Genres: Spiritual/Fantasy/Humor/Family
A/N: Per the summary, this is an LOZ adaptation of A Christmas Carol, with a Skyloftian twist. Or as I so affectionately like to think of it, "Rupin has a Scroogism." To those of you who are familiar with my previous work, yes, this is sort of like a Christmas season special for "The Customer is (Not) Always Right," and there are major tie-ins to that story. If you haven't been following my main story, no biggie. I've taken measures to make this accessible to newcomers, so you should hopefully not have a problem getting into it.
As passionate as I am about Christmas, I have serious doubts that people in Skyloft celebrate Christmas. And like I said, this is a full-blown Skyward Sword adaptation soooo I decided to base this story around the hypothetical holiday when children meet their loftwings, dubbed "Fledging." I tried. Just go with it, okay? Fledging Ceremony. Wing Ceremony. They totally go together.
*Ahem* Merry Christmas everybody! Have a safe and happy December.
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Carol of the Birds
Stave I: The Demon of Skyloft
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Fledging Day. Once every year, the children of Hylia would flock to Skyloft from north, south, east, and west to partake in the ceremony where they would unite with their destined loftwing partners and forge a bond that would last a lifetime. Since the very first islands were thrust into the sky, hylians had paired with the giant birds of the air. The loftwings were revered as the holiest of the Goddess's blessings, bestowed upon each and every person at their coming of age as a sign of her divine protection.
Growing up, children were told that before they were even born, the Goddess had handpicked a guardian bird just for them. They spent the first decade of their lives on the ground, their eyes alight with wonder and anxious longing as they watched their parents and older peers glide overhead. They restlessly awaited the day when they would receive their own feathered companions, a flurry of questions running through their young and impressionable minds. What color would their bird be when it finally appeared before them? What would it feel like to fly on their own for the first time? Scary, or exhilarating? Would their bird come to them at all? It was enough to set off a whirlwind of blessed butterflies in one's stomach.
Having a bird and mastering how to ride it was what separated children from adults, and so it was said that the coming of one's loftwing signified the beginning of the passage into adulthood. Needless to say, it was a huge deal. So on that fateful day that came once a year, when the sun reached the highest point in the sky, all the families of Skyloft gathered at the feet of the Goddess statue to watch as children ten years of age awaited the arrival of their new birds. The connection shared between loftwing and rider was sacred and intimate, tracing back to ancient times. Some said the first touch was what sealed the bond between a loftwing and its chosen partner, and some said it was the first flight. No one knew for sure. But up until that moment, hylian children were just one half of a pair, to be made whole by their loftwings; two hearts and two minds joined as one to soar together in the sky.
The children's new loftwings felt like new additions to the family, and were a cause for celebration among all the citizens of Skyloft. At some point, people began exchanging gifts in reminder of the Goddess's divine gift to humanity, as a symbol of their gratitude to her and their gratitude towards each other. It seemed at this time of year, all bitter feelings and feuds fell away to be replaced by appreciation and forgiveness. The season of Fledging was truly a season of unconditional love and gratitude.
This year on the eve of Fledging Day, the Bazaar teemed with anticipation of tomorrow. The shops hadn't even closed yet, but already volunteers were flitting about the place, laughing joyously and putting up decorations. They talked amongst themselves in raised voices as they strung up rainbow wreaths of loftwing feathers and created eye-popping arrangements of every variety of pumpkin and winter squash imaginable, hardly able to repress their excitement. Wonderful, mouthwatering aromas of pumpkin bread and pumpkin pie emanated from the café as the cooks sweated in the kitchen, busily preparing heaps of food for the feast that would take place the following day. Nearly all the townspeople, from the wee Kukiel to the shriveled old people watcher Croo, were positively giggly. For tomorrow, the marketplace would close for the holidays and transform into a venue for week-long celebration and merriment.
But even amidst all the cheer and good spirits, one man was not happy.
"Only six and a half more hours until FLEDGING! ARE YOU EXCITED, RUPIN?!"
Rupin glanced up from his clipboard tiredly, meeting Luv's eager gaze with reluctance. She leaned forward and grinned at him from her perch behind the Potion Shop counter, a playful gleam in her eye.
"Excited as I'll ever be," he replied with a taut smile.
"Really?" Luv said, tilting her head in mock-skepticism. "Because you don't look very excited!"
Rupin just sighed. Normally, he would put forth a little more effort to match her energy, to keep her entertained and out of his hair. But he was hanging on by a thread today. She would have to settle for contained politeness.
Luv snorted and put her hands on her hips, grumbling with a very obvious eyeroll, "I swear, sometimes I wonder if you're not a crotchety old man in a young person's body. Don't you get excited over anything other the sight of a customer?"
