A/N: I ripped myself away from my League of Legends addiction long enough to finish another chapter! Happy Anniversary! Seventh...Year...Anniversary.

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The Customer Is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 24: Cutting Losses

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When I arrive at the Bazaar the next morning, I am surprised to find Peatrice has been replaced by a fat, balding man. Also known as Peatrice's father.

Before I can look away and pretend like I didn't notice his unusual presence here, he catches my eye. Drat. Still haven't mastered the art of the furtive glance.

"Hey there, son!" He stands up and waves to me, belly wobbling with the effort and his flabby arms looking like they could burst from his pink arm guards. "Was there somethin' I could help you with?"

I hesitate for all of two seconds, and that's all it takes.

"Or don't tell me..."

Gulp.

"Were you moseying over here expectin' to exchange flirtations with a certain someone?"

"How did you know I was coming to check my items?!" I pipe up with a gleeful grin.

Right then, I realize with a pang of alarm that I have nothing on me. On a whim, I take off my hat and hand it over the counter, entrusting it into Peater's care. The sight of the large, beefy man gingerly tucking my hat safely into one of the little cubbies is almost comical. What is the point of the Item Check again?

"I keep on stressin' I'm gonna mix peoples' items up while on this job," Peater volunteers as he uses a key to lock up the cubby containing my hat. "I don't know how that girl does this. Amazin'." He returns to the front of the stall and plops down on Peatrice's tiny chair again, which protests beneath his weight. "Ah well. What're they gonna do, fire me? Harharhar!"

"Aharharharharhar!" I parrot him, even though it wasn't that funny. I drift backward, using the gap in conversation as my opportunity to flit away and start setting up shop for the day, but he slaps his hand down on the counter to garner my attention, making me jump. It works.

"So lad," he says, staring me down like a blond wolf. "Didn't see ya at the memorial."

"What memorial?"

He gawps at me. Oh, right—Henry's memorial, stupid!

"The memorial! Doh." I knock myself in the side of the head to remind myself to stop smiling. This was a sad occasion. "I was there. You just didn't see me." Not a lie.

"Ah...I see."

"Yeah. I didn't stay for long. Had to get to work," I grunt, trying to sound guilty, but my heart is just not in it today so I think I'm just coming off as curt and dismissive. I hunch my shoulders and heave a hard sigh, trying my best to mirror Peater's somber demeanor. "Life goes on, you know. Can't dwell on these things, as much as they may upset us. That was Henry's motto and I think he would want us all to live by that."

"Mmhmm. Yeah. Mmhm. Yeah, I hear ya," Peater mutters, a thousand yard stare settling onto his features. "I'm movin' on a bit more by the day, but I'd be remiss if I didn't confess every once in a blue moon, the memory of Henry still wafts over me. Like a fart on the wind."

"..."

"He was just a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young lad trying to find his way in our cruel unforgiving little world, and it all went kaput just like that. It's the darndest thing, ain't it? Just tears me up inside."

"Indeed. The same for me." I think the saddest part is, when all is said and done, Henry's Memorial will have had a bigger turnout than my own funeral.

"Sometimes I sit alone at the kitchen table early'n the morning and late at night, and I think to myself: what if I had died that young? How would everything have turned out? Would the lives I saved during my glory days have been lost as well? I would never've met my lovely wife, Jayde. And my darling daughter Peatrice wouldn've been born." He looks me straight in the eye, a pronounced crease in his brow. "Man, do you ever think about that stuff?!"

"Uh, no. Not really." Okay, maybe I have before. But I don't feel like having an existential conversation with Peater right now, while I need to be manning my shop scouting out potential customers. I don't feel like having an existential conversation with Peater period.

"When you get down into the nitty gritty of it all, that's really all we are in the grand scheme of the universe," he states ambiguously.

I arch my eyebrow.

"Farts," he clarifies, when I neglect to fill in the blank for him. "We're here on this hunk of earth for a short time and then—poof. We're gone. Sooner or later, we're all gonna wind up together in that graveyard you have 'round back your place."

Okay. I've heard enough.

"I just remembered I have to do something," I say abruptly, scooting away from the Item Check before he can open his yap again. I power walk in the direction of the public restroom. "I'll talk to you later."

'Talk to you later.' What is wrong with me? Why do I always have to say that? I don't want to talk later! But it's not as if I can avoid the guy. Well, maybe when I come back from the bathroom, he'll at least be in the mood to talk about something more sensible than farts.

