A/N: Hope you people enjoy this interlude, as it is quite a bit different from usual. I wasn't originally going to go this crazy with it, but I figured what the heck. It's fanfiction. Let's have some fun.

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The Customer is (Not) Always Right

INTERLUDE: Outside Looking In

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Link threw my heartfelt letter down the toilet instead of delivering it like I asked! Make him PAY! —Cawlin

I thumb through the cards of the old, cracked recipe box my mother doesn't use anymore. I suppose I should consider myself lucky in that aspect. Food poisoning is never a fun experience.

Groose is still being a mope. I can't take it anymore. Tell Link to hurry up and bring Zelda back! —Cawlin

The scratchy lettering on the card seems to blur together. I scoot backwards to catch the light of a nearby torch, but still no good. My eyes are the problem, not the lighting. I uncork my bottle of red potion and gulp down the last of the energy drink. My third one of the night. Any more than that would be unhealthy. The taste is fruity and would be pleasant if it wasn't so pungent, like medicine. It makes my nostrils burn as I swallow.

Grimacing at the potion's persistent aftertaste, I bring the cards closer to my face and re-focus, trying to comprehend the inked words, not just stare at them. I do what I need to do to stay awake for the night watch.

"Aye, trainee!"

I snap my head up, spinning around. A dark shape flies out from behind the light tower, the light of the full moon glancing off silver wings. Moments later, Quill alights on the pier a short distance behind me. He tramps over on his gray loftwing.

"On break, I see. What're you up to?" he asks, leaning over my shoulder.

I regard him a curt nod, brushing off my annoyance at being called 'trainee.' "Hello Quill. Just sorting through peoples' problems. Literally. They're all in this box." I lift up my box and flash him the label: Pipit's Problem Box. "The other students write down their issues and drop them off in a lock box by the library, interpersonal or otherwise. Then I collect them and sort them by date, complainant, and current status. Keeps me organized and efficient."

Quill shakes his head. I'm fairly sure he's rolling his eyes under his goggles right now. "You really don't have to go to all that trouble, you know. Why make that job any more of a pain than it already is?" He leans back on his bird and crack his neck from side. "Trust me, I was in your shoes once. All you have to do is lend them your ears for a couple minutes. Give them an outlet to vent. If it's a cute girl, maybe a shoulder to cry on. And then..."

I raise an eyebrow, looking at him in expectation. "And then?"

"You do nothing. Absolutely nothing." He smirks. "These things always blow over on their own." He removes a small, darkly-coated flask from his pouch and tips some unknown liquid into his mouth.

I stand up in alarm. "Is that—"

"Pumpkin juice?" He laughs at the very idea. "It's red potion, what else would it be during night watch? Jeez trainee, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"...Oh." Why go to the trouble of hiding it, then?

"Oh?" he mimics me. "You know, even if it was pumpkin juice, you'd have to drink a gallon of the stuff before you felt anything." He takes another swig and puffs out his chest. "Loosen up, trainee. Relax. Unbutton your collar. Seriously, you're going to make all us vets look bad."

"Loosen up?" I turn to him face him fully, squaring my shoulders. "I will do no such thing. The commander said never to be lulled into a false sense of security. That danger could strike the public when we least expect it!"

He just laughs again. "Eagus only said that to scare you new recruits. Don't kid yourself, kid. Us knights—we're the gravest danger out there." He points a finger at me. "Just do your duty and keep a vigilant eye out for law breakers."

My head throbs with anger. Remaining calm, I swallow my ill words and meet him with firm resolve, chin up.

"With all due respect, sir. I consider it my highest duty to keep the people safe."

There's a tense silence, but only for a second. Quill shrugs his shoulders with an air of feigned-nonchalance and takes another quick sip from his flask before putting it away. I think I hear him mutter something that sounds like "self-righteous over-achiever" as he's wiping his mouth with his gauntlet.

"I'll give you a couple years," he says, looking smug.