Maybe it's because you always manage to kill whatever good mood I'm in with your asinine, unsolicited comments. "I'm excited on the inside, I assure you," Rupin lied through his teeth. He forced an even wider grin to back up the statement. "I'm just not feeling well today is all."
"Oh, come on, Rupin. I'm three months pregnant and puking up my guts up every other morning, and I have more pep than you do! What do you have to say that, huh?
Rupin gagged on the inside. Too much information, woman! "Perhaps you should take it as a compliment. A testament to your enduring youthfulness," he said smoothly, not a moment too late. "I simply can't compete."
Luv let loose a good-natured bark of laughter, waving off the flattery. "Oh, Rupin honey! You're too much! I guess now that I'm about to have a kid of my own, I'm just extra special excited for all those other parents watching their kids meet their loftwings. They must be so proud!"
Rupin gave an absent nod before returning to his clipboard to finish taking inventory. To his relief, Luv didn't chide him any longer. Finally. That got her off his back. She would never take a hint that he didn't want to talk, but she'd take a compliment. At least he had several weeks of maternity leave to look forward to.
Soon, the clock edged closer to six and the Bazaar began to empty out. Luv left her rather diminutive husband Bertie to tear down the Potion Shop in her stead, and the bored girl from the Item Check checked out early. Sparrot the fortuneteller melted into the evening before anyone even noticed he was gone, leaving a vacant tent behind. Some workers had already begun to tear it down in his absence, getting ready to set up a stage in its place. Rupin happily farewelled shoppers as they passed by his stall on their way out of the Bazaar (in the vain hopes they'd remember his friendly face and come back a week from now). Once things slowed down and majority of them were gone, he retreated to his storeroom to count his rupees for the last time in a long time.
He emptied his apronfull of rupees onto his work table and began sorting the gleaming rainbow of gems by color. He didn't have to finish totaling them to know it had been yet another day of lackluster sales. The amount of effort he put into his work never seem to yield proportionate results. With how so very exhausted he felt at the end of the day, he should have had a bigger profit to show for it. Right? He heaved a sigh. Never the case.
And now Fledging was upon him. How would he ever recover from such a set back? If one day was set aside for a holiday, he wasn't complaining. Even he longed for the occasional day off. But an entire week? What was the sense in that? He had bills to keep up with, debts to repay, funds to save up. Skyloftians were always looking for excuses to throw parties and get out of work. What foolishness.
Luv was sorely mistaken about one thing. It was never really the sight of his customers that delighted him, but the prospect of them pulling out their wallets. Only then would he feel a true jolt of excitement. Until the wallet appeared, the customer was just another annoyance. Even the nice ones were annoying. More often than not, they were bored and were just coming by to make idle chitchat. It was draining. 'How long have you been running this store?' Long enough to become cynical. 'About seven years! Ahahaha.' 'Hello, Mr. Gear Peddler, how are you today?' Terrible now that you're here. 'I'm doing splendid! And you?'
Not that he cared.
Rupin rose from his desk with a tired moan, rubbing his eyes. He gathered up his meager sum of rupees and moved to store them in his safe. Most days, only one out of ten people who visited his shop actually made a purchase. Fickle customers. They never saw the true depths of the disappointment and resentment that weighed him down every time they browsed, but decided not to buy. They never knew what it cost him to dance around their volatile moods, to meet their crass attitudes and sometimes even raging tempers with a calm smile and a sympathetic front.
Through it all, his smile never left his face. He had the prominent, ruddy cheeks and premature lines etched into his smooth skin to prove it. But if they had looked back, they would have seen the venomous glances he threw at their retreating forms. If they had listened a little harder, they would have heard the quiet insults whispered under his breath. It never showed, but the hate built up inside him every day. Some days he felt so angry he could explode, but he never did. Some days he felt so cold and apathetic that there wasn't a shred of humanity left within him, but it never showed when there were prying eyes around to see. He locked his hatred within his heart, and wore a grinning mask on his face. The customers were always right, even when they were wrong.
After packing away the rest of his gear, Rupin trudged back out to the shop and locked up the storage room with a bitter sense of finality. People had already moved into his stall to hang silver and blue streamers before he'd even left for the day, much to his irritation. A barely audible growl made its way out of his throat. He kept his head down and avoided their eyes as he shoved past to leave, hands in his pockets. In his efforts to block everybody out, he almost passed right by Gondo, who was waiting for him on the other side of the counter. The repairman waved when their gazes crossed, a warm smile creasing his face.
"Hey, little buddy! You look beat," he said. "You should come to the Lumpy Pumpkin with me and Sparrot tonight! It is a holiday, after all."
And here he had nearly forgotten.
