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Ringing.
Endless, incessant ringing. And not from his alarm, no.
It is from his phone. The little, merrily bright square beaming up from his bedside table, vibrating against the wood whilst loudly blaring out the crashing of trumpets and what Wind once lovingly called “the death-song of a grand piano being thrown down the stairs”, and what Legend likes to call “the perfect sound of the emotions involved in getting a phone call”.
And so he cannot ignore it.
Begrudgingly- squinting up into the gently pinkened, misty sky of dawn- Legend slaps his hand down over his phone, and blindly fumbles for the answer button.
Click.
“‘Llo?” Legend slurs, full morning-voice and refusing to move his head from where it’s half-buried in his pillow.
“Hey,” so says his phone in the tones of Four, carrying along a distinct breathlessness. “One of Twilight's goats is on your roof.”
Legend blinks.
Pulls his phone away from his ear, and stares at it.
Cautiously, slowly, sits up, staggers over, and fights with the window for almost a full minute before he remembers the second catch, and sticks his head out of the little loft window, craning his neck around to look.
He is met with a goat, placidly chewing its cud. The goat is black and white. The goat has brown eyes. The goat has a bright green eartag, marking it as belonging to Ordon Ranch.
Legend stares.
The goat stares back, still chewing its cud.
Legend brings the phone back up to his ear. “... There is a goat on my roof.”
“Yes.”
“Why is one of Twilight’s goats on my roof?”
“Apparently, there was a jailbreak,” Four says. “Also, can you let me in?”
Legend has to blink again, forcing the sleep from his eyes, squinting over his domain- pointedly ignoring the goat, because no.
It is too early to have to deal with this.
But more importantly-
“-Where are you? You’re not at the door,” Legend shoves his feet into his slippers and clatters down the stairs anyway, habitually stepping around scattered collections of items and absently re-balancing precarious towers and stacks of things at need as he winds through them. The overflowing jar of antique buttons spills a little as he steadies it, bouncing off his head- Legend slaps a hand over them to keep them from dropping to the floor, and shoves them onto the shelf as he passes by.
A pause from Four’s end.
“About that,” he hedges, and oh, Legend doesn’t like that.
“Four,” he says flatly, as he opens the door, and is met with-
-another goat.
“So there’s actually a concerningly big billy goat out here,” Four states helpfully, as Legend is pinned in place by the stare of the very large goat standing on his doorstep. “And I don’t think he’s very happy.”
The billy goat rears up-
Legend slams the door shut.
It rattles against his spine with all the impact of a headbutt delivered by 300 lbs of ticked-off goat. The force makes the chain jump and jangle against the wood.
“What the fuck,” Legend says to nobody in particular, but also mostly to Four.
“I’m hiding in a tree,” Four says. “I think if you open your west second-story window I can get in that way.”
“I’m going to sacrifice Twilight to my bees,” Legend says helplessly, and sets forth to rescue Four.
“Dear?”
“Yes?”
“Were you aware,” Time says, in a very even tone, “that there appears to be a goat in our salad garden?”
“... What?” Malon rounds the corner, smacking bits of woodchips off her apron as she goes. The fence creaks as she leans against it, craning her head around to see.
“... That’s a goat.”
“Mmmmhm.”
“On our land.”
Time, thoughtfully, contemplates the capricine creature currently crunching a cheery course through the cabbages.
“So it appears to be, dear.”
“A herd of goats, actually,” Malon observes.
“I’m sorry?”
She points at the distant fenceline. Time squints.
It is smudges. He remains confused.
And then the smudge moves.
“Herd,” Malon repeats, as the smudge breaks itself into several more goat-shaped pieces, busily grazing their way across the paddock that was supposed to be next in the rotation for the cows.
They watch the herd in silence for a moment.
Then there’s the distinctive noises of an enraged horse from behind the house, followed rapidly by a panicked bleating, and Malon curses, tearing off with Time right beside her, as they go off to rescue whatever goat was unfortunate enough to try and trespass upon Epona’s domain.
