...

Edited 6/27/15

A/N: Happy 2-Year Anniversary! Does anyone who didn't just pick up this fic still remember Chapter 4: A Day Off? Probably not. If you're ever bored and you feel like rereading one chapter, go with that one.

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The Customer is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 20: New "Friends" and Old Enemies

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"I can't believe this! You've made a mess of everything!"

"I-I didn't mean to," Dovos stammers, gnawing on his fingernails. "It was an accident, I swear!"

"I trust you to handle the money for one minute. One minute. And you give a customer the wrong change?!" I think my blood pressure just shot through the roof. "How much did you owe them, Dovos?!"

"Twenty rupees."

"And what color rupee did you hand them?"

He recoils in fear. "Uh, an orange rupee. Which is uh...two hundred."

I shake my head. "This was a mistake."

I can tell by the look on his face he knows I don't just mean letting him handle the money.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't afford to keep an employee who confuses an orange rupee with a red one." I glare him in the eye. "Dovos, you're fired."

A shiver wracks his body. He burst into tears and runs out of the Bazaar, bawling all the way. It wasn't easy, but it had to be done. I can't afford screw-ups. I can't afford idiots.

I heave a sigh, exhausted. Yelling is so exhausting. I drift toward the storage room to take a break, but then stop when I sense someone behind me. I pivot around to find Peatrice standing the middle of my shop, her hands hidden behind her back. A teasing smile plays on her lips.

"Peatrice..."

She slides into my personal space, but I don't budge. If it's her, it's okay. I glance around, feeling inhibited, but she places a hand on my cheek and faces me towards her again, eyes sparkling. Yes, we're in the middle of the Bazaar, but suddenly I don't care so much anymore. Peatrice stands on her toes and leans very close to my face, lips parted ever so slightly. Her sweet breath tickles the side of my face as she whispers in my ear,

"you have to take care of the baby."

"What?" That was not what I expected at all.

She pulls back and frowns at me, thick eyebrows knit with impatience. Her fingers curl around my hands, clasping them in front of us. "You have to take care of the baby," she repeats intently. Her grip on my hand tightens. Uncomfortably so, until it hurts.

In the same moment, something sharp rakes across my back. On the edge of my vision, I see a cream-colored paw latches onto my shoulder. The remlit hisses and spits in my face when I jerk my neck around, bright yellow eyes seething. I scream and flail, trying to throw the creature off. But I can't. Because it's in a sling. A sling that's attached to my back.

A whimper of pain escapes me as it sinks its claws into my collar bone. I thrash wildly to escape, but Peatrice has me tethered to the spot. She clings ever tighter, crushing my bones in her big, meaty, man hand.

Except now she's not Peatrice anymore. Her face bubbles and fizzes like the surface of a cauldron as she undergoes a horrific transformation, growing taller, wider. Her lips puff out, and her thin face balloons into a muscular jaw. And then it's Manhands who has me in her clutches.

"You have to take care of the BAY-BAY!"

I shriek as she yanks me toward her to plant a sloppy kiss on my face. By some miracle, I dodge and rip free from her, jumping clear over the counter and flying out of the Bazaar. I claw desperately over my shoulders to rid myself of the remlit, fighting to keep its teeth and claws from scraping my neck. I keep running, but now I'm running out of ground, and the edge of Skyloft is drawing near.

In a moment of daring, I leave myself vulnerable and use both hands to rip the sling across my chest. I swing the remlit over my head and hurl it as hard as I can, flopping onto my belly and knocking the wind out of myself in the process . The remlit tumbles over the edge while still in the sling, hissing and screeching up at me as it falls further and further away. Panting and gasping for breath, I roll away from the edge and onto my back, just listening to the rise and fall of my chest as my breathing returns to normal.

Well, I took care of the baby...

I find the strength to stand up, a little shaky on my feet. Night has fallen, though strangely, I don't remember the sun ever going down. Was it this dark outside when I ran out of the Bazaar? I don't think so. A full moon sits low on the horizon, climbing into a starless sky.

I set my sights on the Bazaar. It's still all lit up, despite it being way past closing time. A muted light seeps through the tented orange roof, a glowing beacon atop the hill. Voices babble in the distance, low and indistinct.

I start back up the slope, compelled to return. I can't stay here. The baby will be back for me soon. How do I know this? I don't know. I just know.

When I make it back, the night air is unusually quiet and still, and the tapestries are obscuring the Bazaar's entrances. There doesn't appear to be anybody around. Odd. I could have sworn I heard people up here.

"Hello?" I venture.

No answer. I start to go inside and run straight into the tapestry, hitting my head hard. Grunting in discomfort, I hold my sore head in one hand and try to push through the lavish carpet with the other, but it won't budge. It's as hard and immovable as a slab of stone.

Perplexed, I continue around the Bazaar and feel my way toward the main entrance. I pound on the carpeted door when I get there, but I am met with the same result. It won't buckle either.

It's very dark now; the torches around the building are burning, but their light doesn't seem to reach me. The closer I wander to a torch, the worse my vision becomes, the darkness absorbing everything. I can't see more than a few feet in front of me. Heading for the last door, I take cautious steps and stretch my arms out in front of me, feeling as if I'm wading through a thick, black fog.

