Scout

sunlit kelpie mane
sunsong face mask
vibrant rogue mask
bloody chest bandage
white renaissance shirt
gold aviator gloves
bubbly bisque gloves
posh monocle
marva's invisibility cloak



It was the Danse Macabre that found the body. The troupe was heading back to the lair when they spied the Pearlcatcher sprawled on the forest trail, which was stained here and there with his blood.

They thought he was alive at first because one of his front paws was twitching. And then the little head popped up, and they realized it was something else.

“Don’t mind me, people; I’m just out for a walk. Or I guess I was, until...” The little puppet bobbed up and down atop the Pearlcatcher’s otherwise lifeless foreleg. She turned, looked at the dead dragon whose flesh she’d been sewn to, and her face creased in a brief grimace.

And then the wide, bright-red mouth flopped open again in a simulated grin as she turned to the circus troupe. “Well, never mind him! What say you guys give me a hand? I’d love to get to know you better....”

Most travelers would have run screaming in the other direction. This group not only held their ground, but moved closer. And there in the darkness, surrounded by the trees, their shapes blurred and dropped away. They answered, without any irony—

“Oh, really? Well, so would we.”

~ ~ ~
The puppet’s name was Scout, and she was a brightly colored work of fabric, with bulging black-and-white eyes and a toothy mouth made of felt.

When she was finally pried off the Pearlcatcher’s arm, his blood remained caked onto her bottom half. It had solidified into dark, ominous stains, and would not come off no matter how much she was washed.

“Cut it out, Blue Star, it’s not coming off,” Scout coughed, spitting out water. By then, she had been with the troupe for a few days. Once Scout was nice and dry, Blue Star popped her onto one of his forepaws. She contracted, settling herself in place, and he flexed his claws experimentally. “So that’s it? All we have to do is put you on, and then you drain our energy?”

“It’s life force, you big, clanking birdbrain.”

“Pretty much the same thing. Do we need to sew you on? You were sewn onto that other fellow.”

Scout bared her little teeth again. “Why the heck would I want to be sewn onto you? You smell like a rusting scrap heap.”

Blue Star let the insult sail past. He’d endured worse before. He did note that he could no longer move from where he sat. He could still wiggle the paw which Scout was attached to, but the rest of his body seemed to have gone numb.

“Was this supposed to happen?” It was a trial even to talk. His tongue and jaws felt very heavy now.

“It’s called a mind swap. You can move me around, and in exchange, I get to control your body. I mean, it’s only fair. So. What d’you wanna do today?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Scout’s bulging eyes narrowed, her eyelids lowering over the buttons. “Not gonna ask it again.”

“Oh. Hmm, I guess we could take a nap?”

“I...guess?” Scout was starting to feel distinctly unwell, too. Blue Star’s body roiled with energy, and as it surged into her, she began feeling a bit sick.

The changeling dancer fell asleep soon enough, and Scout wriggled off his paw—she’d absorbed enough energy to hop around on her own again.

The troupe was parked for the afternoon, and various performers were outside their trailers, relaxing or practicing their routines. Scout wasn’t sure if she wanted to hang around this creepy caravan. The energy from Blue Star would help her travel some distance, though she wasn’t familiar with the world just yet....

“Where’re you off to, little guy?”

“I’m not a ‘guy’,” Scout spat. She turned, saw a Pearlcatcher atop a mat. The Pearlcatcher’s skin gleamed oddly in the lantern light; she seemed almost like a great serpent as she bent and twisted, contorting her limbs into unnatural-looking positions.

“You’re awfully good at that,” Scout said grudgingly. The contortionist grinned back. “Thanks. Got a few kinks I need to work out, though...”

“Up there, in your brain?” The insult just slipped out.

The contortionist simply laughed. “Yes, that’s right! Can’t do the same move too often, or people will say, ‘Hey, she’s done that before; it’s not an all-new show!’

Scout watched as she tried to grab her tail with one forepaw. The furry tassel swung just inches away. All the Pearlcatcher had to do was reach a bit farther...

“So, you got a name?”

“I’m Heilyn, Contortionist Extraordinaire.”