"No thanks," Rupin said flatly, unable to muster energy for a more chipper reply. "I have important work to attend to tonight."
"Work? Really?" Gondo said with a dubious frown, looking a little put off. But he didn't push it. "That's too bad. I'll be around a while longer, so let me know if you change your mind."
Rupin just gave half a shrug. Like that would happen. As Gondo went back to the Scrap Shop, Rupin cut straight across the Bazaar, making to leave, though this proved difficult as there was an abnormally high number of bodies to weave around. He stared straight ahead and ignored them, retreating within himself. He successfully reached the other side without interruption and started to walk out the main door, but then lingered by the cafe. He might as well eat here tonight. Anything to put off seeing her a while longer.
Selection at the cafe was minimal; all efforts in the kitchen were concentrated on preparing food for tomorrow. All that was left were some old pastries and stale bread that would be pitched overnight if they weren't sold today. As far as the cooks were concerned, today was already over. Even the coffee pot on the stove sat neglected, probably brewed hours ago. At least some of the prices had gone down.
After Rupin stood at the counter a while, the aloof and standoffish Piper eventually came over to fetch him a slice of pumpkin cake from the case. He ordered a cup of burnt coffee to wash it down and sat down at a secluded table by the wall, removing himself from the crowd. He brushed some crumbs off the table's surface with his sleeve. Vaguely, he wondered if the rest of the population was blind to filth.
Thick, spicy pumpkin cake dusted with powdered sugar. It would have been good if it wasn't so dry and crumbly. And if he hadn't been so sick of pumpkin. He forced another bite of cake down his throat, looking out on the rest of the Bazaar with disdain. Fledging was the same old, same old every single year. Kids stand in front of Goddess statue. For hours. Their scrawny, juvenile loftwings fly in to meet them one by one. There's lots of staring involved. Lots of waiting around. Lots of buildup for absolutely nothing. Some years, a kid's loftwing wouldn't show up until dusk, so of course it could take forever and people would give you weird looks if you tried to bail out before the end of the ceremony. Didn't it ever get old to them? The holiday seemed even less and less of a novelty to Rupin as he grew older and the years piled up. And yet everyone, even those who had aged far beyond his years, always acted like it was sensational.
"Ooooh! What's that? Is it cake? Pumpkin cake?"
There was a cough and a sniffle. Rupin jumped up to see Piper's kid coming upon him quickly, his hair a tangled rodent's nest. Before Rupin could react, the little boy stuck a filthy, dirt-encrusted finger forward and touched his cake.
"What are you doing?!" Rupin snapped, for a moment only able to gape in shock. He pulled his cake away from the boy. "H-how rude! Go away! Get!"
"Sorry..." the kid muttered an indignant apology, like he wasn't really sorry at all. Like Rupin was the one at fault for overreacting. He turned tail and scurried off.
"Ugh!" Rupin gagged, grimacing down at his cake. He felt violated, like a giant fly had landed on his food. That cake was a part of him, or about to become apart of him. And now it was tainted. Why did kids feel the need to touch everything they laid their greedy little eyes on?! Who knew where that finger had been.
Quite frankly, Rupin didn't want to know. The second no one was looking, he flung his barely-eaten pumpkin cake into a nearby garbage can. He snatched up what remained of his rapidly cooling coffee and left.
On his way out of the Bazaar, Rupin approached a large, portly man who was slumped against the inside of the tent, head down, a can sitting pathetically in front of him. The man was unshaven and wore a scuzzy, ill-fitting shirt that could never hope to cover his midriff if he wasn't a hundred pounds overweight, a sullen expression tugging down his coarse features. Rupin did not know nor care to learn his name, but simply regarded him as "The Village Idiot." Within the confines of his mind, anyway. Rupin had never been one to insult others directly.
The Village Idiot raised his head of matted, unwashed hair as Rupin walked by. Rupin kept his gaze focused straight ahead. Like that will do any good, he thought. What would he use those rupees for, to pay for his pumpkin juice for one night? For all he knew, the guy wasn't even homeless. Yes, he was likely a fraudulent homeless. Real homeless people never stayed that fat.
Rupin exited the Bazaar without a passing glance. If he had looked back, he would have seen the Village Idiot fishing his disposed-of cake out of the garbage.
-:-:-:-:-
Outside, the sun had already descended past the cloud sea, but its fading light still touched the skies, tinging the edges of the horizon a soft pink. A few lone loftwings glided in the distance, going to find comfortable roosting places for the night. As Rupin made his way down the hill, the lazy pip pip pip of the propellers of Beedle's Airshop drew his attention skyward. The Air Shop hovered several stories above the town, bobbing up and down in a slow, cyclical rhythm. Beedle was up there, literally peddling away. He would be closing up shop tomorrow too, but since he didn't require the use of the Bazaar, he would immediately reopen for business the following day. Rupin fumed with jealousy.
