Jeshal the Ironclaw
Captain of the BlackShip
Staff member
Officer: Captain (Commander)
Fortuna Survivor
- Character Biography
- Click Here
(Blinky faces his final Beating Day. Kerri Quilane witnesses the beginning of his future wife's descent into madness. Warning for character death*. Starring: Blinky, Frostbite R. Tarrin, Sorrona Ashpaw, Kerri Quilane, and Gerard)
BEATING DAY 1729
First post Dismembre 7, Yr. 1729
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Giftsgiving was, as Blinky had so aptly put it just the night before, "Borin'."
He couldn't wrap his mind around it, for one thing. Sure, it was great getting stuff, but who in Mar'kan's name was he going to waste his gilders on? Besides Molly, whom he always wasted his gilders on?
She hadn't even been in the mood yesterday. He'd given her his entire paycheck, and she'd only socked him in the jaw once and then said she was going out to some fancy party without him and that if he tried to follow her, she wouldn't do more than twist his tail ever again, or at least until next year (which she had been banking on Blinky not knowing was only a week away and not, as his expression had confirmed for her, an entire year.)
She'd given him a small club, which he now clutched gleefully as he plodded his way off the BlackShip into the city streets. Blinky, in return, had completely forgotten it was even a holiday, and had not bought anything for anybeast. And due to a temporal mishap, he wasn't even sure if he got anything at all just yet. Maybe he'd been given loot, and maybe nobeast had thought to, and maybe they had thought to, but decided he wasn't worth the hassle.
Whatever.
It was Beating Day now, and that was a holiday Blinky could wrap his mind around. He got to hit beasts. Beasts got to hit him. Win-win! ... well, so long as they were females. Frankly, it was a little disturbing when males hit him. Not that they often did – hitting him involved getting within smelling range of his breath.
The stoat's plodding turned to padding, and then turned to a slow, dejected shuffle through the sludgy snow. He'd lost his boots, and he was almost sure he'd lost his footpaws; they were growing numb, and with his fur the same colour as the snow, he couldn't see them when he looked down.
Beatings were going on all around him, but no female stoat was in sight to whack the daylights out of him. He didn't want to instigate a fight with anybeast else just yet – he needed to conserve his energy so he could stay awake through any beatings he got from Bully Harbour's prettiest black-tail-tipped mustelids.
Finding a nice stoop to rest on, Blinky cradled his new club and his blanky to his chest, and settled in for the long haul ahead.
Frostbite R. Tarrin
Wandering the area of the warehouses and a few other sectors as he saw fit, Frostbite tapped his officer's truncheon into his left paw. Thinking back, he'd never observed Giftsgiving nor Beating Day. But he'd also never had a reason to. This year was different. This year he had to uphold a very loosely written law, making sure no one used nails, glass, or teeth on their beating sticks. He saw a few beasts, but none seemed to feel up to charging an officer just yet. Perhaps when the lights toned down. His fur also helped him blend in slightly with the background. He almost decided to go through the day stark naked, but the mayor insisted that he be in uniform just in case. It was probably for the best.
He rounded a corner, about to find a nice place to buy a warm cup of honeyed milk when he saw Blinky sitting on a stoop. He decided to make his way over for a spell. "Mr. Hinkly. Going to any good beating parties today?"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky very nearly ignored Frostbite as being just his reflection. The lack of a black-tipped tail, however, and the albino ferret's pink eyes, gradually tipped him off.
"Hm," he said, considering his schedule and the day's plans. He mulled over the idea, and concocted a list of possible locations, and then briefly imagined sending an invite out to Molly.
"No," the stoat shrugged. "'m jus' sittin' 'ere... lookin'. Sir," he added, because he wasn't sure if Frostbite was still his captain or not, and in any case, the ferret was his superior officer in the Fogeys. Blinky was currently off-duty.
"Thinkin' o' boppin' somebeast purty so as they'll bop me back..."
Blinky sighed and glanced over at a pair of rats who were slowly, but with great stamina, lifting their cudgels from the ground in weary movements and letting them fall on each-other's noggins. They had been at it for some time. Both were bleeding and bruised, but enjoying themselves.
Blinky hugged his club, then slowly drew it out towards Frostbite. He swung it upwards with all the speed he could muster, and brought it down with all the force he had in him, onto the ferret's shoulder.
It didn't seem to have any effect. It was likely Frostbite had barely noticed it. Blinky panted and drew the club back onto his lap, breathing heavily.
"Worsh."
Frostbite R. Tarrin
*MMFPHPHFFFF* came a thought into Frostbite's mind. But he couldn't tell what caused it for a brief moment. Did I breathe wrong? he thought to himself, looking around. He looked over at his shoulder, noticing it was a bit raised. His eyebrow drew upward. He looked over at his other shoulder, which was lowered and had a club on it, linked directly to Blinky's paws, which quickly withdrew back to his lap. "Worsh" he said, confounding the tar out of Frostbite. His first reaction was to seek medical attention – feeling the superiority complex start to set in, he didn't want to take chances on becoming injured.
"Well, I noticed..." with his good arm, the albino ferret drew up his truncheon, batting upward at Blinky's chin and raising his other arm painfully in a more defensive position.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Crack
Blinky spat out a bloodied tooth into the snow between his footpaws, and squinted his eyes happily at Frostbite.
"Got me that'n, guv," he chortled. "'m too tired t'lift this thing again."
The stoat gave a small burp and stuck a paw in his mouth to see if the rest of his teeth were still there. Ooh, ow. He'd bit his tongue, too. That was some pretty decent flirting on Frostbite's part. Blinky hadn't actually expected the ferret to retaliate.
It... it was kind of awkward, really.
"I'd 'preciate it," the stoat said, after popping his paw back out. "If'n yer didn't 'it me again. 's, um... 's kinda..." Blinky's browshiskers waggled. "Y'know."
He wondered where Molly was this day. Surely she'd be out and about, baffing beasts upside the head and demanding they give her money for it?
"An' an' I didn' mean t'hit ye, either," Blinky hurriedly added. "Wos jus', erm... jus' forget about it, mmhm?"
Sorrona Ashpaw
It had been a tiring Giftsgiving. Sorrona yawned as she wandered through the streets with a bag of cross-stitch patterns and wool. It was a curious pastime for a cat to take up, but of late she had felt restless. Plagued by unpleasant dreams and prone to unusual mood swings, she had spent a lot more time keeping her mind occupied with repetitive tasks. The amount of mince pies she had baked on the Hide that week was horrendous. Her poor cousin had opened a creaking cupboard and nearly drowned in pastry.
