The Merchant of Miracles

Being a little man living in a little cart in front of a house that doubled as a "unicorn" stable was fine when you were, indeed, a little man. Turns out it wasn't so ideal when you ceased to be a little man and instead became a very large robot assassin.

Scaramouche the Merciless thought nothing of the ruins of a cart scattered around him when he "woke up," but he was a little surprised by the one-eyed goat with a horn on its head licking at his face. "Oooh, careful, babe," he said, putting up a hand and gently pushing the goat away. "I wouldn't want to rust, and you should take a guy out to dinner first, man."

When he tried to get up, he noticed another goat nibbling on the hem of his fabulous purple jacket. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, babe, these digs are not for goat digestion." Thankfully, it was easy to pick the goat up and set him aside. "Now if you'll excuse me, how about you babes just make with the grass, and I'll make with the phone and call Aku." He pulled a small pink phone out of his pocket. "Beep-beep-beep, ba-beep-boo-bep."

The phone didn't seem to be connecting, but the goats were back at the coat. "These goats," he shook his head, "have gone beaucoup cuckoo." But he had a solution, pulling out his magic flute, trilling a few notes that allowed the pieces of the broken cart to form a fence around the goats to keep them in place.

"That'll keep you crazy goats in your place," he said. "It's been fun, babe, but I've got to move on. Time for me to shuffle off stage. Au revoir, Chèvre. Scaramouche has got some business to attend to."

Although he didn't know what that business was, yet, but there had to be a reason he was here, right? He was Aku's Number One assassin, after all, he didn't just get sent somewhere for no reason. Maybe he'd just go find himself a drinky-poo to help him think while he sorted it all out, warming up those sweet vocal chords as he scoped out the new locale.

"~Bee da bap boop be bop-bop-bah.~"


[[ oh, yeah, baby! Most def open if anyone wants to hit up one real hip assassin cat, my man]]