A/N: Merry Christmas! :3

First of all, I want to say it makes me emotional that all these years later, this story is still getting hits and reviews. Don't think I didn't see all those guest reviews. I love you guys. I'm shedding grabitude crackles. ;_;

Second, I would like to acknowledge that I'm sure no one even remembers what the hell was going on with this story at this point. I am deeply sorry for that. More beating myself up over that later.

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

The Customer Is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 23: Under the Mask

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

"Gondo. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Gondo tears his attention away from the project he's currently working on and looks up at me. "Sure thing, little buddy! Just gimme a sec to finish operating on Scrapper here."

He motions to the centerpiece amidst the metallic carnage on his counter: a small robot roughly the size of a large human baby. Mildly curious, I move in to get a closer look.

"'Scrapper'? Isn't that your grandfather's robot?" I ask.

"Sure is! I finally fixed him up. I mean, I got him running before now, but he's broken again."

The robot is hardly recognizable as the corroded old thing that was lying in shambles in the back of his shop for months, having been completely refurbished, its face and headdress coated in fresh layers of glossy crimson and teal paint. It now rests before Gondo in one piece, save for a pair of hands that remain detached from its body.

"It's nothing serious. He just can't take as much abuse as he used to in the olden days without conking out," Gondo prattles on. "Wait 'til you see the little guy in action, though!"

Gondo flips a switch in the back of the robot. For a moment, nothing happens. Then—

"MALFUNCTION!" the thing screeches in a high, metallic voice. It rocks back and forth and convulses as if having a seizure, banging its head against the counter repeatedly. "MALFUCTION! ZZRRT! MAL-MALFUNCTION! MAL-MAL-MAL-MAL-"

Gondo promptly cuts the robot's power. It slumps back down on the counter, silent and motionless again.

"He's definitely good at letting you know when there's something wrong with him," he says, cringing. "I'll be right back. Wait here."

Gondo rises up from his work station and disappears into the back of the shop. In his absence, I take a minute to mull over my next move.

I've done a lot of thinking about the problem I've been having. Namely, the Dovos problem.

I've slept on it a few nights now, and I've come to a conclusion.

I can't shoulder this burden anymore. Not alone. I don't care if he's supposedly back on his feet with a new "job." No one bounces back from a multi-year drought of depression just like that. It's not humanely possible. I'm not naive enough to think one more miniature crisis couldn't drive him over the edge, literally. And when that happens, if that happens, I don't want that on my conscience. I don't want anything to do with it.

And no doubt he's expecting me to pick up the tab at the bar tomorrow night.

The entire Dovos debacle still mystifies me every day. Within one week, this pitiful, broken man went from being a total and complete stranger, to my lone responsibility. My problem. Normally, I would never concern myself with a person like this. I would say to myself: that's really to bad, but this is way out of my hands. This is someone else's problem. And I would go about my daily life, willfully ignorant.

But Dovos has no family. He has no friends. He has no one. The only person he has looking out for him right now...is me. Just some other loser he met at the Lumpy Pumpkin the other night. Me. His last and only lifeline.

Maybe that's getting a little cocky, but I can't seem to talk myself out of viewing things that way, no matter how hard I try. I can't stop wondering, how did I become the town suicide watch in one night? Wouldn't it be such a relief if I could slip out of this pesky line, and covertly tie it on to someone else?

Which brings me to Gondo.

Gondo trudges back to the front of his shop with a bucket of additional tools and a little can of clear, lavender-tinted oil that could only originate from an Ancient Flower. Highly valuable plant. He takes a screwdriver to the robot, removing a few small parts, and feeds it generous amounts of the purple oil. Once he's done putting the bot back together, he fastens a large propeller to its head, as wide as the robot is tall, and sits it upright on the counter.

"There we go! He should be up and running again in no time, soon as he finishes charging up." Gondo folds his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair, giving me his full attention. "So what's going on, Rupin?"

Here goes nothing.

"You know how every time we go to the Lumpy Pumpkin we say, 'we should do this again soon!' But then eight or ten or twelve more months go by, and nothing?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, just now I had a thought! Why not stay true to that sentiment?" I slap on my brightest smile and pump my fist in the air. "What do you say we hit off this weekend with another bang!"

Gondo frowns at me in consideration...or is it suspicion? Maybe he already thinks I have some ulterior motive. Or he's wondering if I have come down with an alcohol problem. Or he's wondering who murdered me and possessed my body. Oh, who am I kidding. Going to the Lumpy Pumpkin three times in one week? Normally I strike up the motivation go out three times a year tops. I do almost all of my drinking in the discomfort of my mother's home.

I backpedal a bit so he won't become overly wary of my intentions. "Not terribly keen on my thought, I take it? I suppose it is a little soon. And you're busy, I'm sure..."

"Nah, nah! I was just surprised you want to go again so soon, is all," Gondo explains. "Sure, I'm up for another round at the Lumpy Pumpkin!"

