Open The Docks Blood On Her Paws

[Amnesty Greysoul]

It was just before sundown when the fox with the dull, white fur made her way onto one of the smaller docks of Bully Harbor. The evening was beautiful. Warm, with just enough breeze to keep the air fresh and smelling more of salt and adventure than rotten fish. A golden hour reminiscent of the Emperor's own fog.

On any other night, she would have enjoyed it. On any other night, she wouldn't have thought her paws were still covered in blood.

It was maudlin, she knew. A luxury, a way for her to pretend she wouldn't do the same exact thing if the circumstances brought her to it. A way for her to pretend she was a better beast than she actually was. Or maybe it was just how she had to mourn the beast she wished she could be.

The scoff burst from her throat, sharp and dry and bitter before she could stop it, and the words that followed were rough and low. "You made your choices. Best learn to live with them."

A moment passed. The waves lapped steadily at the pilings of the dock. A distant squawk suggested that someone attempted to cheat a Missertross Gull of its rightful fee. Another fresh breath of wind tugged across the fur on her cheeks and arms, and she blew out an irritated sigh.

Five years, and here she was, all torn up inside. The snarl and the barking shout that followed rushed up from the depths of her soul.

"A pox on your memory, you worthless waste of fur. I hope the 'Gates chewed you up and spit you back out."

 

[Arthur Barrett]

Somewhere, a pine marten had already been turned out of a pub before the sun had even set.

Barrett wasn't a terribly social beast, and had only grown more reclusive with his old age. He had his vices, to be sure... But public drunkenness was quite out of character. At least he'd ditched his navy uniform for civilian clothes!

The massive pine marten stumbled along the docks listlessly, looking quite the picture of a drunken sailor. His fur was disheveled and unkempt, grog had spilled down his shirt, and he grasped a half empty flagon in one paw.

"Ish dishgrasheful!" he slurred, bracing himself against a pile. The world was spinning, and his legs threatened to give out from under him... But embracing the pile so allowed him to take another swig. "Whash... whassha ushe?" he grumped, flinging the bottle off the pier and into the water. The motion threw him off balance, and he fell onto a heap on the docks.

"Mah faish... ...ooowww..."