The misty sunlight shone on the mansion one morning, casting a rosy hue on the land below. The sun bloomed on the horizon, its petals beaming outwards and onwards onto the world. One such petal made its way into a particular room in the mansion, illuminating the area and beaming directly onto the snout of a light-blue, low-slung crocodilian dozing in a pet bed.
The Klaptrap, as the creature was known by residents of Donkey Kong Island, yawned and stretched as the light kissed its snout, warming its scales. Heavy eyelids fluttered open as it crawled to its left to more efficiently lounge in the sun streaming through the window. Its wide-open jaws allowed the light to catch what it considered to be its best and most striking feature: its teeth. Razor-sharp, as long as the average finger, strong enough to pierce through even the toughest of hides, as both the big ape and the King could attest. And regrettably, these teeth belonged to one that used them almost indiscriminately.
Now sufficiently warmed up, the Klaptrap pulled itself up on all fours. Today, it decided, was a good day to bite. And bite it would.
The Klaptrap blinked the remaining sleep out of its eyes and looked around. The walls were a pleasant shade of teal that almost matched its scales, with vinyl wall decals shaped like palm trees posted on opposite walls. Some days, if the weather was just right, the wind would carry through the open window, bringing with it the smell of the sea, and sandy beaches, and memories of thick, lush jungles, practically alive itself with the constant clamor of the native fauna.
…But this was no time to be lost in memories! There was a world just outside, and many things to bite! Filled with vigor for the upcoming day ahead, the Klaptrap leapt towards the door, ready to take on whatever challenges awaited behind it…!
…And crashed, snout-first, into the door.
The Klaptrap righted itself. What had happened? Where were the challenges? Where were the things that needed to be bitten? Its eyes fell on the door, solid and unmoving.
Ah.
Curse these doors in this mansion! The door handles were too high for one as close to the ground as itself to reach! The Klaptrap was tempted to simply gnaw through the door itself, but it was so smooth, there was no point where it could get a grip and start chewing. And on top of that, the sill was made of metal. Evidently, the crocodilian thought with a frown, the doormakers had learned their lesson from last time.
The Klaptrap glanced up at the handle, the morning light glinting off its metal. Perhaps it could jump up and turn the handle, as it had seen humans do? It crouched low to the ground (well, lower than it already was), and one, two, three…!
Two and a half inches was the peak of its jump, compared to the industry-standard thirty-six inch height at which the handle was located.
The Klaptrap snorted as it glowered up at the door. The door stared right back down, tall and forbidding. It didn't even have a window. Why, this was no better than a jail cell!
But that was beside the point. If jumping wasn't going to work, then perhaps climbing would do the trick…
A claw was placed tentatively on the mullion. It was smooth to the touch, but if the Klaptrap dug its claws in, it could find some form of anchorage. Placing both of its forelegs on the door, it pulled itself up, lifting its back legs off the ground.
A-ha! Finally, some progress! The door handle, and its freedom, was only a couple of feet away! Just a bit more to go! Left claw, right claw, left claw, right claw… See, look! The door handle was growing smaller and smaller as it—
…Smaller?
The sound of its own claws scraping against the wood was the tip off that something was wrong. The Klaptrap tried to scramble for purchase at the last second, but it was already too late. It fell back to the ground with an unceremonious plop, thin white lines on the door the sole result of its efforts.
The Klaptrap growled a throaty growl as it glared up at the door again. This was just ridiculous! The sun was already climbing higher in the sky. Before it knew it, the day would be over, and it would be stuck here, trapped in its own room! But how was it to get out? How?
Voices carried from behind the door, some low and tense, some high and squeaky, and all familiar. The Klaptrap's eyes widened as it realized what that meant. It was breakfast time. And food was the most important thing to bite.
The Klaptrap stared up at the door, brass-bound and monolithic. It sighed lightly as it understood there was only one way out.
Slowly, grudgingly, the Klaptrap walked up to the door and began to scratch at the door, in hopes that someone might hear and open the door. It scowled as it put up both forelegs to scratch harder. Ugh. How degrading, being made to beg like some sort of… animal.
…Okay, it technically was an animal, but it was the principle of the thing! The Klaptrap had its pride!
Eventually, and mercifully, the voices ceased for a moment, replaced by a barely audible whisper, one that sounded a lot like the door. There were footsteps, growing closer and closer, and the door—at last—swung open.
"Good morning, Klaptrap!" said Baito, smiling down at the crocodile.
The Klaptrap refused to oblige, instead nipping defiantly at the rabbit's heels as he turned away. The last thing it needed right now was for someone to talk down to it.
Breakfast was served a few minutes later. For the Klaptrap, this consisted of fish (judging by the smell and taste, it was some kind of tuna), served on a plate, grilled to a brownish crisp. The Klaptrap thought cooking it was unnecessary, but it still appreciated the effort. Plus, the meat fell apart pleasantly under its teeth, so that was nice.