He lifts off the ground and powers into the night sky with a loud "whoop!" I glare at the back of him until he fades from sight, flexing my fingers into fists at my sides. The nerve of it all! If I wasn't so low on the pecking order, I would have given him a bigger piece of my mind. Then again, maybe not...my job is to keep the peace and prevent trouble, not stir it up.

Speaking of keeping the peace, I'd better get back to the problem box. I only have about five minutes left on break and this is the only time I have to do this. I draw a tired breath. I suppose it's much of a break as long as I'm doing this.

I sit back down on the boardwalk and flip open the box to sift through peoples' issues a while longer. Unfortunately, the Knight Order is not the only pecking order I'm at the bottom of; I'm at the bottom at the Knight Academy's as well. A wing in two flocks, as some might say...I don't know if they would appreciate me calling them that. Being the bottom rung of the ladder puts me directly above the rest of the student body, designating me as the first person they should bring all of their problems to. It's official; the freshman students were told just that in their seminar at the beginning of the year. 'If you have a problem, take it to Pipit first. If he can't solve it, go to Henya. Then to Horwell, then Owlan. If none of them can help you, only THEN do you go to Headmaster Gaepora.'

Word is the current system was put in place years ago after some student came barging to the Headmaster's quarters in the middle of he night, screaming that somebody had flushed themselves down the toilet. That was when he decided the academy staff should implement a more formal chain of command, to filter out issues of lesser concern that don't necessarily need to be brought to his attention.

Oh well. If this helps ease the Headmaster's burden, then I'm more than willing to do it. It's just that the sheer volume of complaints can be overwhelming at times. Everything I told Quill about organization was true, but it was only part of the truth...the whole truth is, I needed a barrier between me and them. Because I'm at my wit's end. I try not to show it for everybody's sake, but between this, attending class, working late nights and taking care of mother...well, this entire year has been taxing, to say the least. If not for this box, the academy students would be constantly at me, more than they already are.

If there's one thing I've learned from this experience, it's that people are quick to complain about others, but slow to confront their problems themselves. Er, if Cawlin can be considered a representation of all people. Pretty much all of these are from him. At least he uses correct grammar, I'll give him that.

There are loud grunting noises coming from Fledge's room at night and they're keeping me up. Why don't you go and investigate? —Cawlin

Someone is hogging the upstairs bathroom every single day. Karane and I wholeheartedly agree this needs to stop. —Cawlin

Strich won't stop letting his bugs out of their cages and I have spiders crawling on me. HELP. —Cawlin

Groose pushed back the divider to make more room for his ego and now Strich and I have less than eighty square feet to coexist in. Tell him to shove over and give us some more space, will you? —Cawlin

Those last couple were from a while ago.

I remove that last card and file it the "SOLVED" sector of the box. Groose hasn't stayed in his room for weeks now and Cawlin has taken it over, so problem solved. Last I checked the divider still hasn't been moved back, but Strich hasn't complained, so I assume he doesn't have a problem with it. I guess Quill was right about one thing. Some things really do blow over on their own.

When I'm done organizing Cawlin's complaints and figuring out how to go about addressing them, I flip to the back of the box, to the, 'TO DISCARD', file. This section holds complaints that turned out to be invalid upon investigation. I like to go through the discard pile one last time before throwing them away to make sure no important complaints got mixed in by accident. Doesn't look like it so far.

Someone stole my hair gel and defaced my punching bag. Go have a look, why don't you. —Groose

Groose's punching bag was in fine shape when I went to scope things out. The claimed "defacement" turned out to be a crudely drawn, scowling, cross-eyed rendition of my face attached to the bag, complete with devil horns and pointy teeth. Needless to say, I was not amused.

I received another complaint from Groose soon after that:

Someone drew a very vulgar and inappropriate image on the chalkboard. Just thought you'd want to know. —Your Friendly Neighborhood Groose

It was my face again.

I knew Groose liked his pranks, but I didn't think he would use the same punchline twice. Actually, I have a suspicion none of Groose's complaints were meant to be taken seriously, especially after such inquiries as, I'M UP TO MY HAIR IN GIRLS. Which is nice, except I can't move. Give me some of your tips on how to scare away women sometime? —The Groosenator.