Beedle's Airshop. More like Beedle's Armpit, he thought to himself. But what with all the wild, drunken dancing and partying that would be going on tomorrow, the Bazaar was going to smell like an armpit before long too. How gross.
Yes, he would be there tomorrow, enduring the stench. Not to party with the rest, but to keep watch over his stall and make sure no stupid kids soiled it like last year. It turned out that wet spot in the corner wasn't water.
It was twilight by the time Rupin arrived at his home on the southern side of the island. Now, he could finally shed his shopkeeper persona and put the friendly facade away for another day. He went inside to find a crackling fire in the fireplace and his mother fussing with her antiques per the usual, rearranging her shelf of hideous figurines for at least the tenth time that week. Rupin ignored her and started to walk to his side of the room. He was hoping she wouldn't look up when he walked in, but she did.
"Rupin! You're home!" Goselle trilled, spinning to greet him. "How was your day?"
"Good," he grunted, staying his course.
"Good?" she echoed after him dryly. "In other words, you don't want to talk about it."
"Yep."
He didn't turn to watch her act all offended over his abruptness. Must she take everything so personally? As if he wasn't allowed to be tired at the end of the day. People...his customers, Luv, his socialite mother...they were like parasites. Just being in their presence seemed to sap his energy and drain him of all life.
"Rupin! Don't tell me you're planning on staying cooped up in the house when it's a holiday. Why don't you go out to the Lumpy Pumpkin tonight?"
He turned his head to look at her this time, his expression flat and emotionless. Why did she care? "If you want to get rid of me, just say so, mother."
Goselle shifted, seeming reluctant to say what was on her mind next. "Actually...I was planning on going myself, and I was hoping you would come with me," she said. "I feel like we've grown apart lately, dear...perhaps a change of scenery would be good for us?"
She gave him a disarming grin, the same one he used on customers during the day. Clearly, there was an ulterior motive here. He didn't care enough to try to coax it out of her, but he could guess as to what it was. More than likely, the other housewives were touting their relationships with their sons and she was looking to show them up. Or she just wanted to prove to them that he wasn't a total loser.
"You want to go spend a fortune at the tavern when we can just pop open a bottle of pumpkin juice and enjoy each others company right here?" Rupin answered. "Seems like an awful waste of money, don't you think?"
Goselle glowered at him. "Humph! Fine. Be that way," she sniffed, haughty. She whipped out one of her fans.
Rupin averted his eyes and kept his sarcastic responses to himself, choosing not to continue. So many of their short lived conversations ended this way. Her getting testy, him giving up and letting her have the last word. It seemed they were always waging a battle just under the surface, and so long as he didn't try to argue with her and drag it out in the open, they could co-exist. The more he protested against her, the more viciously she fought back. Always a losing battle. It was best to avoid upsetting the precarious balance between them, one that was already cracked by so many years of misunderstanding.
Maybe if they didn't still live under the same roof, their relationship would have been less strained, and she wouldn't have associated his reputation so closely with hers. He let out yet another crippling sigh. He would leave the nest one day. Once he earned enough money.
Goselle slammed the door loudly on her way out of the house, making sure to let him know how she felt. Rupin took a much-awaited seat at his desk and began making preparations to open up his night market, not feeling guilty in the least. It wasn't worth a night of forced smiles and laughter. It wasn't worth the hole in his wallet. The only thing Rupin hated more than his job and his customers was being broke, because that meant he was really powerless. Besides, he needed treasure. And other people needed money to buy last minute gifts for their loved ones. He would be a fool not to take advantage of such a situation.
Yes, Rupin's treasure buying business he ran from his home at night just happened to be the saving grace of procrastinators everywhere in the days leading up to Fledging. Sometimes people even sold him thoughtless presents that were given to them on the previous years' Fledging, the irony of it all. The greatest thing about his night market was that he didn't have to buy other peoples' crap. Buying treasure made things easier, sure. It saved him time and expenses in the long run and got him some extra pocket money. But they needed him more than he needed them. Any complaining and they would be sent on their way without so much as a single rupee to show for it. Now here at his desk, he was the one in control. Beggars couldn't be choosers.
It wasn't long before there was a gentle knock at the front door. Rupin lifted his head at the sound. After a moment, the door creaked open and Bertie the potion brewer's husband hesitantly stepped inside. It took all Rupin's willpower not to groan right then and there. Bertie was always trying to pass off trash for treasure.