“Not with those moves,” Scout objected. “Looks like you could work on that tail-grabby thing more. You need some help?” And then she hesitated for a moment before adding, “You know about the life force-draining thing, right?”

Heilyn waved her foot. “Doesn’t bother me too much. I’ve seen worse. Now hop on, and let’s talk things out.”

She extended one limb. Scout hesitated a moment before approaching.

“What, did you change your mind?”

“Just checking to see it wasn’t another foot. I don’t want to climb onto those smelly things.”

~ ~ ~
“I’m Didymos.”

“I’m Atta.” The two Skydancers craned their necks forward, and even Scout, who had spent the past week with the Danse Macabre, stared at them with incredulity. The troupe had arrived home at last, and she’d found herself surrounded by many different...creatures, she had to say.

“We heard Heilyn used to wear you on one forepaw—”

“—or was it her foot?”

“Not her foot! I don’t go on feet!” Scout protested. The twins laughed together as they pattered forward.

Their feet hit the floor with a curious rippling noise, for Didymos and Atta were conjoined twins, literally joined at the hip, and had to move in sync to avoid falling over. They looked like they belonged with the circus, and Scout couldn’t help pointing this out.

The brothers’ feathery crests bristled slightly. “Oh, we’ve heard that before,” Didymos—or perhaps it was Atta—said with a huff.

“Heard it all the time, back in our birth clan—along with all sorts of other things like, ‘Ooh, it’s some sort of skinny Emperor!’”

“Point being...well, let’s just say the circus isn’t for us,” Didymos concluded dryly. As his brother nodded, he continued, “You look like you’d be right at home there, though.”

“You’re telling me?” Scout retorted.

“It’s not a life for everybody,” one of the twins admitted, with a calmness Scout somehow found infuriating.

And then they offered, “You want us to show you around?”

~ ~ ~
The Danse Macabre soon left for other shows and roads. But as Scout had said to Didymos and Atta, life in the circus wasn’t for her right now. Life in the Mix of Misfits, with its lair of strange creatures and wonders, held more promise for her.

Didymos and Atta’s tour was extensive, but it didn’t cover the whole of the lair. There were still so many nooks and crannies to get into, secrets to ferret out—

“And that’s where you come in!” Osiris declared. He was marching along stiffly—or rather, Scout was marching him along stiffly, back and forth like a toy soldier. “Let me have my other hand back, Scout....There we go.”

The Coatl unrolled a map atop his desk. It was a rough sketch of the lair’s layout. “If you’d like to work with the Thicket of Thieves, you’ll have to prove that you’ve got what it takes.” Osiris grinned down at Scout. His forked tongue flickered out through his teeth. “You’re small, so I’m sure you’ll be able to wiggle into a lot of tight spots—but you’ll have to show us you can get out of them again.

“Anyway, since you’ve only been here a few weeks, we’ll start you out with something simple.” He nodded towards the map. A few rooms glowed faintly, and Osiris tapped them.

“Here are the kitchens, Gorge’s domains. Have you met him yet?”

“Heh!” Scout rolled her eyes expressively. “That old curmudgeon! Great cook, though. The dishes he makes are to die for.”

“You really think so?” Osiris purred, and his tongue flickered out again. “Well, let’s hope it won’t come to that, because you are going to retrieve one of those culinary concoctions for me—and my merry band of money-grubbers.”

He tossed down another picture. This one was a cartoonish sketch of—

“A cake,” Osiris chuckled, “for that incredibly depressing Knight of Despair. Those treats are wasted on him; he’ll just blubber all over them again. We, on the other hand, appreciate them—and you can have your share, too. How about that?”

“Don’t need it. But you overgrown lizards can stuff your scaly faces for all I care,” Scout chortled. “Right, so have you got a plan, some route I should take? C’mon, Master Thief, what’s your genius scheme?”

And Osiris managed a wry smile. He indicated the map, the glowing rooms again.

“That’s where the ingredients are stored. Gorge will enter to pick them up, but you’ll have to make sure the door doesn’t shut completely. From there, you’ll be able to access the kitchen proper. Oh, but before that, here.”