On the other hand, I'll never forget a serious complaint—er, delicately worded request from Fledge that should have been brought to my attention right away. I could just about hear him stuttering as I read it.

Sorry to bother you, Pipit, but I think Mia may have gotten into my room while I was out, and well…now it's after sundown. If it's not too much trouble, I'd really appreciate some help! But if you're too busy, that's okay. No hurry… —Fledge

I rushed all the way back to the academy in the middle of patrol and found him sleeping on the floor outside his room, thrashing, growling, ripping and tearing noises coming from within. I was happy to report that encounter ended smoothly enough and no one was hurt, including me. But quite a few of Fledge's personal clothing items didn't make it out unscathed.

As for Link...well, there is one problem filed under his name.

HELP! MY FLY IS STUCK AND I CAN'T ZIP IT BACK UP! CAN YOU PLEASE HELP ME?! PLEASE AND THANK YOU! —FRUM LINK

The thing is, I'm fairly certain Link forgot—or isn't aware—that the box even exists. Even though I'm sure I explained it in his presence at least two times. So who sent this?

Sigh...Why must people abuse the box?!

I crumple the old notes into a ball and stuff them into my pouch to be disposed of later. When I'm just about to close up the box, I notice a few new complaints at the very front of the 'UNSOLVED' file. How did I miss those? I grasp them between my thumb and forefinger and slide them out, my eyes grazing the one on top of the stack.

Why can't Pipit solve my problems faster? —Anonymous

Thanks for the reminder, Cawlin.

There are still a few more cards bearing Cawlin's chicken scrawl, but one note catches my eye in particular—one written on fancy purple stationary. I unfold the purple paper carefully and read it.

You're the only one who still holds open doors for ladies, Pipit. What's up with that? :)

I smile to myself when I see the name Karane signed in neat cursive at the bottom. So she did notice—That's not the reason I did it, but still. Even I have to admit it is...nice, to be appreciated. An unusually happy feeling wells up in my chest as I picture the sly little smile she must have had on her face as she wrote this.

And now I've gotten off-focus again. Stifling a yawn, I glance at the moon dial near the base of the Light Tower. It's about that time again. Better put this away for another night and get back on the patrol route. I hesitate before replacing the purple note back in the box and slip it into my pocket instead, feeling just a bit more awake than before. Yes...I think that was a good note to end on.

Re-invigorated, I assemble all my gear and set off, a slight spring to my step. I pull out my map to double check the tonight's route. Looks like it's another round of the town, then it's back to the Knight Academy grounds until five in the morning. Most people are in for the night by now, or should be, so I doubt I'll have anyone making use of my escort services.

My cap blows in the wind. The night watch is boring and lonely, but it was the only job available to me without a full knight's certification. And I desperately need the money. How else am I going to pay off all those loans? Sometimes I just find myself wishing something more interesting would happen.

I scold myself internally for thinking that. If something interesting is happening on night patrol, that means something bad is happening. A uneventful, boring night is always a good night.

I suppose I'm just miffed that I can't be of as much use to people as I'd like. Not having access to my loftwing at night can be so inconvenient. What's frustrating is I have all the necessary training. I've completed my coursework, passed all my finals, and I'm perfectly capable of flying my loftwing in the dark. The only thing separating me from a full-time knight position is a piece of paper. I'm hardly a "trainee".

But I shouldn't be distracting myself with these thoughts. I'm on the clock now. Stay alert, Pipit! You still have two more hours left on this patrol. Then you can crawl home to bed and...Ugh. The house will probably be a wreck again when I get home.

I come a sudden halt when shouting voices enter my ears. No...it's just one voice.

"Come on, Dovos. Get up! The village called, their idiot is missing!"

I recognize the voice, that of the gear peddler at the Bazaar. Rupin. I run toward his voice and find him near the large tree below the Bazaar, pulling on something that is partially obscured by the tree's trunk. Upon closer inspection, I see that something is actually a person—the local bum. Rupin tries to haul the larger man up by the forearms, straining his back and grunting with the effort. Without warning, he unceremoniously drops the man on the ground. The bum just flops down and lies there, not moving. He's unconscious.

