Open The Trenches Champion, or Criminal?

[Jill (The Beast)]

The Beast was fleeing through the streets, a sack cloth weighing heavily in their paw, though nowhere near as heavy as The Mask.

"You must run faster, Beast. Your pursuers are almost upon you!" The Mask warned them. Not vocally, of course. No one else could hear The Mask speaking to them.

I'm aware, Mask. The Beast grimaced. They slipped and ducked through the crowds, shouldering past passersby, their cape fluttering behind them. I'm trying to lose them. It was a bad idea to do this job during the day.

The Beast kept running, peeking inside the bag for a moment to check the contents. A couple of apples, some loaves of bread, potatoes and carrots. The bread was getting squished, but there was nothing The Beast could do about it right now. The momentary distraction was enough for The Beast to slam into someone, sending them both to the ground and the contents of the bag spilling out everywhere. The Beast sat up, their head ringing within The Mask, and looked to see who they had just run into.

 

[Sean Wicke]

The beast in question, as soon as he was tackled, rolled away from the collision, picking himself up into a defensive crouch. The wildcat's yellow eyes narrowed as he looked over the Beast, assessing the threat - and then looked to the beasts pursuing while the Beast scrambled to pack their bag again. There was a moment of analysis, and then he was by their side, hurriedly stuffing foodstuff into the sack as well. "Alleyway behind me. Run," his gruff voice spoke into their ear, and then he was on his feet, a loose cobblestone from off the street in his paw. A rapid swing of his paw and the cobblestone was flying at the chest of one of the pursuers - not lethal, but certainly painful and debilitating. Then he was turning, looking to make sure that the Beast was on the move.

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

The Beast didn't have time to comprehend if this stranger was friend or foe. He wasn't immediately beating them, so they assumed friend. They hurriedly grabbed their pack and were running after the stranger. They were fast, easily catching up and keeping pace with the wildcat, until they had managed to slide into the alleyway and lose their pursuers. Now that the immediate danger was gone, however, The Beast turned their weary eyes towards their savor, clutching the bag close to their chest. Their rapid and tired panting amplified by the Iron Mask that surrounded their head. The Beast grunted, as if they had opened their mouth to speak, but no words came out. They opened the palm of one paw and touched their fingertips to their chin, before lowering their paw slightly towards the wildcat.

"Thank you." The Beast at least hoped this wildcat could understand what they were trying to convey.

 

[Sean Wicke]

As they ran, Sean hurriedly assessed the mouth of the alleyway, his eyes landing on a length of rope. He paused to snatch this up, rapidly flinging it around a nearby beam from an overhang covering sacks and barrels, back across to loop around a torch sconce, and once more to toss the coils in the mess of barrels, one sack pushed over on top of it to weigh it down. It wasn't the most effective barrier, but it would slow down any pursuit. Then he raced to catch up with the strange masked beast, who seemed to be a little winded in the alleyway.

Sean assessed the Beast, his eyes sliding over the thin frame obscured by the heavy cloak, the mask through which the tinny sound of their breath echoed. He didn't raise an eyebrow when the beast made a simple sign to them; instead he repeated the sign back, which in the context meant You're welcome. He considered them before he furrowed his brows and, with his index pawfinger, tapped just in front of his ear, bringing his paw close to the corner of his mouth, then quickly cycled the pawfinger in a circle before his mouth. Are you deaf or hearing? In his younger days he'd run with a deaf beast for a while, making common cause while she'd been on her own quest for revenge. It had been enough for him to pick up some of her sign language. Most of what he knew was for military use, simple gestures to communicate instructions or troop movement; he rarely got a chance for actual conversation with anyone, especially not these days.

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

The Beast shook their head. They could hear just fine. They grunted, but again no words came. Frustration flashed in their eyes. They motioned to their chest, before lifting their paws and waving them on either side of their face. Then they signed out some letters.