With breakfast done, most of the other assistants took their leave, the rest of them milling about in the lounge. The Klaptrap looked around. The furry, winged potato was at the table with the bearded painter, chatting over coffee, the imp with the big horns was floating above everyone else, and the man with the ponytail and the sword held his own drink, staring out the window. Aside from the potato, these people didn't seem like they'd be much fun to bite.
The Klaptrap slipped out through the door just in time as the man with the tall green hair left. At last, freedom! Now it could roam the mansion as it wished. It trotted away from the lounge and merrily up the corridor, its teeth glinting in the light. The world was its oyster, and this Kremling was in the mood for shellfish.
The Klaptrap traipsed through a corridor and into the lobby, bustling with the activity of mid-morning. Yes, this was a prime opportunity! Plenty of quarry to be had here. The Klaptrap was tempted to rush into the forest of legs and snap at anything that moved, but years of experience and many missed meals in the jungles of the island had taught it otherwise. Perhaps this end table would give it a better angle. With all the strength it could muster in its stubby legs, the Klaptrap hopped up onto the table and almost knocked over the potted plant sitting on top. What, or who, would be the Klaptrap's first mark?
To its left, the lady with long green hair was present, chatting with the pale exercise woman. Maybe… maybe.
To its right, the red-capped boy was sitting with the tiny blue turtle that sprayed water everywhere. The shell would be tough, but the tail seemed like a better deal.
Up front, the space bird that talked too much was strutting around like he owned the place. Ah-ha! Now there was something promising! Poultry was an excellent choice for a meal!
The crowd was beginning to scatter. The element of camouflage would soon be lost. Time was of the essence.
Hopping down from the end table, the Klaptrap crouched low to the ground, its jaws nearly touching the hardwood floor. Slowly, carefully, it slunk toward the bird's leg, its movements unnoticed by the people above.
Closer and closer it drew. The Klaptrap eagerly licked its chops in anticipation. It could almost feel the meat and bone crunch under its teeth. Its jaws widened, just wide enough to catch his ankle, and…!
…
…
…This, the Klaptrap thought, did not taste like poultry at all. In fact, it tasted like spandex, cotton, and metal.
"Falco!"
"Gah!"
"What the hell?!"
The sensation of being flung halfway across the lobby was a brief reprieve from the sudden, aching pain in the Klaptrap's teeth. It skidded across the floor and collided with the end table, hard enough to send the potted plant crashing to the ground, but not before making a pit stop at the Klaptrap's noggin.
Shaking away the dirt, the Klaptrap blinked the dizziness out of its eyes to see the bird, glaring down at it, his feathered hands reaching for his weapon, the space fox beside him mirroring his action. In its peripheral vision, it could see a man with a sword and the blue dog with its paws on fire creeping closer.
The Klaptrap was no mathematician, but it knew very well when the odds were stacked against it. Just when it was planning its next move, a pair of hands, heavy and calloused with experience, lifted the Klaptrap off the ground, one hand cradling its lower body, the other clamped firmly over its snout.
"Careful, Simon," came a voice. "That thing's jaws can bite through an Army's skin like paper!"
The figure holding the Klaptrap, evidently Simon, simply tightened his grip on the Klaptrap's jaws. "Hm. Taking care of a mere lizard is light work compared to the wicked forces of Dracula," he replied, marching out of the lobby and into a different corridor.
How dare he! How absolutely dare he! How dare this barbarian try to escort—shepherd, even!—the Klaptrap out of the room, like it was some kind of common pet! It fidgeted and thrashed about in a bid to free itself from Simon's grasp, but it proved a fruitless effort. Its jaws, strong enough to bite through even the strongest of wood, were much less impressive while trying to open. To that end, and the Klaptrap's indignation, a firm enough grip such as Simon's was more than enough to close the Klaptrap's mouth and keep it shut. Blasted lopsided anatomy.
Once they reached the doorway, Simon deposited the Klaptrap on the floor, gently, as a veterinarian would place a kitten on the examination table. The Klaptrap was not a kitten, but it had all the indignant rage of one, and so it hissed and snapped at Simon's fingers when they released its snout.
"That's quite enough out of you," said Simon, in the tone one would use for admonishing unruly children or pets. Ugh. "Now go," he continued, his cloudy blue eyes impassive and penetrating.
The Klaptrap sneered up at him. It was of a mind to leap up and bite down on that chiseled, refined nose of his, twice as hard for the injustices it had suffered at his hands. But one look at his formidable whip, the massive double-bladed axe, and the flask of holy water at his whip, and the Klaptrap knew it would suffer much, much worse than a bop on the head from a Kong or a barrel to the face. So it stared, and sneered, and hoped that this would be enough to intimidate the man.
Simon was not intimidated, not in the least. Without taking his eyes off the Klaptrap, he inclined his head, the message. You may go now.
The Klaptrap's eyes narrowed. Simon's did not.
"Go on, then," repeated Simon, in that same chiding tone.
At last, the Klaptrap growled in defeat, a soft sound at the back of its throat. It was tough, it liked to believe, capable of taking down foes much larger than itself. But this was far, far above its weight class.