Speaking of Macavity, she had only just seen him off, tail dragging behind him. The silly tom had achieved a state of 'thoroughly plastered' for the last two days running and was now suffering the aftermath. She had warned him that traipsing through the streets on Beating Day was not wise if one already had a headache, but he had mumbled something about the walloping being able to push the nausea out of him, or at least lay him out long enough to sleep it off.
After he had ambled glumly away, the gothic-attired wildcattess had set off to browse the shops for more hobbies to discover. The nagging feeling of discomfort tingled in her blood. One of her paws slipped into her basket and began to tap around a ball of wool. Occasionally she nudged against the shoehorn she had brought with her, on the off chance some over-enthusiastic Beaters decided to spring.
Padding quietly through the snow, she entered into a street filled with joyous beatings. She was puzzled to discover an encounter between the smelly stoat that had so shortly been upon her ship and what appeared to be the captain of the Skeered. If it was a Beating, it was happening in such slow motion that Time itself must have become bored and wandered off. Curiously, she approached, still tapping at her ball of wool within her basket.
"Ees everrrytheeng all rright, sirrres?" she purred.
Frostbite R. Tarrin
Frostbite grinned widely and let down his guard. "No worries Mr. Hinkly. I wouldn't consider you ready for today if you didn't get into the spirit of beating."
A feline made her way to the scene of the battle. "Ees everrrytheeng all rright, sirrres?"
Frostbite fastened his truncheon to his belt and felt his shoulder, moving it around in a circular motion very slowly. "Aye, couldn't be better, Miss...?"
Sorrona Ashpaw
The realisation struck Sorrona that Captain Tarrin was also one of the Fogeys. Her ears flicked nervously where they poked out from her dark hood and her claws teased at her secret wool cache. She was not certain what put her at such unease. She was a sensible, kindly creature, although preferring her solitude. However, just being in the presence of someone employed to keep the peace and prevent crime made her feel terribly fearful that she would do something wrong.
She inclined her head, keeping her eyes averted as was her custom.
"Sorrrona, sirre, of the Ashpaw colonies. Tasterr aboarrd the Golden Hide and temporrarily cook also. Eet ees a pleasurre to meet you, sirre." She turned to Blinky and bobbed a nod of acknowledgement. "I hope you arre farring well, Meesterr Heenkly."
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky bristled. He did not like female wildcats. Female wildcats did not like him. His most poignant memory of his short year living in Bully Harbour was of one female wildcat continually trying to murder him. On a ship. During a storm.
He wished he could forget.
But the stoat was nothing if not a jolly soul, deep down. So, he pointed (briefly; couldn't let his arm be held up for very long) at the feline and guffawed.
"Yew gots a funny way o' speakin', kitty! Makes ye sound dumb, hawhaw. Ee heep yeer feerin' weel, Meester Heenkleeeee! Wahahoo!" Blinky wiped his nose on the back of his paw, which did not so much clear away the snot dribbling out from his laughter, but rather cement it in with a fresh paving of half-dried jam.
"Wait, h'comes y'know my name...?"
Sorrona Ashpaw
Normally a patient sort in the wake of rudeness, Sorrona shifted uncomfortably from paw to paw at Blinky's reply. It hurt that he poked fun at her over-purred voice, not so much that he was being mean, but that he questioned her intelligence. Her claws stuck deeper into the wool as she forced herself to ignore him.
"Wait, h'comes y'know my name...?"
"You werre brriefly aboarrd the Golden Hide, werre you not? I am surre I saw you at least once in the galley, sirre. That ees wherre I am accustomed to worrking. Any food you ate would have been prrovided by myself. Yourr rreputation prreceded you, I am rreluctant to say."
Her whiskers twitched at his disgusting display of behaviour before she eyed his beating instrument. "Arre you haveeng a good holiday so farr?"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky wasn't listening. Halfway through Sorrona's explanation, the stoat gave a whistle of appreciation – though it came out more as a half-baked wheeze from his nostrils – at the sight of a female stoat sauntering by.
The female paused by the two rats who had been going at it for over an hour, and winding up her badminton racquet, laid each of them out with two swift cracks. Blinky's tongue popped out in eager anticipation.
"Yeh, yeh," he said, hauling himself into a standing position. "'ave a wooden 'olly display." Blinky's nose twitched curiously as his eyes followed the stoatmaid's progress. She was lost from view briefly, as Blinky's line of sight was obscured by the wildcat.
"Golden 'Ide?" Vague memories stirred. "I remember eatin' food on that ship!" Blinky beamed. He remembered something! But ... oh. "It tasted like soap." He frowned. "An' ye never 'ad enough jam."*
He craned his head around. The stoatmaid was moving off down an alley! He was going to lose her at this rate!
Ambling forward, Blinky nudged Sorrona slightly with his shoulder, there not being enough time to take a full step around her. Trailing his blanky in one paw and his club in the other, the stoat hurried across the street as fast as his grubby little footpaws would go without sapping all his energy.
"Waaait! Pretty stoaty! 'old up! I wanna bop ye!"
An adept listener might have picked up on the patter of the maiden's footpaws going swifter after this.
* Blinky hadn't actually managed to find the pantry on the Golden Hide. He had found the supply cupboard, though. And he had been somewhat right in that that particular cupboard had a frightening lack of jam stockpiled, and far more clean towels than he considered necessary.
Sorrona Ashpaw
Sorrona wished at that moment that her cousin was with her. She had easily lived without the crooning idiot for at least a year before he popped up and smuggled himself aboard the Hide, but his cheek and uncharacteristic-for-the-family good nature would have been welcomed. As Blinky's attention flitted between a beast behind her and commented unpleasantly on what she thought he meant as her cooking skills, the quiet wildcat's thoughts strayed upon gloomy paths.
What was she even doing here in Vulpinsula? Escaping the idiocy of her ancestry, never wishing to rise in the ranks of the Navy... she wasn't even that fond of water... just to scrape by and live without meaning. She knew she was better than this. She was more than 'humble, delicate Sorrona', the 'pushover'. She was descended from lines of warmongering, back-stabbing royalty, ancient cat queens that roamed the land with vast armies and slaughtered everything in their path. She had always been ashamed.
The Ashpaw maid's tail flicked to and fro as she lost herself in momentary despair. Pushed down, hardly noticed... the only tom that had given her the time of day was wretched, revolting Jeb and secretly she had found solace in his pathetic attentions. Insulted and ignored, barely ever thanked for her duties, because duties had to be done. She was better than anyone gave her credit for, even her author had almost abandoned her in favour of the new captain of the Hide. The time was dawning that she would prove her worth, her intelligence, that she was not a mewling kitten.
