The Adventures of Buttons: Forever Inappropriate
I
His feet pounded hard against the city streets as he ran, the baby clutched tight to his chest. He had no idea who, exactly, the owner of baby was, but he knew the thrill that he got from stealing it, and that was enough to keep him going, his poofy beard bristling in the wind as he ducked through the crowd, angry calls following behind him. It was a dangerous game, and he knew it. This would be the last time he visited the streets of Trinsic, it was only possible to grab so many babies and get away with it, even though they all found their way back to the parents eventually. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the Trinsician guards coming up behind him, and looked up just in time to see a frail old lady with a tray of baked goods stepping out of a doorway in front of him. Preparing for the worst, he lobbed the baby into a flowerbed, and moved his shoulder forwards to shunt the old lady out of the way. He stumbled at the impact, nearly falling over. As he teetered forwards, he stole a glance over his shoulder, saw that the guards were getting dangerously close, and managed to tumble past the waiting guards at Trinsic west gate, running breathlessly down the road, a dry laugh of joy escaping from his lips, his beady eyes twinkling with the reflection of the setting sun.
Years passed, and slowly, Buttons calmed down, settling into a regular job in the Covian Army. His beard had grown some, and his eyes, while no less beady, still retained their trademark mischievous glint. Some described him as a careful and dutiful guardsman, others described him as an overzealous oaf, but everyone knew his name. He was, by all measures, a Covian celebrity. Through some series of blunders and miracles, Buttons managed to climb the ranks to Junior Grenadier, and this is where his adventure begins.
II
A loud knock at Buttons' door woke him from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes, letting out a quiet groan, and groped around the table for his bottle of ale. Taking a deep swig, he ran his fingers through his untamed beard, set the bottle down, and trudged towards the door.
“Buttons!” came a low shout from the side of the door. “Buttons, wake up, it's Kas!” Stumbling, he reached the door, opening it and squinting out into the noon sun, Kas Valentine standing proudly on the front steps, hands on hips, his incandescent red hair causing the weary Buttons to grimace slightly. After a pause, Kas helpfully added: “You're rubbish.” turned, and ran away, giggling merrily. Buttons let the door swing shut, and slumped into his chair. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath. He knew it was true. Somewhere along the years, he had become rubbish. He needed a change, and he needed one fast. Putting on his brown cloak, he slipped out of the door. Buttons stumbled around for the better part of the day, peering into every shop window he passed, for something, anything to make him less rubbish. Eventually, as he reached the outskirts of Cove, he saw a wrinkled old man, with a long white beard, sitting on a rock. Buttons approached the man suspiciously, for he had no fondness for the elderly, and with a hesitant start, he spoke.
“You there!” he called out. “Old man! What're you doing on this rock? More importantly, have you seen anything to make my friend less rubbish?”
“Less rubbish?” the old man wheezed, giving Buttons an appraising look from head to toe. “Not sure there's much that can be done for 'your friend', but... there is something... an old legend. A bear hat, said to make the wearer successful, funny, and generally not rubbish.”
“Perfect!” exclaimed Buttons, his bush-like beard rising and falling with his excited breath. “Where is it?! Do I have to kill a balron to get it? Is it in the deepest depths of the abyss?!” he continued, arms flailing wildly, as they were prone to do.
“What?! No! Some man owns it, lives in Nujelm! Now beat it, whippersnapper!”
Content with this, Buttons landed a square punch to the old man's throat, and strutted towards the barracks, elbows out, a definite swagger in his step.
“Oh Kaaaaaaas! We're going on an adventure! Gate us to Nujelm!”
III
The two moved through the Nujelmian streets, communicating with hushed voices and frantic points. Eventually, they came to a large house, the house they suspected contained the Bear Hat of Not Being Rubbish. The house looked decidedly not rubbish, and so, they crouch-walked through the bushes, giggling quietly, until they came to a window, where they peered in. What they saw, was not, as they expected, the interior of a room, but the looming head and shoulders of a man, regarding them suspiciously behind a pair of large, wild eyes, and a fluffy moustache.
“What?! What is this? What do you want?!” he demanded, wibbling with indignation. “Why are you trampling my flowers so?” With a sly wink, Kas unfurled his silver tongue, and prepared to spin a yarn which would surely convince the man that they had a legitimate reason to be trampling his best flowers in the middle of the night. As his lips parted, and he let out a faint “Hu-”, the beginning of what was sure to be a word, Buttons grabbed each side of the man's moustache, and hauled himself in to the window, disappearing from view. For the longest time, Kas stood motionless, gawping in, past the now unconscious moustachioed man, listening at the long series of crashes, yelps and sounds of shattering glass that came from inside. In the muffled screams of the bearded burglar Buttons, Kas managed to make out the words “walrus”, “canoe”, “wax lips”, and “midget”. There was an almighty smash, and suddenly, all went quiet. After a long pause, and with Kas craning his neck so much you'd think the naked lady parade was passing by, a bundle of blankets containing a groaning Buttons flopped out of the window, landing with a thud in the flowers. In his grubby little mits, he held it. The object of his desires, that which would restore him to his former glory, the bear hat. Their triumph, however, was short lived, as the commotion roused many of the inhabitants of the city to the aid of the man who's house the daring duo had plundered. A sand cloud rose on the horizon, and steadily a row of torches and pitchforks came into view, the mutterings and grumblings of the angry mob becoming audible.
It was a phrase that, coming from Kas, was always the onset of a headache. Kas was very much a man with a plan, and that plan was often half-baked, hair-brained and dangerous. Kas had many talents, but also an apparent hatred for any animals that he regarded as unusual or clompy, especially horses. It was a sad fact that this often factored into his plans, so when Kas uttered the phrase, those four magic words that made Buttons groan in actual physical pain, “I have a plan”, Buttons knew to keep an eye out for anything furry. While fleeing from the angry mob, they saw the golden opportunity, their one chance to flee, and flee in style. A confused looking kangaroo, baby in pouch was hopping along the Nujelmian sands, its eyes beady, and its expression glazed. Kas puffed out his chest, sucking in air through his teeth an appraising the situation.
“Punch it! Punch it in the baby!” called out Kas, hopping up and down, fists clenched and hat wobbling. “It's the only way we can escape!” At once, they sprung into action, Kas grabbing the joey's head, and yanking it out of the pouch. With an almighty uppercut, Buttons sent the joey flying into a small cluster of cacti, and both of the adventurers leapt into the pouch of the kangaroo. The kangaroo, appearing slightly startled, but no less vacant began hopping away from the sound of the incoming mob, and into the sunset.
IV
It was much later when the kangaroo arrived in Cove. Wearily stepping out, Kas and Buttons, Buttons now equipped with a stunning peace of head wear, and they strutted towards the Goblin, heads held high, Buttons reached for the door handle, when...
“'Ey, Buttons, get that off, y'look like an idiot, an' it 'aint uniform.”
Oh, Buttons. Forever inappropriate.
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