Hello, everyone! Sorry this chapter is late, it did not want to be written. This will be the only part; I'll try to make it as long as i can. I disn't have a lot of ideas for Bufkin's story, and the two people I would usually ask haven't been around for weeks, so I did my best. After this, six more chapters until the end of the second arc! Then the third arc, which will be about ten chapters, and then the sequel! I'm not gonna lie, I toyed with a brief little plot bunny involving a busted drug gang, but I clipped it. There's an easter egg to that plot bunny in the story still, though. See if you can find it!

One last thing. I've decided that from now on, chapters will be as long as they want. I'll still have a 2000 word minimum, but other than that, they can be 2001 or 100,000 words. It will tell me. I don't want to stretch things out for the sake of word count, cause then the story will feel all forced. Okay? Okay.

Anyway, COMMENT REVIEW TIME!

Losthero171: Sorry you had to wait. Glad you liked the chapter! Tweedles are, indeed, posteriors.

ReadALLtheBooks: That may be the most random comment I've ever seen. 11/10.

Not much else to say, so LET THE STORY BEGIN!

Two years, nine months after the discovery of Fabletown

I stared glumly at the yellow tape that encircled the dry cleaner's, taking in the morbid red sign hung on the door. Condemned, by City Order. I had come down this morning expecting to work, but now, I realized, I was out of a job. I had already seen Mr. Baltazhar come out the back door with a box of knick knacks, paperwork, and the familiar tiny potted cactus. When he'd caught sight of me, he'd shaken his head sadly before hurrying away.

I should have seen this coming. With the exception of Snow, very few people came to this place anymore, and it had fallen into general disrepair. Mr. Baltazhar had even had to dock my pay a few times, apologizing profusely each time. I really should have seen it coming. It still stung, though.

I stood there for a minute, looking sadly at the dry cleaners, as if staring at the glaring red sign would make it go away and give me back my job. No matter how much I hoped, the letters stayed, just as condemning and depressing as before.

Finally giving up, I heaved a sigh, turned, and started the walk back home, hands thrust in my pockets. I'd miss that dry cleaners with its quirky grafitti and silver bell.I'd miss Mr. Baltazhar, and seeing Snow so frequently. I definitely wouldn't miss Adaria, though. Maybe that's the silver lining in this, I thought. I won't have to put up with her anymore...

Right then, there was a loud thunk and a strangely familiar yelpfrom the alley next to me. I jumped, startled, and after I had calmed down, peered into the shadows. "Hello?" I said cautiously, trying to make out shapes in the gloom. "Is anyone there?"

For a second, I was certain no one would answer, but then I heard it- a hiccup. A squeaky, definitely familiar hiccup.

Incredulous, I stepped into the alley. The noise had come from somewhere near the back, so I made my way there, doing my best to avoid the garbage and broken bottles littering the ground. The hiccup came again, closer this time. I stepped over a particularly rancid garbage bag that was buzzing with flies and realized I had reached the back wall. Sprawled against the wall, half-hidden under a garbage bag, wearing an empty tuna can like a crown and clutching a nearly-empty bottle of something translucently pink and vaguely sparkly, was Bufkin.

The flying monkey looked terrible. His face was pale and sweaty, his fur was a mess, and his wings were splayed out, feathers pointing in all directions. Bits of garbage clung to him in random places, and the tuna can on his head didn't help. No doubt, he was drunk. Drunker than anything had a right to be.

Bufkin looked up at me dolefully, shrugging off the garbage bag, lifting the bottle with effort, and taking a swig. He ended up spilling most of it on himself, but he didn't seem to notice or care. "Gree'ings, Miss Whi'e…" he gave another hiccup. "I mean, Miss Ma'ison. Wha brings you to 'he Busi'ess Office?"

Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad. I had no idea how Bufkin had gotten here, or where he had gotten that bottle (I craned my neck and was able to make out the words "Sitceach's- Do Not Drink!) but I knew it was dangerous for him to be out here. Fables like Snow and Bigby could at least pass for human, but a flying, talking green monkey? That would be noticed.

I knelt down until I was face to face with Bufkin. His breath smelled potent and sweet and sticky, like cough syrup and flowers times one thousand. "Bufkin," I said, as calmly as I could manage. "How much have you drunk?"

Bufkin bubbled out a weak laugh. "I stopped coun'ing at two. I's fi'e," he added, head lolling as he held up the bottle. "I kno' my limi's." He lifted the bottle up to his lips and practically poured the rest of the alcohol over his face, leaving his already disgusting fur pink and glittery. He licked his lips, then looked at the now-empty bottle and sighed sadly. "Damm i'. All finished." Without even looking, he tossed the bottle into a corner, where it shattered with a loud crash.

I jumped, then took a deep breath and shook my head. "It's not fine, Bufkin. We have to get you back to the office. Someone-" I cut myself off and frowned. "One of the Mundanes might see you and take you away." It felt strange to use that term.