Habitually, his mind told him to muster up a smile as as Bertie limped up to his desk, a bulging burlap sack slung over his shoulder. But his facial muscles didn't seem to want to move. No. He was at home, in his sanctuary. He was the customer now, not Bertie. Not happening.
"So you came to sell some treasure..." he started when Bertie neglected to speak up, stating the obvious. His eyes panned over the dirty bag Bertie clutched. "Last minute gift shopping, I presume?"
"Er, yes," Bertie stammered as he plopped his bag on the floor with a grunt of relief. Even with the load removed from his back, he was still bent in stature, as if he carried an invisible weight of his own. In the full light of Rupin's chandelier he looked awfully pale and pasty, dark circles rimming his baggy eyelids. Again, Rupin had to wonder if all the stress over this holiday gift-giving hoopla was really worth it. Were the boney man standing side by side with his relentlessly vigorous wife, he might have guessed Bertie was the one who was pregnant.
"I still need a present for my wife. Luv," Bertie said. "I've been waiting on her hand and foot in light of her pregnancy and I realized I forgot to buy her something! Time just got away from me, I guess, and before I knew it...well, now Fledging Day is tomorrow." He uttered a self-conscious laugh, shaking his head at himself in disapproval. "She's had her eye on a special sort of cauldron that costs a fortune, and I'm just a few rupees short of being able to afford it."
"Ah huh." Whatever. "So what did you bring to sell to me tonight?"
The look on Bertie's face said it was something he wasn't so sure he was going to be able to sell. Bending down carefully, he reached inside his sack and took out...a tumble weed. A stringy mess of tangles riddled with dirt clods. Rupin's eyebrows went up.
Bertie winced a little as he held up the filthy weed, like he already knew what was coming. "So...how much?"
Rupin sighed in exasperation. He pressed a hand to his temple, massaging his brow. "I'm going to tell it to you straight, Bertie. Not because I don't like you, but because you deserve to know the truth." A hint of a sneer twitched on his lips. "Here's the thing, Bertie. I use a lot of these treasures I buy at night to get my shields made. And well, in order to provide my customers with a quality product, I need to provide my blacksmith with high quality ingredients...see where I'm going with this?"
Bertie shook his head.
"If I send them garbage, then that's exactly what they send back to me. Garbage. My shields come out flimsy, they break, and my the customers aren't happy. Oh no, not happy at all." Rupin clicked his tongue sadly. He raised one shoulder and let it drop, as if to absolve himself of all blame.
Bertie's features sagged even more than usual. "Oh..."
"So answer me this, Bertie." Rupin placed both hands firmly on his desk and drew up to stare the man in the face, narrowing his eyes to slits. "What in Goddess's name am I going to do with a rotting tumbleweed?"
Bertie just pressed his mouth into a nervous line, saying nothing.
"You know when you're infusing a potion for somebody and they brings you dead bugs? Well, right now you're trying to hand me a dead dung beetle. It's the same thing." Rupin brought his hand to his mouth to stifle a little snicker of laughter. "Bertie. You would have to pay me to take that thing off your hands."
"Oh...I see." He stared down at the carpet, looking dismayed. "I'm sorry."
"Now, if you have some Eldin ore or an amber relic in that bag, we might just have ourselves a deal." Rupin leaned sideways and propped an elbow on his desk, resting his head against his hand. He blinked at Bertie thoughtfully, awaiting his answer.
Bertie hesitated. "Ah, well—not exactly," he said. "No. I'm afraid don't have either of those."
Rupin glowered at the meek man. Then stop wasting my time. He would have said it out loud if he didn't have to see the man at the Bazaar every day.
"Erm...but maybe this will do?"
Bertie put away the tumbleweed and rooted around in the bottom of his bag, seeming to forgo several other worthless items. He then brought out some sort of figurine, one of a roly-poly little elf-looking man wearing a skintight green onesie and bright red undergarments. The chubby little man had a gigantic nose and long, pointy ears that jutted out beneath his green hood, a jovial, all-to-gleeful expression plastered across his gooey-eyed, rosy-cheeked face. Rupin squirmed a little on the inside at the sight of it. Eesh. Creepy.
"It's an antique," Bertie explained in a soft voice, setting the figurine on the desk before Rupin. "Luv actually bought this for me last year, but to be honest, it always kind of gave me the creeps, so uh..." He trailed off with a small lift of his skinny shoulders.
Rupin resisted the urge to smack his face repeatedly on his desk. What was the point of buying gifts people wouldn't even like? He squinted down at the figurine and slid it closer with his free hand. The green man was carved of wood and must have had a decent paint job on it for its solid, vibrant colors to have lasted so long. If Bertie was to be believed. Judging by that and the amount of detail that was put into him—down to the mole beneath his lip and the compass hanging from his neck—the figurine was of fine quality, despite...well, everything else. But Rupin supposed some people were into this sort of thing. He cast an aside glance at his mother's little shelf of horrors on the other side the room. Yes. The right person might just buy this off him for up to twenty rupees and he could reap a decent profit.