With a snort that it hoped conveyed its irritation well (it did), the Klaptrap turned and trotted away from the lobby, its snout and its tail held high. It did not deign to look back at Simon, or anyone else in the lobby. It had to maintain at least some of its dignity.
They probably wouldn't have tasted very good, anyways.
The rancor of the Klaptrap's encounter with Simon soon melted away as it trotted up a flight of stairs and onto the second floor. Losing out on the bird wasn't the end of the world. After all, how many times had it ever seized its prey on the first try?
…At least twice, that's how many! But all the other times, it had gotten them on the fourth or fifth try! If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, as they say! Whoever 'they' were!
And speaking of try, try again! A voice could be heard drifting out from around the corner. From the sound of it, they didn't seem to hear it coming. Perfect.
The Klaptrap slipped behind a door, waiting in ambush. Footsteps, swift and stealthy, drew nearer and nearer. The little Kremling licked its teeth in anticipation. Very soon, it would have its quarry in its jaws. They were so close, it could almost taste them! The Klaptrap went very still as the shadow of its prize came into view. Its muscles tensed up as it prepared to lunge…!
…Oh. It was just the red ponytail man with the glowing sword. He hadn't noticed the Klaptrap at all, simply marching straight ahead.
The Klaptrap frowned as it collapsed onto its belly. Phooey. The one opportunity it got to bite, and it had to be the fellow made completely out of metal! Heaven knew it had had a bad experience with him the last time the two were on the battlefield together. To try to challenge him now could only end in disaster. Especially with that strange look in his eye.
"Understood," he was saying. "I'm en route to the destination as we speak. So far, I haven't encountered any intelligent life-forms on my way. This shouldn't take long."
…What in blazes was he talking about? Was he playing someone's errand boy now? The Klaptrap was thoroughly perplexed. And the way it handled things that perplexed it was simple: bite it until it stops. Its eyes fell on the man's ponytail. From this angle, it did sort of look like a banana. Well, that was justification enough!
Just as the Klaptrap was about to creep up and pounce, it heard a small sound behind it, camouflaged by the subtle ambience of the world outside, the faint squeak of shoe against hardwood floor. The Klaptrap, who had spent much of its life as a hatchling constantly on alert for danger, lest it end up like the rest of its siblings, picked up on it almost instantly. It froze dead in its tracks as a cold settled into its core, like the skeletal hand of a Kackle had gripped its ribcage.
A silhouette appeared just outside of its peripheral vision, and it dove back behind the door. The footsteps grew closer and closer. The Klaptrap waited in complete stillness, staring through the crack in the open doorway.
A pair of black and white shoes with red trim came into view, moving just as swiftly as the robot's. Once they'd passed by, the Klaptrap peeked out to make sure it was safe.
Oh, it was just that black hedgehog, the one that looked just like the speedy blue one. Strange to see him here. And even stranger to see him pause and lean against the wall, long enough to watch the robot to disappear around the corner, then continue walking after him.
…Hold on. Was that hedgehog… following him?
Now this was intriguing. Why would he follow the robot? Was this a game? A training mission? A spying mission? Considering he was trying to keep himself hidden…Was he hunting the robot, as the Klaptrap itself had been?
Well, if it was a hunt he wanted, then a hunt he would get! The Klaptrap grinned as it slithered out from behind the door and padded along some distance away. Take note, no-hoper! This is how you do it!
The hedgehog followed the robot's trail, down a corridor and up several flights of stairs to the top floor before stopping at another corner, and it was there that the Klaptrap paused to scamper under an end table, positioned just so that it could see both its quarries. The robot had stopped in front of a door, a door that the Klaptrap recognized as the office of the Big Hand, but he dared not open it. He was looking back and forth, moving with the same mannerisms the other Kremlings had when they stole the big ape's bananas for the first time. The hedgehog stood and watched, making sure to keep himself hidden. From somewhere on his person, he pulled out a glittering green gem and held it tightly, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the robot.
"Area is secure," the robot was saying. "I'm moving in." The hedgehog gripped the gem even tighter. Both parties remained still, neither of them paying any attention to the small reptile under the table.
Now, the Klaptrap thought, was its chance! It crouched low to the ground and waited, trying to quell the urge to snap its jaws. The gem in the hedgehog's hand looked quite enticing from this angle. So shiny and sparkly… Wonder what it tasted like…
The hedgehog moved again, slightly, barely a twitch of his fingers. Bah! What was it doing? No time to focus on the gem! There were things to do and people to bite!
Slowly, slowly, the Klaptrap crept closer, the only sound the soft click of its claws against the floor. It paused, squatted even lower, wiggled and positioned its tail for that extra bit of support, and lunged…!
The Klaptrap had indeed been aiming for the back of the hedgehog's neck, as was its nature. But in between its usage of its tail as a springboard and the hedgehog's anatomy, it did not, in fact, reach the neck. Instead, in its zeal from at last getting a bite, the Klaptrap launched itself up and fell squarely onto the broadside of the hedgehog's uppermost quill.
Many things happened in quick succession. The hedgehog let out a "Gah!" as all of his quills stiffened on contact. The Klaptrap, trying to get a foothold from its risky landing, did what it came there to do and clamped down on another quill before it could fall off.