Osiris held up a grimy sack. Scout didn’t roll her eyes at it, though—in the mouth of the bag was a deep, endless void. She stared at it in awe.

“Ooh!” she gasped, all cynicism briefly gone. “This is...It’s magic!”

“Yep. That it is. Take the bag, Scout.” Osiris winked at her. “You’re going to need it.”

~ ~ ~
As Osiris had noted, Scout’s diminutive size made it possible for her to take routes that other beings couldn’t use. The walls of the Misfits’ lair were riddled with cracks—or tunnels bored by mysterious, bygone creatures. With the sack clamped securely in her mouth, Scout wriggled through the tunnels, making straight for Gorge’s kitchens.

Light shone through a crack in the wall. She spat the sack out, muttering obscenities under her breath—she couldn’t actually taste it, but she knew all the grime was adhering to her fabric.

She stared down into the massive room. Shelves and cupboards, all crowded with ingredients, lined the walls. A heavy door dominated one side of the room. Through it, she could hear the clanking and muttering that signified Gorge was at work.

With the sack once again in tow, she dropped down. It was a simple matter to roll across the tiled floor and then slip under the cupboard next to the door. From there, all she had to do was wait....

The door swung open. Gorge fluttered into the room; Scout could hear him moving about, opening cupboards and shifting pots and jars. While he was doing that, she stuck her head into the sack she’d brought along with her.

The sack was a bag of holding: not so much a sack as a portable portal, which led to one of Osiris’ supply caches. There, Scout had everything a tiny little thief like her could need: lockpicks, enchanted candles, rags and bottles of oil...

Scout grabbed a rag. She wriggled back into the supply room and then spat the rag out. Gorge glided back outside, and the door swung shut behind him—

It thudded quietly against the rag, which was jammed between it and the doorframe. When the clanking and grumbling started up again, Scout peered through the crack in the doorframe. She could see Gorge hovering in front of some bubbling pots...and to the right, in sweet resplendence, the cake. Or to be precise, cakes.

Osiris had shown Scout a picture of a cake with a generous dollop of icing on top. She’d assumed there’d been one huge cake, which she was meant to shove into the bag of holding.

Instead, there were about twenty identical cupcakes, each one the size of her head. She thought back to the thief’s words: “We really do appreciate those treats...and you can have your share, too!”

Treats, plural. And they were meant to be shared out, so just one wouldn’t do.

Scout’s instinctive reaction was to start griping about this, but the irritation didn’t last long. Her eyes narrowed as she began estimating the distance from the counter to the door.

Gorge was on the other side of the room, his back to her. He currently seemed engrossed with stirring something thick and gloopy. It made an awful sucking noise as he moved the ladle around.

Scout left the bag of holding flat on the floor—but with its mouth wide open. She hopped up, gripping the handle of the cupboard with her mouth, and swung herself onto the counter. Now she was right by the cake stand. She wrapped her tiny arms around its base and tried to lift it up....She felt a huge burst of energy leave her. Too heavy. She would have to shove it off the edge and into the bag.

The base of the stand squeaked as it was shoved across the counter, but the sound was lost in the burbling from Gorge’s pots. Finally, the stand and cakes went sailing down—

Right into the bag of holding.

Scout didn’t wait to see them hit. She jumped down, picked up the bag, and rolled towards the door. Rolling was a lot slower than hopping, but she didn’t have too much energy left.

She would need to attach herself to a new host again soon.

A few minutes later, there was an indignant cry from the kitchens. Scout’s thievery had been discovered.

She was only a few meters away from the door. She could already hear someone approaching from up ahead, and there was nowhere to hide...or was there?

Scout rolled to the side of the passageway. She flicked the bag open and then popped into it, with only her eyes peeping over the edge, like a frog in a pond.

Gorge fluttered out of the kitchens. From the other end of the passage came a blur of motion—it stopped in front of him with a twang, resolving into a brightly colored Snapper with a floppy hat and a banjo.

“Oh, heya, Gorge! You got those cakes done yet?”

