Redhawk Caldera Drive-thru

Hamburglar battled with his tail for a few minutes before coming to rest beside his haunch, flopping over like a dead thing. "Really? That's it?" Peregrine teased the deaf youngster. "If you don't get up, I'm going to fart on your head," he warned, eyes narrowing as he waited for any sign of movement. The sandy boy remained lying there, motionless save for the rise and fall of his little rib cage. "Okay then, you can't say I didn't warn you."

Probably most dads would joke about something like this but not actually go through with it. But he was Peregrine Redhawk. He swept to his feet, then hover-crouched over Hamburglar as if he was about to take a dump on the unsuspecting whelp. Fortunately, nothing escaped him except for a tiny puff of air and an accompanying squeak. Only time (and Hamburglar) would be able to tell if it came with any particular odor as well.