"I have trouble speaking." They explained. The beast looked at the wildcat, earnestly. They opened their mouth again. "Bea-" They started coughing loudly, their voice was hoarse, as if it had not been used for many years. "Beast." They motioned to their chest. "I am... Beast." It was obvious to the wildcat that 'Beast' had not given him their real name and they struggled just to say a sentence as small at that, their paws trembling with the effort. "Mask." She tapped The Mask against her head, a metallic thunk reverberating off of it. "This... is Mask."

Beast was referring to The Mask around their head, as if it were a creature. They didn't seem to realize how strange that would seem to anyone else. Beast reached into the bag, pulling out an apple and offering it to the wildcat.

 

[Sean Wicke]

Sean lowered his paw, his sharp eyes examining the Beast with an intense curiosity. He considered them for a moment, his eyes going to the apple offered, weighing it as if someone were handing him a dagger. Then, he reached out and accepted the apple, taking a bite of it. "Sean," he responded through a mouthful of apple chunks. His eyes moved to scanning around the alleyway, checking the approaches, examining the surrounding rooftops - a habit of forty years of self-preservation, existing as prey to an entire society upon which they excised their annual wrath. Then, confirming they were alone, his gaze returned to the curious beast.

"Where'd you get the Mask?" he examined its design, curious. It seemed almost too large for the figure beneath it, like an adolescent wearing their father's coat. The rough lines of it, hammered and folded and soldered together, were imposing, far more so than the manner of the beast beneath. He could see them trying to make themselves larger, to present as a threat, but it was like a minnow trying to imitate a pike. Had the mask belonged to someone else first - someone whose cloak they were now trying to fill? Sean resisted the urge to scratch the sleeve covering his memento mori, the initials of the dead, among them his mentors. A difficult legacy indeed.

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

"A pawn shop in Zann's Backyard." Beast explained, their fingers and paws a blur as they 'spoke'. "I don't know the history behind Mask. But... it was trapped, and so I rescued it. Before I had Mask, I was just another waif on the street... after I saved Mask from its gilded prison, I had a purpose. To try and right all the wrongs this city has inflicted on other creatures."

Beast picked up the sack of food, and motioned for Sean to follow. Leading him through the alleyways, they walked out into a different street to see a group of children, a mix of vermin and woodlanders, playing stick and hoop in the street. When the children saw Beast, a cheer rang out:

"Jill's back!" The kids abandoned their game and rushed over, shouting and whooping excitedly. Some of them hugged Beasts legs and the others stared up at Sean curiously.

Beast knelt down and opened the bag, starting to distribute the bread amongst the little ones, who all looked to be orphans, if Sean had to guess. Their clothes were ragged, their eyes gaunt and fur disheveled.

Beast looked back at Sean. "I grew up like these kits... I want to make a city where something like this never happens again. Mask is helping me do that."

 

[Sean Wicke]

Sean followed the Beast and the conversation with curiosity. Some of the gestures were lost to him in the moment, but the meaning carried through well enough in what he caught. A part of him, the cynical part that had endured thirty-eight years of his adult life as the target of state-sanctioned cruelty, wanted to scoff at the idea of this city ever being better, that if it were better then it wouldn't be Bully Harbor. The other part of him, though, could only wonder at this beast, this Beast. He'd seen vigilantes come and go, those who had tried to right the wrongs, and all of them to a one had been a little mad. These streets had seen a half-dozen Platycodons, the Ash Prophet, the Beast in the Iron-

Sean stopped his thoughts there, the line connecting to his past. That was what he'd recalled. He'd only seen the beast once. It had been a terrible Beat-a-Sean Day, when Sean had been cornered by a gang of frying pan-wielding ruffians. The Iron Mask had emerged from the shadows, nearly seven feet of cloaked muscle, and had sent one of the thugs into a wall, the next one through it. One had managed to beam the Mask with his pan, staggering him, which bought just enough time for Sean to leap on his back and tangle him in some hanging rope. The remaining thug had run away, terrified, leaving the young Sean looking up at his savior. The Iron Mask had stood there, looking down at him, his hot breath hissing through the slits in the mask, the glint of his eyes barely catching light in the darkness. Then the Iron Mask had turned away, and Sean had never seen him again. Eventually the Iron Mask had disappeared, just another Bully Harbor boogeyman like Jak the Reaper or Armina Rogue, but in the recesses of his mind, Sean remembered.