"For this, I can offer you five rupees." Rupin put the figurine back in the center of his desk and turned it so the freaky thing faced away from him.
"Just five?"
Rupin just stared at Bertie dully, not moving a muscle.
"I guess I was hoping for at least ten...maybe fifteen if you were feeling generous...?" Bertie mumbled, shying away from Rupin's stern gaze. He scratched his head. "It is Fledging Eve and all..."
Rupin raised an eyebrow. "So?" he said. "Holidays make no difference to me. Five rupees. That's my first and final offer, take it or leave it."
Bertie kept his eyes on the floor, twiddling his thumbs as he struggled with indecision. Rupin smirked to himself. He knew the man well enough to know he wouldn't assert himself a second time.
"Okay," Bertie spoke up finally, meeting Rupin's narrow eyes. "I'll sell."
The transaction was quick and without a hitch. The soft spoken Bertie took his single blue rupee in exchange for his antique figurine and made a passive exit. Rupin immediately returned to his busy work upon his departure and didn't even look up as the front door clicked shut behind him. A few seconds later, he plunked his quill on the desk and got up to fetch a bottle of pumpkin juice. He would need it.
One by one, the hours ticked by, slowly but surely. Sellers came and went, hoping to snag a deal or two in exchange for their second-hand junk. Rupin obliged some and turned away others, scorning at cheap proposals with contempt. Rupin knew it was about time to go to bed once the inflow of visitors slowed to a disheartening stop. The latest seller had left over an hour ago.
Rupin yawned and stretched, getting up from his desk to begin his nightly rituals. He put out what was left of the fire—now just a few dying coals—and took down the 'OPEN' sign from the front door so he wouldn't be bothered by anyone from there on out. Once the door was bolted and all his treasures were locked away safely in their respective, color-coded cabinets, he slipped his boots off and settled into his bed, not bothering to undress. He extinguished his bedside lamp and laid his head down on his pillow. He had a long and wearisome day ahead.
-:-:-:-:-
Rupin tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable under his sheets. He was too warm with his rupee-patterned comforter on and too cold with it off. At one point, he managed to fall asleep for a little while, but then he had one of those awful dreams where he was losing his teeth. He expected it to be daylight or at least early morning when he woke up, but was surprised to see only an hour had passed since he first lied down. It felt longer than that.
He exhaled, chest collapsing. It seemed so useless to just lie there mindlessly. He lit his bedside lamp, ripped off the sheets, and dragged himself towards to the living room, uncorking a new bottle of pumpkin juice before going to relax on the new sofa nobody ever sat on. Well, nobody but him or his mother. And that was all she would allow: sitting. Back off the cushions, both feet planted flat on the floor. But since when was that ever comfortable? Seemed like an awful waste of a good couch.
He took a large swig of pumpkin juice and sprawled across the sofa. His mother would be even more horrified if she knew he had a drink on it, but it wasn't as if he ate like a savage. He would be careful. What she didn't know wouldn't kill her. The sofa's firm cushions were much more comfortable than his mattress, which had gotten too soft and cushy with usage. He would be asleep in no time.
After another half hour of sipping his drink intermittently, his eyelids drooped and he felt a peaceful sleep beginning to tug him away. He shivered a little, but he was too exhausted to get up and any sort of fire going again. Better to be too cold than too warm...
He was about to drift off when a soft tremor from below roused him. His eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at the ceiling. For a second, he thought he was imagining things, but then the vibrations grew stronger, accompanied by an ominous rumbling.
Rupin gripped the arm of the sofa as a particularly violent tremor sent him tumbling onto to the floor, and the bottle of pumpkin juice he'd been drinking along with him. There was a loud crash. His heart pounded in his ears. An earthquake! Now the entire house was shaking. He scrambled back onto the couch and held on for dear life when all of the sudden, the quaking ceased. All the lights in the house flickered off at once, leaving him in total darkness.
He slowly lifted his head, petrified. Before he could catch his breath, the fireplace suddenly exploded to life, a pillar of blue flame shooting straight up through the chimney.
"RAAAAAAWR!"
A horrible roar erupted from the wall of fire, shaking Rupin to his core. He pressed himself to the back of the sofa and jerked his neck sideways, shutting his eyes against the sparks that flew from the fireplace. When the blast of heat subsided, he forced his eyes open and got a look at the intruder as the smoke cleared from around him.