"Wonderful!" I clasp my hands together in feigned excitement. Here comes the difficult bit. I'm not going to make a big deal out of it. I speak offhand and with nary a hitch, downplaying this next part as if it is merely an afterthought. "Oh, and I should let you know beforehand, I extended the invitation to Dovos."

"Dovos?" echoes Gondo. "Never heard of him. New friend of yours?"

"Um, no. He's not my friend."

Gondo fixes me in that curious, be-goggled stare of his again. Even though I can't see his entire face, I can guess what kind of expression he's making. Probably the one my newer customers make when they find out it's legal to sell explosives in Skyloft.

I clear my throat. "Ahem. That is to say, he is more of an acquaintan—"

"MASTER!"

The both of us jump so high we nearly hit our heads on the ceiling, or at least it feels that way. Without warning, an electrical current crackles from the holes in the robot's sides, drawing its detached hands magnetically to his body. In the same instant, the propeller on its head thrums to life, and its body lifts off the desk and into the air.

"Rrrrrr! Took you long enough to fix me!" Scrapper the robot snarks at his supposed Master. "Tell Master Shortpants to stop ditching me in a hoard of monsters if he desires my continued assistance! GzzzRRT! I only have two hands built in! Delivering a beating AND a vat of boiling pumpkin stew simultaneously is NOT within my capabilities. Bzzzt k-CHONK!"

The robot swivels toward me suddenly, seeming to scan me with its mismatched eyes. Its one blue eye flickers. "Master. Who is this?"

Gondo proceeds to introduce us. "Scrapper, this is Rupin. He's a friend."

The robot hovers a bit closer to me, the turbine on its head churning furiously to keep it afloat. He sputters and sparks every few seconds, appearing to have a slight tic.

"Zzzt!" He says, rocked by another mini spasm. "Looks more like a Twinkletoes to me."

"Twinkletoes?" I raise an eyebrow. "What kind of robot is this, Gondo? A garbage dispenser?"

"I AM NOT A GARBAGE DISPENSER! MY DESIGNATION IS LD-301S SCRAPPER! I am a HAUL MODEL!" He spreads his giant mits as if to prove his point. "Vrrrt! And besides, there is no such thing as a garbage dispenser, genius."

"So you haul the garbage. Understood."

"If that's what you think, dzzzzt! How about I take YOU out?"

"Hey now, Scrapper! Cut that out!" Gondo intervenes. "That is no way to speak to one of our friends."

"Inconsequential," retorts Scrapper. "Making 'friends' with Twinkletoes is not on my list of priorities. Not at all! GZZRT!"

I roll my eyes. Whatever. The feeling is mutual.

"Hey Scrapper..." Gondo softens his voice, but I can hear a hint of mischief in it, a nuance that I'm fairly certain a robot wouldn't detect. "Mistress Fi dropped by while you were out for repair." He glances in my direction and adds, "It's a long story."

"Mistress Fi!" Scrapper's grating voice shoots up a full octave. He swings from side to side, arms dangling. "BZZZZRRRT! Did Mistress Fi inquire about my wellbeing?"

"You betcha." Gondo's grin widens. "She was headed for the Light Tower when I last saw her. You should go and see if she's still around! I'm sure she'll be relieved to know you're up and running again."

"WAIT FOR ME, MISTRESS FI!" Scrapper yelps. His metallic screeching rebounds off the walls as he zooms out of the Bazaar.

Gondo smiles at me once Scrapper is gone, triumphant. "There! Just have to distract him or give him some work to do and he'll buzz off. Don't take anything he says to heart, Rupin. He insults everybody."

"Oh. Not at all. I actually kind of like him," I reply with a straight face.

"Hahaha! Me too!" Gondo replies, so blinded by love and fascination for his darling little robot that I have to wonder whether my sarcasm flew straight over his head. "He's got a mean mouth on him though, that's for sure. Even meaner than you are sometimes! But he's just a little kid at heart. Er...at his electrical core. He just needs time to learn right from wrong."

"Mmhm." Or, you know, maybe the thing is hardwired to be a pain in the butt. But I keep my mouth shut and let Gondo go on reveling in his delusions. I'm fairly sure his same personality trait that causes him to feel affinity for this horrible little robot is what makes him tolerate me as a friend.

"We'd better wrap up our conversation before Scrapper finds out I lied and comes back," says Gondo. "What were we talking about again?"

"I think we're done here. Just meet me at the usual time and place after work tomorrow," I say, not wanting to put myself in another position where I might have to explain the Dovos situation. It's better if Gondo finds out the finer details after I'm out of the picture. "Oh, and Gondo? Maybe don't bring the robot."

"Er, well," Gondo cringes again and rubs the back of his neck. "That's not entirely up to me."

Now it's my turn to look confused. "What?"

"Scrapper...he listens to me most of the time. But the rest of the time he sort of just...does what he wants."