Bufkin laughed again. " Bu' you're a Munda'e, Miss Ma'ison," he slurred, staggering to his feet. The tuna can on his head clattered to the ground.

I sighed, already fed up with his attitude. "I know that, Bufkin. But that doesn't matter. You need to go back to the office."

Bufkin frowned, wobbling. "Don' tell me w'at 'o do. I ca' ge' back by myself."

I grit my teeth. It was clear that Bufkin wasn't going to listen to me, and I doubted I could hide him like this. As he was right now, there was no way in heaven or hell he would get back to the office without being noticed. At best, he'd try to fly and crash into a window or some power lines. At worst, he'd be caught, and then all of Fabletown would be exposed. There was really only one way I could think of to get Bufkin back to the office without anyone hearing him and without him revealing himself.

I looked around the alley until, extraordinarily, I saw exactly what I needed. Lying on top of a nearby garbage can, discarded and grimy, was a warped, rusty frying pan. Grabbing it in one hand and ignoring the dirt covering it, I lifted it over my head and took aim, feeling like I was putting down a pet. "Bufkin," I said grimly. "I'm sorry about this."

He looked up at me curiously, which made me feel even worse. "Hey," he said, taking a drunken step towards me. "Wha' are you gonna do wi'h-"

I didn't let him finish. I brought the frying pan down on his head, not as hard as I could, but close. There was an awful-sounding clang, and Bufkin hit the ground like a puppet with cut strings, silent.

I dropped the frying pan and dropped to my knees, briefly worried that I had hit him too hard. However, a quick check revealed no blood, and that he was still breathing. Sighing in relief, I hunted around for a garbage bag to put him in. I found something even better- an abandoned duffel bag that was only a little bit dirty. The inside was, for some reason, stuffed full of leaking bags of flour. I put those in a corner and placed Bufkin inside the bag as gently as I could. I zipped the top, careful to leave a hole so that he didn't suffocate.

Slinging the bag over my shoulder and trying to look natural, I stepped out of the alley and started in the direction of the office. At first, I was paranoid that somebody would think something was strange and stop me, but nobody seemed to think that anything was wrong.

The walk to the office passed in tense anticipation. I was nervous that Bufkin would suddenly wake up and go crazy, especially since a screaming, flying monkey would be hard to explain. There was one close call where I was almost certain that the bag twitched, but noting happened after that, so I was able to keep going. I walked the route on autopilot- down the streets, into the building, down the stairs, to the door. For once, there was no line, so I bustled through the door as quickly as I could.

Inside was the usual clutter. Stacks of books, assorted shelves and cabinets, piles of magical artifacts and the model pirate ship soaring in circles around the ceiling. Snow's desk sat in the middle of the room; however, Snow wasn't sitting in it. She was too busy having a shouting match with Bigby.

"What the hell were you thinking, leaving that stuff where he could get it?" Snow yelled. Her face was red, her eyes were wild; her usual bun was coming apart at the seams and her finger was pointing at Bigby accusingly. I had never seen her so upset.

Bigby wasn't backing down, though. "How was I supposed to know he was stupid enough to drink it?" he fumed. "He knew that stuff belonged to Sitceach- and he knew damn well that it was too strong for him! It's his own fault!"

"That's not the point!" Snow raged. "If the Mundies see him, then they'll start getting curious. And when Mundies get curious, they never go away. We won't be able to-"

Comically, both Snow and Bigby saw me at the same time. The color drained out of Snow's face; she dropped her hands, which had been raised in anger. Bigby didn't change much, he just heaved a sigh so heavy I could have sworn I felt my hair blow back. Then again, he was technically a wind demigod, so that was a possibility.

"Madison, this is a really bad time," Snow said. Bigby began walking towards me in order to, no doubt, escort me to the door.

I smiled in spite of myself. "Oh, I know," I said. I couldn't help but be proud of myself, and it must have shown. "But it's about to get better." I beamed, unzipped the duffel bag, and set it on the ground. I nudged it with my foot. "Look inside," I said smugly.

Bigby sighed again, but finished his walk over. "Listen, this better be-" he cut himself off, staring down into the bag, face going from worried and annoyed to shocked in seconds.

"What is it?" Snow said, voice agitated but still curious. "Bigby, what's in the bag?"

Bigby didn't say anything. He just reached down, grabbed Bufkin's arm, and lifted him out of the bag, turning and brandishing his limp body like a crucifix.

Snow's eyes widened until they took up half her head. She staggered, clutching her chest, and leaned heavily onto her desk. "Is...is he?" she said faintly. She didn't have to finish her sentence to tell us what she meant.

Bigby shook his head. "No, he's just knocked out." As if to prove his point, Bufkin gave a rattling snore. Bigby strode over to Snow and set the monkey down on the desk. "See?"

Snow let out a huge, whooshing breath. Then, so fast I nearly got whiplash, she rounded on me, a look of intense relief on her face. "Madison," she said, before coming over and, to my complete shock, giving me a hug. "Thank you."