“Someone’s stolen the cakes!” Gorge grated, his tail lashing angrily. The orange Snapper watched as he began sniffing at the doorframe, trying to pick up a scent. “They should still be nearby. Help me find them, Wander.”

Wander was already looking around with bright, sparkling eyes. Scout ducked down— “Too slow, I was too slow,” she thought, cursing inwardly. Things were so slow when she didn’t have enough energy! She would give Osiris a verbal beatdown for not mentioning how many cakes there actually were. Or how heavy they were.

Out in the corridor, Wander shook his head. “Naw,” he said, “if they’ve got your delicious cupcakes, they won’t be hangin’ ’round here.”

Gorge’s eyes narrowed. “Are you winking at me?”

“Sure I am! C’mon, Gorge, let’s have a look-see over there.” He pointed down another corridor and dashed off, briefly illuminating the walls in orange light. Gorge resumed grumbling and fluttered after him.

Once they were gone, Scout popped back up. There was a nearby tunnel she could take back to where Osiris and his team waited, and within a few minutes, and with a sigh of relief, she had wriggled into the wall and was safely on her way.

~ ~ ~
“Welcome back,” Osiris said, grinning down at Scout. He flung the door open, and the rest of the Thicket of Thieves whooped and clapped, reaching out with eager claws.

The cupcakes were passed around. They’d gotten a little smashed in the raid, but the thieves didn’t care. They sampled the treats with relish. “Stolen goods are the sweetest!” Osiris chuckled, and Scout frowned up at him.

“Hey, you said something about ‘my share’!”

Osiris offered her a cupcake. The puppet sneered at it. “I don’t mean sugar, you overgrown worm.”

The other thieves, despite their carousing, had been following the conversation. One of them raised a cupcake. “Hey, c’mon, boss! Let her have some energy!”

“I’m not hosting her again,” Osiris snapped, but the tail end of his sentence was lost in the tumult as the thieves cheered and goaded him on. “I could get to like this,” thought Scout as Osiris grudgingly fitted her onto one paw. She felt his life-force flow into her, and she relaxed again.

The thieves cheered, and with traces of their sugary plunder still smeared about their mouths, they paraded down the corridors in a loud, happy throng.

“Where’re we going?” Scout asked as she marched Osiris’ body along with the others. One of the other dragons—or creatures—responded, “Gonna see a show!” And then, upon seeing the look on her face: “C’mon, we don’t go thievin’ 24-7. We need breaks too.”

“Also, Hobbes’ shows are to die for.” This was answered with some rather sardonic laughter. “You don’t refuse an invitation from Hobbes.”

“Don’t like that new fellow he picked up, though. Where did he come from?”

Scout didn’t really hear the last bit. She looked back at Osiris, and he rolled his own eyes expressively. “These simpletons, am I right?” he grunted. For once, he’d taken the words out of Scout’s mouth.

~ ~ ~
Hobbes wasn’t actually having a show: It was a rehearsal for his next program, and the Thicket of Thieves had been invited as a test audience. There were plenty of gaps in the performance as the theater director barked instructions and suggestions, but the thieves ate it right up. Of course, they chattered among themselves about other things as much as they commented on the show, but they weren’t heckling or throwing objects, so Hobbes seemed content to ignore them.

Osiris sat in glassy-eyed silence, his body still under Scout’s control. The puppet said to him, “Huh, didn’t know this place was here.”

“You’ve only been here...what, two weeks? There are plenty of places in here that you haven’t seen yet.” Osiris’ mouth stretched in a wide, serpentine smile. “Want to hang with the Thicket of Thieves a while longer? Plenty of places to explore, things to see. More daring heists to pull off.”

Scout snorted back. “I’ll see what else is on the table first.”

“You sure? We’ll be away on business next week. Granted, we’ll be back—but wouldn’t you like to help us out then?”

“In exchange for what, ‘my share’ again?” The puppet’s tiny arms waved dismissively. “Nah, I like having plenty of choices. Great to be able to choose my hosts—er, company for once. If you all stay away long enough, I might forget how nutty you are and help out again later.”