"Gondo. You absolutely cannot allow that robot within a thirty-foot radius of Dovos." I give my friend a hard look to emphasize serious I am. "Dovos is...a very sensitive, very thin skinned man. Can't you just turn the robot off for a while and leave it at home?"

"Technically, I could do that. But I'm afraid he might go kaput if I cut his power so soon after fixing him again. I'm pretty tight on my supply of the special oil he takes."

Crapper going kaput again is starting to sound like the best thing that could happen to this town.

Right then, speak of the devil, I think I hear the whir of robot's propeller blades again. That's my cue to skedaddle.

"Just leave the robot at home, okay?" I implore Gondo one more time. "See you later."

I dodge out of the repair shop before Gondo can protest again, my mission accomplished. The seed planted. I know this is the right course of action to take. I don't have the time or patience to be Dovos's go-to therapist whenever he needs a self esteem boost. He needs other people he can talk to besides me or I will lose my mind.

Knowing Gondo, he'll do most of the talking and I'll hardly have to lift a finger. The best way to get rid of a social leech? Get them to latch on to someone else. Then slowly, without notice, withdraw support. Tried and true scheme. I employ it all the time with annoying customers when it becomes clear they don't want to buy anything and they're just trying chat me up or push their own failing business. This just happens to be a much more delicate operation than usual. Very, very delicate. One with little room for error and with absolutely no room for an insolent, foulmouthed little robot.

After downing a third cup of coffee (pumpkin spice flavor, of course) it's back to the Gear Shop and back to the daily grind. Today is shaping up to be one of those throwaway days. Browsers trickle through my store, but I can't seem to convert any of them into buyers. In the early afternoon, Kukiel stops by to offload the money she's collected in her tip jar, totaling four green rupees. Less than optimal, but it's better than nothing, I suppose. Wow...when did I start being so positive?

"When we're done playing shopkeeper, can we play the screaming game?" The little girl asks me hopefully. She pulls herself up on the edge of the counter and peers up at me, batting her eyes. "Pleeeease?"

"Kukiel," I exhale, wondering where she learned such a tactic. "Kukiel, Kukiel, Kukiel. You asked me that yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that. And what did I say?"

"...No?"

I nod. "My answer hasn't changed. I told you, people will think I am mentally unhinged."

"Awww..."

She detaches from the counter and pouts for all of a minute. Then happily announces she's going home for lunch and skips out of the Bazaar, her disappointment as fleeting as her cute little attention span.

Some time after her departure, Dovos arrives with the gourmet pumpkin soup I was guilted into ordering from him earlier today. When he seems like he's going to stick around and make small talk with me, I remind him gently that he's on a strict delivery schedule and he doesn't want to lose his job, does he? Everyone who lives on top of this giant rock knows Pumm insists on eating his soup while it's still hot. And a certain knight commander will lose his shirt if it's not delivered at peak temperature.

Thankfully, the message sinks in without too much effort on my part and he heads out to finish off his delivery route. Feeling desperate for a paying customer or two, I decide to eat my meal out in the shop, making myself available for the remainder of my lunch break. The soup Dovos brought is lukewarm, but seasoned just right. I drink about two thirds of the bottle before it turns cold and takes on a thick, unappealing consistency. As I'm tossing the remains away, I hear Kukiel's chirpy little voice carrying over the rest of the bazaar blather.

"-Wupin said he can't play the screaming game with me today, 'cause he's mentally unhinged."

I look up just as Kukiel appears at the nearest entrance to the Bazaar, holding the hand of-

I scream.

A CLOWN. She's bringing an HONEST-TO-GODDESS FLOCKING CLOWN into my shop.

"Wow Wupin, that was such a loud scream!" Kukiel exclaims, and proceeds to join in, screeching her little head off. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

I just balk. Between the sudden appearance of the clown and all the attention we're getting from the screaming, I might be having a slight mental meltdown.

"What's with the long face, buddy boy?" whines the very large, very fat clown, who much resembles a puffy, powdery marshmallow with rainbow accents. A giant color wheel is attached to his back, flaring about him like peacock tail. It bangs against my counter as he just barely squeezes through the entrance to my shop and walks right up to me, backing me into a corner.

"One would think you'd never seen a clown before! Hohoho! But my golly GOODNESS! Just LOOK at my POOR manners! I haven't even introduced myself. My name is DODOH!" He beams from cheek to puffy cheek and extends an equally puffy hand for me to shake. "DODOH THE CLOWN!"

I remain frozen, my mind a blur. Somewhere in the ether, the salesman part of my brain is urging me to start behaving like a functioning adult again and take the hand, but I just can't do it. I'm too steeped in post-traumatic stress to make a move. So I just flatten myself against the wall and eye his hand nervously, like a little kid meeting a stranger for the first time.

The clown slowly lowers his arm, visibly offended. "You got something against clowns, Mister?"