To be frank, I am only now realizing what a Goddess-send Peatrice has been this past year, if only for the fact that she never talks to me. Ever. What a sad state of affairs.

After my little venture to the bathroom (you can never wash your hands too many times), I return to my corner of the Bazaar and make for my stall. When I pass by Peater again, he is reclined in his seat with his fuzzy pink slippers propped up on the desk, arms resting on top of his bulging girth. He is giving me that usual smug looks of his, the one with the lopsided smirk and cocked brow. I have come to recognize it as the face he makes when he wants to boast, or he wants to start throwing around accusations. Or both.

He doesn't seem like he's going to stop staring at me any time soon and he's making me uncomfortable, so it is with extreme reluctance that I meet his gaze again. Sure enough, he lays down the question:

"I bet you've been wonderin' why I'm the big kahuna in charge of the Item Check today, instead of a certain little rainbow."

Is this a test? Is he baiting me?

"A little," I admit, because denying it would be an obvious lie. I have more experience treading around the papa bear now and have grown more apt at conversing with him safely. I want to be affirmative and feed into his ego a bit, but I also don't want to show too much interest and paint a target on my back. And my front. And basically everywhere.

Peater chuckles gruffly, but I'm fairly sure I sense no true hostility behind it. I suppose that was a decent answer.

"Can't say I blame ya for noticin'," he actually commends me, propping one flabby arm on the Item Check counter and leaning around the corner so as to converse face-to-face with me more easily. He smiles. "She brightens up this dingy old shopping joint. Not having her here...well, it's like the sun's been stolen right outta the sky!"

I glance at the clock. It feels like I've been talking to him for an hour but it's only been TEN MINUTES. "That's quite a strong statement," I comment in a neutral tone.

"My sweet pea told me she was feelin' ill, but daddy's no dummy. These watchful eyes o' mine-they don't miss a thing. I got hawk eyes, boy." Peater indicates his eyes with two fingers for emphasis. "And these eyes can see this is no sickness. Oh no. My baby's nursin' a broken heart!"

"Ah-..." Well...this is news to me. That makes two of us, I suppose.

"She doesn't want to talk about it with her old pop, of course. I get that. So instead of badgerin' her about all her personal problems, I helped her out in the best way a papa could and offered to fill in for her at work today, so she could have some time to herself. Would you believe she hasn't taken a single day off until now? Not a single day since I set her up with this job last year! She deserves it! My little worker bee takes after her mother. And me."

"Wow," I say with restrained awe. "Peatrice is quite lucky to have such a caring father."

"Aw, shucks, boy! You butter me up," Peater laughs heartily. "You want to know what I've been thinking? That you would be perfect for my daughter."

He gives me a very serious look. Is he...is he actually serious? The facade suddenly cracks and he busts out laughing again. Evidently not.

"Ha ha! I was just messin' with ya, bud!" he guffaws, hugging his belly. "I know you're battin' for the other team!"

"Uh..." I am caught off guard by his assertion. Batting for the...oh.

This again. This unfounded, unwarranted gossip concerning my preference in romantic partners seems to circulate around town and get back to me every so often. The rumors of me 'batting for the other team' are in fact, perpetuated by none other than my own mother. I'm honestly not even fazed by it anymore. I have long-since accepted that there is nothing I can—or cannot do—to convince anyone that I am exclusively interested in women. I have heard all the stereotypical justifications for the opposite. 'Wow, Rupin is so thin and neat. No straight man could be possibly be this cleanly.' Gay! 'Just look at Rupin with all that makeup on,' i.e. his naturally rosy cheeks and long eyelashes. Gay! 'What?! Rupin was making out with Ugly Maggie in the middle of the schoolyard?! It must be a cover up.' Gay again!

Ugly Maggie is a story for another time.

Anyway, this sheds a lot of light on why Peater hasn't treated me as a threat lately, as compared to other members of the male species. And here I dared to think it was my foxlike wit keeping me afloat in this dangerous game.

"Yeah. Sure," I respond evenly, to which Peater "harharhars" again. Whatever. I don't want him to find out I pursued his daughter right under his nose and put me on his hit list again, so let him go on thinking whatever he heard. I don't care.

"Okay, okay. So here's the thing. I was sorta messin' with ya, but sorta not...listen here, son."