It’s too early for consciousness, but the roosters have declared the day has begun, and so up Sky drags himself, with the utmost reluctance, to begin staggering through the morning chores.
It is worth noting, however, that doing so is not the same as Sky fully waking up.
No, that usually happens about mid-way through breakfast, and Zelda and Groose, to this day, continue to tease him about managing to be the only farmer in the world to master turning sleep-walking into the coveted skill of sleep-working.
So, perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that Sky doesn’t even notice the interlopers until the third time he goes back into the shed, this time bypassing the feed to go grab a leaf of hay, after his sleepily questing hand determined that the nesting boxes could use a fresh top-up.
This time, he gets as far as pulling off a leaf before a thought creaks and clicks into slow, rusty movement in his brain, and Sky registers Shapes.
And the sound of munching.
Sky turns, blinking through the hazy fog of drowsiness, and finds himself squinting at a goat.
…
… Um?
Sky blinks. Rubs at his eyes.
Yes.
That is a goat.
Several goats, in fact.
“... You’re not supposed to be in here,” he says, a bit accusingly, to the five goats helping themselves to the bales of hay.
“Maaa,” the biggest one bleats placidly, and continues to eat what was supposed to be the cucco bedding.
Sky-
-Sky does not know what to do here.
Goats are Twilight’s thing. Sky’s the bird guy, not the… giant furry horned thing guy. What do you do with goats? How do you make them stop doing things?
Dogs? Do they work like dogs?
“... No?” Sky tries hopefully. “Bad goats?”
The goat turns away from him, and takes another mouthful of hay.
“Very bad! Go! Shoo!”
Munchmunchmunch.
“Sky? What’s-” Zelda stops short in the doorway, a hissing, irate goose firmly trapped in her arms, and part of Sky’s brain melts a little into sweet pink mush around the edges as it starts thinking about the brisk morning air giving that flush to her cheeks and the way the breeze’s tousled her hair and how she unthinkingly adjusts for a firmer grip on the livid goose even as she takes in the goats and-
“... Sky.”
Hmmm? Yes?
“Those are not our goats.”
Nope. They sure aren’t.
“We don’t have goats.”
“We don’t,” Sky agrees, with some relief, quietly dismissing that little thought that had already suggested that these were, in fact, their goats, and he had just managed to sleep through their acquisition.
(Look, it happened with the quail, okay, that suspicion is valid.)
“These are Ordon Ranch’s goats,” Zelda says.
… Wait, they are?
“Sky,” Zelda says slowly, turning to stare at him with wide eyes. “Are we goat-rustlers?!”
…
…
“Are we?” Sky gasps in horror, clutching the leaf of hay to his chest.
The goose hisses again.
“OUT.”
“MaaaaAAAAaaaAAA!” The nanny goat’s indignant scream wavers with her movements as she bolts from the bucket of water Wild chucks at her, fully trampling over a nice patch of lush lettuce, and the two other goats with her bolt off in opposite directions.
Because of course they do.
“No! Not the carrots!” Wild grabs at his hair in equal amounts frustration and despair as panicked hooves go stomping all over the baby carrot sprouts, the bucket falling to the ground in a desultory rattle of tin, rolling slowly to bump up against his bare toes.
Wind, banished to sitting on the lip of the roof, munching his way through another handful of granola, continues to watch the ongoing situation with avid interest, and a phone in his other hand.
“Yeah, no, they’re just going in circles,” he confirms, swinging his feet over the edge, and is met with a tinny snort from the phone.
“I don’t know if I should be delighted that I’m not being subjected to the goat-pocalypse or regretting that I’m not there to see everyone losing their minds,” Warriors says, with the distant sound of shifting paper in the background.
Wind hums.
Down below, Wild squares up with the nanny goat, bucket fresh-filled in hand. The nanny goat, for her part, is bristling up the back, ducking her head at him in clear preparation for a headbutt, but apparently not willing to chance getting wet for it.
“Both?” Wind tries, head tilting. Wild, making little threatening movement with the bucket to slosh drops of water over the edge, manages to back the nanny goat down to the open gate of his garden.
Warriors laughs. The nanny goat, fed up, turns and bolts for freedom-
-straight through the propped-open door of Wild’s house.
Ooooooh.
Wild throws his hands in the air, startling the other two goats into a frantic bolt again, and finally draws out his phone with all the grim weight of a last resort.
“Yeah, probably both,” Warriors agrees.
The nomadic lifestyle prepares you for many things.
Being trapped inside your camper by a herd of goats, however, is a new one.
“Hello,” Hyrule says to the herd of goats clustered around his tires.
“Maaaa!” is his reply, coming from a gawky little creature with knobbly knees, big, floppy ears, and the most precious spotted coat there ever was.
“Oh, you’re cute,” Hyrule coos at the kid, who goes alert and stiff-legged at his attention, before making another little bleat and bouncing off to-
-aaaaa yup, there’s mama, coming in at speed.
Luckily for Hyrule, at the moment, he’s leaning casually on the frame of his windowsill, well out of reach of irate goats and their horns.
Mama goat comes to a stop as her baby skitters under her, and oh, there’s a second one right at her heels, every bit as cute with those huge ol’ ears too big for its little head. It’s a suspicious, stiff, bristling look she gives him, even as the first baby starts to comfort-nurse.
“I know better than to mess with your babies, don’t you worry,” Hyrule tells her, chin propped up on his hand.
The suspicion does not abate.
“No, really, I learned this lesson years ago. From a moose, actually.”
He gets a sneeze back for his troubles.
Ah, well. Better to give her some space and stop stressing her out. Give the herd a chance to move on and all.
With a big stretch- setting off a series of pops in his joints, something that never fails to make his friends cringe when they hear it- he ambles off to go brush his teeth and get ready for the day.
Of course, the problem starts when- after stalling out his morning routine a full twenty minutes- the goats are still present.
Hyrule scratches at his scalp, other hand on his hip, as he surveys his temporary front yard, and the milling mass of furry bodies and neat hooves resolutely refusing to take their cue and wander conveniently off.
… Well. At least this time it isn’t a bear?
Actually, wait. Unfortunately, it’s not a bear.
Hyrule actually knows what to do about bears.
Goats, not so much.
Okay, well, first of all. Maybe he can just pass by…?
Cauuuutious steps. No need to spook on him, goaties. Yeah, see? Hyrule’s harmless, just another grazer like they are, going on his way-
-nudgenudgenudge
“Oh-” Hyrule blinks down.
“... Huh.”
Yep, that sure is a goat nose trying to pry its way into his pockets.
A rather familiar one, in fact.
“I thought you didn’t like me,” Hyrule says to mama goat, who has, apparently, completely forgotten her misgivings about his existence in favor of an intent fascination in his pockets.
She ignores him, lipping at the edge of the fabric.
“That’s not edible for you,” Hyrule informs her, trying to move away- thwarted when she follows, ears erect and pointed, nose stretching to follow-
What’s the deal? It’s not like he’s got an apple or anything in there, it’s just his snack for the day-
Three things happen in rapid succession.
Number one: Mama goat successfully manages to get her nose over the lip of Hyrule’s pocket, and with a crunch and rapid chewing motion, Hyrule registers that a goat just stole his snack.
Number two: Hyrule, still trying to back away from this goat, accidentally trips over one of her babies, and the second the baby goat yell of fright hits the air mama goat goes from contented munching to target-locked onto his squishy Hylian body.
Number three: the rest of the herd notices.
“MaaAAAA!”
Off they all go a-bolting, a wild charge of a stampede, scattering in just about every direction possible. A pure white goat leaps clean over a mottled black-and-brown one, which itself keels directly over, stiff-legged, as if in shock. Two kids accidentally collide with one another. Confused, panicked goats without any clear direction fail in the most stunning way possible to display any indicator of those fabled herding instincts, which Hyrule was personally starting to eye the existence of with extreme skepticism.
And in the frenzy, Hyrule, with eyes long-honed for danger, catches the targeted charge.
Hyrule just about throws himself back into the camper, and a second later, mama goat pulls up short, ducking her head repeatedly, hair all along her back bristling up like a porcupine.
“Hey, hey, hey, ” Hyrule tries, poking his head back out the window, rummaging frantically through a pocket now somewhat soggy with goat slobber- “It’s alright, it’s okay, we’re all good-”
A strong snorting sneeze and a shake of the head.
… Goats don’t understand Hylian, right? Right?
“Look, look, we’re all good, we’re all fine, here, have-” Hyrule’s fingers hit his snack for the day, and he lets himself mourn for about two seconds preemptively for their soon-to-be loss.
“-Peanuts! Look, yummy peanuts, yum, yum-”
Peanuts are not very aerodynamic. Especially not when thrown in a messy handful.
Luckily, the offering is well-received.
Hyrule breathes out a sigh of relief as crunching fills the air, blunt teeth breaking right through shells in a near-frenzy, even some of the spooked goats coming in to try and snag a peanut- distracted from their fright, several start headbutting one another when a particular nut is contested over. The goat that fell over staggers to its feet, stiff-legged, and wobbles three unsteady steps before managing to snag a peanut right under another goat’s hooves.
Mama goat is busy sniffing the ground for more peanuts, twins all but hiding behind her flanks.
Hyrule feels like now is the time to try again. Carefully, he eases open the door-
Twenty-odd horned heads go up, and the swarm descends.
Hyrule slams the camper door against a wildly pushing, eager mass of goats, the sounds of hooves impacting against the sides as they try to stand for height, horns clashing against one another as they vie for space, anything but unified in their attempt to break into his home.
Hyrule…
Hyrule is going to give them a few minutes to calm down, he thinks.
Except.
The exact same thing happens again when he gives escape another go, ten minutes later.
… And then again twenty minutes after that.
And then again -
-and they’re not even fooled by the back window-
-and then the apples didn’t even give them pause-
-and oh gods, the door-
-And now Hyrule, effectively treed atop his own camper, watches as one goat headbutts another one clean out what was once his door into the milling herd right outside, and tries to tell by ear if the crunching he’s hearing is the demise of his peanut stash, or the sack of pears he knows he didn’t secure properly from the other day.
He’s pretty sure it’s the peanuts.
…
…
Welp.
He sure is stuck right now, isn’t he?
Hm.
…
… Twilight knows how to handle goats, right? Hyrule thinks his phone might have enough battery left in it for a call…
Twilight would like to state, for the record, that he is not, in fact, sick, Fado.
Sending him home early last night just because he had a headache means absolute jackshit, and so does the way he curls up with a purely instinctive whine on waking to the light drilling a hole in his throbbing head and the scream of his phone burrowing in his ear with an ice pick.
These are totally normal reactions to have on waking up, because waking up is awful.
Sky would understand him.
Wolfie rolls, his rough feet planting into Twilight’s ribs, and pressing in a big stretch with enough force to push Twilight closer to the howling hell-device known as a phone.
If Twilight has to sneeze, lighting up the painful pressure in his entire face, it’s entirely because he was sleeping with his face planted in a fur coat thick enough to drown in. Clearly.
Ugh.
He didn’t want this day off. But to have it interrupted now that he was actually using it?
Uuuuughhhh.
The phone stops ringing for two blissful seconds before it starts right back up again, absolutely unrelenting.
UUUUGHHHH.
Fine. Fine!
His hand lands on smooth, cool glass, and with one half-open eye and sleep-blurred vision, he manages to swipe open the call, and bring his phone in to approximately the area of his ear.
“H‘lo?” Twilight rasps, and squints balefully into the sunlight slicing through the room. His eyes ache in protest. He ignores them.
“COME GET YOUR GOATS,” blares into his ear, and Twilight yanks his phone away with a hiss, pressing a flat palm to try and quell the ringing. Wolfie groans, burying his snout under his paws.
The phone continues to yell at him, tinny and indistinct from distance. Twilight finds himself blinking rapidly at it, before cautiously bringing it back in closer.
“-trapped, I’m stuck with Four in my house and he won’t get out of my things, Wind said that one got in Wild’s house-” Legend rants, still loudly enough that Twilight hovers the phone several inches away from his ear with a wince. “-Nayru’s love, Rancher, what in the hell do you feed these things! You said they weren’t aggressive! You said!”
In hindsight, a stupified, confused “... What?” was probably not the best reply to offer in this situation.
“What? What, he asks?” Legend was… possibly entreating of the heavens. That sounded like something Legend was dramatic enough to do. “The goats! Your goats! They’re everywhere, and nobody’s safe!”
It doesn’t mean that he’s sick, that it takes more than a second for the dots to connect. It doesn’t.
“The goats got out?!” Twilight sits bolt upright, and Wolfie, ever opportunistic, immediately starts to burrow underneath the blankets.
“You didn’t notice?!”
“No!”
It’s a sharp switch right into suspicion.
“Are you sick? You practically nanny the damn things day and night! You sleep in the damn barn! Do I need to send someone over there? Can you even get out of bed? I’ll call an ambulance on your ass if you’re hiding shit again, Rancher, I swear to all the gods-”
“I am not sick!” Twilight snaps right back. “Stop talking to Fado, I’m fine!”
“See, that’s real funny, because I haven’t talked to Fado in months. Alright, fine, if you’re sick-”
“Not sick.”
“-if you’re sick, you’ll die if you try to wrangle this goat, and that’d be a really pathetic way to go, so keep your ass in bed,” Legend somehow managed to sound airy even over the phone. How was a mystery only the gods knew the answer to. “Who was it who did the goats with you again before- was it Rusl? Ilia? Eh, I have both their numbers, I’ll just ask.”
“No, don’t, I’ll come over-”
“Ass. Bed.” Legend says, dry as a desert and twice as flat. “I don’t bluff. Sure you want to try calling this one?”
And then he hangs up on Twilight.
…
“Dick,” Twilight mumbles, belatedly, rubbing a hand against his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pressure trying to crush his brain flat.
It doesn’t really help.
38 missed messages, blinks placidly up at him from his screen.
Twilight stares at it. Switches to stare at Wolfie, now almost completely buried under the covers.
And, with a soul-deep, tortured groan, begins the lengthy process of grimly scraping himself out of bed to go and get his goddamn goats.
“I told you,” Legend drawls out, perched on top of the table with crossed legs instead of sitting at it like a normal person.
“That was unnecessary,” Twilight hisses right back, and pointedly doesn’t react when Malon fussily adjusts the blanket around his shoulders.
“I don’t bluff.”
“It was a complete overreaction-!”
Legend’s eyes go enormous. “Oh, but how scary it all looked! My dear friend, so clearly unwell-”
Twilight growls at him.
Legend, as always, gives not a single shit, now occupied with waving a dramatic arm about. “-passing out in my front yard like that, I couldn’t in good consciousness ignore-”
Twilight looks around. “Wolfie,” he commands flatly.
Wolfie perks up. Legend cuts himself off mid-word, narrow-eyed and stilling like a rabbit under the eye of a hawk.
Twilight makes sure to look him directly in the eye. “Bathtime.”
“Oh fuck you-”
The rest of Legend’s words- no doubt profane- were replaced by disgusted yelping as Wolfie leapt forwards, doing his best to cover every single inch of exposed skin in dog spit.