Rainblade-Ryalors Private Zann's Alley/Backyard Boys Will Be Boys

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

Bracing coastal winds and a clear bright sky shone as ever they had back on his home of Kutoroka, though the city streets of Bully Harbour were a world apart from what the fox had come to know. A pawful of times in his youth, whether by insistence or necessity with scheduling, he had followed his parents out for a few short trips to other villages and coastal cities but even these were a far cry from what he had seen. It was loud, dirty and vibrant; overwhelming in many places, underwhelming in a few, and laced with a subtle hint at danger which caused his adventurous heart to beat all the faster. Already he had lost five guilders on a game of dice and been upsold on some meat-on-a-stick which was absolutely like no meat he had ever tasted.

Aye, he could get used to this. A fox with a spark of courage could make a name for himself here.

Having parted from his sister to speed up their shopping for necessities, insistent that he need not be watched, the tall fox had picked up a few bits and pieces in preparation for their boarding of the Hide when she should return. It had taken him little time to grow distracted with exploration, however, and without really realising it Lorcan’s paws took him on a ramble. Through narrow alleyways and broad thoroughfares, he took in all he could. Every half-ruined sign, every missing brick or cracked stone spoke of stories beyond his years. What excitement had a city like this seen over the years? Which of the tales were true?

Meandering took the fox further into the city proper, though he was thoroughly unconcerned with being lost: all he had to do, he reasoned, was head for the smell of the ocean. Engrossed as he was in his own exploration, head craned back to read the signage outside of one building (was that weathered patch damage or had a plaque been there once?) he failed to pay much notice to the aggressive shouts (they seemed commonplace here) until he was nearly knocked off his paws on collision with a stranger.

“Oi!” Steadying himself by attempting to grab at the other beast, he was relieved to know his supplies were slung over his shoulder – and then took note that the beast who had run into him was another fox. At once he played up his ire, if only for self-preservation. “What d’you think you’re doing?!”

 

[Falun Furotazzi]

Falun wasn't a natural sprinter, but he'd learned the art of it running from the Fogeys across the years. He'd been caught plenty of times, spent a few nights in a cell for brawling or other petty crimes while his father or sister arranged bail, and, eventually, started to get the hang of getting away.

Today he was sprinting with a bloodstained sack of gilders in his paw. One of the shopkeepers at the edge of the Trenches had been especially defiant about paying his protection fees this month. It wasn't until the Fogeys showed up that Falun realized it was because the shopkeeper had found a Fogey who would do the job for less. Of course Falun had to clock the shopkeeper with his own sack of gilders; that was just professional discourtesy. That had bought him precious seconds to get away, though, and now the Fogeys were hot on his tail.

He managed to climb up over a stack of crates and hop a wall between two rows of houses, taking off again. As he came out of the alley, though, he knocked straight into another fox. The sack, already strained by the exertion of its use as a weapon, split down the middle, gilders pouring out in a cascade. Falun swore as the gilders, some of them bloodstained, bounced everywhere, passersby greedily leaping to snatch them up. There was no way he could recover those in time, but...

"Hold this," he snarled at the other fox, shoving the bloody bag into his paws. There was still blood on Falun's knuckles, of course, but there was nothing he could do about that. All he could hope was that the Fogeys were in an indiscriminate mood and would ignore that this fox was orange rather than Falun's golden fur. Then, he took off running.

 

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

Indignation stamped on his features, Lorcan stood in stunned silence as the other fox took off, mouth agape, as the cogs gradually clicked over. He ignored the rabble fighting for the spilled coins, staring at the retreating todd’s back.

On delay his hackles rose and nostrils flared as he recalled the attitude with which the stranger had snarled at him. The cheeky sod.

That the other was being pursued – and those after him were swift on the approach – occurred to Lorcan in the moment about as much as dropping the bloodied bag gripped in his paw. Claws digging into the material as though he might crush it, he took off in hot pursuit of the stranger. When he caught up, he convinced himself, he’d smash his snout in.

 

[Falun Furotazzi]

Falun, fortunately, wasn't the fastest runner, though he was certainly a troublesome one. Overturned vendor stands, toppled barrels, and ripe tomatoes rolling across the cobblestones formed a trail behind him, and Lorcan turned the corner just as Falun seized a stack of crates and, putting his shoulder into it, sent them tumbling into the alley. He swore as he saw his pursuer. "Go 'way!" he snarled, waving the beast off. "Y' wanna get us caught, ya daft git?" He turned and spotted a pair of Fogey constables pointing down the alley at him from the other direction. Swearing, he scrambled up the remaining crates and onto a small roof, then pulled himself onto the higher one covering the second story.