It started innocently enough. Scratch creeping away into the swaying shadows of the night, dressed in an outfit Grounder had never seen him in before, illuminated under the rising swell of the moon. A dark, tight fitting tuxedo paired with a simple top hat. Naturally, Grounder had to see what he'd been up to.

Grounder trailed behind him as he stalked through the dark, lagging behind so that the squeaks of his treads wouldn't give him away. The chirp of crickets grew further and further away as vegetation faded into an afterthought behind them. Soon, sand replaced the familiar squish of mud under Grounder's tread. The distant blue line on the horizon bloomed into an ocean. Grounder's nose cone twitched at the smell of salt, seaweed and oddly enough smoke. The last two he didn't quite mind, but the first smell made him raise an eyebrow. Like all robots, Grounder had no love for salt.

The shadows danced like puppets as the fire flickered this way and way, lulling Grounder as it crackled in tandem with the soft whispering hiss of the waves crashing onto shore. A familiar laugh, muted and almost inaudible floated by as Scratch disappeared into a nearby bungalow. Grounder hoisted himself onto a nearby stool and watched from the nearest window.

Scratch nodded hello to the couple nearest to him, tucked away in their own corner. They didn't nod back. He lowered himself onto a nearby stool, drumming the table with his fingers as he examined the menu. A chunk of ice started to form where his stomach would be, as he looked around, avoiding eye contact but desperately longing to make it at the same time. Scratch stared at the menu, willing everything to make sense as he slouched forward onto the table.

I shouldn't have come. It was stupid of me to come here. He sighed.

What was I even expecting to happen? I'm such an obvious sore thumb.

He studied the menu a bit more, knowing that he should order something before he was ordered to surrender his comfy position at the bar. What little space there was on the dance floor was throttled with a throng of mobians, and the lights were choking out a new color every three seconds. This was the best place for him, even if no one but him sat in this tucked off place.

"Hey there." There was a squeak on the stool beside him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Scratch's eyebrows knitted together as he took in the eagle sitting beside him.

"Why would ya do that? I brought my own money"The stool beside him scraped backwards, and with a scoff the mobian sitting on it lumbered away. A bark of laughter sounded off from the bar beside him.

"You don't come here often, I take it?"

The bartender grinned at him.

"It's my first time here, actually."

"I can tell. That was one of the oldest pick-up lines in the book, yet you missed it completely. When someone offers you a drink, big guy, it means they're interested."

Scratch's face burned with what would have been a blush if he had blood.

"How about a nice whiskey on the rocks, on the house since it's your first time?"

"That would be stellar, thank you."

The swan winked down at the rooster. After a few minutes, he handed the rooster one of the drinks in his hand. The swan smiled as the rooster downed the drink in one gulp while meeting his eye. The rooster made eye contact with the swan, finding himself lost in the starless summer night that stared back at him. So warm, yet so open and inviting like a silent summer night under a starless sky.

Grounder shook his head. Robots didn't need to drink, so why was Scratch indulging in such an activity? With a mobian not employed by their glorious leader, no less? Grounder wanted to burst in, take Scratch by the hand and march him home, where he belonged. Yet, he froze in place at the sight of a smile spreading across Scratch's face. A small smile, involuntary and new. The kind of smile that would come with a blush, if the subject could flush blood into their cheeks. A silent smile, none of the taunting words or domineering laughter that usually announced a toothy grin from Scratch. Or any teeth. Grounder drank in the sight like a runner drinking in water after a marathon.

The swan's hand grabbed Scratch's before recoiling back as if burned.

"Why is your hand so cold? It's freezing." The swan shook his head.

"It's not natural."

Scratch winced, a thousand words swarming in his head yet none of them fitting comfortably on his tongue. His smile melted on his face like an ice cube in an oven.

"I didn't think a living mobian could feel so cool." The swan looked Scratch up and down, a frown etching itself onto his face.

"Unless, you're not living, are you? Or even mobian, for that matter."

The swan's voice dwindled into a hiss.

"It's a little hard to tell in that costume, but I know who you are now. I don't know what nefarious plans Robotnik has for my club, but you can tell them I'll have no part of his rotten schemes, nor his spineless robot lackeys. "

"H-He doesn't know I'm here. Honest"

The swan spat the last words out.

"Pfft, honest. Get outta here."

Scratch took off his hat, and tossed it onto the ground. He hoisted himself off the stool and slinked to the door under the united, leering eyes of the crowd. Scratch's throat ached as he choked back his tears. He wouldn't let them see him break down. No, he'd save it for his pillow.

It was worth a shot, I suppose. But what did I think would happen? Ugh, I'm just glad no one I know was around to see. Grounder would never let me heard the end of it if he were here.