Something crunches under my foot, making me jump in surprise. I take a step back, and catch a glint of something shiny. I bend down to examine the object, at first thinking I stepped on broken glass. But then I realize it's a crystal ball. Sparrot's crystal ball, or the remnants of it. The ball is shattered in fragments both course and tiny, some pieces crushed so fine they slip through my fingers like grains of silver sand. A stray breeze sweeps them away.

A horrible sense of foreboding hovers over me. This was a bad idea to come back here. What was I thinking?

Goosebumps rising on my skin, I press onward and leave the shattered ball behind. After stumbling blindly through the dark for who knows how many minutes, I find myself at the dumpster behind the building. There are no torches here, but oddly, this looks to be the most well-lit place on the island, illuminated by a patch of dull yellow moonlight. I walk into the center of the moonlit dumpster. After tripping over my own feet in pitch black, the light has an inviting warmth to it. But somehow, I know in my gut I can't stay here. I have to move on.

Suddenly, I have a creeping sensation that I'm being watched. I give a start and seize up when I notice a burly figure lurking in the shadows at the edge of the dumpster, hiding in plain site. But then I breathe easy once I catch a glimpse of the person, relieved to see a familiar face.

"Gondo!" I exclaim, smiling. "Aha, what a relief..."

Gondo remains stone-faced, not returning my smile. He stands tall and rigid, partially shrouded in darkness. My heart pangs with dread. Something is off. Very off. At that moment, I realize he's holding something in each of his hands: two halves of a broken sign post.

"You did this," he says.

Nerves swirl in my stomach. My first instinct is to deny it, but that would be pointless. He knows. "I...I'm sorry," it comes out as a squeak. He purses his lips angrily. I can't see his eyes, but I can feel him glaring at me. "If I had known it was yours, I never would have—"

"I THOUGHT WE WERE BUDDIES!"

A lightning bolt of fear courses through me. Gondo takes a threatening step toward me, out of the shadows into the circle of moonlight. He unleashes an earsplitting screech like I've never heard before, chilling me to the bone. The pieces of signpost clatter to the ground and he falls to his knees, convulsing in pain.

I scream, but no sound comes out. I will myself to run, to hide, but my legs are paralyzed. I am simultaneously petrified and morbidly awed. Thick gray fur is sprouting from every inch of Gondo's body. With an anguished howl, he doubles over and tears his mask off, revealing two glowing yellow eyes. His face bulges into a shallow, black-nosed muzzle with razor sharp jaws, and his pointy ears bloom into round, bat-like ones. There's a horrible sound like bones scraping against one other as his spine reforms itself, arching and lengthening into a ringed tail. And then roaring before me is some sort of deranged remlit man, unrecognizable as my friend.

I don't stick around. I take off into the dark, moving my legs as fast as humanely possible. But I don't seem to be getting anywhere. The dim landscape stretches and warps around me, as if to prevent my escape. I can hear the remlit man growling and snarling close behind, bearing down on me. His giant paws thud loudly against the ground. I whimper in fear, but don't look back. He'll definitely catch me if I look back.

A moment earlier than I anticipate, a wall of muscle and fur slams into me from behind, and the ground disappears beneath my feet. We both hurtle over some unseen cliff, locked in mid-air combat. I twist around, kicking and punching frantically to fend him off, but he hooks my arm and holds fast, trying to snap at any part of me he can reach. I blink the water out of my eyes, and Skyloft is miles above us. We're plummeting toward the cloud barrier at an alarming rate.

"WINGY!" I scream into the void, flailing and scrunching my eyelids tight as if that'll prevent Gondo from clawing my eyes out. But it's useless. All useless...

I jar awake, slamming into not the cloud barrier, but my own bed. I press my fingers into the soft mattress beneath me.

A dream. It was just a bad dream.

My body is back in my house, but I still feel somewhat displaced. Half here and half there, heart pounding, mind still racing a million miles a minute. My nerves begin to dissipate as details of the dream fade rapidly into the recesses of my mind. But I'm still left with an uneasy feeling in my stomach, a bad taste in my mouth—or perhaps that's just the sour aftertaste of pumpkin juice.

I can't recall how I got here. Last thing I remember, I was at the Lumpy Pumpkin laughing and guzzling down pints. And then...well, here I am.

I sit up gradually and massage my temples, my head feeling as if it's full of lead. It spins with disjointed thoughts, some from last night, some from the dream that is still fresh in my mind. I shudder as the scene of remlit-Gondo trying to maim me replays, trying to push away the images. But as terrifying as that was, that's not what's causing the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Bertie. I was Bertie. Well, not really. I was still myself. But it was like I was Bertie. And Peatrice was Manhands. Yikes. What in the world brought that on? And then earlier on, Dovos was my employee and I was yelling at him for...something. I can't remember what, but the thought of him triggers more memories in me, real life ones. Dovos. Right, Dovos. I exchanged sob stories with him at the Lumpy Pumpkin all last night. Well, it was mostly him telling the sob stories, but still. I hung out with Dovos. The Village Idiot.

