((OOC - This thread is a follow up to the thread A Direction Worth Selling mainly for @Emilio and @Griblo Jankweed. However, I'm keeping it open if anybody see's an opportunity to jump in. There's no real plan here other than to have fun!))
It was a dreadfully dreary day in the Vulpine Imperium. Dense fog clung to the eaves of the dockside warehouses, while steady rain turned the roadways into rivers of mud. Cart tracks had filled to the brim, puddles so wide they swallowed the street whole.
Through the gloom trudged two beasts, both drenched to the bone. The first, a wiry ferret named Griblo Jankweed, seemed entirely unbothered by the weather. In fact, his mood was positively sparkling. He had just turned a tidy profit off a compass that had “fallen into his paws” after a young wildcat had indulged too heavily in grog and slumped beside some barrels. Beside him lumbered his new companion: Emilio, a badger who was rather less drunk than when Griblo first found him, but no less unemployed.
Despite orchestrating the scam that lightened Emilio’s purse, Griblo wasn’t without conscience. The badger had no steady income, no work to speak of. That didn’t sit right with the ferret. He knew plenty of beasts, plenty of places where a strong back could earn a meal. And if Emilio was slow, well... at least he was sturdy. Someone, surely, could put him to use.
Griblo sprang over a wide puddle and turned, waiting for the heavy-footed badger to catch up. His grin flashed through the rain.
"Not much fe’rther, mate. Oi t’ink dis is gonna be an easy one."
The pair came to a sagging warehouse with peeling barn-red paint. Griblo rapped smartly on the smaller beast-sized door set within the broad wagon doors.
"Oi, Grimfur! Open up! T’is yer pal Griblo."
A shuffling of paws came from within, followed by the wet, guttural hawk of a spit. The latch lifted, and the door swung inward to reveal a black-furred sable in dirty overalls, half a cigar clamped between his teeth. His fur was slicked with grime, his eyes bleary.
"Skulkin’ aroun’ in th’ murk, are ye’? Tha’s never gud."
Griblo shoved past him without hesitation, stepping into the humid, tar-scented interior. The warehouse was stacked haphazardly with crab pots in varying states of repair, barrels, crates, even a small fishing boat propped up on thick wooden supports.
"T’is a glorious day, Grim. Don’ let some rain get ye’ down! Oi gots a new matey. ‘Is name is Emil, an’ ‘e’s lookin’ fer a job."
He gestured the badger inside, dripping water onto the sawdust-strewn floor.
The sable took a long, slow drag on his cigar and exhaled a choking plume of acrid smoke. His gaze crawled up and down Emilio’s broad frame before he spoke.
"Ye ever been on a fishin’ vessel ’afore?" He narrowed his eyes, then cut a sideways glance to Griblo. "Damn, ‘e looks loike ‘e’d topple o’er on a two-inch wake. Ye pick ’im up off de floor of a tavern, or sommat?"
Griblo scoffed and waved a paw.
"Oi, ‘e an’ oi met in a bisniss deal, mate! Honest!" He turned eagerly to Emilio, steel-blue eyes flashing with expectation. "Sell yerself, mate! Tell ’im how capable ye is!"
It was a dreadfully dreary day in the Vulpine Imperium. Dense fog clung to the eaves of the dockside warehouses, while steady rain turned the roadways into rivers of mud. Cart tracks had filled to the brim, puddles so wide they swallowed the street whole.
Through the gloom trudged two beasts, both drenched to the bone. The first, a wiry ferret named Griblo Jankweed, seemed entirely unbothered by the weather. In fact, his mood was positively sparkling. He had just turned a tidy profit off a compass that had “fallen into his paws” after a young wildcat had indulged too heavily in grog and slumped beside some barrels. Beside him lumbered his new companion: Emilio, a badger who was rather less drunk than when Griblo first found him, but no less unemployed.
Despite orchestrating the scam that lightened Emilio’s purse, Griblo wasn’t without conscience. The badger had no steady income, no work to speak of. That didn’t sit right with the ferret. He knew plenty of beasts, plenty of places where a strong back could earn a meal. And if Emilio was slow, well... at least he was sturdy. Someone, surely, could put him to use.
Griblo sprang over a wide puddle and turned, waiting for the heavy-footed badger to catch up. His grin flashed through the rain.
"Not much fe’rther, mate. Oi t’ink dis is gonna be an easy one."
The pair came to a sagging warehouse with peeling barn-red paint. Griblo rapped smartly on the smaller beast-sized door set within the broad wagon doors.
"Oi, Grimfur! Open up! T’is yer pal Griblo."
A shuffling of paws came from within, followed by the wet, guttural hawk of a spit. The latch lifted, and the door swung inward to reveal a black-furred sable in dirty overalls, half a cigar clamped between his teeth. His fur was slicked with grime, his eyes bleary.
"Skulkin’ aroun’ in th’ murk, are ye’? Tha’s never gud."
Griblo shoved past him without hesitation, stepping into the humid, tar-scented interior. The warehouse was stacked haphazardly with crab pots in varying states of repair, barrels, crates, even a small fishing boat propped up on thick wooden supports.
"T’is a glorious day, Grim. Don’ let some rain get ye’ down! Oi gots a new matey. ‘Is name is Emil, an’ ‘e’s lookin’ fer a job."
He gestured the badger inside, dripping water onto the sawdust-strewn floor.
The sable took a long, slow drag on his cigar and exhaled a choking plume of acrid smoke. His gaze crawled up and down Emilio’s broad frame before he spoke.
"Ye ever been on a fishin’ vessel ’afore?" He narrowed his eyes, then cut a sideways glance to Griblo. "Damn, ‘e looks loike ‘e’d topple o’er on a two-inch wake. Ye pick ’im up off de floor of a tavern, or sommat?"
Griblo scoffed and waved a paw.
"Oi, ‘e an’ oi met in a bisniss deal, mate! Honest!" He turned eagerly to Emilio, steel-blue eyes flashing with expectation. "Sell yerself, mate! Tell ’im how capable ye is!"