It wasn't the worst decision it had made in its life, but it was still a poor decision. White-gloved hands swatted and grabbed at the Klaptrap, trying to pull it off. The Klaptrap, refusing to let go (and more than a little irritated about its current state), only bit down harder on the quill. When one of the hands struck its eye, it snarled and snapped down—harder—on the offending finger. This time, its teeth managed to pierce through the thick fabric and latch on.
No sooner had the Klaptrap bitten the hand than its twin, still hovering above the hedgehog's head, seized it by its middle and rather rudely yanked it off.
Okay, that had been a particularly bad idea.
The Klaptrap barely had time to register the snap of cold recognition in the hedgehog's red eyes before it was flung carelessly aside, like a young girl would toss aside a scrunchie after a long day at work.
This time, the Klaptrap was able to right itself before it hit any furniture. It growled and began to stalk back towards the hedgehog, ready to renew its assault, but stopped dead when it saw his visage. The pinched expression, the faint twitch of an eyebrow ridge, his clenched jaw trying to hide his teeth, gnashing with irritation. In that moment, his face greatly resembled that of the King after that giant gray Kremling had failed to protect one of the King's strongholds, relinquishing one of his lovely golden coins in the process. The others hadn't heard from him since, but it was rumored he'd since moved out of the piracy business and gone into modeling for shoes made of concrete.
Oh, this had been a big mistake.
"What are you doing here?" asked the hedgehog in a carefully controlled tone.
The Klaptrap opened its mouth to answer, but all it managed was an "ah". It tried not to look at him in the eyes, so instead it chose to focus on the—
Oh, right, the robot. He was still there, wasn't he?
The hedgehog seemed to remember at the same time the Klaptrap did, because he whirled around to face him, the gem glowing softly. The robot started, and began to speak into his… wrist?
"Mission compromised. I've been spotted. Returning to base." He turned and fled from the scene.
"Wait!" cried the hedgehog. "I've got a question!" The robot did not stop, his ponytail flipping around the corner and out of sight.
The hedgehog turned back to face the Klaptrap, who was currently trying to slink away. It froze under his gaze, which really did resemble the King's at this point. In fact, if it weren't for the color and the fur and the lack of eye tic, he'd be the spitting image of—
"I was so close to finding answers," he hissed. "Until you interfered."
The Klaptrap swallowed and shrank back. It was beginning to understand—remember, even—why it had felt so fearful when he had come into the hallway. Oh, yes. Definitely the spitting image of the King.
The hedgehog glanced back at the hallway where the robot once stood. "This close to finding out what he's planning…" he said aloud, to no one.
The Klaptrap took the time to take a few tentative steps away from the hedgehog, but he fixed it with that look, the same look that the King had given Kudgel after his failure to stop those two monkeys. The Klaptrap froze.
"If you get in my way again…" said the hedgehog. He stopped, simply staring down at the crocodilian. He did not finish the sentence. His eyes said the rest.
The Klaptrap was off like a shot.
The Klaptrap ran and ran until he was certain that neither robot nor hedgehog had followed him. Once it had slowed down to catch its breath, it was able to get a good look at its surroundings.
In the panic of its escape, it had ended up on the third floor. It was much cooler here than on the top floor. (And a good thing too—good heavens, the air was stale up there.) Someone must have left a window open, for a pleasant breeze wafted on by, bringing with it the smell of outside; of wild weeds, of fresh, tall-grown grass, of caramel-soft flowers, of sweet cherry blossoms, of—
Wait.
Wait. That smell…
The Klaptrap paused and sniffed deeply. There was one smell, so sharp and unmistakable, that drowned out all the smells of a human, it would have been faint, almost negligible, but to the Klaptrap, it was earthy, and wet, and heavy to the point of being overpowering. And it seemed to be coming from inside that room.
What on earth could be producing such a scent? It wasn't unpleasant enough to be the big ape, nor was it quite metallic enough to be the big scruffy oaf with the golden sword. The Klaptrap pressed against the wall and peeked into the doorway, severely hoping it wasn't that biker brute with the horrendous facial hair.
It was not the biker. Instead, inside the room was… a dog.
And atop the dog's back was a duck.
Oho! Now here was a prime target! Both mammal and bird! And from the look of things, neither of them had noticed its entrance yet. This was almost too good to be true!
Slowly, with all the practiced stealth of a reptile its size (which was not a lot), the Klaptrap advanced on its prey. Their backs were yet still turned. Nothing could stop the croc now! Its jaws widened, just wide enough so that it could catch both dog and duck in one go, and it pounced…!
…
…
…This, the Klaptrap thought, tasted neither like duck or dog. It did not even taste like miscellaneous fur or feathers. All it could taste was old metal and gunpowder and—
…Wait. Gunpowder?
The acrid stench of smoke was the Klaptrap's only warning before a flash of red overcame its vision and threw it backwards, sending it sailing smack into the wall.
The Klaptrap waited for the world to stop spinning before it righted itself. A low growl rumbled from its snout. Blasted mongrel and its blasted exploding tin cans. How could it have forgotten so easily?