The more I think about it, the less real it seems, like it all came straight out of a dream as well. Wow. I really have hit an all-time low.

I exhale and throw the covers off. Whatever. I need to get to work. I should have been at work three hours ago. I shower quickly and throw on a fresh set of clothes. But just as I'm about to run out the door, I spy an ominous note on the kitchen table:

Rupin,

Don't bother coming home tonight.

Or tomorrow.

OR EVER.

Uh oh. Grinding my teeth together anxiously, I glance toward her bed, where a tuft of frizzy, dark blond hair pokes out from under the covers. I must have woken her at some point. She gets motion sickness if she's jarred out of sleep suddenly and pukes for three days straight. I'm pretty sure the "OR EVER" portion was just her being over-dramatic, but I had better stay away today and tomorrow if I know what's good for me. Usually enough clutter builds up in the house by then that she welcomes my return.

I grab a pillow off my bed and throw it in the shed before leaving for the Bazaar.

-:-:-:-:-

After chowing down on a quick breakfast of my usual pumpkin pancakes and coffee that tastes pleasantly of burnt caramel, I scurry down the Bazaar to open up the Gear Shop. I find myself unconsciously avoiding Gondo as I pass by his stall, drifting to the opposite side of the walkway. Funny how some offhand, insignificant little comment can file itself in the back of my head and warp into a full-blown horror while I'm asleep. I feel as if he's been tainted by my dream. Unfortunately, he's not the only person who's been tainted.

Out of habit, I glance toward the dingy Item Check, where Peatrice boredly traces one finger across the counter, a book propped open in her other hand. Almost immediately, the image of her face swelling into Manhands's storms my mind and I avert my eyes. I move on, the same uneasy, nauseating sensation elicited by that part of the dream swimming inside me. It's difficult to forget about someone I have to see everyday, who sits mere yards away from me. But when I picture her morphing into Manhands, it makes things a bit easier. Perhaps something useful came out of that horrific, pumpkin juice-induced nightmare after all.

To my astonishment, Sparrot is back in business now, and somehow he got his hands on a new crystal ball. It gleams before him, smooth and pristine, and I notice he's nailed the pedestal down to the table. I think to remark on this, but it's still too soon. It will always be too soon to speak to Sparrot.

I avoid his eyes and look straight ahead, letting a slow sigh hiss out of my mouth. Yep. Everything seems to have returned to normal.

Except now Dovos thinks I am his friend.

The second I turn the corner, there he is. Waiting for me in my shop. The compulsion to turn and run the other way hits me, but then he raises his head and waves, looking pleased to see me. Too late. Great. Just great.

"Ahem. Can I help you?" I say as I tread up to the store, coming off even more impersonal than I intended. I fumble for the key to the storage room and shuffle past him to get to the door, trying to appear aloof. Busy. Hoping he'll take a hint and understand this isn't the time. But those are very high hopes indeed. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence as I feel his gaze seeping into my back. I sense dismay in it; he'd hoped for a more enthusiastic greeting from me, probably.

"Uh. Actually..." I hear him shift. "I was hoping I could help you. In return for all the nice stuff you did for me. "

I pause, key inches from the lock. "You just want to...help."

"Uh huh."

"...Ah." Without turning around, I say quickly, "well thanks, but I don't need any help at the moment."

I wrench the door open and retreat inside the storage room, shutting it behind me. I know why he's here. I know he's here because he's hoping I'll give him a job. I don't remember a lot from last night, but I remember him asking about that. As far as I know, I didn't answer one way or another and the subject was left open-ended. Which means I still owe him an answer. Ugh.

I reluctantly walk back out to the shop with some gear, still trying to formulate a proper response should the dreaded job subject surface. I flit to the far counter to arrange a quiver of arrows for display, avoiding all eye contact. Just as I would with a needy homeless person on any other day. I've already gotten to experience him as my employee in dreamland and I've already decided the idea is repellent. A nightmare. The clear answer is 'no.' But how to put it? That is the question.

"A couple people asked me if I worked here," Dovos mentions casually.

"Really." My stomach clenches as I fiddle with a bent arrow, rolling the wooden shaft between my fingers. There's a tiny prickle of pain as a splinter lodges itself in my thumb. All of the sudden, the first scene from my nightmare seems scarily more plausible than I ever thought it could be. "And what did you tell them?"

"I said, 'I hope so one day!'"

I respond with a neutral, "Heh," refusing to look at him. So he's hoping I'll take it from here and be the one to address the whale in the room. Well, he's going to be waiting a very long time...

"I had a really good time at the Lumpy Pumpkin last night," he says.

"Mmhmm." I sidle down the counter to set up the next display.

"That was so much fun when we flew back to Skyloft together and hid from the guards! Huh huh! Good times."

I drop my armful of bombs all over the the floor. Three loud thuds sound through the store, but I barely notice them.

"That was REAL?!" I blurt out. I whip around to face him, grasping my head in both hands. Panic rises up in me. "I thought I dreamed that!"

"Nope," Dovos drones. "I've learned to just assume everything that happens is real."

"Oh—no. Gods no. This is terrible!"

