looks up at them.

“Y’know, I just realized—you guys never told me the story of how you got engaged!”

“Us?” Homestar and Strong Bad exchange glances.

“Yeah!” She scrambles up to sit on the couch beside her parents, forcing Strong Bad practically into Homestar's lap. “Like, what was it like? Was it super duper romantic? Who asked who?!”

The two of them stare at her for a moment, then Strong Bad snorts.

“Good one, Petey,” he says, shoveling another fistful of chips into his fleshtangle.

Pete frowns. “Hey, I’m serious! I wanna know!”

“Yeah, I’m sure you… do…” Strong Bad trails off as realization dawns. His eyes go wide, and he meets Homestar’s gaze. It takes the athlete a few more seconds to connect the dots (and truthfully there’s always the chance you have to spell out things like this for Homestar), but when he does his expression mirrors Strong Bad’s.

Oh boy.

Homestar and Strong Bad sit up straight and look at their daughter, brows furrowed with concern.

“Um, Pete… we’re like. Not mawwied.”

You could hear a pin drop.

“You… you’re what?”

Strong Bad cringes. “Uh, not married?”

For a long moment Pete says nothing at all, just stares slack-jawed at her fathers.

“But… B-but…” she finally manages, then suddenly she jumps off the couch and points across the room to the far wall. “Then what the heck is that?!” They follow her feathered finger to where a framed photograph of Strong Bad in a wedding dress and Homestar in a tux smiles back at them.

“Oh, that.” Strong Bad scratches the back of his head. “That was a photoshoot we did for the 20th anniversary of that one book what M*** and C**** done wrote.”

“You looked so good in that dwess, sweetie,” Homestar coos.

“Yeah, I know.”

“A photoshoot?!” Pete echoes incredulously. “B-but… but.. but what about me? I’m your daughter! You guys have a kid!”

“You don’t hafta be mawwied to do that,” Homestar says.

“Your Gramma Strong sure wasn’t, and she did it three times,” Strong Bad adds.

“I can’t believe it,” Pete mumbles, clutching her head. “This whole time…”

“Sorry you had to find out this way, kiddo,” Strong Bad says, patting her on the shoulder.

An odd expression crosses Pete’s face, and she lifts her head.

“Wait. If you’re not married, then… that means you never had a wedding?”

“Nope,” Strong Bad says.

The strange expression on Pete’s face intensifies, then she slowly breaks out into a huge grin. “In that case... you can have one now!”

Homestar blinks. “Uh, why?”

“Because they’re fun!”

“You’ve never been to a wedding,” Strong Bad points out.

“Yeah, but they look fun on TV!”

Homestar and Strong Bad exchange glances again, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. Wasn’t there another major life event of theirs that was preceded by an argument on this very couch? If only they could remember what it was…

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Pete exclaims, waving a wing in her dads’ faces.

“Look, Pete, it’s just not my style, okay?” Strong Bad says, gently pushing her arm away. (Hadn’t he said that about something else once? Wow, his memory is really spotty today.) “I don’t need no stinkin’ piece of paper to prove anything to anybody.”

Pete practically throws herself into Strong Bad’s lap with a whine. “But Daaaaad! It’s not about the piece of paper, it’s about the party! Don’t you wanna dress up and dance and eat wedding cake?"

Strong Bad freezes. His eyes go wide.

“…Wedding cake?” he echoes, as if in a trance.

“Yeah, wedding cake! You could totally have the biggest cake anyone’s ever seen!”

That’s all the convincing Strong Bad needs. He jumps to his feet, rubbing his gloves together. “Of course! Wedding cake! Man, how could I have been so blind all these years?!”

Pete grins, bouncing on her heels “So you’ll do it?!”

“Heck yeah! Let’s have a wedding!”

“Yes!” Pete punches the air. “Okay, Dad, go ahead!”

Strong Bad balks. “Uh, go ahead with what?”

Pete rolls her eyes at him. “You have to propose, duh!”

“Oh, right,” says Strong Bad. He turns to Homestar. “Hey, dork. Wanna get married?”

“That’s not how you do it!” Pete throws her wings in the air. “You guys are so bad at this!”

“Look, Chicken Wings, I dunno what you want from me,” Strong Bad deadpans, mirroring her exasperation.

“You could at least get a ring or something!” Pete says.

Strong Bad glares at her. “A ring for who? The guy with boxing gloves for hands, or the guy with no hands at all?”

Pete deflates a little, suddenly keenly aware of her fathers’ shared fingerlessness. “…Good point.”

“Look, I already told you, your dad and I don’t need all that rigamarole! We’re on the same page here, right, Homestar?”

Homestar has been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this entire exchange, which causes both Pete and Strong Bad to look at him when they realize. He has a contemplative look on his beaky white face, which is rarely a good sign.

“I dunno, Stwong Bad,” Homestar finally says, fluttering his lashes and coyly scuffing the tip of his foot against the floor. “It might be nice to be wooed a little.”

Strong Bad stares at him. “…Are you freakin’ kidding me.”

“Eww,” Pete sticks out her tongue. Strong Bad waves a glove.

“No, no, it’s cool, I got this. Check this out.” He approaches Homestar and takes the athlete’s nonexistent hands in his own.

“Homestar. Uh, baby.”

As Strong Bad gathers his thoughts, his green eyes soften ever so slightly, and the corners of his mouth quirk fondly upwards.

“Heh, you know… I mean, you know, right? You and me, man. You know there’s nobody else I’d rather co-star on a largely inactive website with. Will you marry me?”

Homestar’s expression goes a little wobbly at Strong Bad’s words. He takes a deep breath, then hums placidly and shuts his eyes.

“Hmm… I think you can do better than that, Stwong Bad.”

Strong Bad’s jaw drops. “What?”