Once upon a time, my mother threw me a party for my sixth birthday. Only she invited all her friends instead of mine. And a clown.

"It's a private party! So you get to have the clown all to yourself!"

Yes. All to myself. Chasing me around the room, stealing my favorite hat, laughing uproariously at every single little thing I said or did.

And what did my mother and her friends do about it? They just laughed and laughed, like it was all apart of the show. Like my tears were fake.

I didn't even get to smother my feelings in cake afterwards. My mother was on a diet, so instead I got to eat pumpkin quiche while a bunch of old ladies with their nauseating perfume fussed over my long eyelashes.

Memories of that day still haunt me into my adult life. The taste of mushy, watery, slightly rancid pumpkin quiche. The cold sting of a blade against my skin as I cut off my eyelashes, watching them accumulate into a little pile on my pillow.

But above all, the blotchy, disgusting face of that clown.

So yes. You bet I have something against clowns.

"I was just wanting to drop off some of my happy little FUN FUN FLYERS." Dodoh the Clown, smiling like his life depends on it, flashes a fan of flyers decorated with rainbow streaks and hand-painted clown faces. FUN FUN ISLAND is printed across them all in thick lettering. "This little girly told me you're running a BOOMIN' business over here! And I gotta say, it's the perfect little shop to do some advertisin'! It's so quaint bright and cheery and, well, FUN!" His perma-grin stretches even wider than before. "So what do you say, pally? You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours!"

'Scratch my back,' he says? What exactly does that entail, in the figurative sense? Ugh, who cares. I just want him to go away.

"Well," I say, so meekly that I almost don't recognize my own voice. "I-I...suppose it wouldn't hurt if you left those here."

"WAA-HEY!" The clown whips a party popper out of nowhere and explodes it with a bang. I squeeze my eyes shut in alarm, and slowly open them to find copious amounts of glitter and confetti littering my floor. I groan.

"Since you're the first person to HYPE FUN FUN ISLAND, I have a super-duper-extra-special-ultra-FUN-FUN PRIZE in store for you!" The clown reaches up and spins the colorful wheel on his back. Looking at the dizzying array of flashing rainbow colors, I think I'm going to hurl.

"I'm sure that's not rigged," I can't help but mutter under my breath, covering my mouth just incase I can't suppress the urge to be sick.

"Wait for iiiiit..." Dodoh says in anticipation, thankfully not having heard my musings. In a melodramatic fashion, he takes a tremendous breath and holds it, puffing out his cheeks. And then it hits me.

That face.

I've seen his face before. I may forget names on a regular basis, but I never forget a face. Unless it's Croo's.

He definitely isn't the clown from my sixth birthday party. This clown is far too young to be the same one, and the memory being stirred up in me is more recent, not distant. From within the last year. I squint at him, trying to pinpoint when it was in my recent memory that I last saw his face, without the mask of makeup.

The wheel gradually begins to slow, much like the wheels in my brain as I hone in on the answer to the clown's true identity. It click, click, clicks to a stop, the pointer landing on one of the two red sectors.

"AAAAND IT'S A RED ONE! DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!" the clown squawks on repeat, like a parrot who won't shut up. "Lucky YOU! You MUST know what that means!"

He lurches toward me without warning, hand outstretched. An involuntary spasm passes through me as he reaches behind my ear with agonizing deliberation and comes away with...a red rupee.

"Well would ya look at THAT! You had a RED RUPEE in your ear!," Dodoh guffaws, shoving the jewel in my face like I'm blind. He proceeds to toss it into my tip jar and smacks his powder-white cheeks in mock surprise. "Well GOLLY GEE! If I had rupees pouring out of my ears, I could quit this clown gig!"

I gawk over at the tip jar. Red?! That's a twenty rupee tip! That's...that's crazy. Unheard of. Unprecedented. It...

It belongs to Kukiel. My heart sinks into my stomach at the realization. All of it is Kukiel's. All because I stupidly gave her a raise right before this. I want to punch myself.

"How's that for a BACK SCRATCHING?" bellows the clown, way louder than is necessary. Some of his spittle lands on my cheek, but I am so consumed in my reverie of regret that not a muscle on my face twitches at the unwanted onslaught of wetness. "I'd say I practically gave you a BACK MASSAGE, mister!

Kukiel tugs at my shirt sleeve and smiles up at me, and when I see her sweet face I am torn between the knotted, frustrated feeling in my chest and feeling like the scum of the sky. "Look, Wupin! Look at all that money!"

Yes, look at all that money. The only money I've made all day. And it belongs to Kukiel. I stare down at my feet in a sullen silence again as the clown places a stack of his flyers on the counter beside it. Just then, he sets his sights on Kukiel. His puffy, red-rimmed lips form an 'o' and he snaps his fingers like he just got a bright idea.

"Say, little girlie girl! How would ya like a commemorative PHOTO WITH DODOH before I skip town?"