He motions for me to come closer. Out of habit, I oblige, leaning over my counter.

"Even when I know my peach is safe in the middle of the bustling Bazaar, I still worry she's in a spot where there are too many eyes on her," Peater says under his breath.

For some reason, I glance at Sparrot. "I can see why you would worry about that."

"Mmhmm. So here's my dilemma. As stoked as I am that she and the varmint are broken up, it hurts my heart to see her so blue. I can't stop thinkin' if I'd only been more vigilant, I could've prevented this hooligan from pesterin' my baby girl in the first place."

He sighs.

"S'much as I want to set up camp in this shoppin' center and tell these amorous boys what for, I can't do that to my baby. It would embarrass her too much and she won't thank me for it. So here's the thing...I'm gonna need a second pair of eyes lookin' out for her when I can't be there. Someone incognito who's right in her ball park. Not a girl friend, mind you. The only thing that'll put this proud papa's mind at ease is if my sweet pea has a man to watch over her. A man who won't see her as a prize to be won, but as princess who needs protectin'."

Oh my. Is he really going where I think he's going with this?

"Shield salesman...Rupin," I don't miss how his eyes briefly flick to my name tag before looking me in the face again. He jabs a finger at my chest. "I believe that man is you!"

No way.

I thought this might be coming, but I'm still taken aback by it. "Ahaha...me?" I chuckle uncertainly, bringing a hand to my chest. "I couldn't—"

"Whaddya mean, boy?!" He sounds affronted. "Yes, you! Yes, yes! You're perfect for my daughter!"

What.

...

Again, I am...'perfect for her'? Because I...because I'm supposedly not attracted to her?! I laugh out loud again, for real this time, if only because of how incredibly wrong he is. About everything.

Peater reaches out to me and grips my shoulder, holding my gaze intensely. "Rupin! Promise me somethin', lad," he says, with all the gravity and finality of a father marrying off his daughter. "Will you swear to stand guard in this Bazaar and make sure no more young bucks are playing with my sunshine's heart while she's tryin' to make an honest living? When those rascals start linin' up at the Item Check like kids at a candy store, will you chase 'em away in my stead? Do you swear to it?!"

I look him in the eye, and I swear to it. "I do."

Why? But of course, to 'put a proud papa's mind at ease,' and to get him off my case. Not because I'm hoping anything good will come out of this ridiculous request of his.

Peatrice didn't like me in the way I liked her. She made that very clear and I accept that. I'm not going to use this menial misunderstanding with her father to my advantage. She doesn't want me. It was over before it began. And now I'm over her, too.

I make sure to pick up my favorite hat from the Item Check before heading home later that afternoon.

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Truth be told, I'm not much of a nap person.

It's not that I don't want the extra sleep. It's that I can't sleep. That's just how my brain is wired. I have never been able to fall asleep in the middle of the day, unless I am deathly sick or hungover. I always end up lying awake in bed, restless, whittling away valuable time I could be using to do something productive.

But today I have to try, because I have a long afternoon, a long night, and then another long day ahead of me. If I don't stock up sleep hours now, things are going to get a lot more miserable from here on out and the body will want to collect its dues. So I'm just going to try to unplug the wires of my brain and take a quick nap before it's time to go beetle hunting with Beedle. Again.

I rip back my bedcovers to do just that. To my complete and utter horror, my bed is already occupied.

I lose my mind. I let loose an ear-piercing scream, recoiling backwards. "What are you doing in my bed?!"

"Nn...?!"

The bed intruder is one of my semi-regular customers, that new knight clad in green. His eyes flutter open rapidly at my sharp allegation.

"I said..." I exhale, trying to keep from going ballistic and beating him over the head, "In what world. Do you think it is remotely acceptable—to invite yourself into my house and fall asleep in my bed?!"

He blinks at me in dim recognition and lifts his head slightly off my pillow, bit by bit, seeming to regain some semblance of self-awareness. "Oh. I...uh..."

I throw my arms in the air. "Shut up! You have no excuse! None! You can't just sleep anywhere there's a bed, you know! Ugh! You've been chatting with that pestilent curmudgeon, Croo, haven't you?"

He gazes at me in confusion.

"—Nevermind. For my own sanity, I'll assume you had the best of intentions, and give you the benefit of the doubt." I fold my hands in front of me and take a deep breath. In, out. Sanity is hard. "I presume you came here hoping to sell some treasure, but then your exhaustion was too much for you and you dropped dead-asleep on the nearest bed. Which happened to be mine."