It looked up at the dog. Sure enough, it and that duck were sitting there, laughing at it. Laughing! Its teeth had nearly been blown out of its gums, and they were laughing. Well, this would not stand! This would not stand!
The Klaptrap snarled as it shook the soot off its scales. The dog stopped laughing long enough to regard the victim of its prank. It bowed down, its elbows low and its rear end sticking up high. Ostensibly, it wished to play, but the grin on its muzzle and the cheeky gleam in its eye spoke to yet more capers.
Playtime, was it? Well, if it was playtime this dog wanted, the Klaptrap was more than happy to oblige! It lunged again, this time aiming for the dog's smug smile.
Its jaws came down on empty air as the dog swiftly dodged, the duck taking to the air in turn. It was a rather clumsy landing, the Klaptrap falling onto its chin as the rest of its body remained upright for a moment before hitting the floor with a plop.
The duck leaned forward and stared at the Klaptrap with a quizzical tilt of its head. And more infuriatingly, the dog snickered—snickered!—as it bowed low again, close enough to get a good look at it, but just far away to avoid any retaliatory snaps of its jaws. Clearly, this wasn't close enough, as it bowed just a bit lower to lick the reptile's snout.
At that moment in time, the Klaptrap was sorely glad there were no others of its kind around to watch its plight.
The next attack came closer, but still missed, the dog hopping back with surprising agility. This time, both dog and duck took this as a sign to retreat, a knavish wink and a jaunty flip of their tails serving as a farewell.
But this was not a farewell, at least, not for the Klaptrap. Its pride had been wounded, spat on, and it intended to see it repaired.
With a hiss, it slithered out of the room and after the retreating forms of the dog and duck. The dog turned its head towards the source of the noise, and it barked in genuine joy as its bright eyes fell on the Klaptrap. Its tail wagged, almost shaking its entire rear, and it bowed low as it had before, mouth breaking into a smile.
The Klaptrap did not return the gesture. It growled softly, deep in its throat.
The dog's smile turned into a smirk, and it took off, the duck thumbing its beak (somehow) as they disappeared around a corner.
So that was how it was going to be, eh? Well, if that was the game, who was the Klaptrap to disappoint?
The Klaptrap was off like a shot, torpedoing down the hall as the dog danced and skipped just in front of its constantly snapping jaws. The duck chose to face forward, wings tucked at its sides, evidently unwilling to mock the Kremling any further. Mercifully, there were no more exploding cans, but its quarry remained tantalizingly out of reach.
Oh, curse this anatomy! With its short legs, it could never catch up to the dog! And the dog—that dog, with its infuriatingly blithe smile—knew this as well, as it slowed down from a full sprint to a healthy jog, hopping and cavorting and frolicking like it was playing in a meadow!
But the Klaptrap was undeterred, scampering up a flight of stairs and narrowly dodging the big lemon with the big mouth. Its heart was pounding in its chest, its claws glided elegantly across the floor, and the wind breezed over its scales in a way that reminded it of the island.
Against the Klaptrap's better judgment, it felt… nice.
Then the dog turned sharply around a corner, the Klaptrap following suit, and when the rest of the hallway came into view, both dog and duck had disappeared, taking any nascent feelings of exhilaration with them.
Wh— Where— How did—?
Before the Klaptrap could fathom that the dog had disappeared, or even deliberate over which direction to go next, it spotted a door, at the far end and to its right, left open just wide enough to invite it in.
The Klaptrap smiled. Cornered.
Its resolve bolstered, it marched up to the door, its jaws primed and ready. Shadows of many different shapes and sizes passed through the crack in the doorway. Without a second thought, the Klaptrap slipped in and pounced…!
…
…
The feeling of scales under its teeth, coarse and roughened with age, was the first thing that enlightened the Klaptrap that something was wrong. The full-throated, pained bellow that seemed to shake the very walls and ground was the second.
The Klaptrap felt its stomach bottom out. It knew that sound very well. Too well. It was the exact same sound it had heard on the wind, when the King had been defeated by those apes for the fourth time. It looked to its right, and saw the dog—that blasted mutt— snickering to itself, before the Kremling's world became a blur as whatever—whoever—it had bitten tried to vigorously shake it off.
As strong as the Klaptrap's teeth were, they were still relative to its own size, and it felt its grip gradually loosen before it was flung across the room for a second time that day. It hit the wall, hard enough to leave a dent, and it rather pathetically fell back down to the floor.
The Klaptrap exhaled, forcing its eyes open. What it saw was a most unwelcome sight indeed.
The dog, sitting there unharmed, still smiling, but less in a carefree way, and more in the way that someone who has found someone to blame in a crisis of their own making did so. The duck, sitting astride the dog, just barely peeking over the dog's head in anticipation. The armored knight with the shovel, pointing it at the Klaptrap. And, on the far side of the room—
The King, who, as it and the rest of the Krew knew very well, was not named for his altruism.
The King, for whom the rest of the Kremlings worked dutifully, if not begrudgingly, and around whom treaded lightly, lest they incur his wrath.