The next time I dare to blink, I am surprised to see the clown clutching a small red box in his hands. A large, circular lens ringed in yellow juts from the box.

"A pictograph?!" I blurt without thinking. I have read all about the rare device, but never having seen a working one before.

The clown shifts his attention to me and gives a sidelong look I don't quite know how to interpret.

"That's an incredibly rare item, not something you could find at the Bazaar. Only a few were made and the inventor has long since disappeared off the grid. You could only purchase something like that from a specialized store. Somewhere like..." I trail off. Like Beedle's Airshop, I was about to say, something about the clown's demeanor made me think it would be in my best interest not to finish that sentence.

"I want a photo!" Kukiel beams, waving her arms and jumping up and down.

"Me too!" squeals Gully, up to his neck in Beedle paraphernalia. Where in the hell he came from, I do not know. "What's a photo?"

"You kiddies are about to find out! COME ON OVER AND STEP RIGHT UP!" Dodoh catches my eye again, addressing me in a very patronizing sing-song voice, "MISTER MAN! You never did tell me your name, did you? Hohoho! Well, no matter. What matters is I need a RESPONSIBLE ADULT to hold my camera and snap the picture for me. SO HERE YOU ARE~!"

He shoves the pictograph into my hands before I can react, much less refuse. I sigh, rotating the device in my hands. It looks simple enough to operate. Just point it in the right direction and press the red button, right?

I aim the lens at the grisly duo of Gully and Dodoh and do just that. With a flash and a subsequent grinding noise, a photo slowly rolls out of the little machine, and I have to admit I'm intrigued. If I could somehow reproduce this device and sell these en mass, I would be rich enough to purchase a brand new house and a private island. But alas, I am an artist, not an inventor.

Gully balls his hands into fists and stares at the picture at my hand in anticipation, positively on pins and needles. His beady eyes remain glued to the image as it gradually darkens. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you want to look at it—the picture never develops into full focus.

I heave a sigh with the realization that I am not going to be off the hook quite yet. "Wait, that one was blurry. Let me try again," I say, and discard the dud photo into the trash.

I raise the pictograph to my face again as the unsightly subjects get back into position. I snap one more picture of Gully with the clown, and after the second try comes out clearly, I take one of Kukiel with the clown too. Gully gleefully snatches his fully developed photo from me and takes off toward the cafe, presumably to show his mother.

"ALL DONE~!" sings Dodoh. "Now, that'll be TEN RUPEES for the little girl..." He points in the direction Gully ran in. "And TWENTY RUPEES for the little boy."

He stares at me in expectation.

I just blink. "...What was that?"

"You deaf or somethin' mister man?!" He raises his voice a decible childish indignation, "I SAAAAID that will be TEN RUPEES for the little girl and TWENTY RUPEES for the little boy! So that means it's a grand total of THIRTY RUPEES! PAY UP, MISTER!"

"But—" This clown isn't making sense right now. Life isn't making sense right now. "You are charging me?!"

"You really expect these kiddies to have money on them?" Dodoh tut-tuts and shakes his head at me. "Shaaaaame. Shame on you, pal!"

"N-No. I mean—I was under the impression the photos were...c-complimentary. You didn't say..."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing. I just let you reach in my pockets for free. For FREE, mister man! So now I get to reach in yours! A DEAL'S A DEAL! WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND!"

"But why twenty rupees for the boy?" I dare to argue, failing to mask my mounting desperation. "The first picture didn't even come out right! It's worth nothing!"

"And whose fault is that, hmm? Who was holding the camera, HMMMMM?" Now, Dodoh's smile turns upside down, into a very displeased frown. And I find my personal space between the wall and his massive stomach diminishing. "You used up my film, and film doesn't come cheap! There's only so much of it left, and then it's gone! Gone for good! Someone's gonna hafta take responsibility. Someone's gonna hafta pay up."

I just sputter at him, rendered unintelligible at this point. In my prolonged inability to form words, Dodoh's once sunny expression grows ever darker, as dark as the thunderhead. He leans in my face, and I can feel and smell the sour stench of his clown breath.

And in that moment I recall...a yellowed poster in a dingy cell. A puffy, grimacing face framed by curly, scraggly dark hair. The face of Pidge. Pidge the sky pirate. Pidge the escaped convict.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, pal," mutters Dodoh, now an unnerving quiet. Pidge. "When Dodoh doesn't get his dough...Dodoh ain't so much fun anymore."

I gulp.

He bares his teeth. "So buddy boy, what's it gonna be? You gonna reach in that stylin' apron of yours...or are we gonna have to do this the unfun way?"

Okay. I'm intimidated. I promptly reach into my stylin' apron and fork over the money, scared out of my wits. It occurs to me right afterwards that I didn't even bother counting to make sure I gave him the right amount, but he seems satisfied.