He looked down at this youth - and it had to be a youth, only the young were so idealistic - who was not just emulating, but redefining the violent legend of the Beast in the Iron Mask in their own way. They were likely too young to have ever even heard the legends repeated, so long ago had they faded into the chaos and noise, and yet something in the Mask had called them to heroism. Sean couldn't understand it; but, as he looked at them, he realized that he could at least do what he could to support them, and perhaps give them a chance at not dying as quickly as Bully Harbor vigilantes tended to do.

He scoured the skyline for threats, his old habit helping him to acclimate himself and feel somewhat more at ease. Hypervigilance had been both the secret to his survival and the cost of it, a trick passed down to him by the Seans who went before. This new Beast might not be a Sean (at least, he prayed that they weren't; that would be a truly unfortunate trick of fate), but perhaps the secrets of the Seans could find new purpose in them. He slowly knelt, resting on one knee with some difficulty. Too many years of taking blows with kitchen implements had left their mark. He made the motions as best he could, pulling together the meaning from across the decades since he'd last seen Zeldyan Ryalor. Mask will help you, he signed, but one help is not enough. Surviving you will need more help. I will help you too. What I know, I give you. He switched to verbal speech as he gruffly explained, "I know just how rough this city can be. I learned how to survive it blow by blow. Maybe I can teach you how to survive it too."

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

"Auntie Jill, is your new friend gonna teach you how to beat creatures up?!" A young weasel asked excitedly, running over to grab the stick and wave it about like a sword.

Beast snapped their head upward. "Beast." They said hoarsely. "My name is..." They coughed. "Beast."

"Come on, Auntie Jill! That's just your crime fighting name! You brought the scary kitty here!" A squirrel maiden piped up. "You clearly trust him enough, he may as well know who you really are!"

Beast sighed, and they shook their head. They reached underneath their scarf and pulled out a locket, opening it to reveal a slender silver key. Putting their paws behind their head, there was a loud CLICK as The Mask was unlocked, and it was pulled away to reveal the head of a sandy colored young vixen, barely an adult herself. She looked just as malnourished as the kids that she was taking care of.

"Jill." She motioned to her chest again, her stormy blue-grey eyes filled with a sudden sorrow. "My... real name... is Jill. Sorry... for lying."

She smiled awkwardly, and she trembled slightly. "Please... help me, Sean." Jill barely managed to get the sentence out before she turned her head away, face flushed. She was deeply ashamed that she had to ask another beast to help her get stronger, when she had been doing so much on her own for so long.

The various kits gathered around, sensing the awkward situation and watching on with morbid curiosity.

 

[Sean Wicke]

As the mask fell away, Sean took in the sight of Jill. His mind went to another scrawny youth long ago, one who had been pushed around, beaten, broken down by his peers. That youth hadn't chosen the fight; he'd simply made the decision not just to survive, but to win it. This youth, however - she had chosen this fight. That was a form of bravery, one for which she clearly wasn't crediting herself.

Sean gently took her paw, fixing his gaze on her eyes. "You didn't lie," he said softly. "There's power in a name; it can make others see you as prey, or make you the predator. I think you've spent so long being treated like prey, it becomes easy to believe it. But," he stressed softly, "you don't have to be. Being the Beast instead isn't easy; becoming that new person is a long road, and sometimes you won't recognize yourself along the way. But, at the end of that," he promised, "when you put on that mask, the Beast will be all anyone can see - and those who mean you harm will have good reason to be afraid."