"Oww..." Rupin says, rubbing his back. He turns toward me slowly, squinting. His face lights up with an unusual grin when he notices me staring. "Oh! Look Dovos! A customer!"

He claps his hands together and rushes toward me, beaming. I push past him, going to kneel at the bum's side and check his pulse.

"Ahaa! How can I assist you, friend?" Rupin says cheerfully, to no one. "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask!"

I examine the bum closely, pinching my brow in concentration. He appears to be breathing all right. Rupin creeps up behind me, looming over my shoulder.

"Oh Gods..." He clasps a hand over his mouth, eyes bulging as if he just noticed him lying here for the first time. "Is he DEAD?!"

He starts crying.

"Er...no," I say, a tad uncomfortable. "He's just out. He's going to be okay." I groan in aggravation. But I can't exactly do anything for him without the use of my loftwing. I'll have to flag down somebody else to transport him to safety.

I snatch an arrow from my quiver and run to light it on the nearest torch. Aiming away from civilization, I kick the flaming arrow onto my bow and let it fly into the night air. That should get their attention.

As the flare fizzles out and disappears, I go back and stand by the bum to wait for someone to arrive. Rupin is crying and laughing at the same time now, a bright red flush to his cheeks. He holds his stomach, spluttering, "he's not really dead! PFFFFTAhahaha! Dovos, you mother faker..." I don't have to administer a sobriety test to know he would fail a sobriety test.

"Do you know what happened to him?" I question him. It's worth a try. "Were you with him when he passed out?"

He delays answering, his smile fading. His eyes open a little wider, betraying some apprehension. "Uh, n-no. I don't really know him. Not my friend," he says, stumbling over his words. He seems to regain some coherence, if only for a few seconds. He hiccups. "I just found him lying out here. Yeah."

Hmm. I wonder if that's true. I gaze down upon the incapacitated bum—Dovos was it? I've just been referring to him as the "the bum" in my mind because that's what my mother calls him all the time. The Skyloft bum. It's gotten stuck in my head. Though I guess 'vagrant' would be the more formal term, not bum. Vagrant Number Four, to be exact. The knights document the homeless for...some...reason. I really need to look into that.

I still wonder where these two came from, and what Rupin of all people was doing here trying to help the bum—uh, Dovos. That's going to take some getting used to. There are no places in Skyloft that serve spirits late into the night. They couldn't possibly have flown back from...the Lumpy Pumpkin.

No way. Two guys on a clear night like this, with a vigilant knight like Quill on the lookout? They would have been spotted by him for sure. The bum is drunk before the sun goes down more often than not, so this isn't unusual for him. As for Mr. Gear Peddler here, he likely had a little too much to drink at a friend's place and stumbled across him on his way home. A little meaning a lot.

Soon enough, someone swoops down and lands nearby. Once the rider draws closer, I can tell by their red uniform that it must be Harriet. Urging her bird nearer to the scene, she tilts her head and peers down at Dovos, looking concerned, but unsurprised.

"Again?"

I nod. "Yep."

She sighs and jumps down from her loftwing, boots thudding against the hard ground. Now that she's taking care of him, there's only one loose end left to tie up.

Turning to the thoroughly inebriated Rupin, I clear my throat and address him in my most official tone. "It not advisable for a civilian such as yourself to wander the streets at night alone and unarmed." And drunk. "Come, gear peddler. I'll escort you home."

I start off in the direction of the village, prompting Rupin to focus on the patch of yellow in front of him. This blindingly bright yellow uniform of mine has proved itself useful for situations like this. What they don't teach you in knight school. He follows fine enough, but I have to slow my pace significantly to stay beside him. I take care to scout out all directions, keeping a weary, but sharp eye out for keese, chuchu jellies, feral remlits, and whatever else may pose a threat this time of night.

Rupin seems to have gotten all his...giggles out, for the time being. Now he just seems brain dead. He stumbles along quietly with his eyes closed, head lulling forward. He looks like he could be sleep walking. Luckily, I don't need to ask where he lives. He lives in the same neighborhood as me, just down the road from my house. My mother is friends with his mother, so I've escorted her back from there at night on more than a few occasions.

