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The Customer is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 21: Beetle in a Haystack

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"Shopkeeper! Shopkeeper! I gets to be a shopkeeper!"

Kukiel is bouncing off the walls. All I did was ask her if she ever wanted to be a shopkeeper, and well...now this.

"What's this? What's that? Ooo! Such a pretty shield!"

"Kukiel—"

"Do you live in here?!" She stands on her tiptoes and peers into the storage room.

"No," I say. "Kukiel, I think there's been a small misunderstanding as to what exactly your role is. Your job isn't here. It's out there."

Kukiel turns and looks all around as I sweep my hand over the bustling marketplace.

"The entire Bazaar is your work station."

"Whoooooa."

"I know. It's great, isn't it?" I say, grinning broadly. "I'll tell you what your job is all about. It's really very easy. All you have to do is get out there and get people to come to the Gear Shop!"

"I'm on it!" She clenches her fists with a look of determination. "...How do I that?"

"By any means necessary," I tell her, lowering my voice to an insistent whisper. She widens her eyes, mirroring my serious expression. "Drag them over here if you have to."

I'm pretty sure she's the only person on this entire island who could get away with something like that. Even I am not immune to her charm and have already let her get away with much more than I would have tolerated from Gully. Just goes to show it pays to be cute. Sometimes I wish I was cute.

"Shouldn't be a difficult task for you!" I clap my hands together, summoning another cheery smile. "Ah! I almost forgot about the best part." I spring over to the corner of the shop and pick up my neglected tip jar, pulling apart a cobweb in the process. I move it to a more visible spot on the counter. "See this jar here? It's for tips. Half of the rupees people put in this jar are yours."

"For me?"

"Yep. You get to keep them."

Kukiel cheers and does a little happy dance that I might mistake for a medical emergency if I didn't know any better. "How do we gets people to put moneys in the jar?"

"That's a good question," I say. "Just tell people we're taking donations for the homeless."

"Ohh!" She bounces up and down. "You're helping homeless people?"

"Uh huh. That's where the other half is going." I'll use it to buy Dovos's next drink and then that won't be a total lie. That is assuming he doesn't get thrown in the slammer. "But wait, there's more—"

"Look, look! A grabitude crackle!"

I groan in annoyance as Kukiel flits off to the opposite side of the store, rubbing my forehead. "Kukiel, you're not listening to me..."

Kukiel clumsily throws herself on the floor and grasps at...nothing. I raise an eyebrow as she climbs to her feet and stuffs an invisible object into her dress pouch.

"Uncle Bats said everyone can't see them," she explains to me upon seeing the confused look on my face. "You gots to have a pure heart!"

"Ah." No wonder then. "You have an active imagination, don't you, Kukiel?" Not to mention a severely limited attention span.

"That's what my mommy always says!" the little girl pipes up, eyes crinkling up happily. "Oh, oh! I know! We should play the scream-as-loud-as-you-can game after this!"

I just stare at her. "What?"

"The scream as loud as you can game!" she roars, twice as loud. I flinch. "That's what I play with my Uncle Bats. We take turns screaming as loud as we can and the person with the loudest scream wins!"

"I think I got the gist of it," I say.

"So you wanna play?"

"No. We are not playing the screaming game.'"

"Aww..." She tilts her head at me, puckering her mouth into a little frown. "Why?"

"Because then people will think I'm mentally unhinged."

"What's that mean?"

"Ugh, just never mind," I grumble. I brush the subject away with a wave of my hand. "Listen up. This next thing I'm about to tell you about your job is very important." I kneel on the ground so that I'm on her level, directing her attention to the potion shop with only my eyes. "See that lady standing behind the cauldrons over there?"

Kukiel, catching on, ducks down and discreetly turns and peeks at Manhands. "Yeah," she whispers back, nodding.

"Well, that's the Bazaar b-...the Bazaar witch."

She gasps dramatically, clasping both hands over her mouth.

"Mm hmm. And do you see that other lady way over there in the back of the food place, stirring the smaller cauldron?"

"Is she a witch too?"

I look her in the eye gravely and nod.

"Oh no!" she cries, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. "Somebody should tell Gully his mommy's a witch!"

"Shh. I'm sure he already knows, sweetheart." I stand up. "You must keep away from the witches at all costs. Do you understand? Or else—"

"THEY'LL PUT ME IN THEIR STEW AND EAT ME FOR DINNER."

Another grin slides across my face. That wasn't what I was going to say, but we'll go with that. "Smart girl."