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

Jill smiled up at Sean, her eyes shining bright. She nodded, and she brought The Mask over her head once more, locking it befire tucking key into locket and locket into scarf. "Thank you." They signed again. Then, they suddenly pulled Sean into a hug, hiding their face as their whole body trembled. Clearly, Beast was trying to keep themself composed around the kits.

The various street orphans looked up at Sean with a newfound sense of awe now, some of them inching curiously closer.

 

[Tizzi Poof]

Tizzi's head popped out of a nearby storm drain, upside-down. It was one of the kits who spotted first, giving a shrill shriek of surprise and-or delight and-or terror. It was both hard to tell with kits, and with most beast's reaction to seeing Tizzi's head.

Tizzi hissed in return, the head darting back into the drain. The pipe rattled some, then went still.

"That's the one that bit me last time, Auntie Jill!" a young ferret lad said, pointing to his completely fine footpaw.

Inside the pipe, Tizzi's stomach rumbled. Paws pressed against the sides, slowly reversing itself back to the top, and before long, its grimy little rump stuck out of the top of the pipe and flopped about until footpaws found purchase in the gutter. The rest of it eased out with a quiet schlorp. It was extra muddy today - the mud was a good defense against the biting cold.

It peeked over the rooftop, squinting down at the assemblage of kits with their bread. It had been watching these last few days, familiarizing itself with this group who had their benefactor delivering meals. But Tizzi Poof was a lone wolf! Tizzi Poof needed no one.

But Tizzi Poof needed food... and it would bite every hob, jill, and pup in the Imperium to get it.

Standing tall as it was, the minuscule weasel-like thing roared out its fiercest war-cry, thumping a tiny fist against its tiny chest with a wet smack and a hollow plap as lungs and stomach rattled about from the impact.

"Tchk-tchk-chk-chk!"

Then it lobbed a wadded up piece of gutter-muck down at the pair of adults.

 

[Sean Wicke]

Sean reacted immediately to the threat. He grabbed the Beast, moving his back between them and the projectile. He felt the gob hit the back of his jacket, and he privately mourned the desecration of another garment. The cleaners would give him grief for it; it was hard to wash a coat with a brigandine armor inner lining. "Get down," he snarled to the kits, his mind turning overactive, assessing the potential value as weaponry of every loose object nearby. He settled on an apple nearby; it was a sound aerodynamic shape with enough mass to nicely maintain its momentum on an arc. He knelt, scooping it up, and turned, chucking the fruit right at the offending weasel.

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

Beast looked up towards the roof, surprised to see a creature that somewhat resembled a child. They were doubly surpised to see Sean grab an apple and hurl it up towards them. They stood in front of Sean. "Stop!" They cried out hoarsely, before continuing in sign.

"What on earth are you doing?! That's just a child! They're probably just scared and hungry!"

 

[Tizzi Poof]

Tizzi cackled as it grabbed up another pawful of gutter mulch to throw down. But what was this? Was that big one going to give it food? About time someone recognized the majesty of Tizzi Poof and paid tribute!

Tizzi's eyes widened as the apple flew. Yes, that was definitely food. One of those crunchy, non-meat things, some kind of "veg-tibble" which didn't often sit well in Tizzi's tiny musteline stomach, but was nevertheless edible. The little beast spread its arms wide, ready to intercept - wow, that was certainly a large apple... And getting larger. Getting larger very, very fast.

The small weasel's brain barely had time to register its miscalculation of the apple's speed before the impact knocked the breath out of it. Like a weathervane in a tornado, it spun around, twisted, and toppled from the gutter towards the street below, the apple falling back down right beside it.