He finally crawls out of my bed and rights himself on his feet, nervously smoothing his blond hair into place, though it doesn't seem to have a place."Er—not exactly..." He avoids my gaze.

I raise an eyebrow to that. "To the treasure-selling bit or the falling asleep bit?"

"Both?"

And then he has the audacity to smile. My temperature skyrockets. This arrogant, smart alec, son of a—! I don't hold back. I level a death glare at him and let him have it.

"Then get out."

His eyes widen slightly. Have I made a dent in that dense skull of his?

"What?!" I spit, taking a step toward him. "You think I'm being gruff? You think I'm totally different at my shop during the day? Well, sometimes I get tired of being a smiley shopkeeper, all right?! If you're not here to sell any treasure, then quit wasting my time and get OUT of my house!"

Clearly at a loss for anything intelligent to say and looking somewhat glum, the green knight secures his sword and shield to his person and finally shuffles off toward the door, more sluggishly than I would prefer. I glare at his back until the door shuts behind him, hoping it will hit him on the way out. It doesn't.

I turn my attention back to my poor bed and inspect the damage that has been done. There are smudges of filth and grime soiling my sheets, along with streaks of something dark red...blood? Blood stains. He got blood stains on my sheets! Disgusting!

Growling, I strip the comforter and all my sheets off my mattress and throw them into a large heap on the floor, because there is no way I am doing laundry right now, and I face-plant onto my bare bed.

'If you're tired, get some sleep...' That's what everybody always says, as if it's somehow the magical answer to all our problems. It's not as easy as it sounds. My current preoccupation is that I can't seem to fall asleep unless there is at least one thin blanket covering me, no matter how warm and toasty the house is. So instead I just lay on my bed dozing, my thoughts still wandering behind closed eyes.

All that anger...really took it out of me. Truthfully, I don't like to think of that angry, grumpy miser as the true me either, no more than I like to think that chirpy, happy-go-lucky salesman is me. Having to manage all these different personalities for different people is taking its emotional toll on me lately. It costs so much to keep them all in check: Shopkeeper Rupin, Night Market Rupin, Relationship Rupin. Well, that one was a work in progress Peatrice killed it. Now, Counselor Rupin has risen in his stead thanks to this development with Dovos. Have I added yet another mask to my collection?

Sometimes I don't even know who I am anymore. Whether the True Rupin is some combination of all of the above...or none of the above...

The sound of the door clicking causes me to stir. I roll over onto my side and let my head sink into my pillow, not thinking much of it at first. I perceive the silhouette of someone looming over me, their face rimmed in sunlight from the west windows. Like the face of a God.

It's Beedle.

"Fufjasafj!" I exclaim, falling out of bed. "Beedle?! What the—! Who let you in my house?!" I bolt up from the floor, dusting myself off after my embarrassing fall.

"The door was wide open, mate. I let myself in," Beedle replies with an airy smile, like breaking and entering is no big deal. 'The door was wide open' my foot. "I started to wonder where you got off to. We should have left ten minutes ago."

"Okay. Yeah, well, I would have been on time if some green-clad loser knight hadn't soiled all my sheets," I indulge in a little rant as I rub the cramps from the sore small of my back. "I had to completely strip the bed for fear of contracting a blood-borne illness."

"Ohhh, the lazy slugabed knight..."

I glance sidelong at Beedle. "You know him?"

Beedle pauses for a spell and stares off into space, resembling a lizard as he slowly blinks those buggy, close-set eyes of his. He gets that distant, glazed over look on his face again, his lips curving into a knowing smile.

"I suppose our souls may have once collided in another life."

I scoff openly. Maybe if I acted more like Beedle, I could actively discourage more people from talking to me when I don't want them to. It seems what attracts people to him actively wards them away from me.

"Oh, yes, and it so happens the lazy slugabed knight took a wayward slumber upon my pillow too, once," Beedle says in a whimsical sort of way, as if he is relaying a sweeping bedtime tale rather than making casual conversation. He implores me with a stare, "And what do you think I did?"

I don't know, what would Beedle do? "Jump in bed with him and start a pillow fight?" I take a wild guess.

"Dear heavens and Earth, no! I did much the opposite of what you might expect: I allowed him to snooze to his heart's content and bore him all the way home! Ohohoho! 'Twas quite a workout."

