Duino D. Duck and Smacky “Sandalwood” Skunk Present
A Sycamore Goat Cartoon
“RUMINANT WITH A CHEW” 
Tenpenny Theater was known for hosting a staggering array of A-list talent. Cabaret singers like Gina Germaine and "Smokin'" Sam Salmon flooded the stage every night with big band music and controversial amounts of sparklers, while mainstays The Flying Gnocchi Brothers graced the beams and skylights with their aerial feats. The magical stylings of Jackson “Jack Squat” Jackrabbit mystified an entire generation, with the secrets and actual legality of his stunts both still in question to this day. But most famous of all were the antics of Ace "Ringer" Cantle and Sandalwood "Smacky'' Skunk, a comedy duo who had busted so many guts, the theater had to hire an in-house gastroenterologist. Grand and diverse as they were, however, all of these acts shared one important commonality: no one under the age of sixty-five had any idea who they were.
That was Duino's viewpoint, anyway. So he wasn't exactly thrilled to have been roped into helping plan Ringer and Smacky's reunion show. He was even less happy about their dedication to recreating “the good ‘ol days” (an oxymoron, for sure), which meant staging the act in the original Tenpenny Theater. That also meant he had to spend his precious free time fixing up a dilapidated wooden husk that looked about as steady as a collaboration between the first and second Three Little Pigs.
"This sucks." He threw down the broom he'd been pretending to sweep with for the past thirteen seconds. With a huff, he slumped down into one of the well-loved theater chairs with a sour expression. The chair buckled and the bottom fell out, leaving the duck sitting on the floor. His frown descended deeper with the rest of him. "Why do I need to be here again? These are prime mischief hours! There's a farmer's market I could be ruining right now. But those cabbages are whole, and nobody has tomato in their hair, and that's all your fault."
"Because it's important to me." Smacky grunted as he fussed with a lug wrench, tightening the bolts of the chairs further down in the row to make sure they wouldn't do exactly what Duino's just had. "But I know you ain't gonna help outta the goodness in yer heart, so the real answer is 'ya owe me.' Ya sure don't get yerself outta those legal jams. Amazing how ya can live in a place where the statute'a limitations is shorter than a goldfish's memory 'n still get caught so often." He looked at the broken chair and jerked his head. "Now get cleanin'. We've got a montage's worth of repairs to do and half a montage's worth'a time."
     "Alright, fine. But I'm not gonna do a good job." The duck righted himself and stretched his back, scanning the theater with a bored expression. His gaze fell onto the overstuffed planters that lined the exterior aisles, wild greenery spilling out of them and coiling down the sloped walkways. At least the holes in the ceiling constantly letting sunlight and rain inside had been good for someone. 
    “You got a green thumb to match that blue collar of yours?” Duino pinched one of the slender leaves and wiggled it around. “ A second leaf snapped shut as he did so, clamping onto his finger with mousetrap-like precision. He pulled it away with a yelp, shaking his hand and sucking on his now-bald spot while the plant snickered. 
    “Nah, but there’s a weedwhacker around here somewhere.” Smacky continued to do something funny with the chairs. “In that utility closer by the front door.” 
    Duino exited the seating area and moved into the box office, gazing out the worn windows to survey the exterior. It wasn’t much better. Worse, even. There was a joke about a bunch of animals gathering in a literal jungle around here somewhere, but he didn’t want to grab that low-hanging fruit. There was enough low-hanging garbage out there already.
    A potent musty wood smell filled the entire theater, but discerning the most potent source of it made the utility closet easy to find. The “weedwacker” Smacky had specified was about as old as any of Tenpenny’s stars. The rust that covered the mechanical components was as thick as Smacky’s accent and the blades as dull as his lectures. Duino pried it from a particularly spider-rich part of the closet, dragging it past sagging cardboard boxes and a fleet of empty coat covers, into the first light it’d see in about four decades. Like a ghost finally free of the mortal coil, the machine burst into dust the second Duino tried to crank it into motion. 
    “Awesome.” 