 

[Sean Wicke]

As soon as the apple left his paw, Sean's hypervigilance faded, and he realized the situation even as Jill signed it to him. As the apple connected with the kit, Sean surged forward, barely managing to get his arms under the kit just in time to tumble on the ground, hugging the kit to his chest to shield them from the ground. He breathed heavily as he got to his feet, holding the kit up and looking over her for injuries. "You shouldn't be attacking those you don't know, kit," he warned, a note of regret and concern in his voice.

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

Beast hurried over to Sean's side, though they were slightly taken aback at the sight of the kit. Covered in unknown layers of grime and muck, they felt a pang of pity in their chest.

"Are they okay...?" Beast managed to croak out, still unfamiliar with their own voice.

 

[Tizzi Poof]

Tizzi shivered, twitched. For a moment, it seemed like it might have been dead, or dying. Then one eye peeked open, and the whole thing became a whirling dervish, hissing and spitting and somersaulting backwards onto all fours, peeling itself out of Sean's grasp. It glared up at the adults, the other kits, then pounced on the apple that had stunned it, pulling it under its belly for protection.

"Tizzi tribute!" It cackled, squirming around like a pretzel to bite at the apple before shifting back a few more steps. It lifted a paw and pointed accusingly at Sean. "Tchk-tchk! Listen one's own words! I great Tizzi Poof! Slups is Tizzi Empire! No Vulpuz, no Kitsune! Only Tizzi! Fft-fft-fft!"

It rolled around with its apple, spitting and hissing furiously at nothing and everything.

 

[Sean Wicke]

Whatever Sean had been expecting, it wasn't that. He stared at the hissing, spitting weasel, contemplating whether it had been driven mad by some rare disease, or was simply a product of this country's own all-consuming madness. He shook his head, straightening up. "Build your empire on some other street," he warned, straightening his coat. "This one's already colonized." He looked to the Beast, whatever shame he'd felt in his actions evaporated in the wake of the kit's rabid response. "As I was saying," he continued gruffly. "I can teach you to act faster, fight better, survive more readily. It won't be easy; it certainly wasn't for me. But it'll give you a fighting chance in this city."

 

[Tizzi Poof]

Tizzi bristled one last time at the adults, then at the kits cowering behind them, and holding its apple in its jaws, it bounded off down the alley.

Near the end, it stopped and turned. The apple dropped from its mouth, and it leaned both forepaws on it, watching. The kits gradually un-shrunk themselves, no longer afraid or disgusted. They clustered around the masked fox and the wildcat once again, babbling over each other. Tizzi's face remained impassive, resolute, displaying not a single pang of the jealousy that burned inside it's aching tummy.

"Tizzi needs no one," it said, its little voice quavering slightly with derision.

It had apple, now. Apple was not an anyone, but it was something. Tizzi bit down again and tromped off, skittering down streets and alleys, up and down pipes and rooftops until it found the little nook it currently called home - some little forgotten piece of architecture overlooked by the city, where the surrounding walls left a small square space only accessible by a gap a few inches wide or a fall from the rooftops.

It gnawed away at the apple, growling and kicking in its nest of fluff and bones and random bits of harbor refuse. In one corner was propped a small portrait, the face of a smiling weasel doe wrapped in a light blue headscarf. It was partially melted by rain, no glass protecting the paint, only a corner piece of a wooden frame propping it up. Tizzi spat out a piece of apple and rolled onto its belly, gazing at the portrait with flattened ears and eyes that ached with the yearning to weep.

Then it lunged, tackling the portrait, biting and kicking, ripping and shredding. The wooden frame came apart, the fabric twisting into its claws and mouth. When it was done, the pieces were barely distinguishable from the rest of the rot and fluff that made up its nest.

"Tizzi needs... NO ONE!" The shrill shriek rang out hollowly, muffled by the walls around it, unheard by anybeast.

Tizzi burrowed into the bottom of the nest, curling up in the dirt and cobbles of the ground, kicking at the nest above until it blanketed the little creature fully. With feet tucked over its face, Tizzi sniffled and growled at the universe for existing the way it did.