"And why," I wonder incredulously, "would you do that?"

"'Why?' Ah, but because a lesson had to be learned that day, my good chap! The lazy knight was quite a bit vexed when he woke to discover he wasn't in Skyloft any longer, hohoho. Oh, but the tall tales we did exchange by firelight that fateful night! I think he did silently thank me for that night, in retrospect..." Beedle muses. "I know not why he felt such an urge to nap in my bed that day, and I am predisposed to think it best to refrain from undue judgement, and to pass the favor forward in advance. For there may come a day when I, too, will find myself in dire need of a stranger's bed. It is deeds such as these that make the world go around, my dear Rupin."

Gross. "If you say so."

Beedle smiles in that irritatingly self-satisfied way of his and begins to drift toward the door, motioning for me to follow. "Anyway, I reckon we best be going now if we are to beat the dusk."

And so after gathering the necessary tools and supplies, we set off into the wild blue yonder, Beedle piloting his fantastical mechanical marvel, and I on my humble loftwing, Wingy.

We have been systematically searching one island per day, starting closer to Beedle island and fanning out from there, downwind towards Skyloft. Today, we are targeting Bamboo Isle, which is located about halfway between the two. It's not an especially big island, the only landmark being a small, brick-and-clay tower that is overrun with the island's namesake. When we arrive, I touch down near the entrance to the tower and bid farewell to Wingy.

Ah, yes...here we are out in the wilds, far away from the hustle and bustle of Skyloft. In the pseudo-frontier. The fresh outdoors.

And yet here I am asking myself: What in the name of all that is good and holy is that SMELL?!

Oh yeah, it's Beedle's feet. Just kill me now.

'A man's feet should breathe,' he told me once, which I take to mean, 'nobody else should.' I inch away from him as we stand side by side, appraising the bamboo-infested tower that looms before us.

They say the lone tower of Bamboo Isle was built by an eccentric and reclusive couple many decades ago. Though the inhabitants are long dead and gone, the bamboo they so frivolously planted remains, having outlived even their legacy. Such a selfish, all-consuming plant, soaking up every resource and crowding out all other life. I am convinced the sky lands would be a forest of immortal bamboo were it not contained to such an isolated, relatively small and uninhabited island. The island itself seems to be crumbling at the seams, as if it's destined to degrade into nothing but a floating mass of bamboo one day.

Beedle takes a deep breath in, and out through his long nose. "All these bamboo plants improve the air quality, you know!" he declares loftily, standing tall with his hands on his hips. As if he is in any position to lecture about air quality. One of us is polluting the air with our moldy sandal stench and it's not me.

When I decline to comment on his unsolicited fact, Beedle turns to me, peering at my face a little too closely for comfort. "My, your eyes are so red, mate."

"Thanks for noticing," I reply, wiping at them and surely worsening the problem.

"You ought to get some more shut-eye."

I grit my teeth. What did it look like I was doing before we came here?!

"Well then, we'd best get a move on before it grows too dark," says Beedle. "I will comb the outer areas of the island, while you scour the inside of the tower. Sound like a good plan?"

"Yep." Any plan where we split up sounds good to me.

Beedle saunters off around the building while I enter in through the open doorway of the tower, unsheathing my knife. I begin to cut large swathes of bamboo out of my way, keeping my eyes peeled for anything resembling a glint of shiny beetle wings.

This would be so much easier if I had a longer knife. Or better yet, a sword. Namely my old sword my mother sold without my consent. Granted, she was the one who bought it in the first place. But it was intended to be a gift. If you give something to someone...it's not really yours anymore, right? Even if you paid for it.

Apparently not in our family.

I take out all my pent up frustrations on the bamboo, slicing and dicing and hacking away indiscriminately. Stupid Nature. The bamboo seems to me like a metaphor for all my problems. No matter how many shoots I cut down, new ones are constantly arising to replace the old, and the old ones grow back at a deceptively fast pace. Bamboo can only be eradicated completely if ripped from the roots. But that is no easy task.

I'm getting thirsty. I crack open my glass bottle of spring water and take a large swig. My heart sinks a little as I realize there is no way this bottle is not going to last me the rest of the day. When I'm done, I suddenly realize I'm not alone in the tower as I thought, as the sound of quiet sobs reaches my ears. The voice is distinctly female, so this definitely isn't Beedle crying over his own poetry.