I anxiously await the moment he steps away from me and gives me back my breathing room, but it still doesn't come. I am suffocating.

"I'm so glad so we understand each other, Mister Man," he says eventually, pocketing my precious rupees and giving me a pat on the head. I flinch beneath his hand.

Finally, he withdraws, and it takes everything I have not to collapse on the floor in relief.

"Welp, till next time, buddy! Hope to see ya at Fun Fun Island's GRAND OPENING! And don't forget to spread the word!"

On his way out, straightens the stack of flyers he left on my counter, a subtle reminder of our agreement. And then, the moment I have truly been waiting for: he is gone.

And here I remain, quivering with the knowledge of my ghastly discovery. I, the new endorser of a business run by a known, wanted criminal.

...

For who knows how long, I stand in a daze in the middle of my shop, processing and reprocessing what just happened. I become caught up in the polluted whirlwind of my own mind, bombarded by countless erratic thoughts. Most of them unintelligible streams of curse words.

Am I the only one who knows who he really is? I must be, or he wouldn't be a free man...er, free subhuman clown...thing. Clowns aren't people. What should I do? Should I go to the knights with this? Should I file a police report?! No. I can't do that. If I do it now, he'll know it was me, and who knows what he'll do to me. Should I wait? Should even I do anything?! The idea of turning him in makes me unusually anxious.

YES, there most certainly would be a sizeable monetary reward for turning in a wanted criminal, especially one who has been on the run for so long. But you can't just give an anonymous tip and collect your dues anymore. If I expose him, my face will be plastered all over the newspapers and I will be taken in for questioning. Hours upon days upon weeks of questioning that I don't feel like partaking in. It'll blow up into another big thing. And with my luck, it will all backfire on me somehow. I'm already on the knights' list of bad eggs thanks to the loftwing feather incident. It won't be long before they turn on me and start suspecting me, because since when is Rupin a model citizen who cares enough about the wellbeing of others to report crime?

In a way, they are justified in that line of thought. They're right about me. I'm not a self-righteous prick. I quit the Academy for a reason. But knowing them, they might take things so far as to suspect I am an accomplice of Pidge, who is aiming to split the reward money with him! Yep. This is almost guaranteed to blow up in my face if I try to be a good samaritan. And then what if Pidge breaks out of jail?! He's done it once, so what's stopping him from doing it again? And then he'll come for me! He'll rob me blind, murder me in a brutal fashion, and feed my dead body to Levias! Or maybe he'll just murder my entire family instead! Admittedly, that's not the worst thing that could happen. My mother keeps threatening to cut me out of her will, but I'm 99% sure she hasn't actually done it yet—I mean—NO! Gods! What is wrong with me?! I can't wish bloody murder upon my own mother!

I take a deep breath. This is getting way too far out of hand and I need to calm. Down. I am the only one who knows his secret right now, and no one knows that I know. He's not going to rob me blind or murder my family if I keep this to myself and pretend like I know nothing.

Is that what I should do? Keep quiet? Maybe. It's been well over a decade since Pidge committed his last known crime. This clown thing...this is his weird, perverse, creepy way of turning over a new leaf, right? Of starting anew. Maybe he wanted to retire from his career of murdering and pillaging and reinvent himself. He just wants to spread fun and joy and...fun...as Dodoh the Clown now. Right? Isn't there some so-called wise old saying we're supposed to follow in regards to these sorts of people? Forgive and forget, the past is the past, live and let live, we're all sinners and all that crap? He won't relapse back into his criminal ways if no one gives him a motive to do so...right?

Right, I rationalize, reporting this clown to the authorities would surely bring about more harm than good. It's becoming clear to me now that this clown may have been placed in my path as some sort of test of my character. I've established time and time again that if there is a Goddess, she most definitely hates me. So I am not going to do what she expects and turn in this freak for the reward money, as tempting as it may be. I'm just going to keep my mouth glued shut and forget everything I learned today.

Whew. Glad that's over with. I feel much better now, as if a giant weight has been lifted off my chest. All that worry and stress over nothing. Now I can finally put this clown madness behind me and focus on the much more pressing issue at hand. I need to get compensated for these lousy photographs I just inadvertently spent a small fortune on.

I leave my shop and march straight over to the cafe. When I arrive there, I station myself behind Piper and glower at the back of her porcupine head, clearing my throat to get her attention.

"Ahem. Piper?" I slather my voice in a layer of honey. "May I have a word with you?"

She turns a fraction of the way around, acknowledging me with only a blink of her eye. I'll assume the best of her and take that as an 'I'll be right with you.' Without a single word to me, she returns to passive-aggressively stirring her pot of soup. Oh Honey, you are dealing with the king of passive aggression. I don't care how long this takes. I'll stand here until closing time if I have to.

Finally, after making me wait about six or seven more minutes, she comes over to me. She tosses her dish rag into the sink a little too roughly, demanding, "What?"