The King, who was currently holding his foot in his claws, right where the Klaptrap had—
Their eyes met, and the snap of furious realization in the King's eyes made the Klaptrap's blood run cold.
Oh, dear.
"You brazen little—!" This time, it was the King who lunged, fracturing the chair that stood in his way. The Klaptrap dove out of the way just in time to avoid being caught in his claws. An acrid smell filled its nostrils, probably the adrenaline. Amidst the din, it thought it heard the knight shouting at the King to stop.
With instinct the only thing guiding its actions, the Klaptrap dove in between the King's legs to make for the opposite wall. Before it could ponder over whether the knight was willing to protect it, its front leg caught on something too warm and rough to be the floor. The Klaptrap lost its footing and lurched forward. For one horrifying moment, it thought the knight had tripped it intentionally.
Time seemed to slow down as the small crocodile tumbled. The King looked astounded, his jaw nearly hitting the floor and his good eye widened enough to match its bloodshot counterpart. The Klaptrap looked down.
There, right under its claws, was another one of those exploding cans.
From the corner of its eye, the Klaptrap could see the dog snickering. Again. That rotten, miserable, wretched little—
In an instant, the moment sprang forward, the can detonated, and the Klaptrap flew—rocketed, to be more accurate—out and through the window, leaving small shards of glass just under its apron.
Luckily for the Klaptrap, the maple tree just outside did not try to catch it as it soared through the air from the force of the explosion. Unluckily, another plant did see fit to act as a proper landing strip; namely, the row of thorny bushes that grew wild just at the edge of the courtyard.
Whether powered by pain or sheer force of will, the Klaptrap leapt out of the bushes and back into the courtyard proper. Some stray birds took frightened flight upon its impact.
Well, wasn't that a fine way of getting out of a scrap! The Klaptrap groaned as it flipped over to flop down on its belly. This entire day had been naught more than a series of golden opportunities yanked out of reach at the last second. It had set out with the world as its oyster, and it had nothing to show for it but raw humiliation and spines stuck in places it couldn't reach!
At that moment, the Klaptrap noticed another bird, plump and brown, unaware of the Kremling's presence. Slowly, it crept closer…
…And immediately winced in pain. Those thorns really dug in. The bird took off.
The Klaptrap huffed as it wandered around the perimeter of the bushes, gliding through a gap and getting stung with yet more thistles. Great. Three times it had tried to bite today, and three times it had failed, and quite miserably. Now it was just… here, walking around like a dupe, with enough thorns sticking out of it like a particularly unpleasant porcupine! (In fact, it had tried to bite a porcupine once. It had ended as well as one would expect.)
It plucked out another thorn—ow—and continued onward past a sign with a red-and-white ball, and began to wonder. Was this just its fate? To be endlessly trampled by Kong, Kremling, and everything in between? To suffer grievance upon grievance, and be tossed aside like the very chew toys it had shredded on Crocodile Isle? To be on the bottom of the social pyramid? To be treated as an animal, a pest?
Out came another thorn. Oooh, that one stung—right under its knee. It needed vindication. It was frustrated, it was tired, and it needed to bite someone.
It plodded further into the area. This far inside, there was no one around, the sounds of chatter and merrymaking far away only carried to its ears by a stiff breeze. Just as well. The last thing it needed was for someone to see it in such a sorry state.
Movement from just behind a nearby fence caught its eye. There, frolicking in the grass, was a dog, a different dog from that irritating bloodhound. Its dense and wiry fur was the color of fresh apricots, and it rolled around in the grass and scampered about without a care in the world.
The Klaptrap grinned. This, thank heavens, would be a walk in the park.
Slipping through the fence was nothing—the gap in between the two pieces of wood was big enough that even larger Klaptraps than itself could squeeze through. The dog was chasing a butterfly, facing away from the Kremling. Silly creature. The Klaptrap crept closer.
Twenty paces were between them. The butterfly flew off, leaving the puppy yipping after it. It reminded the Klaptrap of its earlier encounter with the bird.
Fifteen paces. The dog sat down on the grass. For some reason, the Klaptrap couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that it was walking right into a trap. It ignored it, and kept going.
Ten paces. The Klaptrap thought it heard a rumble from far away. The dog turned its head to look at something to its left. The Klaptrap paused, then, after a tense few seconds, continued.
Five. So close. The Klaptrap's jaws widened.
Zero. Without warning, the puppy suddenly stood up to face the Klaptrap, staring right down its jaws.
The Klaptrap froze. Its snout was no more than two inches away from the puppy's. Every instinct in its brain was screaming for it to bite, bite now, but it couldn't. Why couldn't it bite?
Was it shock at being discovered? A rare glimmer of conscience? The Klaptrap couldn't know. It wouldn't even get the chance to know, in fact, for the dog suddenly turned and barked at something to its right, its tail wagging fervently.
An iron ball with circular, fish-like eyes and a row of sharp teeth that put even the Klaptrap's to shame was barreling right towards the crocodile and canine, kicking up dirt as it rocketed across the grass. Right towards the Klaptrap, in fact.