The softest growl escaped between Sorrona's fangs as Blinky stumbled into her and began ambling off after the stoatmaid. It wouldn't hurt just to embrace a little of the spirit of Beatings Day, would it? Just a small spot of violence upon one creature that deserved it. The fool might have a braincell, or the one braincell he owned, knocked into working condition...
Sorrona inclined her head respectfully to Captain Tarrin and then hurried after the foul stoat. The paw in the basket moved from the ball of wool to clasp about the adjacent shoehorn.
"Waaait! Pretty stoaty! 'old up! I wanna bop ye!" she heard him holler.
It was not at all difficult to steal up behind the irritating little creature.
"I theenk you need to wait yourr turrn, Meesterr Heenkly!" she hissed. A disturbing gleam lit the wildcat's eyes and with a loud CRACK, she brought the shoehorn down upon the unwitting stoat's head.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
The alleyway was empty. Not so much as a strand of fur floating on the foetid breeze whistling between the buildings. Blinky's hopeful trot became a dejected trudge. The stoatmaid had gone.
Paws crunched behind him, but Blinky wasn't paranoid enough to care to look.
"I theenk you need to wait yourr turrn, Meesterr Heenkly!"
"Huh?" he said, turning around halfway upon hearing his mispronounced name.
"Huh?" he said again, as a tiny sliver of blood dripped down his head. It took a few seconds before the stoat's brain realised he'd been hit. He winced, and dropped down onto his tail. "Oww!"
Blinky sat in the sludgy post-Giftsgiving-celebration-halfsnow, clutching the cracked bruise on his head. His eyes went wide.
"Eww!" he said, next, looking up at his attacker. "Wodjer do that fer? I don't like ye! Yer a... yer a wildcat! That's disgustin', that is! Oawwwaah!"
Kerri Quilane
"Oh, come now, surely we wildcats aren't all bad?"
The slushy snow hardly squelched under the elegantly booted feet of Kerri as he strode easily over to the little commotion, thin lips curled into a perfectly masklike smile, the boyish feline stared for a good long while in silence at the pair, unbelievably blue eyes piercing through both of them with undisguised intrigue. He probably didn't look much like the type of beast who'd be found unscathed on a day like this; dressed as he was in a well-tailored costume of greys and black, he didn't exactly reflect the muscular, thick-skulled brawlers who tended to enjoy clobbering the brains out of beasts left right and centre. He just hoped somewhere that the silent aura of curiosity he held would be enough to stop this Sorrona beast from considering him some freakish assassin (which he was) or lawbeast and leaving fun as a chase was, he wasn't up for intimidating her. No, he wanted to experiment.
For a good few weeks now the quiet little tomcat had been watching the female Ashpaw with some intrigue; despite her quiet nature and subservient attitude, there seemed an ever growing sense of rebellion and disgust just lurking under the shadows, dark water beneath thin ice. After seeing how she looked when smacking that smelly mustelid over the head, the pale furred feline began to wonder just how much stamping it might take the break that ice, and tonight he was going to find out, at Blinky's expense.
After what seemed like an eternity, the wildcat seemed to find the right nerve impulses to start moving his legs again and crossed the narrow street with a silent grace, light smile fixed pointedly at the female, though his eyes remained eerily hollow, emotionless. He passed by the screeching stoat quietly, deigning instead to fix Sorrona with his unblinking stare again as he came to stand unnervingly close. For the first time since his arrival, he blinked and switched the stare to Blinky, incredibly pink nose wrinkling as the wave of stench finally caught up with the childlike creature's senses.
"Good evening, miss Ashpaw. I trust you're having a fine time tonight? I certainly am; a holiday which celebrates beating is such a novel holiday indeed!"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky felt a shiver go up his spine. A comment like that, coming from a male, after he'd just been majorly flirted with by another species... unsettling.
Huh. H'come there was blood on his paw, when he touched his head?
... no matter! Blinky's eyes widened, as he stared past Kerri at the street beyond the alley. He'd just seen his elusive will-o'-wisp stoatmaid in her red skirt flit by.
Blinky grunted as he got back to his footpaws, and ignoring the two wildcats, trudged after. He stumbled, once, twice – a bend in his step that sent him careening against a wall, and into a dustbin, before he righted himself one last time and stepped out into the light...
"Purtypurtytaaaail!" he wailed, waving his blanky like a pawkerchief at the retreating vision of loveliness. "Come baaaack!"
Gerard
Gerard just loved Beating Day. There was so much to do – actually, there was a very little to do, but so many beasts to do it to!
The stoat giggled to himself, his high-pitched laugh creeping into the soprano register. He twirled around with his frying pan in paw, flaying at an unfortunate ferret kit that had thought to thwack him while he wasn't looking.
"Cad!" he cried, sending the kit flying. "Begone, brief mortal!"
Beating Day made him feel so deliciously powerful.
Gerard tripped along the back streets and alleys of Bully Harbor, cheerfully humming a song he'd heard at the Opera a week before. He did so love the Opera; it was violence and passion and music and singing, and throwing peanuts at unsuspecting patrons, and everything else that the stoat enjoyed about life. It was also a grand place to take ladies, he thought with a grin. Made them think a male was cultured.
The stoat pricked his ears at the sound of a brawl ahead. Hefting his frying pan, he sprinted forward, a joyous snarl on his face. This, oh, this was life!
As he neared the melee, he scanned the area, searching for a cause for the fight. Not that anybeast needed a reason on Beating Day, but somebeasts felt more comfortable flaying others half to death when they had an excuse.
Gerard batted absently at a weasel that staggered toward him, eyes narrowing as they were drawn to one beast...
...Aha!
Oh, she was gorgeous. Gerard would have fought for a chance at her any day, and it was easy to see how she'd set a whole block into action. Gleefully, the stoat leapt into the thick of things, sweeping left and right with his cooking implement.
"Miss!" he called in his light voice. "Happy Beating Day to you!"
Her eyes turned, swept over the crowd of brawling beasts, searching for the voice. Gerard flashed his most dashing smile - but no! A measly little rat had crept up behind her while she was distracted, and cracked her a good one in the ribs.
Gerard lunged.
"YEW FILTHY SON'VE A SEAGULL," he screamed, bringing his pan down on the rodent's head. "SHE'S MINE, YOU IDJIT! BORN'VE A JACKAL!"