I inhale deeply, and exhale, hands still pasted to my head. Suddenly conscious of where we are, I remind myself to lower my voice, to keep calm. Dovos doesn't seem anywhere near as freaked out as I am. As he should be. I get in his face and grab him by the collar to impress upon him how serious this is.

"You can't ever speak of this. Not to anyone. Not even to me. Do you understand me, Dovos?!" I tighten my grip and bunch his shirt in my hands, slanting my eyes dangerously. "It. Didn't happen."

His eyes bulge as he stares into mine, shrinking below my height. He gulps and nods his head up and down, resembling a fat little kid who's been chided for eating too many pumpkin cookies. I slacken my grip on him, hoping against all hope that he got that through his thick head.

"Um, I take it you're open for business now?" says an annoyed male voice behind me.

My perky shopkeeper smile springs into place as I whirl toward my new customer with clasped hands. "Indeed we are now, friend! Allow me to assist you!"

I happily drop the conversation with Dovos and bounce forward to help the customer, grateful for the diversion. I don't know why this guy asked me if I was open for 'business,' as it turns out he really just came here to ask me some run-of-the mill stupid questions, not give me his business. He walks off without buying anything.

After he's gone, Dovos still waits patiently in the middle of my shop. The entire time I was with the customer, I was hoping he would give up and wander away. But here he is still. Lingering. Loitering.

"As much as I'd love to talk to you right now, I am on the clock, so..." I trail off on purpose. The corner of my mouth twitches as I nod toward the exit as gently as possible.

Dovos grins stupidly. "I love talking to you too."

I emit an accidental groan, cringing inside. But he's oblivious as ever.

"I feel like...like you lit a fire under my butt. Did I use that right?" he blunders. "You make me hate myself, but in a good way. No...not myself. What I've become. You don't pretend like my problems don't exist, but you don't make me feel hopeless. You make me want to stop feeling sorry for myself and get better!" His voice grows rough and husky, like he might start crying. "I guess what I'm trying to say is," he croaks, "thank you."

Before I can react, he throws his entire weight into my body and wraps his arms around me. I seize up, smashed against him. I manage to free my arm and I give him an awkward, but firm pat on the back, holding my breath. "There, there." LET GO OF ME! ARRRGGH his back fat is squishy and he reeks of greasy hair follicles!

Seconds never seemed to last longer. He releases me from his hug of death and I finally breathe again, but my skin still crawls as I envision his stench sticking to me, following me everywhere I go. I need another shower.

My thoughts must have showed on my face, because Dovos quails sheepishly. He frowns and fidgets uncomfortably as he slowly realizes I am not the sentimental, touchy-feely type.

"Sorry...was that awkward?" It is now. "I didn't mean to uh, crush you."

He squeezes his own chest, to which I snort out my nose.

"Sometimes I wish they made bras for men."

I can't look at him. I have to turn away and hide my face in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. I don't need a mirror to know I'm bright red.

"For a long while, I tried to have a more positive body image. I would tell myself, 'us guys...we all like them. But now I can grow my own. That's not such a bad thing when you really think about i—'"

"DOVOS STOP!" I whirl on him, flustered. "Just stop! STOP." I take a deep breath and let my gaze drop to the floor, fists clenched at my sides. "I can't do this anymore, okay?!"

He flinches, caught off-guard by my outburst. "C-can't do what?"

"This!" I splutter. I point between us. "Us—whatever it is. This friendship...thing! Can't do it." I exhale. "Look, I know what you want from me. I know you came here hoping I would offer you an apprenticeship."

He goes slack in the jaw, like he's just been blindsided. Like he really is shocked that I had him all figured out. "I'm sorry!" he yelps. His shoulders droop. "It's just...I thought we became great pals yesterday, and uh...you did say 'we' just now. And after you told me about Henry—"

"Henry's not real!"

He balks. One second goes by, two seconds. He knits his brow in confusion, his features wrought with a mixture of shock and betrayal. "W-what?"

I sigh and duck my head in shame, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "It's a long story that has nothing to do with you. I made him up a long time ago to get myself out of a pinch. It just kind of happened. Henry wasn't even a paid apprentice—but that doesn't matter because he's fictional!" I snap up and force myself to face his disappointed mug as the rest of the truth comes spilling out. "The point is, I can't afford to hire someone full-time or even part-time. I'm sorry, but you'll have to search elsewhere."

"But last night you said—"

"I don't know what I said!" I shout. "That's the thing. That happy, upbeat guy you palled around with last night, who was all-too willing to offer you a job? He isn't real either. He only exists under the influence."

It's going to be cold. It's going to be harsh. But he has to face the facts.

"Maybe you can make friends in a day, but I don't."

"You don't mean to say..."

"Yep." I nod. "It's over, Dovos."

He whimpers pathetically, his hand shooting up to his mouth. He chews on his nails.

"Dovos, I was drunk...ugh, don't cry!"

And just like that, he crumbles into a weepy mess in front of me, in the middle of public. His face turns bright red and contorts like a newborn's, the tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping off his multiple chins.