Her entire demeanor is cool and dismissive from the get-go, but that wasn't unexpected. Of course, she must remember our last confrontation as well as I do. I try on a grin, which I'm sure by now, resembles more of a grimace.

"Good afternoon, Piper!"

"What do you want, Rupin?" she spits. "I won't be schmoozed by your sleazy salesman tactics."

I don't let my smile falter. "I was just getting to that before you cut me off."

Oh, I've done it now! Piper crosses her arms and gives me a dirty look. Dirtier than it was before this. She certainly isn't making this easy.

I begin nonetheless: "It would appear your boy had a photograph taken with a clown and incurred a sizable bill. Unfortunately, I was in the vicinity when this occurred and was saddled with this bill by mistake—"

"That's not my problem," she cuts me off for the second time. Her eyes are gray blobs of indifference.

I huff a little. "With all due respect, it most certainly is your problem, ma'am."

"I'm not the one who let him take a picture with the clown," she states plainly. "You shouldn't have let him take a picture with the clown."

"I didn't let him do anything. I'm not his babysitter. I'm not his parent. He's not my responsibility." I bite my tongue a moment. I know all my remaining wit and charm is falling away with all the appeal of a skytail shedding its skin, but I don't really care at this point. She rejected sugar-coated Rupin, so now she's getting salt-and-vinegar Rupin.

"Look. Gully wanted a photo with the clown. They needed someone to operate the pictograph. I happened to be standing nearby, so I took the picture. Standing nearby. By-stander. I was a helpful bystander in this equation. Get it?! No one informed me there would be a fee involved, nor that I would be the party responsible for paying it."

"Of course it wasn't free," Piper says like it should have been obvious. "Would you run around here in a clown suit for free?"

I bite my tongue again. "No. I wouldn't. But that's not the point. The point is, I'm not his parent. You are."

"Hmph." She turns her pointy nose up at me. "I'm sure your mother paid for anything you wanted when you were a kid. Must pay to be rich."

I grit my teeth, ungrit them, and continue to plead my case with as much civility as I can salvage at this point. "Let's not bring my mother into this. She's not relevant to this discussion and she cut me off years ago, despite the fact we still live under the same roof. Now, anyone else could have easily ended up in my position. If it was your friend, Luv, you would pay her back. Right?"

"Luv wouldn't have imposed this on me."

Because she likes showing off how much money she makes, I'm sure. It's about time this woman got a talking-to. Let's face it; no one else is going to do it. And I'm feeling sassy today.

"Unfortunately, we can't all afford to be so generous as Luv, especially when it comes to involuntarily purchasing things for other people's children. I don't think I speak for only myself when I say Gully has been causing a disturbance in the Bazaar. As his parent, it's your duty to keep an eye on him so he doesn't get out of hand, and assume responsibility for his actions."

"Don't tell ME how to raise my child!" Piper snaps. "You don't even have kids! You have no right tell anyone how to raise theirs."

"I'm not telling you how to raise your child! This is the most basic of—"

"You just did! You just told me how to raise my kid!"

"I DON'T CARE HOW YOU RAISE YOUR KID!" I lash back. "I. DON'T. CARE. OKAY? HAPPY?! Let him eat shampoo and wash his hair with dirt for all I care!" Now I've really lost it. Now there is no going back. "I just want my hard-earned money back, and I am not leaving this spot until I get it!"

Her mouth flattens into a cold, thin line. "This discussion is over."

She whirls on her heel, flits back to her work station, and peers into the oven for way longer than is necessary. Willfully ignoring me.

"Not on this end, it's not!" I yell after her, curling my hands into fists at my sides. "I bet there's not even anything in that oven!"

"Security!" she shouts abruptly. She raises her voice without facing me. "Security! I'm being harassed!"

I snort. "You're kidding me. We don't even have security in this dump."

"Harassment! Harassment! I'm being harassed!"

I growl in frustration and high tail it out of there, just as Croo comes hobbling to her rescue. "What appears to be the problem young lady?" he asks. Go to hell, Croo.

I scurry back to my nook of the Bazaar, cursing my luck. And her, Piper the tavern wench who still has my money. She must know I'm in the right, or else she wouldn't have gotten so defensive. I'm so angry I think I might explode.

Once back in the sanctuary of my own shop, I aim a kick at the wall. I can sense Luvs's eyes on my back, gawking at me. Just be happy I took my anger on a wall and not one of your cauldrons, Manhands.

It takes me a few moments to realize there is now a hole in my wall. Well, shoot. I am just now noticing Kukiel has returned as well. She sits crisscross on my floor with her money from the tip jar spread all around her, thoroughly entertained by my inability to control my emotions.

"That was all pretend, right?" she giggles at me, covering her mouth. "Acting!"

"Eh? No, no Kukiel. You have it all backwards." I bend down to pick up some arrows that fell off my counter during my fit of rage. "I'll let you in on a little secret. The smiling—that's the acting."

