Furotazzis Open The Slups A Direction Worth Selling

[Grubbage Searoot]

The bang of Grubbage’s paw on the countertop cut through the room like a gavel made of old bones and worse temper.

“I ain’t havin’ insurance pay f’er that, Jankweed!” he snapped, teeth bared in a snarl that could’ve curdled varnish. “If this’s gonna turn into a brawl, take it out’n the mud like ye’ animals belong!”

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

Griblo was shaking, outraged. The sheer injustice of it all.

But truth be told, there was something deep in his gut that wanted nothing to do with a badger in bloodwrath. The way Emilio had slammed that compass... if he decided the next target was Griblo's ribcage, there wouldn’t be anything left to fence but teeth and a tail.

And sure, yeah, he had a soft spot for ol’ Grubbage. As much as he exploited the poor sod, he didn’t exactly want to watch the rat’s life’s work reduced to splinters. But mostly? He didn’t want his own guts wiped off the glassware.

He sniffed hard, then wiped his nose on his sleeve, dragging his dirty forearm across his muzzle with a grimace.

“N...no need, Grub…” he muttered, voice cracking ever so slightly. “We’ll handle d’is like gennelbeasts. Like we is.”

He turned stiffly toward the crowd, mostly the badger, and puffed out his chest with mock authority.

“I’ll accept twenty gilders compensation. An’ the Fogeys don’t get involved. Fair’s fair, yeah?”

He crossed his arms with a sniff and tried to look noble, though his tail had curled tight between his legs.

 

[Aramaeus Lemon]

Hearing that the auctioneer intended to press charges was to Aramaeus's extreme satisfaction - up until the moment he realized that he didn't actually have any pawcuffs. His eyes started scanning the shelves, looking for any that might happen to be for sale. He'd finally spotted a pair hanging from a cook up in the corner - padded with pink fluff, of course - when the drunken badger made a coded threat relating to his bloodrage. The prodigal bureaucrat paused, reconsidering the idea of taking the offender into custody. After all, prosecutorial discretion was the better part of legal valor, and he could hardly start a glorious career off this arrest if he wound up in a casket before the offender entered a cell.

Fortunately the damaged party seemed to agree with this sensibility, offering to settle out of court. Aramaeus wilted a bit, his own tail tucked between his legs. It seemed he wouldn't be getting any arrests off this, but he'd at least survive to report on the suspicious dealings in this locale. "I see," he noted, trying to control the quaver in his voice. "Well, if you are appropriately compensated, then we will consider this matter settled, shall we?"