Humoresque of a Little Dog [Windwards]

[Terminally Chill]

Gavin's shabby sandals touched down on the splintering street shortly after his two comrades made their landing. The musician fell short on matching Jun and Fenrir's grace, stumbling forward a bit before falling face first entirely. Picking himself up from the ground, Gavin wore a goofy grin as he rubbed a sore spot on his nose from the spill. The prized guitar returned to its usual place, the songsmith surveying the damage done amid dust, debris, and doodie.

“Rrrrowf.”

“Yeah. Right in the butt, man.” Gavin gave a nod in agreement to whatever his canine captain had said. As the stupidfied residents of Orange Town looked on in amazement, Gavin stood oblivious to what exactly the Windward Wanderers had done. He rotated his shoulder once or twice, getting rid of a few post-workout kinks in the process.

The text-o-zord lay in shambles in a concrete crater, inoperable after the devastating hit. “Brown Streak” Torsh Wipes was... well, to say the least... incapacitated. A lump that almost matched the unimpressive size of the stubby supervisor had emerged from the point of impact, eyes a blank slate that contained no consciousness.

Skullie had been shaken up by the whole mecha being driven into the street, but aside from a few scrapes and bruises he was alright. The man with the cap was more frightened than anything. If the three could deal with their ultimate weapon with one shot, he wanted no part of them. Seeing as how Torsh was out of commission, Skullie saw no reason to stick around. The second-in-command at the textile mill crawled from his place in the cotton colossus as quietly as possible, hoping to use the shield of stench and debris as a cover for his tip-toe getaway.

However, any sort of undetectable flight was suddenly ruined.

“Hey man!” Gavin called out to the man with the skull cap. Skullie froze in his tracks, the hairs on the back of his neck standing rigid. Was this it for him? The frozen lackey believed he could at least look his end in the eyes. Skullie struggled to turn his head to face the trio, but when he finally did get around to it, he only saw Gavin cheerfully waving at him. That was all it took; Skullie bolted away from the wanderers with as much haste as his aching body could muster.

The six string slinger turned and shrugged to his fellow drifters, not entirely sure why Skullie had run off in such a hurry.

“Where to now, man?”

The faces of Orange Town had not changed; they still could not believe what they had witnessed. One of the shocked faces was Mayor Boodle, who had come out of his hiding place with Chou Chou in toe. The old man in the powdered wig could not help but recall flashes of a certain red-nosed scourge as the dust settled around the town. And as he looked upon the three friends, memories of a bold young man wearing a straw hat, a stubborn swordsman with a bandana, and a fiery-haired trickster flooded back to him.

“... There sure are some amazing young people in the world.”

“Ruff.”

[Tsin]

As the poo-scented dust settled around the trio, Jun removed his makeshift mask from his face. That is to say, he reached up and gently pulled the layers of scarf down from his nose and mouth to expose the usual sort of placid expression he was always wearing, even after participating as one-third of the team that brought down that extremely man-made behemoth. It was a face and a feel as natural as Gavin's slightly dazed and dopey demeanor, and apparently just as misleading too judging by the mecha-shaped crater in Orange Town's streets.

You know that say about judging a book by its cover.

... Ah ha. Jun would've laughed if he had thought of that in relation to himself.

But he didn't, and was instead distracted with the skullcapped stooge's miserable attempts to flee from the scene of his defeat without a trace. The Dragoon might not have even noticed himself actually, busy with slipping the Fountain Glaive back onto his back, if his bardic buddy hadn't said anything about it.

"Hey man!"

The scribe looked up suddenly, raising his own arm to wave amiably at the other man too. But before he really could... Skullie took off. Extremely quickly too. "Huh. That was rather rude... Looked at us as if we were some kind of bullies. Maybe he just had a prior engagement." Comfortably convinced with that concept, Jun nodded at Gavin's shrug.

"Where to now, man?"

And during this whole fiasco... Fenrir could seriously not care less. Hell, he was probably prety content just to let his crewmates handle the whole thing while he buried his face in curry powder if that dang poo-lossus wasn't so incredibly offensive to his canine senses. The deed was done though, and skullies whereabout disinterested him greatly; He was already trotting off in fact when the two humans turned to each other wondering about their next move. But to the Captain, it was obvious. "Rrrrruff! Woof-woof!"

"Oh yeeeaaaaah..." Now jogged a bit by the navigator, Jun's memories were moving along at a pretty brisk pace. He matched them for a brief moment too, catching up to the hound in short order. "Might as well be lunch by now, honestly. Where should we go tho- Oh!"

The scribe turned to Gavin suddenly. "Do you still have that coupon? Or... did we... drop it..." The writer's words slowed as his eyes moved beyond the songsmith and to the crater again though, wondering what might be under there.

... Would it still be worth it if they could find it? Would they even want to?

[Terminally Chill]

As soon as Fenrir reminded his two human comrades of their original objective, even Gavin's sluggish stroll had some energy injected into it. The dopey drifter had nearly caught up with his fellow wanderers until Jun brought up the potential roadblock on the road to burrito bliss.

“Do you still have that coupon? Or... did we... drop it...”

Gavin stopped in his tracks, a dimming disappointment beginning to show in his eyes as they followed the scribe's gaze to the stench-filled crater. A single bead of sweat rolled from underneath the strummer's shaggy mop as he reached into his pockets.

Nothing.

Gavin pulled the insides out to display nothing but a few stray pieces of lint. A loud sigh escaped the lips of the musician as the daunting task of searching for the tiny scrap among the wreckage the windward trio had caused. How were they ever going to find it in this mess? Considering the hammering they had given the text-o-zord, their literal meal ticket was most likely wedged beneath the wasted war machine. But... It was so nasty. Which of the three would take on the task of retrieving the coupon? What brave soul would muster the courage to face their potential end at the hands of the skin-melting ste–

“Oh wait, here it is man.” The bargain bard knelt down to pick up the worn-out scrap, which had conveniently been right in front of him the whole time. Gavin could not help but smile at having retrieved the treasure. However, something about it seemed to have caught his lazy eyes. Through the all of the grime on the coupon rested a harrowing truth.

“Aw man... This was only a morning deal for today. It definitely expired a while ago.” Shaking his head, Gavin crumbled up the now-useless prize he had gone through so much to protect and tossed it away. Sure, the duration of the deal was a bit peculiar but... You can't be giving away free burritos all day, right? The guitarist continued on with the rest of his friends, leaving the awe-struck Mayor Boodle and Orange Town citizens behind them.

Although robbed of a free meal, the rumbling stomach of the Windward Wanderers would press on. The winds of friendship would carry them to their next destination, bonding the–

“Hey man, do you think we could go back and get that coupon for the nachos?”

… Damn it. Okay, that's the end. Seriously.