The Klaptrap's eyeballs, which already stuck out of their sockets quite a bit, shot out a good three inches further and snapped back inside, much like a paddle ball would, as its jaw dropped in a silent, panicked scream. Coincidentally, the klaxon horn of a vintage car sounded off in the distance at that precise moment.
Once it had fully recovered from the fright, the Klaptrap tried to flee; that is, its stumpy little legs pinwheeled in the air for a few moments before it hurried off. And not a moment too soon, either, for the toothy iron ball came down upon it mere moments later!
The force of its landing was enough to knock the Klaptrap right off its feet. It tumbled across the ground and landed flat on its back. The iron ball drew ever nearer, teeth gleaming in the sunlight, and lunged…!
…And came to a screeching halt, mere centimeters from the Klaptrap's tail.
Shaking and quaking like a leaf, the Klaptrap dared to open one eye. Just as quickly, it yanked its tail out of reach and scampered safely out of range. At the iron ball's side, the puppy remained seated, panting. What was the hold-up?
A few steps around the metallic beast revealed the answer. This was no ordinary living iron ball. This was one of those Chain Chomp creatures, tethered to the spot by a chain attached to a wooden stake in the ground. The Chain Chomp tugged and tugged at the chain, but it was no use. It snapped rather uselessly (or perhaps woefully) at the air. To its left, the puppy whimpered and pawed at the chain.
The Klaptrap stared at the Chain Chomp for a long time. A new feeling bubbled and broiled in its chest. It was very unpleasant, like poking and scratching at something withered and neglected deep inside of its being. And the more it looked at the Chain Chomp, softly whining as it pulled and pulled and got nowhere fast, the more this feeling sizzled and churned inside, like a storm.
The Klaptrap could bite as it pleased. The Chain Chomp, stuck in this field with only that puppy for company, could not. It didn't even have any limbs.
…
Whether that feeling that continued to simmer and stew inside was the eager, instinctive desire to bite or the birth of something that could loosely be described as a sense of kinship with a fellow toothed troublemaker, the Klaptrap couldn't tell. All it knew is that for some reason, it had to bite that stake. It just had to.
Slowly, trepidatiously, the Klaptrap crept around the Chain Chomp, which kept its eyes firmly fixed on it. It took a single step closer, and it growled softly in warning. The puppy, meanwhile, stood up and barked, its entire rear end wagging with its tail. It seemed to calm the Chain Chomp down, if nothing else, which the Klaptrap took as permission to come closer.
The small Kremling eyed the stake up and down. It didn't seem like it'd be too much trouble. The Klaptrap had dealt with far tougher. Its jaws widened, and…
Snap!
The stake was no more than a few splinters on the ground, and the chain came loose.
As if it had been waiting its entire life for it, the Chain Chomp rushed off, bounding and rolling and thrashing about, freedom granted at last. The puppy was just as exuberant, chasing after the flailing chain.
Once again, the Klaptrap felt an odd sensation it couldn't place. It watched the two romping about in the grass, a new light in the larger one's eyes. The Chain Chomp was free now. It could bite whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted. And the Klaptrap had freed it. It felt… nice. Pleasant, even.
The Chain Chomp turned back toward the Klaptrap, its fishy eyes staring, and the Klaptrap faltered. This felt significantly less pleasant.
In almost no time at all, the Chain Chomp had crossed the field to reach the Klaptrap. Thunderstruck, the Klaptrap tripped over its own feet as the Chain Chomp's form loomed over it. It shut its eyes, bracing for whatever attack would come its way…
…And was promptly greeted by a rough, slimy tongue dragged across its snout.
The Klaptrap spluttered and coughed as it righted itself. The Chain Chomp was staring down at it, panting, its tongue lolling out, the puppy mirroring the action, almost expectantly. The scene was most unexpected for the Klaptrap; even among the other Kremlings, it had never had such… gratitude imparted on it before.
That, and it never knew the Chain Chomp even had a tongue.
"Oooh, is there a dog party going on here?"
All three turned to the source of the voice (the Klaptrap huffing at being referred to as a dog). An imp dressed in a red straw cloak and wearing a very peculiar mask floated down from above. He paused before he reached the ground, hovering a few inches above the grass as he observed the scene. "Hee hee hee… What's been going on here?"
There was something in the imp's voice and stance that spoke to plans of mischief, with a capital M. It unnerved the Klaptrap as much as it intrigued it, especially when the imp glanced at the Chain Chomp, and the shatter stake, and the Kremling itself.
"Well, well…" the imp hummed. "You set little Bow-Wow free, didn'tcha?" he asked, peering (supposedly) at the Klaptrap.
The Klaptrap nodded, slowly, warily.
"Hee hee hee… I was just about to set it loose myself. Nice job, little newt!" The imp knelt down to pat the Klaptrap on the head. For its part, the Klaptrap was… less than enthused. If anything, it was better than being referred to as a dog.
The imp stood up straighter as it observed them. "Hey… the Bow-Wow has really sharp teeth. And you…" He turned back to the Klaptrap. "You have really sharp teeth, too!"