"You're funny." She gathers up all her rupees one-by-one and drops them back into the jar. "Why do you need so many wupees, Wupin?" she asks. She hugs the jar to herself, and gazes up at me in earnest curiosity, hands resting on her cheeks. "Are you cursed?"

I snort. "Probably."

She stares down into the jar in silence a moment, looking pensive even for a five-year-old. Then, she reaches inside and pulls out a blue rupee.

"Here!" She declares happily, offering the rupee to me in her outstretched hand, and right then I think I have a miniature heart attack. "You can have this one!"

I immediately reach for the jewel, but my hand freezes when it's just out of my grasp.

No. This isn't right. Why should adorable little Kukiel have to be the one to pay, while those cheapskates are let off easy? Can I really take money from a sweet, innocent child? Can I really sink that low?

Well, technically I can. Just have to take the rupee.

I grapple with myself another moment. No.

"N-no. A deal is a deal," I decide, and every word that follows causes me a bit of pain and mental suffering, "I told you to keep all the money that ended up in that jar, so it's yours Kukiel. You keep it." I close her tiny fingers around the rupee in her palm, still wrestling with myself internally. It's the right thing to do. IT'S THE RIGHT THING TO DO DAMMIT.

"There are...better things in life. Than money," I force out, but it doesn't quite sound like me.

"Like what?" Kukiel presses innocently.

I smirk, more to myself. "That's a very good question."

My smirk growing ever more infectious, I swiftly make for the exit of my shop without a glance back, lest Kukiel's wholesome aura change my mind about what I am about to do. "I'll be back shortly," I say. "There's something I have to take care of." The only thing that can help relieve this itching, burning wound that has been inflicted upon me financially today.

I make a beeline for the cafe and plant myself directly behind Piper again. She has gone back to finagling with her stew, her back turned to me. If I could literally shoot daggers out of my eyes, she would be nursing multiple stab wounds right now.

I let my gaze travel down to the counter, until it rests upon the Fun Fun photo of Gully and the evil clown. I don't pause to contemplate what I am about to do as I take it in my hands.

RrrrrrRRIP!

I tear the photo straight down the middle as noisily as possible, not taking my eyes off Gully's mother as I do so. She doesn't turn, nor give the slightest indication she heard anything.

So I put the two strips together and start tearing into them again. And again.

She never turns around once. Not as I rip the picture in eighths, sixteenths, thirty-seconds. Over and over, until my fingers can tear no more and the photo has been reduced to unrecognizable shreds.

My eyes still locked to the back of Piper's head, I raise the shreds in the air and splay my fingers, making a big show of my nasty deed. They rain around me like colorful confetti, floating down to the sticky, grimy floor. Some of them scatter on a draft that blows in through the doorway in that very moment.

Still, she ignores me.

I stalk back to my stall.

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

A/N: Ah, Dodoh the Clown...a similar photograph incident happened to me and my sister in New York City when we went there for Tuba Christmas years ago, only it was with Woody from Toy Story. We had no cash on us. It was terrifying. Anyway, if you were totally lost this chapter, reread chapter 7. That might help a little.

Well...the last time I updated I had taken a break for a year. This time I took a break for more than three years. Ack. I really don't know where those years went. I feel like I didn't even exist for part of it. I didn't even want to look at the last updated date of this story, but my sister reread the story yesterday and so sweetly informed me, "you last updated this in 2016! :D" and I was like holy shit. Let's change that.

To be honest, I had this chapter in a near-finished state for a long time, but every time I opened it to work on it, I just couldn't write anything. I don't totally know why. I never got sick or tired of this fic. I guess priorities other than fanfiction just took hold in my life. I had a job that was pretty stressful, which I've since quit, and while working that job I devoted the time and creative energy I did have to an original project. Once you transition to original fiction, it can be more difficult to stay focused on fanfiction, especially if you are a painstakingly slow writer like I am. But I miss writing fanfiction and would like to chip away at this story when I can. It seems wrong not to finish it, especially when I'm still so fond of it, and it's not like I ran out of ideas. It's just a matter of finding the time/inspiration/drive to write out the rest of it at this point. Just seems like those things don't line up for me very often. Yesterday and today they did, though.

On the fun side of things...the opening scene from Chapter 19 "Pipit's Problem Box" was illustrated and voiced! Like...a while ago. The link is on my profile if you'd like to check it out, along with some info on other stuff I've been up to as of late if you're curious. I think my profile finally updated and most of the links aren't broken anymore.

I can't emphasize this enough: if you are an old reader, thank you so much for sticking with me and returning after all this time to read another chapter. If you're new and you just found this story, thank you for tearing into a story about an insignificant NPC in a now 8-year-old game, and reading all the way up to this point. It means a lot to me.

I'm not going to say when I think I'll update next because I don't want to make any promises I can't keep. It will be a surprise!