I walk around a large patch of bamboo. When I see who it is, a myriad of emotions comes rushing back.

"Peatrice?!"

She spins around with a surprised gasp, giving me a look of pure disgust when she sees me in turn. Her face is all red and blotchy.

"Y-you...!" She sniffles. She wraps her shawl around herself and hastily wipes at the streaks of dark blue makeup trailing down her cheeks, a futile attempt to hide the fact she's been crying. "Did you follow me here?!" she accuses me, face reddening in anger. "Come to have the last laugh? To say 'I told you so?!'"

I feel a white-hot flash of anger. What is her problem?! If I recall, she's the one who broke my heart, not the other way around. So what right does she have to get so hot with me?

"'Follow you?'" I huff in disbelief. "Don't flatter yourself. Me being here today has absolutely nothing to do with you. This is a public space. I have as much right to be in this filthy bamboo-infested tower as you do. It's not my fault you decided to turn it into your own personal crying nest."

Peatrice is silent, looking somewhat flabbergasted at my response. It is then that I realize she's never witnessed my mean side before.

"And just in case you were still wondering, I'm over you," I say before I can stop myself, with enough defiance to convince even myself that this is one-hundred percent the case. "Maybe you should get over yourself, too."

I suppose that last bit was rather harsh, but it all just slipped out. I would be lying if I said it hasn't been brewing inside me for days. I brace myself for her return fire, welcoming it, even. I just want her to tell me how crappy of a person I am so I can get her out of my head once and for all, already.

Instead, her eyes well up with a fresh onset of tears.

NO. Why is she crying? I didn't think that would make her cry.

I'm at a total loss for words. I thought she would flare up again and get mad at me, which would have been just fine. Or maybe she would even be happy to hear me say I'm over her? Either reaction would have been better than the one I got.

She fails to suppress another sob and faces away from me. Ugh. Now I feel like a huge jerk. Why would she be upset over me telling her I'm over her? Or maybe I'm completely off the mark and it doesn't really have anything to do with me. Typical woman. You want my attention but not my heart, is that it?

Well, this is incredibly awkward. I search for something else to say, but ultimately decide there is still no way I'm apologizing. I would never have taken a shot at her if she hadn't taken one first. I don't start fights, I end them. I conclude if I can't find it in me to apologize, I'd better excuse myself now and give her her privacy to mourn her losses. Anything else I say at this point is only going to make matters worse. I clear my throat, looking for a way to excuse myself.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dung beetle to find," I say with a casual air, like I didn't just kick her when she was already down. I'm still a jerk.

There's a sudden roar from outside, startling the both of us: "IT'S A HORNED COLOSSUS BEETLE!" Never a private moment.

"Horned Colossus Beetle," I correct myself, not even bothering to hide my snide smile. "Later."

Peatrice spares no more words for me, looking no less distraught, but now somewhat confused. I take my leave, running off into the bamboo a little too fast. Right afterwards, I become aware of how stupid I just looked, but I brush it off. I don't look back. I tell myself this was good. This was good closure.

I hear Peatrice sob again. Good closure for me, anyway.

This is just my sort of luck. I go out of my way to avoid her every day, to avoid even looking at her, and then I end up running into her at the worst of times. It is times like these when I wish squashing unwanted emotions was as simple as squashing a bug.

And so my unexpected run-in with my former crush fizzles out on an awkward, unresolved note. I admit I didn't handle that well. But I'm still peeved at her. Not because she rejected me. I never held that against her. I know you can't expect someone to have feelings for you just because you like them. I'm not one of those self-proclaimed 'nice guys'. I never pretended to be a nice guy.

But holy crow, she didn't have to be so ill-tempered about the whole thing and use my feelings to supplant her ego! Feelings which I don't harbor anymore, of course. Maybe she's not as mature as I originally thought she was. Good then. Makes it easier to forget about her and move on. Which I've already done.

I exhale and take up my blade. It doesn't take me a long time to get over these sorts of things. I'm not the type of person to brood over lost relationships for weeks on end. It just takes one night of binge-drinking and poor decision making that could possibly ruin the rest of my life, then once that's over with, I'm peachy. It doesn't matter how close I become with someone; I cut interpersonal relations easily and without remorse, as easily as I'm cutting down this bamboo.