Well, at least someone finally noticed. The Klaptrap nodded, puffing out its chest a little bit. Suddenly, this imp felt like he was worth listening to.
The imp slyly leaned in, almost squatting. "This gives me an idea…"
And the Klaptrap, who had a very good idea as to what the idea was, leaned in closer, a toothy grin twisting its snout…
Heavy footsteps thundered through the halls of the mansion while the sun was still high. Miis in black suits, some carrying swords, others with energy cannons attached to their arms, and some going unarmed, piled out of the mansion and towards the Day Care. The emergency signal still rang in their ears.
"Alert, alert! Chain Chomp is loose! I repeat, Chain Chomp is loose! Approach with caution. Alert, alert…"
One unarmed Mii approached the pink-haired woman at the entrance, who was currently cowering behind the desk. "Are you all right, miss? Are you hurt?"
The woman jumped at the sound of the Mii's voice. "I-I-I—I'm fine," she said, her voice breathless. "They—they came through here, towards the courtyard—"
"Who did?" interrupted the Mii. "How many?"
"They—ah, there were three of them." She paused to take a breath. "The Chain Chomp was one of them, but there was another, some kind of Totodile, I think. It moved on all fours and it—it leapt over the desk and—and—"
The woman grabbed the edge of the desk to pull herself up, and it was then that the Miis noticed that a huge chunk of her hair was missing. From the look of it, it had been ripped rather roughly off the side of her head, as though something had—
"Who else was there?" the Mii asked.
She sniffed and wrung her hands. "The… the little with that creepy-looking mask was floating behind them, and he—is… is something wrong?"
The Mii cleared her throat after the weary sigh escaped her lips. "No, no, miss, it's fine. We've just… dealt with this before. Thank you for your time." She turned back to the rest of the waiting Miis. "Alright, team, let's roll!"
And roll they did, marching back the way they came and out into the courtyard. No sooner did they get there than they were greeted with quite a sight.
The courtyard was physically in fine form, save for the handful of missing bushes and the tree with a bite conspicuously missing. The visitors, on the other hand… not so much.
"Help us!" cried a voice. "For the love of Arceus, help us!"
"Skull Kid!" came another voice, coming from twin peaks of green hair. "Stop this at once! Come down from there right this minute, or I'll—"
The remainder of the threat went unsaid, for the Klaptrap sprang up to give the unsuspecting man an impromptu haircut.
"Aaauuugh!" He gazed down at the sad remains of his hair and wept as only a man unfairly parted with his coiffure could weep. "That took me fifteen years to grow!"
The Mii that had spoken to the Day Care woman turned back to the rest of her team. "Okay, you guys, I know this looks bad, but we can do this! It's a simple—"
"Look out!" shouted a sword-wielding Mii! "It's coming!"
The group scattered as the Chain Chomp barreled through the group, taking out several Miis and snatching up the one that warned everyone by the seat of his pants, shaking him vigorously.
"Egyaaaah!" The Mii dropped his sword. "Get it off me! Get it off meeeeeee…!"
The Chain Chomp obeyed, letting go at the peak of another shake and sending the Mii flying into the distance.
As the rest of the Mii squadron worked to subdue the beast, the Klaptrap observed the scene from within a bush. It leapt out just as—ah-ha! The little monkey was here! It leapt out and…!
"Yeeeoowch!"
It was fun to bite most creatures, but none of them howled the way a Kong did. Though the green man with the mustache did come close, as the discarded scrap of fabric it had claimed as a prize could attest.
More Miis arrived as the monkey escaped the Klaptrap's jaws, surrounding the little Kremling and pointing swords and guns. But the Klaptrap was not intimidated in the slightest. It crouched down, ready to sink its teeth into these new intruders…
…And was promptly scooped up and away by the imp.
"H-hey!" shouted a gun-toting Mii. "Skull Kid! Get your backside down here right now!"
Skull Kid failed to heed her words, giggling naughtily as he surveyed the scene, one hand over his eyes (which was rather unnecessary, given his mask), the other cradling the Klaptrap like a baby. His passenger, meanwhile, was too distracted by searching for potential targets to protest too much over being held.
Both their eyes fell on what looked like a tall orange squash wearing a cook's hat. Both troublemakers looked at each other and cracked identical wicked grins.
"Bombs away!"
The squash chef looked up just in time to see the Klaptrap descend on him… but too late to actually do anything about it.
Ahhh… now this was as things should be. The Klaptrap, biting some poor soul's face. He was just soft enough to be quite satisfying, and the noise he made combined with the way he flailed around was great fun! Verily, all was right in the world.
The Klaptrap leapt off the squash and moved towards the next target, the frog with the incredibly long tongue. Yes, the world truly was its oyster, it thought as it sank its teeth into the frog's tongue.
Mmmm… shellfish.
Author's Notes: Back to normalcy! Mostly!
Don't know if I've said this one thing I do like about writing this is shining the spotlight on Assist Trophies that wouldn't otherwise get noticed. Thus, the Klaptrap gets its very own chapter.