It took a few minutes to use up his supply of breath before he realized in the sudden silence that the other beasts had deserted. And the rat was quite bloody. How rude.
Gerard collected himself. The female! Where had she gotten off to? Clutching the frying pan to his chest, he dashed down the street, desperately scanning for a glimpse of the stoatess's red skirt. He was rewarded for his vigilance; she was a good ways ahead, but he was gaining ever so slightly. The stoat forced himself to move a notch faster, ignoring the burn of cold air in his lungs. He would have the stoatess! And beat her, too.
He was a mere half-block behind her when another beast blundered into view, waving a filthy... ...thing. Gerard sucked in an uneven breath and gagged, eyes bulging; the intruder's scent was vile!
"Purtypurtytaaaail!" The other male was calling after the stoatess. "Come baaaack!"
Gerard's hackles rose. This would not do.
"No, no... no!" He fumed, marching up to the male stoat. "She's... bloody mine!" Still panting raggedly, he raised his frying pan, suddenly glad he hadn't chosen to chuck it away. "Take that, foul blaggard!" He cracked the metal pan down on the other stoat's head.
The stoat stared up at him, bewildered eyes tearing. "Whaaurgh?"
Gerard figured he might as well finish what he'd started and brought the pan down again. "And THAT! And that as... well." His voice, high pitched at the best of times, was a shrill screech, punctuated by gasps. "Teach... you to run after... a female of mine, you... miserable excuse... for a flea resort!"
The smelly stoat had a few mild consternations about Gerard's use of a frying pan, but it was nothing very important. Gerard went doggedly on.
He finished a few minutes later and smiled.
"That was fun," he chuckled. With a final kick to the stoat's head, he took up his frying pan and scampered off in the direction of the elusive maid. He did so love Beating Day.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Clang!
"I don't think – " Blinky said, as the frying pan came down again, " – bein' really odd – " Clang! " – don't like meself!"
Clang, clang, CLANG!
It occurred to Blinky that maybe he wasn't hitting himself. That, maybe this mirrored image of a handsome jack stoat was actually another, well, handsome jack stoat.
It explained so much.
But that meant he hadn't been flirting with himself at all! ... huh.
His head kind of hurt. He couldn't hear anything. And all he could taste was the edge of an empty grog mug.
Instincts took over. He crawled, painfully, paws and claws grasping at frozen cobblestones and bits of rubble, towards the darkness of the alley. He dragged himself past the upturned garbage bin, and saw that the two wildcats had gone, perhaps to take their conversation somewhere nicer.
As Blinky lay there in the alley, his head cracked open and leaking all sorts of funny-coloured matter into the snow...
A frying pan?
... he had a horrible sense of deja-vu.
His paws clenched at nothing. He turned his eyes – one of them wasn't seeing anything that wasn't red and goopy – down to his lap, and saw that his blanky was gone.
"B...bl...aa...bl..."
He shuddered, cold, tired, and lonely.
Then, for the first time without his blanky, he went to sleep.
He slept for a very, very long time.
Sorrona Ashpaw
Sorrona dropped her basket in shock. All she would look at was the shoehorn, lightly tainted with blood. She had never meant to hit that hard. Unsatisfied rage still burned through her veins but too stunned was she at her actions that even Blinky’s fuelling retort did not quite register. Another beast’s voice washed through the air and invaded her blurred senses.
"Oh come now, surely we wildcats aren't all bad?"
She knew that voice – the new cat that had joined her ship barely a few weeks before Giftsgiving, Master Quilane. Something about his manner made her fur prickle, more so than the odd smile of her captain, yet his childlike visage was nigh on captivating. Had it been any other beast she might have dropped her weapon and fled, sobbing, but the way he stared at her made her freeze, panting fearfully. Her paws trembled with the pressure of restraining her bubbling emotions, her dark violet cloak swaying above the disturbed snow. The once, perhaps even still, Lady Ashpaw felt Kerri step into her personal space. She would not look at him, nor would she look at her victim.
"Good evening, miss Ashpaw. I trust you're having a fine time tonight? I certainly am; a holiday which celebrates beating is such a novel holiday indeed!"
All that came out of her mouth that could be construed as a response was a strangled garble of a nonsense syllable. It was a moment before she realised that Blinky had wandered off again in search of his elusive stoatmaid. Panicked, her eyes looked up to Kerri’s and something shattered. It was as though this stranger was seeing straight into her core, teasing it out into splayed fragments and pointing out all the dark bits and their waiting power. With a gasp, Sorrona bolted off after Hinkly, leaving her basket behind.
She didn’t know what she was doing. Should she apologise? The shoehorn was still in her paws. Blood, she could smell blood. So much of it, was it all coming from that small patch clutched at her side? Her heart pounded as she scampered on, eyes wildly searching for the stoat. Where had he gone? Blood, incensing blood, she suppressed a snarl. That infuriating little idiot… what was he doing running off like that before she could make amends? When she found him, she would make him pay. Yes. No.
What ees happening to me?
Sorrona skittered around a corner in time to see Blinky crumple under the onslaught of a frying-pan-wielding maniac. The tabby gaped at the scene. Blood, everywhere, the snow is red…
“Oh...no...”
Kerri Quilane
"Simpler than I recall...."
Bending down lightly in the slush, Quilane delicately picked up Sorrona's basket from where she had dropped it and smoothly stood back up again, pale eyes drifting over the bloody spots and fuzzy bootprints left to tell of the incident.
That ice was thinner than he'd expected, and undeniably the little feline had been wanting to break out of it herself. She wanted it, and this little push he was giving – the little sacrifice on Blinky's part – was all just what she needed to truly unlock her potential. He saw a fascinating other side to the meek kitten who ambled about the ship every day doing her quiet duty, and was now only mere steps from seeing that new side begin to make its emergence like some beautiful, terrible moth. He would have to act now, then, lest he lose her to guilt. Better lead by example and show her how best to slay that part of her consciousness. Slinging the basket over one arm, the feline trotted off down the alleyway and the sun finally broke from between the clouds.
He tracked Sorrona and turned up at the end of the alley soundlessly, hardly blinking as he crept over to the violet-clad femme and without warning tugged his pale paw sharply in her direction, stopping inches from her face. From over the top of the cross-stitch frame he had begun working on, Kerri ran his eyes over Blinky's body and laughed. It was not a nice laugh; nasal and halting and all too unhinged to sound anything like true joy.
"Well, that's not very pretty," he chuckled as the needle was tugged again and once more stabbed into the pattern "But he wasn't a very pretty stoat to begin with. Sorrona my dear, you needn't look so shocked; what on earth is the matter?"