I throw myself back into the task at hand to put the interaction with Peatrice out of my mind. For all we know, this nasty pet of Beedle's got crunched under someone's foot or snapped up by a hungry guay by now. We haven't really had that discussion. I've tried to broach it twice now already, albeit in a more gentle manner—that maybe this search trail has gone cold. That maybe just maybe this is a huge waste of time and effort on our part and no amount of searching will bring stink bug back. But I can sense that line of logic will have the opposite effect than intended on Beedle and will only serve to worsen my situation.

There are no further exchanges between Peatrice and I, and she leaves at some point. I'm not sure when she left; one minute I just sense her presence has gone and discover I'm alone inside the tower. I feel a bit more at ease now that I don't have to consciously try to avoid her.

My knife arm is getting sore from the repetitive bush—er, bamboowhacking motions, and my legs are tired from standing. Putting my knife down, I take a seat in a soft patch of grass and attempt to massage the aches from my puny biceps, deciding it wouldn't be a bad idea to rest and catch my breath for a while. Because what is Beedle going to do about it, fire me? Harharhar.

I sigh heavily. Now that I'm down, my body seems to want me to stay down. I take another sip of water and lean back against the wall, gazing up at the oval of open blue sky where a dome should be at the top of the old tower. A strong gust whistles through the upper reaches of the tower and produces an otherworldly hum. The tall bamboo shoots above me sway with the breeze, their thin leaves rustling gently. Further beyond, I can hear the distant crowing of loftwings...

My eyelids begin to droop. I let them...

-:-:-:-:-

"Welcome...to the first night...of the rest of your life."

Someone or something is gripping my arm roughly, shaking me.

"What?!" I sputter, jarring awake and hitting my head on the wall behind me with a swear. It's so, so dark, but I can smell Beetle's nasty feet, and just barely make out the outline of his face, looming over me like the devil in hell.

"Beedle?! Wh-what are you doing?! Have you lost your flocking mind?!" But of course he has. "Where am I?! What's going on?! What time is it?!"

Then it all comes flowing back, and I manage to answer that first question myself: Bamboo Isle. That's where I am. It occurs to me that I must have dozed off at some point while searching the tower for Beedle's pet. Beedle is reciting some nonsensical mumbo jumbo above me about space and time and death and birth, but I can't make sense of he's saying through my half-asleep haze and the sound of myself internally freaking out. How long was I out?!

"No, I don't have a moon dial on me or whatever," I grumble and demand of him again, "What time is it?!" I shove him aside and squint up at the sky tiredly, to find that the oval of sky that serves as the tower's ceiling has indeed turned pitch black and is dotted with tiny stars. Now I'm really freaking out. "Why the hell didn't you wake me up sooner?! I have places to be, you know!"

Beedle half-sighs, half-yawns, and takes a seat on the ground beside me, finally dropping this ridiculous charade he's been putting on for me. "Like home in bed?" he supposes. "Or the bar?" The only two places to be at night.

"Yes!" I answer, to which he gives me a probing stare. My irritation increases. "Doesn't matter which one, it's none of your business!"

Rubbing the soreness from the back of my head and neck, I drag myself up off the ground and sprint outside. This can't be happening. This can't be happening to me.

I come to a stop once I'm free of the tower, only to be faced with the full reality that night has fallen and it has fallen fast. Dark. It's too dark. Too dark to fly.

It looks like it can't be helped.

I'm stranded on Bamboo Isle with Beedle for the night.

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

A/N: I saw a screenshot of Rupin in HD. And let me tell you, those eyelashes have to be some of the most gorgeous eyelashes I've seen in a Zelda game.

I'm in the process of revising whole fic again, mostly for continuity, flow, and some clarification in regards to the lore. I had to reread it to remind myself which jokes I'd already used before going nuts writing too many new chapters, and being the perfectionist I am, there was no possible way for me to do a reread without doing a full revision. Overall, I think the story held up pretty well. I have mixed feelings on the years-long hiatus. I wish I had finished this story sooner, but I've also come up with a lot of new, better ideas recently which wouldn't have made the story if I had. I do think things are going to be better for it in the long run, with me writing the last part of the story with a fresh perspective rather than trying to push through burnout.

Also, thanks so much again for all the reviews, guys. Even if it was just a one liner saying you're glad this fic is back...thank you. It reaffirms that I had something special here that's worth completing *sniffle*. The next chapter is shorter, so I think I'll be able to manage it in a decent amount of time. Cautiously optimistic. :)