A tall, dark figure loomed out of the fireplace. His skin was blue as ice, like he'd been frozen for a millennium or more, and his bright yellow eyes burned like hot cinders. Corrugated horns the color of blood sprouted from his head, as long and thick as an ox's, but twice as sharp, curving elegantly into two jagged prongs. His face was broad like that of a bulldog, with long fangs like a prehistoric beast and a squashed nose that looked like it belonged on a decomposing corpse. The monster was tall and broad-shouldered, nearly twice the height of an average man, and towered far above Rupin. Despite all his grotesque attributes, he sported an exceptionally well-cared for mustache and goatee, each tapering into fine, neat points.
The monster let out another fearsome roar. He gnashed his fangs and brandished his claws, which were at least three inches long. Rupin squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again gradually, willing the monster to be gone. But he was there. Wild sapphire flames leaped from the fire place and licked at the horned figure, but didn't scorch him nor even seem to touch him. As if he was not of this world. Rupin shuddered, his squinty eyes widening with panic.
"You—you're a—"
"A demon!" the monster spoke, stealing the word right out of his mouth. Two massive shadows spread from either side of him—a pair of ginormous, bat-like wings—and beat back a strong blast of wind that made Rupin's eyes water.
"I don't believe I've properly introduced myself." The demon grinned, seeming to delight in Rupin's fear. He folded up his wings and gave a low bow. "Batreaux is my name. I come to you tonight from the depths of the underworld to deliver a very important message!"
Rupin's cheeks turned an entire shade paler. He was scared speechless. His muddled mind was telling him to run, or scream. But instead, a strange, hysterical smile crept onto his face. "...I-is it a good message?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes! I mean—NOOOOO!" the demon boomed, causing Rupin to shake even harder. He clutched a pillow to his chest like a shield and sunk further into the cushions, as if he could escape inside them. A deep growl tore from Batreaux's throat.
"This is a message of the worst kind imaginable!" he said. "My presence here tonight concerns your welfare. The welfare of your immortal soul."
Rupin felt an uncharacteristic twinge of fear in the deepest part of him. Every one of the demon's thunderous words seemed to carry another earthquake of its own.
"Yes, Rupin, I am here for you. You who walk among your fellow human beings with your stingy, judgmental eyes squinted shut, seeing them only for the rupees in their wallets. You who would interpret the simplest gesture of kindness as an insult or a means to wrong you, who would withhold forgiveness even if your well being depended on it. While other hearts overflow with feelings gratitude, you haven't a drop inside you to give. It is people like you who keep me bound to this dreadful form, and in doing so risk condemning yourself to a fate worse than death!"
Rupin furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, more soberly now that he had gotten over the initial shock of a monster appearing in his house, "I'm not sure I follow..."
"For as long as you let greed and hatred corrupt your heart, you bind yourself by a tortuous thread of fate, twisted and knotted tight of your own free will," Batreaux explained. Now Rupin was completely lost. "You cannot perceive it, but the negative influence you hold over others travels further than you can hope to imagine, cascading into infinite. Like the first domino in a sequence of many, like the birth of the stars! I daresay it could rival the strength of my own malevolent aura. You wouldn't be hiding a horn under that little hat of yours, would you?"
Rupin scoffed. "Now that's just silly," he said, but he removed his hat for the demon to see so there would be no doubt.
"Is it?" Batreaux challenged him, a mischievous smile playing on his fell lips. "If a monster can become a man, then why can a man not become a monster?" He laughed evilly. "Human desire is an insatiable, fearsome thing, even to a demon! But I suppose it's also what makes your kind so intriguing." Batreaux went to inhale and suddenly choked, winding up with a mouthful of chimney ashes and dust particles. He coughed violently, taking several seconds to regain his composure. "Pardon me. Now as I was saying, your utter hatred and contempt for everything and everyone around you is a slow-working, but lethal poison! Your actions will sow dire consequences if you continue down your current pa—Aa-ACK! Oh my—"
His breath lodged in his throat and he broke off into another fit of uncontrollable coughing and hacking. Now Rupin really drew back, disgusted. He half-expected him to hack up half a lung.
"Goodness," Batreaux wheezed and wiped his nose, his coughs finally subsiding. An odd change had come over the monster's demeanor. He now stood hunched with his claws folded politely in front of him, giving off a civilized, yet unimposing impression so unlike his previous display. It clashed with his frightening appearance. Rupin stared between the demon and the broken bottle on the floor in a dazed sort of stupor. His eyes flashed with realization.
"Oh...I think I get it now."
Batreaux perked up in a very un-monster-like fashion, clasping his hands. "You do?!" he chirped. He shifted his fingers to a more comfortable position to avoid stabbing himself with his own nails.