Rupin suddenly perks awake. "Hey! This is Peatrice's house!" He bounces over to an adjacent cottage and claws at the door. "Dovos said I should—"

"No. Whatever you're thinking of doing, it's not a good time." I drag him past the door and get him back on course. In time, we approach the bridge. The only bridge over the stream. I look ahead, hoping to Hylia that it's all clear. It's not.

There on the bridge is a remlit, pacing to and fro restlessly. Active and on the prowl. Before I can suggest finding a hiding place until it moves on, its feral yellow eyes lock onto us, glowing bright with reflected moonlight. A shrill growl tears forth from its throat. It's too late.

"Stay behind me," I order Rupin, putting my arm out to block his advance. I reach back and arm myself with my trusty wooden shield. The thing has been singed and battered to death, but it hasn't failed me yet.

The remlit charges, fangs bared, claws unsheathed. I rush to meet it and thrust my shield out in front of me, beating the remlit back. The sound of cracking wood splinters the air as the remlit's hard little skull makes contact with the shield. The next thing I know, my shield is in pieces on the ground. A single chunk of wood hangs off my arm, clinging to the straps by a few shreds of timber.

"AhahahahahahaHA!" Rupin howls with maniacal laughter, behaving as if he's witnessing a very entertaining play rather than a life or death encounter. "That's what you get for hanging onto that cheap, banged-up shield! Now you pay the price!"

"Sir, I really don't think this is the time." I clench my teeth, bracing for another attack. The remlit was only stunned for a matter of seconds. It quickly shakes off the blow and springs to its feet, snarling. At me. I have just become the soul object of its fury. I put up my shield arm reflexively before remembering I no longer have a shield to defend myself with. I toss away the remains and draw my sword, putting myself between the remlit and the cackling Rupin.

The mad creature paces from side to side rapidly. Looking for an angle of attack. I spread my legs in a defensive stance and stay my ground, showing no fear. Running is the last thing I should do at this point. Fleeing will only fuel its blood lust.

It arches its back and comes at me sideways, fur raised in a threatening display. I swipe my sword in a wide arc over its head. It recoils from the blade and presses itself to the ground, hissing and spitting, its ears flattened against its skull. I don't aim to harm it, just to scare it off. This could very well be someone's beloved pet. A low growl rumbles in the remlit's throat as it crouches close to the ground, on the defensive. I take the opportunity to aim another bluff stab in its direction. It leaps back to avoid the point of the sword.

Still, it refuses to run. It crawls around on its haunches, waiting for an opening it's not going to get. It charges me again, the grumbling in its throat erupting into a vicious yowl. I intimidate it back with more feint blows. I push forward a few steps, then retreat a step, dancing with the remlit as it mirrors my every move. Every time it goes in to bite my leg, I lunge at it and ward it off with the blade, forcing it closer to the edge of Skyloft.

Cornered, the remlit pounces at my face. With a "hyah!" I smack it with the back of my sword and send it hurtling over the edge. The remlit falls with a devilish howl, writhing through the air.

Not a second to waste, I quickly wipe the sweat from my forehead and jog back to where I left Rupin. I get back to see he has wandered off the beaten path. His hands are wrapped around the trunk of a skinny tree a short ways from the bridge. Trying to strangle it. With a sinking feeling, I realize I am going to have to pry him off of that tree.

"Hey!" I run over and grasp him by the arms, pulling him away from the poor little tree. "What are you doing?"

"That tree looked at me funny." He goes stock still and shoots a suspicious glare at the tree, like it might burst into flames if he stares at it hard enough. He's completely serious.

I let out an exasperated breath. "C'mon," I say, urging him back toward the bridge. "We have to move before that remlit comes—OOF!"

A sharp jab to the stomach knocks the wind out of me. I stumble backwards, gasping. D...did he just elbow me in the gut? He did! The ingrate...! Ouch. I clutch my midsection and reel in pain as Rupin flings himself at the tree again. But there's no time to recover.