[* Jesh note: It has since been confirmed that Blinky is not dead and went out travelling the world, working theory that he was carted onto a ship by accident and has been adventuring since]
BEATING DAY 1729
First post Dismembre 7, Yr. 1729
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Giftsgiving was, as Blinky had so aptly put it just the night before, "Borin'."
He couldn't wrap his mind around it, for one thing. Sure, it was great getting stuff, but who in Mar'kan's name was he going to waste his gilders on? Besides Molly, whom he always wasted his gilders on?
She hadn't even been in the mood yesterday. He'd given her his entire paycheck, and she'd only socked him in the jaw once and then said she was going out to some fancy party without him and that if he tried to follow her, she wouldn't do more than twist his tail ever again, or at least until next year (which she had been banking on Blinky not knowing was only a week away and not, as his expression had confirmed for her, an entire year.)
She'd given him a small club, which he now clutched gleefully as he plodded his way off the BlackShip into the city streets. Blinky, in return, had completely forgotten it was even a holiday, and had not bought anything for anybeast. And due to a temporal mishap, he wasn't even sure if he got anything at all just yet. Maybe he'd been given loot, and maybe nobeast had thought to, and maybe they had thought to, but decided he wasn't worth the hassle.
Whatever.
It was Beating Day now, and that was a holiday Blinky could wrap his mind around. He got to hit beasts. Beasts got to hit him. Win-win! ... well, so long as they were females. Frankly, it was a little disturbing when males hit him. Not that they often did – hitting him involved getting within smelling range of his breath.
The stoat's plodding turned to padding, and then turned to a slow, dejected shuffle through the sludgy snow. He'd lost his boots, and he was almost sure he'd lost his footpaws; they were growing numb, and with his fur the same colour as the snow, he couldn't see them when he looked down.
Beatings were going on all around him, but no female stoat was in sight to whack the daylights out of him. He didn't want to instigate a fight with anybeast else just yet – he needed to conserve his energy so he could stay awake through any beatings he got from Bully Harbour's prettiest black-tail-tipped mustelids.
Finding a nice stoop to rest on, Blinky cradled his new club and his blanky to his chest, and settled in for the long haul ahead.
Frostbite R. Tarrin
Wandering the area of the warehouses and a few other sectors as he saw fit, Frostbite tapped his officer's truncheon into his left paw. Thinking back, he'd never observed Giftsgiving nor Beating Day. But he'd also never had a reason to. This year was different. This year he had to uphold a very loosely written law, making sure no one used nails, glass, or teeth on their beating sticks. He saw a few beasts, but none seemed to feel up to charging an officer just yet. Perhaps when the lights toned down. His fur also helped him blend in slightly with the background. He almost decided to go through the day stark naked, but the mayor insisted that he be in uniform just in case. It was probably for the best.
He rounded a corner, about to find a nice place to buy a warm cup of honeyed milk when he saw Blinky sitting on a stoop. He decided to make his way over for a spell. "Mr. Hinkly. Going to any good beating parties today?"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky very nearly ignored Frostbite as being just his reflection. The lack of a black-tipped tail, however, and the albino ferret's pink eyes, gradually tipped him off.
"Hm," he said, considering his schedule and the day's plans. He mulled over the idea, and concocted a list of possible locations, and then briefly imagined sending an invite out to Molly.
"No," the stoat shrugged. "'m jus' sittin' 'ere... lookin'. Sir," he added, because he wasn't sure if Frostbite was still his captain or not, and in any case, the ferret was his superior officer in the Fogeys. Blinky was currently off-duty.
"Thinkin' o' boppin' somebeast purty so as they'll bop me back..."
Blinky sighed and glanced over at a pair of rats who were slowly, but with great stamina, lifting their cudgels from the ground in weary movements and letting them fall on each-other's noggins. They had been at it for some time. Both were bleeding and bruised, but enjoying themselves.
Blinky hugged his club, then slowly drew it out towards Frostbite. He swung it upwards with all the speed he could muster, and brought it down with all the force he had in him, onto the ferret's shoulder.
It didn't seem to have any effect. It was likely Frostbite had barely noticed it. Blinky panted and drew the club back onto his lap, breathing heavily.
"Worsh."
Frostbite R. Tarrin
*MMFPHPHFFFF* came a thought into Frostbite's mind. But he couldn't tell what caused it for a brief moment. Did I breathe wrong? he thought to himself, looking around. He looked over at his shoulder, noticing it was a bit raised. His eyebrow drew upward. He looked over at his other shoulder, which was lowered and had a club on it, linked directly to Blinky's paws, which quickly withdrew back to his lap. "Worsh" he said, confounding the tar out of Frostbite. His first reaction was to seek medical attention – feeling the superiority complex start to set in, he didn't want to take chances on becoming injured.
"Well, I noticed..." with his good arm, the albino ferret drew up his truncheon, batting upward at Blinky's chin and raising his other arm painfully in a more defensive position.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Crack
Blinky spat out a bloodied tooth into the snow between his footpaws, and squinted his eyes happily at Frostbite.
"Got me that'n, guv," he chortled. "'m too tired t'lift this thing again."
The stoat gave a small burp and stuck a paw in his mouth to see if the rest of his teeth were still there. Ooh, ow. He'd bit his tongue, too. That was some pretty decent flirting on Frostbite's part. Blinky hadn't actually expected the ferret to retaliate.
It... it was kind of awkward, really.
"I'd 'preciate it," the stoat said, after popping his paw back out. "If'n yer didn't 'it me again. 's, um... 's kinda..." Blinky's browshiskers waggled. "Y'know."
He wondered where Molly was this day. Surely she'd be out and about, baffing beasts upside the head and demanding they give her money for it?
"An' an' I didn' mean t'hit ye, either," Blinky hurriedly added. "Wos jus', erm... jus' forget about it, mmhm?"
Sorrona Ashpaw
It had been a tiring Giftsgiving. Sorrona yawned as she wandered through the streets with a bag of cross-stitch patterns and wool. It was a curious pastime for a cat to take up, but of late she had felt restless. Plagued by unpleasant dreams and prone to unusual mood swings, she had spent a lot more time keeping her mind occupied with repetitive tasks. The amount of mince pies she had baked on the Hide that week was horrendous. Her poor cousin had opened a creaking cupboard and nearly drowned in pastry.