"Ugh," I say again, and I can't help wrinkling my nose in disgust. You're a grown man, for heavens sakes. I look away, too tired to put on a sympathetic face. It's always easier to look away. "Hey. I didn't really mean all of that, okay," I tell him in a level tone, not wanting to sound too cold, nor too warm and accommodating. "I just said those things because…I get grumpy when people bother me while I'm working." Probably the most truthful thing I've said this year. "It's not you, it's me. It's just that I already have one friend and I don't think I can manage any more than that. Oh, for the love of—quit your crying already! Sheesh."

This only serves to make him bawl even harder.

"How about this. I'll help you write up a resume. Will that help?"

Dovos suddenly falls quiet, gazing at me with wet, but hopeful eyes. "You would do that...f-for me?" he blubbers through a film of tears.

"Sure. It's not that much trouble."

Gets me out of talking to Manhands, anyway. I fetch some paper and a quill from the store room, glad to find most of his tears have cleared up by the time I get back.

"So you made cupcakes." I begin jotting down some notes on the paper. "Remind me what else you did."

He sniffles and rubs his eye with a curled fist. "Well, I was a taste tester, a garbage man, I was a janitor at the Knight Academy for a month...I used to give out free hugs."

"What did you do most recently?"

"Uh...you've probably seen me hanging around the restaurant. These last couple years, I've been their gourmet. That's what they call me, anyway."

"Gourmet?" I inquire. "Like another taste tester?"

"Sort of? The restaurant people said they gave me a title because customers might get mad if they find out I'm getting free food. It's more like if they mess up an order and people send their food back—that happens pretty often—they'll bring it to me. Or they'll bring me unfinished plates. And they give me the stale bread and pastries they can't sell anymore. The food would just be thrown out otherwise."

"So you're their garbage disposal."

"Yeah," he says. "I'm like their garbage disposal."

Well, that solves one mystery. I did wonder how he's managed to stay fat all this time. "'Gourmet' sounds kind of prestigious, so we'll just go with that," I decide, writing it down. "It's better than nothing."

Over the next hour or so, I manage to weed a bunch of information out of him and arrange it into something presentable. Why do I care about helping this guy? Maybe it's because if he can bounce back, anyone can. Or maybe it's because I'm still nervous he's suicidal and I feel partially responsible.

"There you go. You're all set." I clack the short stack of papers against the counter to straighten them, clip them together, and hand them to Dovos. "If you get an interview, be sure to talk up your strong points. If they ask you about your weaknesses, turn them into strengths."

Dovos pouts, the skin on his chins rumpling up like a raisin. "But isn't that lying?"

"It's not lying. It's just twisting the truth."

He gives me an uncertain stare. "Okay...thank you."

I send him off with an encouraging smile. "Good luck!" Don't kill yourself, I'm tempted to say outright, but I don't want to give him any ideas. Still looking befuddled, he drifts toward the exit and starts to wander away. There he goes. He's somebody else's problem now.

Dovos ventures a few steps from my shop before he stops cold. He turns back around. No. Why.

I can see him trying to hold it in, but a loud sob forces its way out of his throat and he breaks down all over again. He sets the resume down on the counter and reaches up to wipe his face, quivering.

"I'm sorry. Sorry...sorry," he murmurs over and over between sobs and hiccups, apologizing for crying in the most pathetic display I have ever seen. Clear, glistening snot oozes from his squashed nose. "It's just...you made me look really good on this piece of paper, but it isn't me!" he moans. "If someone interviews me they'll know right away it's all a lie!"

"Well, yeah. You have to sell yourself a little," I say. "Everything always seems greater on paper than it actually was."

He wails louder than Bertie's baby. Gods. He's a nervous wreck. He's going to kill himself. He's going to kill himself, isn't he? I can't have that on my conscience.

Without facing him, I hand him a spare handkerchief. He dries off his face and tries to give it back.

"No. I don't want it."

His nose whistles as he sighs, "sorry."

"Stop saying sorry."

"Sorry...ack, I did it again!"

I just shake my head, letting that last offense roll off. "I know you've probably heard this millions of times, but you need to have some more confidence in yourself. Remember what I said yesterday? About having a choice and all that crap."

He nods in silence. I don't even remember what I said, so it must have been pretty darned good.

"Well, you can't forget about that. Right now, you have to make a choice. Choose to take control of your life."

He stares at me in awe. Like I'm a god. Ugh, the pressure.

"Become the man on the paper, Dovos," I tell him, tapping the resume lightly. I pick it up, and as politely as I can, shove it back into his hands, looking him in the eye. "They're not lies if you believe them."

He purses his lips into a tight line, his eyes welling up. Aggravation broils inside me. I just wish he would go away already! How many more times are we going to go through this?!

"Hey, you're free pretty much every night, right?" I am talking way too fast right now. "We'll go to the Lumpy Pumpkin again sometime. How's that sound?"

He perks up at this. "Oh...O-okay." He tries to suck up some snot, smiling a little. "When...?"

"Just sometime."

...

"Okay, Saturday. Whatever," I grumble out. "We'll go Saturday night and you can tell me how your job search is coming." And you have to be alive for it. I'm holding him accountable.

"Yay!" He wriggles with happiness. Frustratingly enough, this seems to have cheered him up ten times more than the resume bit. Well, this is the last time I'm going to do this for him, and then I swear I'm washing my hands of this guy. That's it. Then it's someone else's turn. I have been way too nice for my own good today.

Again, Dovos starts to go, and I celebrate inwardly. I can only hope this will satisfy him for the time being, and having something to look forward to will keep him from bothering—no, smothering me at work.

But then he stops dead. Again.

His eyes are glued to the Knight Academy entrance. I follow his gaze and instantly realize what halted him in his tracks. Quill stands in the entranceway, eyeing Dovos like a hungry loftwing eyes its prey, and it is immediately apparent he's not here to do some shopping. He strolls toward us purposefully, flanked by an extremely peeved-looking Pumm. Uh oh.

"Are you Dovos?" prompts Quill.

Dovos hesitates. "Uh...yeah."

"Look familiar?"

Quill holds up a gray loftwing feather, soiled with pumpkin slop and dirt. The worry etched on Dovos's face reflects exactly how I feel on the inside. His nerves seem to permeate the air, mingling with my own. Oh no. If they know about the pumpkin shed, what else did they find out? I discreetly scoot backwards, so as not to be associated with him. His mouth moves silently. No, idiot. Don't! But Dovos doesn't have to say a word to give it away; the expression on his face says it all.

Quill smirks. "Looks like we found our culprit," he says with a note of amusement. "You're going to have to come with us."

Yep, he was bluffing. And idiot here fell right into it. He stands there, utterly stunned and dumbfounded as Quill makes his way over to him, rope in hand. Only once Quill starts binding his wrists together does he jolt back into reality.

"B-but...I don't want to go to jail!" He howls. He flails helplessly, like a dying fish.

"Too bad that's not your decision, buddy." Quill pulls the rope tight, cutting off Dovos's feeble struggle. "You know, I heard something very interesting from my patrol partner last night."

Dovos freezes, his eyes growing even wider. My heart drops into my stomach.

"She said she found you on the south side of Skyloft in the wee hours of the morning, out cold. But something doesn't quite add up, seeing as you were at the Lumpy Pumpkin destroying Pumm's property last night. Want to help me do the math, or don't you remember?"

Dovos begins shaking. Beads of sweat collect on his forehead, shining under the bright chandelier lights.

"Tell me, how were you in two places at once? Unless...you flew back from the Lumpy Pumpkin at night."

"Ahaha! Did you hear that, Luv?" I pipe up, thinking fast. She snaps her head up and looks at me in surprise. It is true that I don't normally initiate the conversations. "If that's true, I wonder who was on duty when they let this one slip past them. Such incompetence," I sneer. "They'll be demoted for sure when Eagus catches wind of this." I cast a meaningful glance at Quill, one he doesn't miss. Just like my mother taught me.

"What's it to you?" he demands, ever so slightly defensive.

I give a casual shrug, leaning against the counter. "Nothing, really. I just think we should save the prison cells for the people who deserve them."

I can tell he wants to retaliate, but the stifling pressure of professionalism keeps him quiet. Not that his behavior has been professional thus far. I very much doubt that interrogation would have taken place if his superiors were around.

"Well, the breach in curfew will require...further investigation. And as much as I hate to admit it, the gear peddler does make a valid point." Frown lines crease Quill's square jaw. "You're off the hook for now, vagrant. But there is still the problem of the squashed pumpkins to answer for, which you all-but confessed to, I might add. That will have to be settled between you and Mr. Pumm."

Pumm glares from afar. Quill tugs on the end of the rope, pulling Dovos along with the makeshift leash. I avoid his pleading gaze as he's dragged by, wearing a mask of indifference. Sorry. You're on your own for this one.

I wince to myself as the trio exits the Bazaar. Well, I guess I got my wish. In a way. He went away, but not quite in the manner I'd hoped. I guess this was bound to catch up with him sooner or later. What will happen to him if he gets thrown in jail? There's really nothing else I can do without risking my own skin. I take a deep breath and let it out, if only to rid myself of the anxiety that's pricking at the inside of my chest like tiny needles. Here's to hoping Dovos keeps his big mouth shut and doesn't get either of us into more trouble. If they find out I flew back at night too...I expel a nervous breath. No. I don't want to think about it.

At least I won't have to buy him another pumpkin juice if he gets put in jail. Yes, there is a bright side to all this. It sounds horrible, but I'd be lying to myself if I said that hasn't been brewing in the back of my mind since Quill said, "you're going to have to come with us."

Just then, I sense a customer hovering at the entrance of my shop. I swivel my head toward them. Oh, no. It's just Beedle.

I do a double take. Beedle?!

Beedle shifts his feet, looking somewhat awkward and out of place. He's just been standing there, waiting for me to notice him. I think I knew on a subconscious level he was there, I just didn't want to deal with the interruption. Witnessing Beedle in public is like seeing a ghost in the middle of the day, but alas, here he is in all his bare-chested glory. Ugh. For Goddess sakes, Beedle. People here are trying to eat.

"Let's see..." I grab my clipboard and pretend to scrawl on it, making a point to look him up and down systematically. Beedle must have the ugliest feet in the world, and yet he still insists on wearing sandals. "No shirt, no shoes..." I swipe the quill across the paper purposefully and look him straight in the eye.

"No service."

He just stares at me, dead-eyed.

"It was a joke."

"Well, it was a bad one."

Ouch. "Forgive me, dear friend! I meant no insult," I say with a disarming smile. I guess he's not in the mood. Well, I'm not in the mood to put up with him either. I snatch my wooden shield by the handle and brandish it in front of me. "Perhaps I can interest you in a fine wooden shield?" I wiggle my eyebrows. It's made of dead trees.

Beedle looks legitimately annoyed this time. "I'm not here to buy anything from you, Rupin," he says, impatience permeating his tone. He rests a hand on the counter. "You promised me a favor."

Luv chortles in the background.

"Don't mind him, Beedle!" she hollers across the way. "Rupin tries to sell everybody overpriced firewood."

I shoot her a look. No one asked you. "I owe you a favor, you say?" I set the shield down and turn my attention back on Beedle, crossing my arms. "Re-enlighten me."

"Have you really forgotten our deal over the precious stone I gave to you nary a moon ago?"

"Oh. That." I chew the inside of my lip as the unfortunate memory reestablishes itself in my mind. "You know what? I don't even care about that Goddess plume anymore. You can just have it ba..." I threw it out. "Er...actually, I just remembered I don't have it anymore."

Beedle surveys me crossly as I produce a silver rupee from my apron. As much as it pains me to do this, I guess I should have expected he'd return at some point. Ugh, I want to punch myself in the face.

"Here," I say, offering the rupee in my outstretched hand. "That should cover it."

Beedle doesn't make a move to take it. He slowly blinks at me with those close-set eyes of his, like he expects me to read his mind.

"Okay, I get it. It's been a while, so you were expecting some interest." I slap a couple green rupees on top of the silver one. "There. All yours."

Beedle spurns my rupees in disdain, turning his nose away. "If I needed or desired a monetary reimbursement, I would have approached you long ago," he says coolly. "What I require is YOU, Rupin. More precisely, your time, talent, and expertise."

His manner takes a turn for the somber. He crosses one arm over his chest and massages his shoulder, eyes cast down to the floor. "I regret to inform you my beloved horned colossus beetle has gone missing," he says with a grave heaviness. "I've been so very broken up over this sobering turn of events...I'm sure I've mentioned to you he means more to me than anyone."

"Any pet, you mean?"

Beedle doesn't answer the question. "In my atrabilious state, I pondered and puzzled over what course of action to take in light of this personal tragedy. And then a certain memory stirred within me, a memory of the deal we struck once upon an early summer's afternoon." He stares me in the eye. "I have no doubt in my mind an expert treasure hunter such as yourself could aid me in locating my jewel of a beetle. And so I propose in return for those crystallized Goddess tears, you accompany me on my search for my precious pet."

He wants me to do what? "And," I say, "just when exactly are you proposing we do this?"

"It would have to be during daylight hours, of course, since loftwings can't fly after dusk. Can you take off work an hour or two early every day?"

He can't be serious. "That sounds...unnecessarily tedious. Don't you think? Why don't I just pay you back in rupees instead," I assert.

"I don't know why you keep insisting on paying me. Is this not an infinitely more desirable option?" he asks. He's completely serious. "The fresh air will perform wonders for your health! Come now, a little time in the wilderness will do you good, and you won't have to spare a rupee."

But time is money. Money is time. And you'd have to pay me thrice my average hourly earnings to spend that time with Beedle. "Friend, you speak too greatly of me!" I chuckle modestly, waving my hand. "Treasure hunting really is not as intricate or glamorous as I've made it out to be in the past." I let my expression fall straight. "Mostly, I just pick a random island and go around blowing up rocks."

This garners an expected eyebrow raise.

"So you know, I don't think taking me on your little search expedition will be very environmentally friendly. When I see a cluster of rocks, I just can't resist lighting a bomb and blasting them to smithereens. Bomb shells littered all over the place, harmful chemicals and pollutants seeping into the ground...it's not a pretty sight."

Beedle mulls over my words a moment. "Oh no," he says, "I don't believe it for a second! I think you're just trying to weasel out of our deal. Rupin." He gives me a stern look. "You gave me your word."

I just stare at him blankly, like all the times he's dead-stared me. So...what? The word is the end all, be all, some binding contract sealed in blood? And quite frankly, I don't remember making any such promises. I glance around, suddenly realizing our conversation is the object of a good many attention spans. It would seem we've attracted a small audience, though I can't imagine why this anyone would find this exchange interesting. I grit my teeth. Ergh. Why won't he just take my rupees?

"You gave me your word and I intend to hold you to it," Beedle reiterates calmly. Is that a threat? He takes a step toward me. "Rupin. An honorable salesman holds true to his word."

I look around at the people, and realize just why they are here lining up at my shop. These people are Beedle's fans, flocking around him like his pagan familiars. Intentional or not, he got me. Curses. But in spite of my predicament, I find it within me summon one last-ditch, innocent smile. "Does no one give out of the goodness of their hearts anymore?"