I returned the hug hesitantly. "You're welcome, Snow," I said. "What happened, anyway?"

Snow pulled away, all business again. "Bigby brought the Woodsman in last night," she said slowly, walking back over to her desk, high heels clicking against the floor. "He had gotten drunk again-" I could here the stress on the word, and from what I knew about the Woodsman, was able to assume this was one of many, many times, "- and had a few bottles of wine on him. He'd stolen it from a wood fae that manages the building he lives in." Seeing the shock on my face, she plowed on. "Fae have a natural resistance to normal alcohol, so they drink lotus wine, which is much stronger. Bufkin and I had had a little argument, so he took the bottles while we were occupied with The Woodsman and took off. We found out this morning."

That explained the shimmery pink color of Bufkin's drink.

Snow wasn't finished, however. "So Madison, where did you find him?"

I shrugged. "An alley. He was downing another bottle when I found him, and he was too drunk to compromise with, so I hit him over the head with a frying pan."

Bigby smirked. Snow, however, remained composed. "I appreciate you bringing him in, Madison," she said. "You'll probably want to go, though. When he wakes up, Bufkin's going to be a little crazy. It's not usually something that one would want to see."

I was tempted to stay, but I could tell Snow was stressed, so I decided against it. "Sure thing, Snow," I said, nodding. I turned to leave, but stopped when I heard a noise. A hiccup.

Before any of us could do anything, Bufkin's eyes opened, took one look at the scene around him, gave a drunken screech, and took to the air. He wobbled, but was able to stay aloft.

"Bufkin!" Bigby called, annoyed. "Come down from there. You're drunk!"

"No wa'!" Bufkin howled, staggering through the air and narrowly avoiding the flying ship. "If I come dow', you'll jus' bea' me up! I've ha' it!" Snarling, he went into a dive, hurtling through the air- directly towards Snow.

Snow yelped and flung herself to the ground, narrowly avoiding Bufkin's foot, which swooped through the air exactly where her face had been moments before. Not prepared to have missed, Bufkin kept going and crashed into a bookshelf. The whole thing wobbled precariously before toppling over, the books stacked on it falling to the ground and covering Bufkin.

"Snow!" Bigby said, striding over to her and offering her a hand. "Are you alright?"

Snow took it and stood up, shaking. "I'm alright, Bigby," she said. She dusted herself off. "What about Bufkin?"

On cue, the pile of books shook, and Bufkin's head popped out of the top. He clawed his way out of the pile, taking to the air again before Snow, Bigby, or I could do anything. "I' no' finishe'!" he growled, flapping high into the air before twirling and diving again, towards me this time.

I moved away too late. Before I could duck, Bufkin slammed into me, clawing and biting and fighting like a demon. I fell over, screamed and lifted my arms to shield myself, scrabbling to throw him off, but he clung to me like a leech.

Just like that, Bufkin flung himself up into the air and flapped his wings, leaving me on the ground, face and arms scratched and bleeding. I looked up and saw Bufkin flying as fast as he could to the back of the office.

Snow and Bigby stared at me, Bigby agitated, Snow horrified. "Are you alright, Madison?" Snow said nervously.

I stood up and shook myself off. I was scratched in a few places, but the cuts weren't deep, and they only stung a bit, so I shrugged them off. "I'm fine. We need to worry about Bufkin right now!"

There was a loud crash from the back of the office, followed by a yelp. Without saying anything, Bigby, Snow, and I ran towards the sound.

At the back of the office, sprawled out next to the silver chariot, was Bufkin. One of his wings was tangled in the spokes of the wheel. He was writhing and twisting and trying to escape, but he couldn't detangle his feathers.

Bigby took a step towards Bufkin, which sent the monkey into another round of tugging, accompanied by wild screeching. "Shit, Bufkin," Bigby growled, trying to grab the flailing monkey. "Calm down!"

Bufkin ignored him. With a massive effort, he wrenched himself free, leaving several feathers behind on the chariot, and launched himself desperately skyward. However, Bigby was ready. Reaching out faster than I could follow, he snagged Bufkin's ankle and yanked him to the ground. Without even giving him a chance to recover, Bigby flipped him rightside up and punched him squarely in the face.

Bufkin slumped over, a thin trickle of blood coming out of his nose. Snow glared at Bigby. "Was that necessary?" She said accusingly.

Bigby nodded. "Yep." He turned and went back to Snow's desk, laying Bufkin across the top. "The only thing we can do is wait for him to sleep it off. Madison, it would probably be best if you left."

I didn't think about arguing this time. I gave Snow an apologetic smile and was about to leave, but then I noticed a small green feather next to my foot. On a whim, I picked it up and stuck it in my pocket.

Waving goodbye to Bigby, I strode towards the door, opened it, and left the office, with a green feather and a new life lesson.

Never let a monkey drink.