The thieves were now rising to their feet. The rehearsal was over, and it was time for them to go back to plotting and training. Osiris grimaced. “Better go rain compliments down on Hobbes. It’s likely to get nauseating. Why don’t you poke around for a while?”

Scout didn’t need to be told twice. She was brimming with energy again—and curiosity, besides. Being a puppet herself, she was naturally intrigued by the puppets Hobbes deployed. She hopped up the stage steps, passing Hobbes, who turned to watch her go. She ignored him and followed the marionettes as they disappeared backstage.

Here, beyond the heavy velvet curtains, silence dropped like a shroud. Scout looked around, but the marionettes had vanished completely. Had they been strung up from the ceiling? She looked up, but could see only darkness.

And then suddenly, a voice—

“Well, howdy there, and what do I see? Who’s this little critter I spy before me?”

It was a voice Scout had never wanted to hear again. She turned around—and in the shadows, seemingly melting out of the darkness and the dust: dull black clothing, the gleam of a monocle over a bushy gray mustache.

“Mortimer Handee!” Scout gasped. She tried to hop backwards—but suddenly Hobbes was there.

“Ah, so you’re Scout, are you? Osiris told me about you. Clever thing!” Hobbes bent closer. “I’m glad you’re still here. I could use a puppet like you to liven up my performances. Haven’t got any hand puppets, save for Mortimer here. I think you two would work well together. A spectacular double act!”

Mortimer joined the puppet master’s laughter. There was just a bit too much heartiness in his chuckle, however, and the gleam in his eyes was a little too bright. Scout had seen that gleam before. The glint in his eyes, reflecting the needle as she was sewn into a dragon’s skin...

“Yes, let her join our merry band. Give her a host, so she’s close at hand—”

“No,” Scout spat. Mortimer stared back with unblinking eyes.

“Oh, but you’d fit right in!” Hobbes protested. He sounded genuinely crestfallen, and after her time with Mortimer and...the others...Scout could tell that there was no malice in him. Did he know about the puppets? It was a toss-up—and Scout couldn’t trust him yet, no matter how earnest he seemed.

Mortimer, on the other hand, she knew well—enough to know that she wanted nothing to do with him or Hobbes’ puppets now. “I’m not interested. Thanks.” She even managed to make it sound civil....Where was Osiris? She needed to hop back onto his arm, get herself out of here. But Osiris was nowhere to be seen....

“Are you sure? Now, don’t be shy....” Mortimer leaned in with another glassy grin. “You won’t know until you try—”

There was a soft pattering noise and then, like a pastel centipede, a dragon—or rather, dragons—came skittering across the stage. Scout stared in surprise at Didymos and Atta.

“Osiris said you might be ready to go somewhere else.”

“Yeah, need a lift? We’ve got limbs to spare.”

A surge of relief—and energy—flooded Scout as she jumped onto the twins’ waiting paw. She turned to face Mortimer, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“Ah, Didy and Atta! I was just talking to our new friend here, trying to get her to join my little circus,” Hobbes explained.

“Not interested,” Scout repeated. Mortimer cocked his head. “But stop for a minute, think and pause! Imagine the cheers, the glorious applause!”

“It’s not my thing,” Scout said sourly. Hobbes looked ready to protest again, but Didymos and Atta nodded sagely. “Yup, life in the spotlight isn’t for everybody,” Atta agreed.

“Had enough of it. I don’t wanna be gawked at. Who needs that?” As the brothers walked away, Scout declared, “Not when I‘ve got plenty other places to see, people to meet...”

She wondered if her words would reach Mortimer—or if he would get their meaning. When she’d first seen him, she’d been seized by the overwhelming urge to flee, but now, safe atop someone else’s hand, the thought disgusted her. She’d fled last time—and ended up here. She was going to see what else and who else was in this wonderful place, and no nightmare puppets would scare her off again.

She put a bit more pressure on Didymos and Atta, increasing their speed. They looked curiously at her, and she grinned back. “OK, so where’re we headed?” she asked.

Back in the theater, Hobbes shrugged and returned to his business, making sure his marionettes were in order. Mortimer remained by the curtain, staring impassively out over the empty rows of seats, before retreating back into the dusty darkness.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users

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