Everyone keeps their eyes trained on me, unmoving, unblinking, united in their disfavor. I tried.

"Fine," I concur reluctantly. I swallow my defeat. "I'll help you look for your beetle."

An exuberant smile crosses Beedle's face. "Very well! Then we shall rendezvous outside the Bazaar at 3:00 this afternoon! I'll see you then, old bug."

"3:00?" I say in the most matter-of-fact tone I can manage. "I was thinking closer to 4:00."

"3:30 then."

"...Okay." Don't push it.

Beedle parts on that terse note with a simple nod, looking way too satisfied with himself. He walks barely three feet before one of the chumps waiting by my shop stops him. Others gather around behind him.

"Beedle! Can I get your autograph for my daughter?!" His hands shake with frantic excitement as he urges a paper and quill into his hands. Excuse me while I go and vomit.

Upon Beedle's departure, the members of his little cult scatter, without buying anything from my shop, I might mention. I still can't believe I just let him guilt me into going on some kind of daily search expedition for a walnut-sized bug with him. The nerve!

"Beedle! Beedle! ...Where's Beedle?" The high, squealing voice of Gully invades my ears, disrupting my thoughts. "I heard he was over here!"

"You just missed him, sonny," Manhands tells him. "Whoa, look at you!" she exclaims in his direction, smacking her hands to her cheeks in exaggerated surprise, and I can't help but turn to see what provoked such an enthusiastic reaction out of her. My jaw practically hits the floor as I set eyes on the conundrum before me.

There is Gully with a giant of hunk wood hanging off him, or rather, there is a walking signboard with hands, feet, and an ugly little face sticking out the top.

Beedle's Bargains!

Everything In-Store 10% Off!

Limited Time Only

The signboard is not made of just any old wood, but recycled wood. It looks like it was pieced together from multiple sources; I even pick out bits of my white bird claw decal that is stamped on all my wooden shields. It's held together front and back with lengths of bamboo that run over Gully's shoulders, displaying the same message on both sides. Yes. Beedle has transformed this child into a living, breathing advertisement for his business.

This. This is sick. This has to be illegal in some way. It has to be. Beedle has taken this sweatshop thing to a whole new level.

"Vouching for Beedle's Air Shop now, are you?" asks Manhands.

"Uh huh!" Gully hops an entire inch off the ground, wiggling the stubs that are his hands. "Beedle said if I wear this seven hours a day, he'll give me my very own bug net for free!"

You have to be freaking kidding me.

"Well, I just think that's the sweetest thing," says Manhands. She ogles him fondly as he waddles out of the Bazaar, nearly losing his footing and careening into a wall in the process.

"That'll be a good job for Booby when she gets a little older," she remarks to Bertie. "She can be our little mascot!"

Huh? Who now? My eyes settle on the baby. Wait—

They named their baby BOOBY?!

I...no comment.

"You—"

"Hmm?" Manhands turns, raising an eyebrow at me.

"You finally picked out a name for the baby!" I finish.

"Yup. Sure did!" Luv beams and places her hands on her hips, chin up. "Named her after Bertie's late mother. Isn't that right, sweetie?"

Bertie musters a smile to match his wife's, bouncing the child in his arms. Don't look so proud of yourself, Bertie.

"Ahahaha. Ha. How about that," I say lightly, somehow twisting my cringe into a happy grin. "How wonderful for you!" I give up on these people.

"Her granny was a strong woman," Luv says. "I can only hope she lives up to her namesake."

I smile and nod. It sounds ironic, but sometimes I think smiling is seriously what keeps me sane. If I smile wide enough, I can almost convince myself the world isn't going down in flames around me.

As I'm musing upon the collective idiocy of society, a familiar little girl with a poofy ponytail toddles by, not a mother or father in sight. Yet another unaccompanied child on the loose. Lousy parents, I think. But then a wise idea pops into my head, and I glimpse an opportunity before me. Oh, you wonderful, lousy parents...

My lips twist into an evil smirk. Beedle thinks he's so smart. Well. Two can certainly play at this game. What was her name again? Kucco? Kukatiel? Whatever, I'll figure it out later.

"Hey kid!"

"Mmm?" She looks up at me and tilts her head in a rather endearing fashion. I let my smile grow.

"You want to make some money?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A/N: I am sorry. Sort of.

Poll results are in! Tied for first for most wanted character, we had...Link and Groose! Wow, that's so surprising. Kukiel and Batreaux tied for second, followed by Karane and Orielle in third. It looks like readers also want to see more of Peatrice, Scrapper, and Beedle. I won't bother listing everything here, so if you're curious as to who got votes, the results are displayed on my profile. Man, no one voted for Peater! Even though he's like, my favorite character to write other than Rupin. And no one voted for Croo either. Sorry Croo, but I agree on this one. You've outlived your uselessness.

This actually helped, believe it not. I was going to scrap scrapper for probably the 5th time, but then once I saw some people cared about him, my brain magically came up with a pretty decent way of integrating him. I don't think anyone will be dissatisfied, but some of you might have to wait a while.