Speaking of Macavity, she had only just seen him off, tail dragging behind him. The silly tom had achieved a state of 'thoroughly plastered' for the last two days running and was now suffering the aftermath. She had warned him that traipsing through the streets on Beating Day was not wise if one already had a headache, but he had mumbled something about the walloping being able to push the nausea out of him, or at least lay him out long enough to sleep it off.
After he had ambled glumly away, the gothic-attired wildcattess had set off to browse the shops for more hobbies to discover. The nagging feeling of discomfort tingled in her blood. One of her paws slipped into her basket and began to tap around a ball of wool. Occasionally she nudged against the shoehorn she had brought with her, on the off chance some over-enthusiastic Beaters decided to spring.
Padding quietly through the snow, she entered into a street filled with joyous beatings. She was puzzled to discover an encounter between the smelly stoat that had so shortly been upon her ship and what appeared to be the captain of the Skeered. If it was a Beating, it was happening in such slow motion that Time itself must have become bored and wandered off. Curiously, she approached, still tapping at her ball of wool within her basket.
"Ees everrrytheeng all rright, sirrres?" she purred.
Frostbite R. Tarrin
Frostbite grinned widely and let down his guard. "No worries Mr. Hinkly. I wouldn't consider you ready for today if you didn't get into the spirit of beating."
A feline made her way to the scene of the battle. "Ees everrrytheeng all rright, sirrres?"
Frostbite fastened his truncheon to his belt and felt his shoulder, moving it around in a circular motion very slowly. "Aye, couldn't be better, Miss...?"
Sorrona Ashpaw
The realisation struck Sorrona that Captain Tarrin was also one of the Fogeys. Her ears flicked nervously where they poked out from her dark hood and her claws teased at her secret wool cache. She was not certain what put her at such unease. She was a sensible, kindly creature, although preferring her solitude. However, just being in the presence of someone employed to keep the peace and prevent crime made her feel terribly fearful that she would do something wrong.
She inclined her head, keeping her eyes averted as was her custom.
"Sorrrona, sirre, of the Ashpaw colonies. Tasterr aboarrd the Golden Hide and temporrarily cook also. Eet ees a pleasurre to meet you, sirre." She turned to Blinky and bobbed a nod of acknowledgement. "I hope you arre farring well, Meesterr Heenkly."
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky bristled. He did not like female wildcats. Female wildcats did not like him. His most poignant memory of his short year living in Bully Harbour was of one female wildcat continually trying to murder him. On a ship. During a storm.
He wished he could forget.
But the stoat was nothing if not a jolly soul, deep down. So, he pointed (briefly; couldn't let his arm be held up for very long) at the feline and guffawed.
"Yew gots a funny way o' speakin', kitty! Makes ye sound dumb, hawhaw. Ee heep yeer feerin' weel, Meester Heenkleeeee! Wahahoo!" Blinky wiped his nose on the back of his paw, which did not so much clear away the snot dribbling out from his laughter, but rather cement it in with a fresh paving of half-dried jam.
"Wait, h'comes y'know my name...?"
Sorrona Ashpaw
Normally a patient sort in the wake of rudeness, Sorrona shifted uncomfortably from paw to paw at Blinky's reply. It hurt that he poked fun at her over-purred voice, not so much that he was being mean, but that he questioned her intelligence. Her claws stuck deeper into the wool as she forced herself to ignore him.
"Wait, h'comes y'know my name...?"
"You werre brriefly aboarrd the Golden Hide, werre you not? I am surre I saw you at least once in the galley, sirre. That ees wherre I am accustomed to worrking. Any food you ate would have been prrovided by myself. Yourr rreputation prreceded you, I am rreluctant to say."
Her whiskers twitched at his disgusting display of behaviour before she eyed his beating instrument. "Arre you haveeng a good holiday so farr?"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky wasn't listening. Halfway through Sorrona's explanation, the stoat gave a whistle of appreciation – though it came out more as a half-baked wheeze from his nostrils – at the sight of a female stoat sauntering by.
The female paused by the two rats who had been going at it for over an hour, and winding up her badminton racquet, laid each of them out with two swift cracks. Blinky's tongue popped out in eager anticipation.
"Yeh, yeh," he said, hauling himself into a standing position. "'ave a wooden 'olly display." Blinky's nose twitched curiously as his eyes followed the stoatmaid's progress. She was lost from view briefly, as Blinky's line of sight was obscured by the wildcat.
"Golden 'Ide?" Vague memories stirred. "I remember eatin' food on that ship!" Blinky beamed. He remembered something! But ... oh. "It tasted like soap." He frowned. "An' ye never 'ad enough jam."*
He craned his head around. The stoatmaid was moving off down an alley! He was going to lose her at this rate!
Ambling forward, Blinky nudged Sorrona slightly with his shoulder, there not being enough time to take a full step around her. Trailing his blanky in one paw and his club in the other, the stoat hurried across the street as fast as his grubby little footpaws would go without sapping all his energy.
"Waaait! Pretty stoaty! 'old up! I wanna bop ye!"
An adept listener might have picked up on the patter of the maiden's footpaws going swifter after this.
* Blinky hadn't actually managed to find the pantry on the Golden Hide. He had found the supply cupboard, though. And he had been somewhat right in that that particular cupboard had a frightening lack of jam stockpiled, and far more clean towels than he considered necessary.
Sorrona Ashpaw
Sorrona wished at that moment that her cousin was with her. She had easily lived without the crooning idiot for at least a year before he popped up and smuggled himself aboard the Hide, but his cheek and uncharacteristic-for-the-family good nature would have been welcomed. As Blinky's attention flitted between a beast behind her and commented unpleasantly on what she thought he meant as her cooking skills, the quiet wildcat's thoughts strayed upon gloomy paths.
What was she even doing here in Vulpinsula? Escaping the idiocy of her ancestry, never wishing to rise in the ranks of the Navy... she wasn't even that fond of water... just to scrape by and live without meaning. She knew she was better than this. She was more than 'humble, delicate Sorrona', the 'pushover'. She was descended from lines of warmongering, back-stabbing royalty, ancient cat queens that roamed the land with vast armies and slaughtered everything in their path. She had always been ashamed.
The Ashpaw maid's tail flicked to and fro as she lost herself in momentary despair. Pushed down, hardly noticed... the only tom that had given her the time of day was wretched, revolting Jeb and secretly she had found solace in his pathetic attentions. Insulted and ignored, barely ever thanked for her duties, because duties had to be done. She was better than anyone gave her credit for, even her author had almost abandoned her in favour of the new captain of the Hide. The time was dawning that she would prove her worth, her intelligence, that she was not a mewling kitten.
