The afternoon light fades to dusk over the foot-worn cobbled streets of Oblimos. As the townsfolk retreat to their homes for supper, the Weeping Eye perches on the rooftop of his hotel, observing the red-painted door of the Post Office. From his vantage point, he will see anyone that enters or leaves the building and stay watchful of any suspicious-looking characters.
His mind wanders to the Hidden Village, with its rusted corrugated rooves that reflected the orange of twilight. The Moonshade Inn, where he would retire to after a long day of training at the Dojo, served the simplest but most refreshing milk his taste-buds had ever known. The creamy texture, the rich flavour…his mouth waters solely at the memory…
His daydream melts away as he spots a slender male meandering nimbly through the streets. Dark hair, beige jacket; nothing particularly stands out about him…except for the blade he has neglected to conceal, poking beneath his belt. The Weeping Eye focuses upon his suspect as he heads for the red-painted door. Ningan leaps from the rooftops with the agility of a squirrel and hangs his head over the windowsill of the Post Office. He peers inside.
"Hands up!" the masked man order, brandishing his knife like a sword. The Zora attendant behind the counter thrusts her hands in the air. Her lone customer copies.
"Give me all the goods you have stored in the back!"
The Zora attempts to resists. "Sir, those items are confidential-"
"I don't care!" he growls. "Give them to me, or I come over there and take them for myself!"
She obediently reaches behind the counter, while making sure to keep her back to the wall. The Goron customer watches in bewilderment as she hands him a disparate array of items: an empty bottle filled with bugs, a cluster of beans, and an unsuspecting sack tied with string.
"Your co-operation is appreciated." the knifeman says as he snatches the goods from her grasp. "Have a nice day."
He turns to face the door only to receive a punch to the face. He stumbles to the floor, scattering his stockpile across the tiles. He peers through the eyeholes of his moth-shaped mask to examine his assailant: a stocky, slender man dressed from head-to-toe in dazzling scarlet looms over him.
"Return the items to the desk." the vigilante commands. "Otherwise, I will be forced to knock your teeth out."
"Who the hell are you?!"
"That's none of your business." he retorts. "Your business right now is keeping your dentures intact. I'll say it once more: return the items to the desk."
The Mothwing draws his knife. Ningan kicks it with his boot so that it hurtles across the floor. The robber yelps before he is grabbed by the collar of his coat and lifted into the air.
"I warned you not once, but twice." his attacker hisses in his face. He retracts his fist and uppercuts the man's jaw, knocking a tooth out. He throws his feeble victim to the floor and watches him scrabble to pick up the stolen goods while containing the blood in his mouth.
"Your co-operation is much appreciated." the Weeping Eye sneers. "But if I catch you causing trouble here again, you won't have a single tooth remaining in that cocky mouth of yours. Have a nice day."
He exits the Post Office feeling exuberated with adrenaline and strangely fulfilled. Is this what it feels like to help others? Regardless, all he can think about is how refreshing a coconut milk cocktail would taste on his tongue at this very moment.