"Yeah," said Rupin. "This pumpkin juice," he picked up the neck of the shattered bottle and raised it in the air, giving it a shake, "...must be expired! Ugh! I knew I should have checked the date!"
He turned the bottle and peered at its label with bleary eyes, scrutinizing it. He plunked it back it down on the end table with a groan of frustration after he failed to find any indication of a date, feeling lousier than ever. For a moment, Batreaux just stood there and gawked at him in amazement, going slack in the jaw.
"You," he faltered, taken aback. He lifted a clawed finger and pointed it at Rupin. "You think you are hallucinating me?!"
Rupin looked straight at the demon, blank-faced. "Mmhmm."
Batreaux sighed, hanging his head in defeat. "Ohh, just my luck," he bemoaned, more to himself than Rupin. "The one time I want a human to be scared of me, and you're not scared!" He coughed again, covering his mouth. "Good heavens. How long has it been since you swept this chimney?"
"How long has it been since you trimmed your nails?" Rupin retorted. There was no humor in his tone.
Batreaux huffed, insulted. "Just yesterday, mind you! They grow right back, so trimming isn't all that effective. And don't even get me started on these things." He motioned to his set of giant, spear-like horns.
Rupin snorted. "Whatever." He flopped back down and closed his eyes, rolling toward the couch. "This conversation is over. You're not even real, so why am I still talking to you like some sort of loony? I'm going back to bed."
"Now hold on just a minute! I'm not finished with you yet!" Batreaux snarled, trying to act angry, and it was plain to see that he was trying. The demon cleared his throat self-consciously when his outburst garnered no response from Rupin and prattled on anyway, "the threads of fate are weaving a very grim picture of your life indeed, but that does not mean their paths cannot be altered..." He flashed his sharp teeth and beat his wings, reviving some of his former theatrics.
"Before the end of the night, you will be haunted!" His voice reverberated. "By three spirits!"
"Can they not?" Rupin waved a dismissive hand in the air, his voice muffled inside the couch cushions. "I have a long day at the Bazaar tomorrow and I really need to get some sleep."
"Perhaps they will be able to instill a healthy spark of fear in that hardened heart of yours!" Batreaux raised his voice, continuing as if that last comment of Rupin's hadn't existed. "It's all for your own good, dear human. Our own good. For you, for me, for both our sakes! You will be grateful in the end."
Rupin sat up suddenly, twisting his body to face Batreaux. "You want to know what I would be really grateful for? If you would get out of my house."
He didn't yell, but the sheer force of Rupin's words was enough to send a nervous pang through Batreaux's chest. Rupin put on his best death glare, his pupils like two pinpoints of acid that bored into the very fibers of Batreaux's malignant being. The demon recoiled in fright. He'd been outmatched.
"A-as you wish," he stuttered, and complied. He stepped out of the fireplace with some difficulty, fitting one wing out at a time, and rose to his full height. He hit his head and immediately had to bend down to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling. "If you take one thing away from this visitation, just know that everything I've told you tonight was the truth and nothing but. If you want to avoid a terrible fate, I implore you to amend your greedy ways as soon as possible! Heed my warning, human!"
With an aggravated growl, Rupin jumped up and walked around the back of the couch. He'd had enough of this.
Batreaux threw is arms up in surrender. "I'll just be on my way then. Don't mind me," he called after the retreating Rupin, not appreciating the snub. Shaking the soot off his clothes as he went, he glided across the room on silent, hidden feet and made his way towards the front door, his dark robes trailing on the floor. "Just trying to save your soul from eternal strife is all...Oh my."
The demon cringed down at the trail of black he'd left across the rather ornate and expensive looking carpet. "I...I'm very sorry about that. Truly, I am," he said in all sincerity, looking guilty. "Wh-what are you doing with that vase? Isn't that one of your mother's—AAAHH!"
Batreaux ducked, narrowly dodging the antique vase Rupin chucked straight at his head. The vase flew over him and smashed into the wall. Rupin leaped over the couch, on the war path.
"Out," he spat, glaring daggers. He raised a second vase over his head threateningly.
"Okay, okay! I'm leaving!" Batreaux shrilled, throwing both hands up in defense. "Just please stop throwing things!"
The demon cowered against the wall with his yellow eyes scrunched tight and sidled around the outside of the room, stepping over broken china to get to the door. He fumbled with the knob and let himself out just in time as another flying vase shattered against the inside of the door.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
A/N: Rupin's so-called "negative influence" probably makes more sense if you've read "The Customer Is (Not) Always Right," where he's pretty much the cause of everyone's issues Link has to fix...or maybe the weird crap I write only makes sense to me. Who knows. Questions/comments/criticism always welcome and appreciated. Be back soon enough with the first spirit.