At that instant, there's a bone chilling screech. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, the remlit rises at the place I knocked it off the edge, staying aloft with its giant, bat-like ears. The little fuzzball of terror is flying straight for us, flapping its ears madly. Angrier than ever. Rupin's legs slowly slip out from under him as he tries to squeeze the life out of that tree. He sinks to the grass, hands sliding down the trunk with the rest of him.

"I don't think you've noticed, but we are in IMMEDIATE danger here!" I lose my composure. I wince, one hand still pressed to the place he hit me. The sound of the remlit's beating ears is getting louder. Closer. Letting go of my stomach, I shoot forward and hoist Rupin off the ground, gritting through the pain. He goes to elbow me again. But I'm expecting it this time.

Simultaneously, I throw my weight into him, knocking him flat on his he can register what happened to him, I manage to yank him to his feet again and restrain him, pinning his wrists behind his back. I grapple to keep a firm hold on him as he struggles.

"What is your problem?!" he growls through clenched teeth, trying to pull away. "Get your manhands off me!"

He suddenly freezes. What ever is disconnected in there seems to snap back into place as he spots the approaching remlit, his squinty eyes going wide with fear. He lets out a high-pitched scream.

"Go!" I loose my grip and let him break free, shoving him toward the bridge. I start to turn to keep the air born remlit at bay, but think better of it. I vault across the bridge after Rupin, pulling ahead of him. He'd better be following me if he knows what's good for him.

I dodge behind a house or two, hoping to lose the remlit. Thinking fast, I round one more corner and dive straight into a familiar bush. Rupin throws himself in after me, panting. His head knocks into my side painfully.

We lie low in the cramped space, chests heaving as we try to catch our breath. We're inside a very fragrant bush in the potions brewers' front yard. This wouldn't be the first time I hid in it to escape a remlit. I cross my fingers that the bush's strong aroma masks our scent.

Before long, little paws appear through the gaps in the leaves. The remlit lifts its head skyward, sniffing the air. Tail raised, it runs in a little circle and utters a high, mournful mew. As if to say, Aww, but I wanted to kill you! Please come back. Never falling for that again.

Soon, the remlit grows bored and moves on. It bounds off into the darkness with a frustrated whine, its padded footfalls fading away. I finally release the breath I was holding, sitting up.

"Close call."

Rupin snorts. "No kidding! You almost got me killed back there!"

I stare at him wryly, abdomen still thrumming where he elbowed me. I let my eyelids droop in annoyance. "You're...confused." I stand up and brush the leaves and twigs off my clothes. "Come on. We don't have much further to go." Thank the Goddess.

I help him climb out of the bush and lead the way back to the main path that cuts through the neighborhood. He drags behind me with his shoulders hunched and his arms wrapped around himself tightly, looking harassed. He seems to have forgotten about the tree, at the very least. We walk past dark cottages and burning torches lit at even increments along the path, not speaking to each other.

Suddenly, a nearby door creaks open, so slowly it could have been blown by the stray breeze. The door of my house.

"Oh. Hello, Pipit. Is that Robin you have with you? He doesn't look so good..."

My mother's dreamy voice floats out into the street. It sends a jolt through me; the lights in the house were all off, I really did think it was the wind! She leans out of the house and places a hand on her hip, trailing the other along the door frame. "Why don't you bring him in here to rest a while?"

Rupin searches around blindly, trying to locate the source of her voice. A delighted grin springs across his face when he sees her. He waves. "Hi Mallara!"

"Hey, sweetie!"

Oh. no. NO. Absolutely not.

"NO! I mean—no, mom. I'm escorting him home," I tell her firmly, gripping Rupin by the shoulders and steering him away. He just continues to smile and wave at her mindlessly. "His house is right over there."

"Aww. But why?" She pretends to pout. "It'll only be for a few minutes."

"Because to do otherwise would be a breach in protocol."

She breathes a disappointed sigh, twirling a strand of her hair. "Oh, Pip. You're no fun..."

"Just doing my duty." I grit my teeth, herding Rupin down the path. I feel her lingering gaze on our backs for a long while before she retreats back into the house and shuts the door quietly. Obstacle averted. I know she's trying to coax people into cleaning the house for her. Not going to happen.

I march the delirious gear peddler the rest of the way up to his door in less than a minute and pound on the door. It only occurs to me after the fact that whomever answers the door could be very unhappy indeed at being woken up so late at night. Or rather, so early in the morning. Oh well. It's not really my problem.

At first, there's no response. The house is completely dark. Several seconds go by, but still nothing. When I'm just about to try knocking again, a light goes on inside and I hear stomping footsteps. Thank goodness. For a second there, I was afraid I would have to sit out here with him until morning.

Rupin's mom, who is a rather big lady, answers the door. I have to do a double take to be sure it's her; she looks like a completely different person, hair askew, a bandage on her nose. I didn't realize just how much makeup she wore on a regular basis until now. The look of pure rage in on her face quickly evaporates when she lays eyes on her son, replaced by a congenial smile. But not so quick that I missed it.

"What's he doing he—I mean—Oh! I was wondering when he'd be home. Ohoohoohoo!" she brings a hand to her mouth and chuckles, exaggeratedly so. Her laugh reminds me of a chipmunk. "Thank you so much for guiding him back here, dear!"

I stand proud and tall. "I'm just doing my duty."

"Of course you were!" She grabs Rupin by the arm and wrenches him inside, with a roughness that doesn't quite match her smile. Rupin doesn't react. He appears to be shutting down for real this time, no longer aware of his surroundings. He might as well be asleep standing up. "Honestly, I always tell him if he's too far gone to let himself in quietly, he should stay over at his friends'. Or sleep in the shed. But it would appear he didn't listen."

"I see..." I nod, slightly unnerved. She always struck me as pleasant enough upon first impression, but you just know not to make her angry or do anything to press her buttons. You just know.

"Hoohoo. Well then, let's get you to bed, Rupin." Her grip on him tightens. She starts to close the door, but pauses, frowning. "Oh my...you weren't expecting a tip, were you?"

"N-nonense! All I need are the smiles of the people I protect as my payment." I smooth back my yellow knight's cap. "Although I won't deny that would be ni—"

"That's a relief. I left my change purse on the other side of the room," she huffs and adjusts her night gown. She smiles at me again, speaking with a harried quality, "Well, ta-ta then. Thanks again, dear. Tell your mother I said hello—Good night!"

She slams the door in my face rather abruptly, with unexpected force. That was...odd.

Sighing, I turn from their doorstep to get back to the patrol route. I will never, ever wish for something interesting to happen on the night watch again.

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A/N: And that's the interlude. Feel free to bleach this chapter from your memory if you hated it, because Rupin's not going to remember it either! I guess I wanted to try writing him from an outside perspective for once, and Pipit seemed like the right man for the job. *Must refrain from writing spin-offs of Pipit's Problem Box* Also, I fail at writing drunk people in first person.

We now have 20 chapters, over 100,000 words, and over 12,000 views! Whew. A million thank yous to Zelda Informer for the feature. Couldn't have done it without ya. Honestly, it's kind of scary how many more people are reading this now. The good kind of scary. Like, I'm ecstatic, but now there's even more pressure to do a great job! Ahhh! Special shout out to the guest reviewers since I can't respond to you. Thanks for the feedback! And thanks to my two kitties Mittens and Finnick for helping me write remlits.

Two more things before I go:

1. Last chance to vote in the character appearances poll if you wanted to, but haven't already. I'm pretty much done planning out the rest of the story, so I'm closing that thing soon.

2. I have another upcoming fic in the works featuring Rupin that will compliment this story. Keep an eye out for it in late November/early December-ish. ;) EDIT: It's out! Carol of the Birds. Skyward Sword Christmas Carol retelling featuring Rupin in the role of Scrooge. Sounds crappy and unoriginal but it's NOT. Would I lie to you? No. So go check it out if you want your Rupin fix because that's what I'll be writing all December and it just so happens to be super relevant to this story. (The Customer Is (Not) Always Right will return in January)