Upon honoring the weedwacker’s death by spreading the ashes (mostly through angry kicking), something else caught Duino’s eye. There was a large pile of plot-convenient mail on the ground, having been shuffled to the side as he and Smacky had arrived. The bulk of it was made up from grocery circulars, various thank-you letters, and a couple of “Notices of Condemnation” which had amassed into a dull, dusty alphanumeric wasteland. By contrast, a much newer-looking business card sat atop the salad of paper scrap like a bright garnish, just begging for a video game player to press the A button next to it.  
    Inspected a little more closely, the card featured a beautifully manicured lawn, with a pristine fountain on one side and a hedge of flower-clad bushes on the other. A bold font in the middle proclaimed” “Rent-A-Ruminant!” along with a phone number, and… nothing else. The back of the card was blank, and the only other feature of note was a stylized bite mark taken out of the top corner. Strangely enough, the area around the bite mark felt a bit moist. Then again, everything in this place felt a little moist. 
    “Hey Smacks, good news!” Duino waved the card around. “I think there’s a landscaper who’s been chomping at the bit to work on this place. Potentially literally.” 
    “Uh-huh. What, ya fixin’ to call ‘em?” 
    “Well, duh. What, you expect me to do things myself?”
    “Ya got landscaper money in that budget‘a yours?” Smacky looked up from the row of chairs, fanning himself. “I might remind you, this here’s a charity event.” 
    Duino was already on the phone. 
    
    A good amount of procrastination on Duino’s part later, a loud horn blared from outside the theater. “I’m saved!” The duck threw away his nail file and ran out the front door to meet the landscaper, leaving Smacky to grumble about the younger generation. Duino then ran back into the theater, calling to the skunk. “Smacks! You gotta come see this!” 
    Wedging himself through the overgrown vines that choked the door, Smacky lumbered outside to join the duck. Before them stood a short and stocky (very stocky) goat, dressed in a red landscaper’s cap and matching overalls, which featured the hardest-working straps in the business. His yellow eyes matched his undershirt, and his eggshell-white fur matched his eggshell-shape. A pair of short horns curved along with his bright smile, the goat sporting an earnest expression that indicated they looked forward to doing a job well done. No doubt the foreign nature of that idea was what had Duino in a tizzy. 
    “Look at him! In those little overalls!” Duino pointed. The goat blushed, waving a hand as he hid his face coyly. 
    “Little, nothin’. Lotta over on those alls.” Smacky muttered, clearing his throat and approaching the news groundskeeper. “Nice ta meetcha, fella. Name’s Smacky. And er, Duino over there’s my associate. Or my problem, dependin’ on who ya ask. What can we call you?” 
    The goat proudly puffed out his chest, waving his hand to underscore a brass placard that was polished to a mirror sheen: Sycamore. 
    “Now, listen here, Sycamore-” 
    The goat held up a finger, moving their hand to cover part of the name. Smacky squinted and adjusted his glasses. 
    “Alright, er, Syc.” The goat nodded rapidly, the sound of a lima bean in a tin can ringing out from their noggin as they did so. “I dunno what the duck over there told ya, but we don’t exactly have a budget for a professional landscaper.” 
    Syc once again shook his head, pointing to the grass. He chomped his teeth a few times, then rubbed his ample belly and mimed a belch before flashing a pair of thumbs-up. 
    “Eating the grass is payment?!” Duino slapped his knee. “This is perfect! A jungle like the one we’re sitting on must be like a 500% tip! No wonder he was so eager to get in here. I’m a financial genius!” 
“Well I guess that is pretty handy. Bit odd, though.” Smacky rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure ya don’t need anything from us? I won’t lie to ya, this place is in a real state. Don’t want you bittin’ off more than ya can chew.” 
    Giving a cheery smile and shaking his head, Syc produced a polka-dotted napkin and tied it around his neck. Reaching into the back of the flatbed truck, a series of loud metallic clanks precluded the retrieval of a knife and fork. These utensils were held down at the lawn, the goat sticking out his tongue like a pool player lining up the game-winning shot. After a focused inhale, the utensils were tossed to the side and the foot-tall grass was chomped into with all the elegance of a 2AM cheeseburger. 
    Duino and Smacky’s jaws dropped as they watched the groundskeeper rev into action, but their mouths opened only a fraction as wide as the goat’s. He moved like a savage beast, chomping every blade with a ferocious intensity, but somehow left a perfectly level and pristine lawn behind him. The overgrown trees got a precision buzz cut, and the unkempt hedges were more square than the dean in a college movie. Tangled and thick vines that clung to the side of the building did so for dear life as the goat slurped them up like spaghetti. The only tool he did seem intent on using revealed itself to be a small shaker of kosher salt, applied lightly to the especially tough roots. 
    “See? I told you this was a good idea.” Duino elbowed Smacky in the ribs.
    “Ya ain’t told me anything.” Smacky huffed. “Ya barely told me it was an idea.” He checked his watch, squinting at the goat again. “Still, he’s makin’ good time. And we got about a thousand building code violations ta finish fixin’.” The skunk grabbed the back of the duck’s collar and began to drag him back toward the auditorium as the goat chewed a crop circle into the front yard like he was creating latte art. 

    After the liberal application of elbow grease, the interior of the theater was looking substantially better. The worn paneling had been repainted, frayed carpets and curtains had been replaced, and holes in the windows and ceiling were patched with a master’s touch. It was as if someone had warped the Tenpenny Theater of the past seventy years into the future, down to the last detail. 
    “Y’know, we make a great team.” Duino wiped the sweat from his brown. 
    “Team? You’ve been sittin’ there on yer phone for the past three hours.” 
    “I was managing.” 
    “Managin’ to give me a headache,” Smacky cursed over his breath. “How about ya do something of actual use and hold this ladder for me? We’re almost done here, just gotta spruce up that chandelier in the rafters.” 
    “You mean that impossibly intricate and delicate one made of crystal and likely hanging from a rope that’s been fraying silently for the greater part of a century?” Duino pointed, expositorily. 
    “...yeah. That one.” 
    “Well I don’t see how that can go wrong for a pair of professional agents of mischief. Let’s get at it.” 
    Smacky climbed the first few rungs of the ladder as he approached most things- surprisingly spry for his age and with a grimace thicker than mayonnaise. The instrument may as well have been assembled from loose sandwich toothpicks with how it teetered and wobbled, no help from Duino’s “supporting” it by sitting on a nearby armrest and drumming his foot on the bottom rung. 
    It was at that point the front doors to Tenpenny Theater opened, and a familiar face rolled inside. Rolled being the operative word, as while Syc’s face was familiar, the rest of him was kind of a new sight. The goat had clearly had his fill of the lawn, in every sense of the phrase. He filled the double doors with the physique of a blown-up lunch bag, squeezing into the theater with a chorus of audible groans from both his coveralls and the woodwork. The smell of fresh-cut grass was usually a gentle waft, it felt like an entire perfume bottle had splashed into the duck’s face. Licking his lips, the goat sniffed the air, and settled on one of the planters the rimmed the house seating. There wasn’t quite a verb for how he moved over to it- whatever you’d call that thing the stuff in a lava lamp does, he did that over to the lush weeds and chomped in. 
    “Huh.” Duino pursed his lips. “Guess our gardener finished outside.” 
    “Oh, great!” The skunk called from atop his harrowing perch, one hand clutching the dangling crystals while the other went at them with a polishing rag. “Least I can count on one ‘a ya. Keep an eye on him, case we need to saddle up after all.”
Duino, turning away from the obviously perilous situation, focused on the gardener. 
The goat, in their enthusiasm for eating the weeds, swallowed all the dirt in the planter like one would drink milk from a cereal bowl. Huh. 
Perhaps in the same enthusiasm, they picked up the planter itself and took a massive bite out of it, slowly stuffing the entirety of the plastic basin into their gob. Well… it had needed to be replaced anyway. 
The goat then took a gigantic bite out of the backs of one of the nearby chairs. That may be overstepping a boundary. 
“Hey, Smacks? We might have a problem here.” 
“Problem? That’s impossible. We’ve almost solved everything! What’re the chances of something going wrong now?” 
The goat rolled down the center aisle like a boulder in an ancient tomb, taking bites out of the carpet as they went, and crashed into the Jenga-brand ladder with enough force to send it splintering to all sides. Duino was thrown toward the stage, leaving the skunk to hold on to the chandelier as it clattered and clanged on a fraying thread. Loose bobbles fell from it in Smacky’s panic, each of which were gobbled up by the waiting goat below. 
“What in tarnation is that?!” Smacky screamed.
“That’s our problem!!” Duino called back, rushing back up the ramp and slamming his shoulder into the goat. “I told you hiring someone for free was a stupid idea!” 
The chandelier started to drop, the already-overworked wire unable to accommodate additional weight. A gaping goat maw awaited below in the fashion of a whale anticipating fish from their trainer. “Ducko, you best get him movin’ now!! NOW!” 
“Alright, uh, alright, OK! Look, Syc, buddy! I think you missed a spot on the lawn-” Duino ran up the aisle and gestured out the door. “There’s still some grass-” He turned and pointed, stopping dead. The grass was not only gone, but utterly consumed. Six inches of topsoil were missing between the sidewalk and the front steps of the theater, squared perfectly at the edges of the property. The bushes looked like fish skeletons. The trees were naked enough to require censor bars. The exposed pipes all had bite marks in them, spraying water in every direction. 
“Hey, you know what you want?” Duino ran back up to the goat, pulling out his wallet. “I know you work for food, but hey, I wanna pay you anyway! To leave! Right now! How about it, huh?” He leafed past a $20 bill and offered up a $5 one instead. A tell-tale chomp sounded, and the bird pulled back the bottom corner of the bill, along with a finger missing quite a few feathers. He stared at it in annoyance, then raised his fists up to the goat in protest. “Well that’s just-” Another chomp sounded as the goat swallowed the rest of the duck’s wallet. 
“Uh- uh- I’ve got another idea! Wait there, Smacky!” Duino dashed toward the door again, disappearing outside. The skunk’s gaze turned back to the (wood) chipper smile below him, gulping in fear. He dared to rummage around in his back pocket, producing a rubber chicken and releasing it. A wheezing series of clucks sounded from between the goat’s teeth as they latched onto the rubber prop like a bear trap. 
“This… is all gonna be OK, Sandalwood. This rope just has to hold long enough for ducko to-” The rope, hearing its cue, snapped immediately. Smacky was able to pull himself atop the metal framework as it fell, jumping and rolling to the side as the enormous fixture crashed into the waiting goat’s mouth. The geezer was thrown up the aisle, landing in a heap at the front door. 
Picking a few crystals out of his hair, he looked up to see Duino with one foot in the backseat of a cab. Both parties remained silent, with no sound in the air but the motor running. Smacky’s eyes narrowed, his face turning red from the neck up. 
“Alright, alright!” Duino slammed the door shut and slapped the top of the cab, sending it away. “You’re lucky he ate my wallet, is all I’m saying.” 
Smacky enacted his namesake upside the back of Duino’s head before rubbing his chin, chewing the end of his cigar like it was bubblegum. “So we’ve got a problem on our hands. Let’s weigh the opposition.”
“That’s gonna be hard. Like, they don’t make scales that big. Could we weigh him like a whale or something? We’d need a really big tarp-”
The back of Duino’s head was namesaked again. ”Hush for a second, will ya? All’s I mean is there’s a trouble to solve here. And as a pair of career trouble-makers, we ought to know the best ways to make this problem disappear. Now you’re awful good at having mayhem go awry, what usually causes your schemes to fizzle out?” 
“You know? I’m not really sure. Every single plan I’ve ever come up with has been flawless. Never really thought about it, but it’s shocking.” 
“Talkin’ too much, of course.” Smacky took his hat off and began to fan himself with it, watching the goat pile a few chairs into a clumsily-stacked sandwich and swallow them all in one go. Their coveralls became coversomes as they split wide open, revealing the flab they’d barely been containing as the blimp of a fieldworker swelled to fill half the mezzanine. “Don’t think we’re gonna be able to exploit that particular weakness, here.” 
“Can I still interest you in running away?” Duino gestured to the open road. “If we start now we’ll be able to get fake IDs made while the foundation still has barely any bite marks in it.” 
“Nothin’ doing, ducko.” Smacky looked at his hat mid-fan, then tossed it away, replacing it with a pith helmet pulled from behind his back. He tossed a worn version of the same to the duck. “We’re trappin’ some big game, no matter the cost.”
Syc, during this entire exchange, had made short work of most of the theater’s interior. The intricate iron-wrought railings had been crunched like pretzels, and the planters and decorative pillars had been scarfed down like orante sub sandwiches. Several assortments of finely-upholstered chairs had been devoured as if they were corn on the cob, and as the pair of toons sprinted back into the room sounding battle cries to the tune of swing music starting up in the background, the goat was just polishing off the remnants of the chandelier like they were rock candy. 
Smacky began by producing an oversized net, twirling it and tossing it over the goat with all his might. The net landed on top of the goat… and sat there like a cocktail umbrella atop a mixed drink, barely covering a twentieth of the animal’s increased girth. Duino pushed the skunk aside, quickly tying an assortment of nets together, and tossed the amalgamation up instead. The tangle of knots cascaded around the goat perfectly, covering him from head to toe. Duino puffed out his chest, jerking a thumb at his handiwork, before hearing a loud crunching noise. As quickly as they had been thrown at the animal, the ropes disappeared into his mouth, munched with all the gusto of a horse diving into fresh hay. 
Producing a small tape recorder, Duino mumbled into the receiver. “Next time, lace the ropes with hot sauce.” 
A gloved hand reached in from off-screen to grab the back of Duino’s collar, tugging him away and leaving the recorder spinning in mid-air before it crashed to the ground. Smacky held a finger to his lips as he pulled the bird into his hiding place- the only small outcropping of chairs remaining on the main theater floor, much like a bush in the middle of a dry savannah. The skunk pointed to a large cage he’d set up, with a modest cake planted in the center beyond the open door. A length of rope ran from the cage door to the skunk’s hand, the end of which he wiggled along with his eyebrows. “Foolproof.” 
The pair watched the goat meander over to the cage, sniffing the air with the excitement of a puppydog and the grace of a triceratops. The goat’s head got wedged in the bars opposite the cage door, a river of drool pouring from his mouth as he locked eyes on the cake. It was no surprise, considering this was pretty much the real food he’d been presented with all day. 
Slowly he circled the cage, making his way toward the open door. Smacky and Duino tensed up inside the outcropping, sweat pouring down their faces as the moment of truth drew closer. Finally the goat stood at the precipice of the gate, taking one lumbering step toward the ample opening. Smacky’s arm tensed, ready to yank the gate closed at a second’s notice. 
Syc grabbed the cage with both hands, crushed it as if it were made of cardboard, and took a bite out of the top like it was an ice cream sandwich. 
A tandem forehead slap echoed loudly over the goat’s chewing. 
“Oh, nuts to this!” Duino leapt out of the cluster of chairs, sprinting up to the goat and ramming his shoulder into their side. “Go AWAY. Move! Leave! We’re done with your services! C’mon!” He shifted and pushed with his back, sinking deeper into the goat’s bulk with every frustrated step. “Smacky give me a hand, here!” 
“Work smarter, not harder!” The skunk called back, placing two fingers in his mouth to produce an ear-piercing whistle. “Hey, jumbo! How’s about some caramel?” Smacky waved a free hand, the other now holding a mop, then gestured to a large sticky patch on the ground that was very clearly some kind of industrial-strength glue. 
“Smarter?! Come on, Smacks, he’s not gonna fall for-” Duino was silenced as the goat rolled over him, flattening him to the width of a pancake against the theater floor. Smacky held on tight to his hat and dived out of the way, narrowly avoiding the same fate as the goat barreled into the goo, stopping on a dime right in the center of the pile to a tire screeching noise. 
Namesaking his knee, Smacky jerked his head toward the duck, who was still halfway through peeling himself off the ground. “He ain’t gonna fall for what, now?” Picking up Duino and shaking him out like wet laundry, Smacky gestured to his grand triumph. “All it takes is a little persistence! Just take a look at that!” 
Syc was in the middle of licking up the last of the glue, the spot where it had been laid now cleaner than it had been before. 
Both stared in silence as the goat lapped up the last of the trap. Smacky pinched his cigar, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it. “So. What kinda rates did that taxi of yours have again?”  
With the last of the glue lapped up, Syc burst back into motion, tummy rumbling from both hunger and friction. The bloated goat was now round enough to bounce around the theater in a matter of seconds, chewing and chomping everything his teeth could get even remotely close to. In all his rampaging and munching, just about everything disappeared down his gullet. The curtains that lined the stage became tortillas and the window dressings became garnishes. Every chair and several of the floorboards went missing, turning the once well-appointed theater into a wasteland as barren as a cafeteria after school hours. All Smacky and Duino could do was dive out of the way of the rampaging ruminant, avoiding the worst haircut imaginable. 
“                  “ mumbled Duino. 
“Cripes, he’s even eatin’ our dialogue now.” Smacky panted. “And here I was thinking I’d get to save my energy before the show tonight. I wonder if it’s too late to rebook this show at the Glitz down the road…” 
At this point, the only thing remaining in the theater was its three occupants, and all three of them came to that realization at the same time. Upon establishing mutual eye contact, one party licked their lips while the other two embraced in fear (who’s who should be pretty obvious, if you’ve been paying attention). 
Syc rumbled toward Smacky and Duino slowly and deliberately, the tide of goat easily trapping them against the widest wall in the theater. His head loomed down until it was right before the cowering toons, eyes glassy and lips licked, his mouth opening to reveal the solid darkness within. The pair of costars clutched each other tightly, eyes closed and shaking like old washing machines, mumbling about their regrets… only for the goat to blast a massive belch directly in their faces. 
After regaining consciousness a few minutes later, Duino inspected every part of himself. “I- I’m alive! And whole! It’s a miracle!” 
“I think I am, too!” Smacky called out. 
“Oh, neat.” Duino dusted himself off and stood up, looking at the swollen iceberg of a groundskeeper who had stopped moving. The goat’s tongue hung out and his grin was placid. “What’s with jumbo?” 
Smacky tip-toed toward the goat, gingerly placing a hand on their neck. At least, what looked like their neck- the anatomy had gotten kind of blobular. After a few tests of the pressure, the skunk pressed his ear against the goat’s fur, listening intently. “Didn’t know it was possible but...I think he’s full.” 
“Full?!” Duino surveyed the once-grand theater interior, folding his arms. “Yeah, full of something. Look at this place! All that work we did, up in smoke!” 
“Yeah. We.” Smacky rolled his eyes while producing his pocket watch, then squinted at it. “And as much as I’d like to rejoice that a problem’s been solved, we’ve got a bigger one brewin’. Bad news is, we have ten minutes before the doors open and everyone sees this mess.”
“That implies there’s good news. What on earth could that be?” 
Smacky clapped the watch shut. “We have ten minutes to fix this mess.” He wrapped a hand around Duino’s beak, cutting off the complaints. “And our guest here clearly ain’t going anywhere. So tell you what- you earn your keep and get this place as ship-shape as ya can, ‘n I’ll take care of our interloper. Sound like a deal? Just speak up if you disagree.” Smacky tightened his grip. “Excellent! Let’s get to work.” 
________________________________________________________________________

Unlike literally everything that had happened earlier that day, the reunion show went off without a hitch. While the crowd was initially put off upon being greeted by nothing but loose carpet swatches and folding chairs haphazardly arranged in crooked rows, but the decision to leave the house lights off was brushed off as a stylistic one: “It’s to pay homage to the Plotsburg 1954 Light Prohibition! Don’t you people know your history?!” Luckily, no one really felt like arguing with Duino. 
 The duet between Gina Germaine and Smokin’ Sam nearly brought the house down- literally. The speakers were moved away from the gnawed support beams before that could come to pass. Jack Squat made a member of the audience disappear to uproarious applause, and then to heavy sighs of relief when he was successfully able to make them reappear two acts later.  The Flying Gnocchi Brothers were an especially big hit, still able to pull off a couple daring flips and spins, with only one pair of dentures having gone flying. 
What really brought the energy of the evening over the top was the theater’s central lighting fixture. The famous Tenpenny Chandelier had since become goat food, but as Duino and Smacky quickly learned, you can achieve a similar effect with some glitter, some glue, a few pieces of rope, a single flashlight, and an overbloated goat who’d eaten himself into submission.
A single thick piece of rope cinched itself around Syc’s swollen tummy, a tight knot of the skunk’s own design anchoring him to the ceiling. Having been unable to remove the goat, the toons elected to do the next best thing: hide him in plain sight. So as the gurgles and churns of his ill-begotten buffet rocked the animal back and forth, the glitter he’d been coated in lit up the stage in ways that certainly had never been seen before. And being the only source of light in the dark theater, not a soul was looking at him- save Duino, who’d been put in charge of waving a flashlight in Syc’s direction. 
“I’m gonna say something daring.” Duino chuckled, elbowing Smacky as the skunk was slipping into his stage attire. “I think we really managed to pull this off.” 
“Yeah. We.” Smacky smirked, saying the word genuinely for the first time that day. He tussled Duino’s hair with his non-smoking hand. “Still not really sure what we’re going to do with our goat friend when this is all over. He ain’t fitting out that door, and I doubt Tenpenny is looking to turn itself into an apartment building.” 
“I’m sure we won’t have to worry about it. Just like group projects, these things have a way of getting themselves done.” Duino caught the skunk’s leer and swallowed his thoughts. “A-anyway! Aren’t you and Ringer on next? What’ve you two got planned?”
“Not sure. He ain’t here yet, even. But the two of us were always good at improv.” The skunk gave an appropriately-timed shrug, because as soon as the swing band on stage hit their zenith, the back doors of the theater opened and in strode Ace "Ringer" Cantle. Somehow a spotlight shone directly on him, despite Duino having confirmed all of them were broken. The horse rode the wave of fanfare with the grace of a pro surfer, clearly having not missed a step since his days as a stage performer- even if those steps appeared to be a little more labored nowadays. He bowed and goaded the applause on, giving a neighing laugh as the band finished and allowed him to move to the center of the auditorium. A dramatic pose indicated he was turning it up to Ham Factor Eleven. 
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I would have been here sooner, but I think someone may have supplied me with the wrong directions!” Ringer looked around the room, feigning a sleuth’s gaze until he spotted Smacky. “Any ideas who that might’ve been, old chum?” 
Playing his part perfectly, Smacky flashed the biggest grin he could and shrugged. The sneer and used car salesmanship in his voice made him sound forty years younger in an instant. “Can’t say I’m sure, sport! But ain’t it your fault for trustin’ a rotten egg?” 
“Hah! Maybe so!” Ringer fixed his suit coat and made a grand gesture, holding his hand aloft. “But it’s time for our act, alley cat. And I fully intend to have the last laugh! We’ll be making sure to leave ‘em rolling in the aisles!” 
The horse’s dramatic claim was punctuated by the sound of splintering wood. He looked up slowly, and had just enough time to see a glittery meteor headed right for him. The goat came crashing down from the rafters with a massive SLAM, landing in the middle of the wide aisle and sinking into the floor below, completely obliterating the horse at the dead center of the impact. Having gained some level of consciousness again, the bashful goat blushed bright red, and began trying to roll down the aisle toward the door- the horse pancaked to his stomach in the meantime, much to the delight of the crowd. 
And no one was smiling more than Smacky. “Y’know ducko, you might be onto something. These things DO sort themselves out.”