The softest growl escaped between Sorrona's fangs as Blinky stumbled into her and began ambling off after the stoatmaid. It wouldn't hurt just to embrace a little of the spirit of Beatings Day, would it? Just a small spot of violence upon one creature that deserved it. The fool might have a braincell, or the one braincell he owned, knocked into working condition...
Sorrona inclined her head respectfully to Captain Tarrin and then hurried after the foul stoat. The paw in the basket moved from the ball of wool to clasp about the adjacent shoehorn.
"Waaait! Pretty stoaty! 'old up! I wanna bop ye!" she heard him holler.
It was not at all difficult to steal up behind the irritating little creature.
"I theenk you need to wait yourr turrn, Meesterr Heenkly!" she hissed. A disturbing gleam lit the wildcat's eyes and with a loud CRACK, she brought the shoehorn down upon the unwitting stoat's head.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
The alleyway was empty. Not so much as a strand of fur floating on the foetid breeze whistling between the buildings. Blinky's hopeful trot became a dejected trudge. The stoatmaid had gone.
Paws crunched behind him, but Blinky wasn't paranoid enough to care to look.
"I theenk you need to wait yourr turrn, Meesterr Heenkly!"
"Huh?" he said, turning around halfway upon hearing his mispronounced name.
"Huh?" he said again, as a tiny sliver of blood dripped down his head. It took a few seconds before the stoat's brain realised he'd been hit. He winced, and dropped down onto his tail. "Oww!"
Blinky sat in the sludgy post-Giftsgiving-celebration-halfsnow, clutching the cracked bruise on his head. His eyes went wide.
"Eww!" he said, next, looking up at his attacker. "Wodjer do that fer? I don't like ye! Yer a... yer a wildcat! That's disgustin', that is! Oawwwaah!"
Kerri Quilane
"Oh, come now, surely we wildcats aren't all bad?"
The slushy snow hardly squelched under the elegantly booted feet of Kerri as he strode easily over to the little commotion, thin lips curled into a perfectly masklike smile, the boyish feline stared for a good long while in silence at the pair, unbelievably blue eyes piercing through both of them with undisguised intrigue. He probably didn't look much like the type of beast who'd be found unscathed on a day like this; dressed as he was in a well-tailored costume of greys and black, he didn't exactly reflect the muscular, thick-skulled brawlers who tended to enjoy clobbering the brains out of beasts left right and centre. He just hoped somewhere that the silent aura of curiosity he held would be enough to stop this Sorrona beast from considering him some freakish assassin (which he was) or lawbeast and leaving fun as a chase was, he wasn't up for intimidating her. No, he wanted to experiment.
For a good few weeks now the quiet little tomcat had been watching the female Ashpaw with some intrigue; despite her quiet nature and subservient attitude, there seemed an ever growing sense of rebellion and disgust just lurking under the shadows, dark water beneath thin ice. After seeing how she looked when smacking that smelly mustelid over the head, the pale furred feline began to wonder just how much stamping it might take the break that ice, and tonight he was going to find out, at Blinky's expense.
After what seemed like an eternity, the wildcat seemed to find the right nerve impulses to start moving his legs again and crossed the narrow street with a silent grace, light smile fixed pointedly at the female, though his eyes remained eerily hollow, emotionless. He passed by the screeching stoat quietly, deigning instead to fix Sorrona with his unblinking stare again as he came to stand unnervingly close. For the first time since his arrival, he blinked and switched the stare to Blinky, incredibly pink nose wrinkling as the wave of stench finally caught up with the childlike creature's senses.
"Good evening, miss Ashpaw. I trust you're having a fine time tonight? I certainly am; a holiday which celebrates beating is such a novel holiday indeed!"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky felt a shiver go up his spine. A comment like that, coming from a male, after he'd just been majorly flirted with by another species... unsettling.
Huh. H'come there was blood on his paw, when he touched his head?
... no matter! Blinky's eyes widened, as he stared past Kerri at the street beyond the alley. He'd just seen his elusive will-o'-wisp stoatmaid in her red skirt flit by.
Blinky grunted as he got back to his footpaws, and ignoring the two wildcats, trudged after. He stumbled, once, twice – a bend in his step that sent him careening against a wall, and into a dustbin, before he righted himself one last time and stepped out into the light...
"Purtypurtytaaaail!" he wailed, waving his blanky like a pawkerchief at the retreating vision of loveliness. "Come baaaack!"
Gerard
Gerard just loved Beating Day. There was so much to do – actually, there was a very little to do, but so many beasts to do it to!
The stoat giggled to himself, his high-pitched laugh creeping into the soprano register. He twirled around with his frying pan in paw, flaying at an unfortunate ferret kit that had thought to thwack him while he wasn't looking.
"Cad!" he cried, sending the kit flying. "Begone, brief mortal!"
Beating Day made him feel so deliciously powerful.
Gerard tripped along the back streets and alleys of Bully Harbor, cheerfully humming a song he'd heard at the Opera a week before. He did so love the Opera; it was violence and passion and music and singing, and throwing peanuts at unsuspecting patrons, and everything else that the stoat enjoyed about life. It was also a grand place to take ladies, he thought with a grin. Made them think a male was cultured.
The stoat pricked his ears at the sound of a brawl ahead. Hefting his frying pan, he sprinted forward, a joyous snarl on his face. This, oh, this was life!
As he neared the melee, he scanned the area, searching for a cause for the fight. Not that anybeast needed a reason on Beating Day, but somebeasts felt more comfortable flaying others half to death when they had an excuse.
Gerard batted absently at a weasel that staggered toward him, eyes narrowing as they were drawn to one beast...
...Aha!
Oh, she was gorgeous. Gerard would have fought for a chance at her any day, and it was easy to see how she'd set a whole block into action. Gleefully, the stoat leapt into the thick of things, sweeping left and right with his cooking implement.
"Miss!" he called in his light voice. "Happy Beating Day to you!"
Her eyes turned, swept over the crowd of brawling beasts, searching for the voice. Gerard flashed his most dashing smile - but no! A measly little rat had crept up behind her while she was distracted, and cracked her a good one in the ribs.
Gerard lunged.
"YEW FILTHY SON'VE A SEAGULL," he screamed, bringing his pan down on the rodent's head. "SHE'S MINE, YOU IDJIT! BORN'VE A JACKAL!"
It took a few minutes to use up his supply of breath before he realized in the sudden silence that the other beasts had deserted. And the rat was quite bloody. How rude.