I rattle off a few more rules of the "game." In a nutshell: Knights good, witches bad. The more rupees the knights spend, the more the witches' power diminishes. Kukiel takes everything in with bated breath. By the time I'm almost done reviewing the rules and explaining my wares to her heart's content, the tip of her poofy pony tail is trembling with anticipation. She can't wait to get out there and start kicking some witches' tail. "This is gonna be so much fun!" she says with a gleeful hop. And with that, she sets off into the crowd, her game face on.

Manipulation? No. I don't see this as manipulation. I think of it as making things fun for her. What Beedle's doing, that's manipulation. It's not like I'm holding something she really wants over her head in exchange for cheap labor. She can quit whenever she wants, for all I care.

Speaking of the devil. Right at that moment, Gully flies around the bend of the Bazaar. Or at least, as fast as one could fly while trapped in that wooden contraption Beedle's encased him in. He's yelling out some sales pitch there's no way he came up with on his own. I can't understand half the stuff he's saying.

"Beedle's bargains! Beedle's bargains! Get yours today before the air shop flies away! Come on up and purchase a heart medillon! It'll make you harder than a hundred knight battalon!"

I'm not a very violent person. But Gully gives me violent thoughts.

Clap clap CLAP. "Hey hey hey everybody! Don't forget what that air shop's runnin' on! MY POTIONS!"

All heads in the immediate vicinity turn toward Manhands as she scoops up a bottle of green ooze and thrusts it in the air like a trophy. "A bottle or two of my stamina brew will whip you into air ship-shape!" Wink wink. "So step right up! Leave the hustle and bustle for these peeerfect MUSCLES!"

Wouldn't it be nice if everybody just threw themselves off a ledge right now?

I growl in disdain as droves of customers line up at Manhands's stall, skimming the crowd for that little plume of dark brown hair. What is Kukiel up to? We're going to have to play aggressively if I want to compete with these ignoramuses across the hallway. As people procure their potion samples from Manhands, Gully waddles over to Bertie's lonely corner of the shop. Bertie stoops to his level, a patient smile lining his features. Bertie reminds me of a grandmother sometimes. Not my grandma. Someone else's nice grandma.

"Hello there, Gully!" Bertie's enthusiasm is genuine, but frayed around the edges. "What did you bring me today?"

Gully thrusts a handful of items toward the haggard potion brewer, including a bottle of guardian potion, a tray of bugs, and a bulging bag of money. Bertie first takes the bugs and examines them closely. After several seconds, he frowns.

"Uh oh...I'm sorry, Gully, but these are no good. They're already dead," he explains gently. "You know how your mommy cooks shellfish alive and throws away the dead ones? Making potions is the same way. If the bugs aren't live when they're added to the mixture, things get a little funky."

"But this potion is for Beedle!" Gully whines. "He told me to bring the ingredients to you and power it up!"

"Oh! Well why didn't you say so?" Bertie says with a fond smile. "For Beedle, we usually make an exception. I hate to think what would happen to the air shop if he didn't get his energy potions on time."

Really? Because I find the thought hilarious. Bertie goes ahead and sprinkles the dead bugs into his dingy cauldron. I knew for a fact Beedle has always been buying out Luv and Bertie's potions, but I've never seen him come in here. I always assumed he corresponds with them in the evening, but now I know what's really going on. He sends his little slave.

Gully celebrates as Bertie passes him a full bottle of guardian potion plus, so packed to the brim the cork is barely on. Gully snatches it and takes off, making for the door.

Suddenly, there's a loud bang as he misjudges his...width and the corner of the sign smashes into the wall, causing him to ricochet backwards and fall flat on his back. He lies there, motionless. Bertie looks as shocked as I am, but doesn't make a move. Uh...should I do something?

But then Gully twitches back to life and scrambles up off the floor, running out of the Bazaar. Okay. Never mind.

Minutes pass. Then an hour. Just when I'm about to give up on my Kukiel scheme amounting to anything, the little girl emerges from the crowd, and I see she's leading someone by the hand. This certain someone just happens to be an attractive young female knight with red pigtails and a beret-style cap. Yes. Yes.

"Come on! I got lots of stuff to show you!" Kukiel glances up and beams at me, practically glowing. "Look, Wupin, I found a pretty lady!"

The knight gives me a knowing side glance as Kukiel drags her past. "Your little helper today, huh?" she says with a wink. "Where did you find this girl?"

"I know, right? Ahaha." She has no idea.

"Look at this shield!" exclaims Kukiel, toting our new customer straight over to the sacred shield. I hover forward to cut in and take over, but then stop myself. No...she's got this. Kukiel's got this.

"It's so sparkly and pretty, like...like a princess shield! NO. A Goddess shield."

The knight laughs and flips her fiery hair. "Well, I did play the Goddess in last year's Wing Ceremony."

"You did? That's amazing!"

I hang back as Kukiel jabbers away, bombarding the female knight with question after question, but she doesn't seem to mind. If anything, she seems to enjoy Kukiel's enthusiasm. Because she's cute.

I may have underestimated this little girl. She is surprisingly observant and self-aware for her age, showing consideration for others and proving herself capable of carrying on a semi-intelligent conversation. Definitely a people person.

"So how much is this thing, anyway?" The knight inquires, turning to me.

I perk up. "Normally, my sacred shield is 500 rupees, but for a recent graduate I think I could part with it for 450."

"Wow." She bites her lip. "That's still a lot."

"That's cuz this shield is INVISIBLE," Kukiel butts in. Close enough. "If you're really careful, it won't ever break! It heals its own booboos!"

"Haha, what?" the knight says to her.

"The sacred shield has the unprecedented ability to heal itself, thanks to an infusion of Goddess plume that gives it its signature vibrant purple color," I explain. "Allow me."

I take a nail between my fingers and drive into the center of the display shield, until a small crack appears. The knight watches in awe as the crack seals itself up in seconds.

"A little on the fragile side, but as you can see, it's good as new!" I say.

She places her hand on her hip, a hard-to-read smile working its way across her lips. "Impressive..."

"So are you gonna buy it?!" Kukiel blurts out. I cringe, but the knight smiles down at her and chuckles good-naturedly.

"Well, I do have a lot of graduation money to blow. And I'll need a shield that's going to last." She stares up at the ceiling and ponders a few seconds. "I'll take it."

I gape in shock. "Th-thank you ma'am!" I stutter. My heart flutters in my chest, threatening to burst with elation. "If you have any more doubts about the durability of your shield, I suggest you have it examined at the Scrap Shop. Provided you take good Gondo there the necessary treasures and the like, he will happily upgrade it for you!"

I feel as if I'm in a dream as I fetch her a brand new sacred shield from the back and exchange it for glorious, glorious rupees. I didn't hardly do anything other than ring her up. Why am I even here? Kukiel can just have my job if she wants.

"Wait!" Kukiel cries out before the customer leaves. She runs over to the tip jar and jumps out to snatch it. "Do ya wanna donate a rupee to the homeless?" She holds the jar out.

"Sure!" The knight drops a green rupee in the jar on her way out of the shop, her new sacred shield on her arm. She waves her free hand. "Thanks. Bye now!"

"Have a wonderful day, ma'am!" I wave, grinning from ear to ear. Bursting at the seams with joy. Once she's gone, I let it all out.

"Kukiel, that was amazing!" I gush, ecstatic. "Are you up for adoption? —Don't answer that question. Kukiel, you're a natural at this!"

She just giggles back. Why didn't I think of this sooner? This is the most brilliant marketing scheme I've ever come up with! This little girl is going to make me filthy stinking rich.

"Guess what, Kukiel." I smirk, counting my money. Even though I already did once and I know exactly how much it is. "I'm giving you a raise!"

"Yay!" Kukiel pumps her little fists in the air. "What's a raise?"

"It means you can just keep all the money in the jar." I tuck the rupees from the shield in my apron. "I won't need it. You've done a fine job today, Kukiel. You deserve it."

She smiles. I have to keep the employees satisfied, after all. How many other people would be this happy about an extra two rupees? It almost seems criminal I'm not giving her money, seeing as that was technically her sale. But it's not like she knows any better. Kids are happy if you hand them a sticker, for crying out loud.

I take another trip to the storage room to lock some of my earnings securely in the vault, basking in money-fueled bliss. It's not often I reap such a huge profit that I have to do this. Kukiel truly salvaged this day. This almost makes up for having to spend my evening with Beedle. Almost.

The end of my shortened work shift approaches fast, as it sometimes does when I'm dreading something afterwards. Kukiel manages to snag a few more tips for herself, a total of four rupees. Never before has that jar held so many rupees. It's an all-time record. At quarter till four, I start closing up the shop for the day.

"You're leaving?" Kukiel asks. She looks let-down, like her birthday party was just canceled.

"Yep. I have some business to attend to tonight," I say, weaving around her to take some shields back into the storage room. "I'll be clearing out in a few minutes here, so that's it. You're free to go. Get out of here and go treat yourself to some candy or something."

"But I'm having so much fun playing shopkeeper!" she pleads. "I don't wanna go home yet."

"Serious?" I say, but little kids don't lie about that. "Well, I guess if you really want to, I could let you man the shop while I'm gon—"

"AIIEEEEeeeee!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" I am continually amazed at how every stupid little thing is so new and exciting to her. I step outside the shop and turn on my heel.

"You'll want to stand right here—no, not there. Where people can see you." I motion for her to move out from behind the counter and stand in the entrance space, so her ponytail isn't the only thing showing. "When you're manning the shop in the afternoon, you just have to be friendly and say good night to people. You can do that, right?"

"Yeah!"

"Great! Just don't walk off with a stranger...or anything." Even though you already did that once.

Kukiel farewells customers as I'm packing the rest of the displays away. "Good night, mister! Good night! G'night!" she calls chipperly, waving at every person who passes by. There's not a stink eye in sight. Even if they don't respond back, they melt into warm smiles and giggles, eyes gleaming with adoration. As predicted, no one can resist adorable little Kukiel. She's much cuter than Gully, the little slime ball. I would choose an octorok as my poster child before his freaky mug.

When the counters are all clear and the gear is put away, I bring one of my large noticeboards out of the storeroom. Kukiel eyes me with curiosity as I set it up on the front counter, where it will hopefully be seen.

"What's that sign with the big fancy letters for?" she wonders.

"Oh, this? Sometimes the lights being off and the wares being stored away aren't enough of a clue that the shop is closed. So I need to put it out here in bold print." I exhale, brushing some dust off the sign. "But sometimes this doesn't even get the message across..."

"Hmm." Putting her hands on her hips, Kukiel puffs out her cheeks and wrinkles up her nose, making a snooty face that is comically adorable on her. "Well, people need glasses!"

A surprised chuckle escapes me. "Kukiel, I have a feeling we are going to make an unstoppable sales team."

"Yeah! We should get married!"

"...Um."

"I wanted to marry my daddy, but he said 'no' 'cause mommy would get jealous. So I pick you instead!"

"That's..." I trail off, unsure what would be the most appropriate way to respond to that. I shake my head. "Yeah, that's not gonna work."

"Awww..." She pouts. Well, I certainly wasn't going to get her hopes up.

"Goodbye, Kukiel."

"Byeee!" She smiles her dimpled little smile and waves one over-sized sleeve in the air. I make for the exit of the Bazaar and depart to meet Beedle, sighing. Why can't women my own age like me? Oh, right. There are no women my own age.

-:-:-:-:-

Wingy and I coast alongside the air shop, which chugs along slowly...slowly. Very slowly. When Beedle confronted me earlier, it was not to my understanding that he was expecting that both of us would ride Wingy. Together. 'I will need swift wings to bear me hence!' he said to me when we reconvened outside the Bazaar.

That was before he actually met Wingy and she almost tore one of his limbs off. So now here we are, cruising across the skies at an agonizingly slow rate. We—meaning Wingy and I—probably could have flown out to our destination and back a couple times by now. We pull ahead and fly in circles around Beedle, since there's nothing else to do. And I think it ticks him off, so all the more reason to do it.

The first place we're searching is his home island. Beedle Island. From the sound of it, Beedle's aim is to cover one island per day until...well, we haven't exactly discussed that yet. At the very least, it looks like he has done some pre-planning and narrowed down the search area, so we're not just flying willy-nilly at random. But come on. We're searching for a bug. This is like looking for a needle in a haystack. No. A beetle in a vast expanse of sky. Even worse.

Once we reach Beedle Island and Beedle successfully docks his air shop, he sticks his head out the window and waves me on up. I send Wingy away from this wretched place and begin to ascend the ramp. If there's one thing I've discovered about Beedle in recent years, it's that he is also a man of two faces. Only instead of going from a perky shopkeeper to a grouchy recluse, he goes from...well, normal person. To this brooding pseudo-intellectual from outer space. It is one of the most bizarre things I have ever encountered.

I still don't understand why he goes to the trouble of masking his foreign accent during work hours, considering that's one of the least weird things about him. It's like spot cleaning instead of bathing, which I wouldn't be surprised if he actually does.

Beedle doesn't look up when I enter the shop. He's still resting on his bicycle seat, poring over some old maps. Out of habit, I hesitate at the entrance, skimming the center of the floor for an outline of the trap door. Once I've successfully convinced myself there's nothing to fear, I start to go inside, but immediately step back when a sharp waft of body odor wrinkles my nose. I remain at the entrance, near a pocket of fresh air.

"You know what this place could use?" I speak up cheerfully, giving the inside of the door frame a loud knock. When Beedle doesn't react, I answer, "a shower."

Beedle glances up at me, but says nothing. His gaze shifts back to the map on his lap. Tormenting Beedle is the only thing that's making this trip bearable right now. I'd go so far as to say this is one of my favorite pastimes, my guiltiest of pleasures. Oh, who am I kidding. I don't feel guilty at all.

"You named this ship yet?" I ask.

"Gloria," he answers levelly, without looking up this time. He leans to the side and presses two fingers to his temple. "Her name is Gloria."

I was going to suggest Ye Olde Armpit but I suppose that isn't necessary. "So let me guess," I say, taking on an air of feigned whimsy, "Gloria was a beautiful maiden who led your heart astray in some era gone past."

"Don't be a git. Gloria was a tree."

His words sting a little, but his voice contains no edge. I search his face, but if he's irritated, it doesn't show. His eyes seem to mist over as he drifts off into a sort of wistful haze. He puts his hand down and gradually sits up straight, giving off the illusion that his head is being tugged gradually upward by an invisible string.

"But I suppose you could say, in a figurative way," he continues in a breezy voice, "she was a pulchritudinous maiden who led my heart astray."

I guess 'beautiful' wasn't good enough for him.

"Gloria was, however, rather a mother than a lover

not only to me, but to all who would gaze upon her.

The blackbirds and beetles

blessed butterflies and squirrels..."

Wait. Is he reciting a poem? Is he seriously reciting a poem right now?

"Many a time, she cradled me in her strong, protruding roots, her swaying bushels of emerald sheltering me from the harsh light of the world. Enveloped in her warm shadow, I would marvel up at her majesty, just pondering..."

"Gloria, wondrous Gloria, why oh why

do your branches reach for the sky?

Do you secretly yearn

to fly?"

What the hell is going on?

"How can thee be so content to observe as creatures come and go as they please?

Forever rooted to the earth, never to be free..."

Beedle returns to this world in a flurry of blinking. His eyes skirt me briefly, acknowledging my presence for the first time in an entire minute. Inhaling through his nose, he slowly draws one knee up to rest his chin upon it, and wraps his arms around his leg.

"It was I who severed her from her colossal roots, roots that burst through the bottom of that chunk of earth to which she was bound. I who would defile her supple wood in the pursuit of my own happiness."

I pull one corner of my mouth into a thin line. "You chopped down that tree to build your airship."

Beedle nods, still in a trance-like state. "Aye." He emits a grievous moan, as if he is on a stage delivering a soliloquy, and I have the honor of witnessing my own private performance.

"Not an hour passes when I don't recall that day!

The day I smote Gloria's life away.

Never again will I rest beneath that tree

musing upon life's many mysteries..."

He bows his head and stares somberly at the wall, speaking low now, "I took more than my fair share that day. Never again will the beetles bore into her robust bark, nor will the squirrels frolic in her canopy. Never will the butterflies, with their lustrous sapphire wings, flit between her delicate blossoms, or sleepy blackbirds go to roost among her lush emerald fronds." Eyes unfocused and faraway, he takes a generous sip from his bottle, tipping some silvery liquid into his mouth. "Nevermore."

I yawn into my hand. All these allusions to treasure are making me want to bomb for some real sapphires and emeralds. "Well, you wouldn't be able to fly without her, right?" Feeling stiff, I shift to lean against the door frame, crossing my arms. "Just think of all your accomplishments. Without this air shop, you wouldn't be where you are today."

Now he looks at me directly.

"And yet here I sit, weighted down by regrets. Do you not think I have already tried and failed to rationalize my foul deeds?"

I just stare at him, slightly taken aback. Sheesh. I can't say anything to this guy. It's like he wants to be miserable.

"At the time, I convinced myself I was doing us both a favor. That with her sacrifice, I would liberate the both of us from our earthly bonds. That one of us could not fly without the other. I told myself her spirit lived on through this aircraft and she had merely taken on a different form." A meaningful pause. "That was only half true."

I get the feeling he wants me to ask which was true, but don't care enough to humor him. No one asked for his back story. Or his bad poetry.

He prattles on when I don't remark on anything: "And so I made a vow. I vowed that for the rest of my days, I would serve the creatures of the earth in her place, until I expire, and my ground-up bones become the very soil new trees grow upon," he says with dramatic resolve. "But the staggering truth remains that no amount of effort on my part can make up for my puny, inconsequential amount time on this earth. How many lifetimes had gone by before I so selfishly ended hers? How many more ages would she have weathered had I let her be? How many thousands upon thousands of creatures would she have sheltered beneath her spreading canopy, and sustained with her fair fruit? I dream of an absolution that will never come."

I roll my eyes. Drown in your angst, then. I don't care.

"Truthfully, every compliment I receive on the shop wounds me a little inside, but my kind patrons need not be aware. This is my burden to bear. Mine, and mine alone."

And yet he doesn't mind burdening me with his ridiculous problems. I see how it is.

"I know somewhere in the depths her oaken heart, Gloria forgave me. Trees are indiscriminating, after all..."

He takes a great breath and heaves a long, forlorn sigh.

"But I can never forgive myself. My wings were formed from sin."

"Okay..." My voice seems to ring at an uncomfortably loud volume after all that. "So should we go look for your beetle now?"

"I do believe it is that time." Beedle jumps off his bicycle and grabs two bug nets from under the counter before meeting me at the door. "Come," he says, passing a net to me. "we have much ground to cover."

He rolls up his map and tucks it into his pants pocket, leading the way down the ramp. I inspect my borrowed bug net as we walk, trying to figure out just why someone would shell out 800 rupees for this thing. Who even likes catching bugs these days? Little kids and freaks, that's who.

"So what does this dung beetle look like again?" I ask when we reach the bottom of the ramp. Beedle turns to face me.

"It's not a dung beetle," he says, very matter-of fact, "it's a horned colossus beetle."

"Right. Horned Colossus Beetle." Like that's supposed to mean something to me. "Can you describe it to me?"

He gazes off into the distance, as if some grand vision only he can see is unfolding before him. "Those spiny pincers...those iridescent rainbow wings. There is nothing comparable, my good chap. You will know it when you see it!"

I wait a few moments for him to go on. But he turns and wanders off, saying no more.

"Thanks." I smile. "That really helps."

I follow him over to the lone tree on his island, which stands just a short distance from the docking station. It looks to be a fairly young tree, only a decade or so old. Beedle moves purposefully toward the tree.

"My beloved beetle went missing yesterday, when I let him out of his cage to play and left him alone for a spell. The last place I glimpsed him was also the first place I ever glimpsed him..." Beedle outstretches a hand and places it on the tree, about halfway up the trunk. "...Here, on this tree. This is Gloria II, one of Gloria's children. She was but a crying sapling when I rescued her from the withering roots of the late Gloria and transplanted her here, as I have with countless other baby trees. I may not be able to carry on Gloria's legacy all on my own, but that does not mean I cannot try." His melancholic determination gives way to carefree amusement. "You can imagine how tickled I was to find a horned colossus beetle of all things clinging to her trunk one morning!"

"Ah. Yeah." I'm not sure I want to imagine that. Beedle's gaze wavers out of focus again, into some unseen netherworld. It's like his brain just has meltdowns.

"Oh yes, and so the cycle has begun anew. I remember, back when I was but a starry-eyed youth, how I had a grand epiphany. As I lay my head against my beloved Gloria, watching the beetles buzz from branch to branch, this epiphany settled over me like a fresh dusting of snow: to Gloria, I was just another animal," he says. "I was one of the beetles."

"Pffft."

"What, pray tell, is so funny?"

"Nothing," I choke down my laughter, covering my mouth with my fist and clearing my throat. "I was just laughing about something that happened earlier."

The skepticism on Beedle's face suggests he's not convinced. Our senses of humor really do not mesh. Our personalities in general don't mesh, but our senses of humor really don't. For example, Beedle thinks he's a hotshot poet. To me, that's funny.

Finally, we embark on the search for Beedle's beetle, combing through sleek blades of emerald green grass and scouring the island's many shallow, filthy caves. It's beyond me how one even becomes attached to an insect to begin with. It's not like they're affectionate. They just crawl around and sit there looking gross. That's it.

Beedle hums to himself. His mood seems to have improved considerably, now that he's in his natural element and I am far removed from mine. The wind is weak on this island, the air still and dry. Every so often, a light breeze wisps by, but it's a tease compared to winds that blow through Skyloft. Without them, it's a tad too warm outside this time of year.

"Ick, it's hot out today," I can't help but complain. I tug on my collar, trying to prevent my shirt from sticking to me.

Beedle glances my way. "Perhaps a mite. Take your shirt off, old bug," he suggests casually.

"...What?"

"Take your shirt off," he says again, though I heard him just fine the first time. "You'll feel so much better. Shirts can be so very confining. I like to feel a gentle breeze at my back, the warm sun kissing my chest."

And I like to appear civilized. "That's all right."

"Suit yourself."

The short-lived conversation blows off like the nearly-nonexistent breeze and we focus our attentions back on the search, retreating into our own private thoughts. After some time, I notice something odd. I think Beedle might be following me.

He's always a few steps behind, never letting me too far out of his sight. I test my theory and walk around a large rock. Sure enough, Beedle appears, creeping around the corner less than ten seconds after. It's like he thinks I'll make a break for it if he lets me alone even once. What a pain. This island is large enough that we can go off on our own and cover different areas, so why doesn't he mind his own business? Ugh. How to shake him off?

"So you keep a bug as a pet," I remark. "But you drink potions that are made of crushed-up bugs. Isn't that kind of like owning a pet remlit and cooking remlit stew for dinner?"

Beedle just shakes his head from side to side, eyes trained the rocks. "You really are clueless," he says. He doesn't sound angry, rather, his tone carries a faint note of pity. Well, gee, I thought it was a legitimate question. But I leave it at that. I muse that nothing ever seems to get a real rise out of this guy.

Pretty soon, I can't take this any more. I feel like a child being babysat. His presence is like a persistent itch that comes back worse every time you scratch it. With an exasperated grunt, I put down my net and abruptly walk around the nearest corner.

"Where are you going?" he asks in a suspicious tone.

"To pee!" I round on him and grit my teeth into a impatient smile. "A little privacy, please?"

Beedle raises both eyebrows. "Wait. Rupin, are you going over the edge?"

"Uh, yeah. It's not like there's a toilet on this island." I return his weirded-out look. "You superstitious or something? Are you one of those types who thinks the cloud barrier is going to dissipate and the demons are going to come up and get us?"

"Not at all!" Beedle refutes, perhaps mildly insulted. "What you are doing is bad for the environment, is all."

I almost snort. You're bad for the environment. "That's nonsense," I say. "It's not harmful, it's perfectly clean and sanitary. You get rid of it, it's gone. History. No one ever has to speak of it again."

"But do you know what happens to it after that? Do you know?"

If yesterday, someone told me that twenty-four hours from now, I would be on a remote island with Beedle debating the final destination of urine, I would have laughed in their face.

"Who cares?" I say, for once in my life having the audacity to speak my mind. "There's nothing down there, Beedle. Just an endless drop."

"You seem ever so sure of yourself."

There it is—Beedle's holier-than-thou smirk, just barely breaking the surface. That subtle little smirk that says, 'I know something you don't.'

"I wonder," he says, stroking his chin, "would you bet your life savings on it?"

Something about his confidence throws me. My resolve falters for a moment, and the fake smile fades from my face before I even realize it. I get a hold of myself, scoffing, "I wouldn't bet my life savings on anything. That's stupid."

"Ah, so I have planted a tiny seed of doubt in your conscience..."

The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. Beedle is the one to step forward and relieve it.

"Do not misinterpret my intentions, Rupin. I do not mean to impose, only to inform," he says calmly, opening his arms. "You are not wrong. Your meager offense may be but a water droplet in a pail. But if everyone behaved as you do...my, the consequences would be catastrophic."

"Everybody does behave like me. Have you been to the Lumpy Pumpkin? People have been tinkling off the edge of Skyloft for centuries." I glare a challenge. "If it's so hazardous to the environment, then prove it."

After a moment of careful contemplation, he returns with an airy, "You would not believe the half of it if I told you."

Cryptic as ever, I see. I wish he would come out and admit he can't prove his point, but I know I'll never get that out of him. That's a petty battle I'm not going to win. "You're right. I probably wouldn't."

I resign myself from the conversation turn my back to him, moving off to look for his stupid bug again. There's still something bothering me. And no, it's not my bladder, because I don't have to pee anymore. I am still mystified as to what Beedle does with his waste materials.

"So. What?" I dare to ask, turning over a small boulder. "You just...cart everything off to the landfill for disposal?"

"Heavens, no! That's even worse. That landfill is a ticking time bomb just waiting to blast us all to the moon!"

Then what...what is he doing with it? What is he doing with it?! I am utterly stumped.

But then an image comes to mind, of the mini mountain of empty potion bottles stacked in his cave.

Oh.

"Oohhh!" Beedle smiles, his eyes lighting up with a playful fascination. "I dare say you've just had an 'Ahaa!" moment, have you not my good chap? Do not attempt to hide it; it is etched into every crease and dimple on your face! Ho ho! You would be surprised what you can recycle, Rupin. When given the proper amount of time to compost."

My jaw falls open as my mind strains to wrap itself around all he's telling me, against my will. I don't want to wrap my mind around it.

Beedle looks over his shoulder fondly, at his tree. "What is waste to us is nourishment for another. They give us life. We give them life. The cycle never ends, so long as we take only what we need to survive."

"S-seriously?"

"My good bug, where did you think fertilizer came from? How else would we cultivate our land each and every year, and grow the pumpkins we all hold so dear?"

The world as I knew it is crumbling around me. I...all my life...

"Rupin, every human being is a walking fertilizer unit."

"OKAY, I get it! I just...need a moment."

I turn my back on him again and retreat several steps, stumbling over a crack in the dirt. Not knowing what else to do with myself, I resume searching for the beetle. I go through the motions, pushing rocks aside with my feet and peering into crevices, but not really looking, not really seeing. My innocence has been shattered.

Can everything Beedle told me really be true? This has to be some sick, sick joke he's playing on me. He's just taking advantage of my naivety and lack of environmental awareness. No one in their right mind would do such a thing, right? As if everyone Skyloft can be depended up upon to be in their right mind...I just can't imagine there aren't health risks involved, but I guess this would help explain the...mortality rate. You'd be hard pressed to find someone under the age of five who still has both of their parents.

I don't want to live on this planet anymore. If I got hit on the head with a falling rock right now and wound up with amnesia, I think I would be okay with that.

We move on to check more areas of the island, content to keep to ourselves. I don't dare touch upon the 'fertilizer' subject again, lest things be confirmed beyond a reasonable doubt. I have ventured deeper into the dark recesses of our society today than I ever wanted, or needed to today. Right now, all I want to do is and think about my warm bed waiting for me at home—er, my pillow in the shed. I sigh.

"My, just look how the sun has sunk!" Beedle proclaims. He's right; the sun is starting to set, though I had already noticed. I've just been counting down the seconds until I can blast out of here. "I reckon you'd best be heading home soon, before night draws her tenebrous curtain across the sky once more."

He's patronizing me again.

"Technically, I could bear you home if you should get marooned out here after dark. But you would never want to inconvenience me so, would you now? Ho ho!"

Did I hear that correctly? "You have a license to fly that thing at night? Really?!"

"Indeed I do. I proofed Gloria for nocturnal flight and the knights gave me their official safety approval seal! I usually avoid flying in the darkness, but I figured I ought to be prepared, if need be. Tis a long journey home every evening."

"Huh," I respond, maintaining a guise of indifference. Talk about favoritism. "Well, I better get going." I already signaled Wingy.

I start to go, but then something curious occurs to me. Loftwings will never fly below the clouds, no matter what you command them to do. But Beedle commands his own wings, as he called the shop. I wonder...

"Beedle," I say. He looks at me. "have you taken your air shop below the clouds?"

"Oh, no no! It would be foolhardy to take my air ship to such dangerously low altitudes. The turbulence down below is dreadful, and what if I should have an accident? I might not be able to peddle back up!" He chuckles to himself. "That's not to say I haven't journeyed to the other side and feasted my eyes upon its mysteries..."

I narrow my eyes at him incredulously. He tries to intrigue me. But he doesn't try hard enough.

"But that is a tale for another day," he finishes with a wry smile. "I trust I'll see you on the morrow, Hmm? Same time, same place."

"...Yes. I'll be there."

I leave him and jog to the edge, calling for Wingy. Oh, he's been to the other side, all right. I'd wager he's still there.

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

A/N: Beedle is so much fun to write. You know...if you like abusing a thesaurus.

So yeah, Beedle. A lot to say about this guy. As someone who's explored every corner of SS and just assumes things are common knowledge, it didn't occur to me until now that not everyone may be aware of Beedle's second personality. So I feel the need to explain myself on that front in case there are a bunch of confused silent people out there. If you "chase your dreams" on the bed in Beedle's shop and visit him on his island at night, you'll encounter quite a different side of him: a wistful, contemplative loner with an affinity for purple prose and big words. This is the side of Beedle I prefer to write, mostly because it gets on Rupin's nerves more than anything else.

I guess I just have this creeping paranoia that a sector of Beedle's fans secretly wants to lynch me or something, but now that that's out of the way. In the spirit of our new shopkeeper rivalry, I've created a nonsensical poll. Who would win a rap battle? Beedle with his poetic prowess, or Rupin with his poisonous put-downs? Head over to my profile to cast your vote! Because why not!