Gerard collected himself. The female! Where had she gotten off to? Clutching the frying pan to his chest, he dashed down the street, desperately scanning for a glimpse of the stoatess's red skirt. He was rewarded for his vigilance; she was a good ways ahead, but he was gaining ever so slightly. The stoat forced himself to move a notch faster, ignoring the burn of cold air in his lungs. He would have the stoatess! And beat her, too.
He was a mere half-block behind her when another beast blundered into view, waving a filthy... ...thing. Gerard sucked in an uneven breath and gagged, eyes bulging; the intruder's scent was vile!
"Purtypurtytaaaail!" The other male was calling after the stoatess. "Come baaaack!"
Gerard's hackles rose. This would not do.
"No, no... no!" He fumed, marching up to the male stoat. "She's... bloody mine!" Still panting raggedly, he raised his frying pan, suddenly glad he hadn't chosen to chuck it away. "Take that, foul blaggard!" He cracked the metal pan down on the other stoat's head.
The stoat stared up at him, bewildered eyes tearing. "Whaaurgh?"
Gerard figured he might as well finish what he'd started and brought the pan down again. "And THAT! And that as... well." His voice, high pitched at the best of times, was a shrill screech, punctuated by gasps. "Teach... you to run after... a female of mine, you... miserable excuse... for a flea resort!"
The smelly stoat had a few mild consternations about Gerard's use of a frying pan, but it was nothing very important. Gerard went doggedly on.
He finished a few minutes later and smiled.
"That was fun," he chuckled. With a final kick to the stoat's head, he took up his frying pan and scampered off in the direction of the elusive maid. He did so love Beating Day.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Clang!
"I don't think – " Blinky said, as the frying pan came down again, " – bein' really odd – " Clang! " – don't like meself!"
Clang, clang, CLANG!
It occurred to Blinky that maybe he wasn't hitting himself. That, maybe this mirrored image of a handsome jack stoat was actually another, well, handsome jack stoat.
It explained so much.
But that meant he hadn't been flirting with himself at all! ... huh.
His head kind of hurt. He couldn't hear anything. And all he could taste was the edge of an empty grog mug.
Instincts took over. He crawled, painfully, paws and claws grasping at frozen cobblestones and bits of rubble, towards the darkness of the alley. He dragged himself past the upturned garbage bin, and saw that the two wildcats had gone, perhaps to take their conversation somewhere nicer.
As Blinky lay there in the alley, his head cracked open and leaking all sorts of funny-coloured matter into the snow...
A frying pan?
... he had a horrible sense of deja-vu.
His paws clenched at nothing. He turned his eyes – one of them wasn't seeing anything that wasn't red and goopy – down to his lap, and saw that his blanky was gone.
"B...bl...aa...bl..."
He shuddered, cold, tired, and lonely.
Then, for the first time without his blanky, he went to sleep.
He slept for a very, very long time.
Sorrona Ashpaw
Sorrona dropped her basket in shock. All she would look at was the shoehorn, lightly tainted with blood. She had never meant to hit that hard. Unsatisfied rage still burned through her veins but too stunned was she at her actions that even Blinky’s fuelling retort did not quite register. Another beast’s voice washed through the air and invaded her blurred senses.
"Oh come now, surely we wildcats aren't all bad?"
She knew that voice – the new cat that had joined her ship barely a few weeks before Giftsgiving, Master Quilane. Something about his manner made her fur prickle, more so than the odd smile of her captain, yet his childlike visage was nigh on captivating. Had it been any other beast she might have dropped her weapon and fled, sobbing, but the way he stared at her made her freeze, panting fearfully. Her paws trembled with the pressure of restraining her bubbling emotions, her dark violet cloak swaying above the disturbed snow. The once, perhaps even still, Lady Ashpaw felt Kerri step into her personal space. She would not look at him, nor would she look at her victim.
"Good evening, miss Ashpaw. I trust you're having a fine time tonight? I certainly am; a holiday which celebrates beating is such a novel holiday indeed!"
All that came out of her mouth that could be construed as a response was a strangled garble of a nonsense syllable. It was a moment before she realised that Blinky had wandered off again in search of his elusive stoatmaid. Panicked, her eyes looked up to Kerri’s and something shattered. It was as though this stranger was seeing straight into her core, teasing it out into splayed fragments and pointing out all the dark bits and their waiting power. With a gasp, Sorrona bolted off after Hinkly, leaving her basket behind.
She didn’t know what she was doing. Should she apologise? The shoehorn was still in her paws. Blood, she could smell blood. So much of it, was it all coming from that small patch clutched at her side? Her heart pounded as she scampered on, eyes wildly searching for the stoat. Where had he gone? Blood, incensing blood, she suppressed a snarl. That infuriating little idiot… what was he doing running off like that before she could make amends? When she found him, she would make him pay. Yes. No.
What ees happening to me?
Sorrona skittered around a corner in time to see Blinky crumple under the onslaught of a frying-pan-wielding maniac. The tabby gaped at the scene. Blood, everywhere, the snow is red…
“Oh...no...”
Kerri Quilane
"Simpler than I recall...."
Bending down lightly in the slush, Quilane delicately picked up Sorrona's basket from where she had dropped it and smoothly stood back up again, pale eyes drifting over the bloody spots and fuzzy bootprints left to tell of the incident.
That ice was thinner than he'd expected, and undeniably the little feline had been wanting to break out of it herself. She wanted it, and this little push he was giving – the little sacrifice on Blinky's part – was all just what she needed to truly unlock her potential. He saw a fascinating other side to the meek kitten who ambled about the ship every day doing her quiet duty, and was now only mere steps from seeing that new side begin to make its emergence like some beautiful, terrible moth. He would have to act now, then, lest he lose her to guilt. Better lead by example and show her how best to slay that part of her consciousness. Slinging the basket over one arm, the feline trotted off down the alleyway and the sun finally broke from between the clouds.
He tracked Sorrona and turned up at the end of the alley soundlessly, hardly blinking as he crept over to the violet-clad femme and without warning tugged his pale paw sharply in her direction, stopping inches from her face. From over the top of the cross-stitch frame he had begun working on, Kerri ran his eyes over Blinky's body and laughed. It was not a nice laugh; nasal and halting and all too unhinged to sound anything like true joy.
"Well, that's not very pretty," he chuckled as the needle was tugged again and once more stabbed into the pattern "But he wasn't a very pretty stoat to begin with. Sorrona my dear, you needn't look so shocked; what on earth is the matter?"
[* Jesh note: It has since been confirmed that Blinky is not dead and went out travelling the world, working theory that he was carted onto a ship by accident and has been adventuring since]
Last edited:
