Open The Slups Debt Has it's Benefits.

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue was walking down the street, lute in paw, as the sun was starting to set in Bully Harbor. It had been a long day of ‘busking’ as Falun called it, and Silvertongue’s coinpurse was heavy with, well, coin. He hoped this would be enough to at least put a dent in the massive amount of money both he and Greeneye now owed to Falun. He walked down an alleyway, humming softly to himself. He looked around the many doors that lined either side of him. He couldn't recall which way he needed to go... Well, it couldn't hurt to keep walking. He'd eventually find it, or find some beast who could point him in the right direction.

It was starting to get dark now, and Silvertongue was well and truly lost... If only Greeneye were here. He'd probably know the way. As Silvertongue walked, he could feel the presence of multiple beasts behind him. Great, this was likely going to be trouble. "Can I help y-" Silvertongue turned, but he froze in place, his words catching on his lips.

Heskel. The large, hideous stoat slaver from Ironpaw's ship, with whip in paw. There were other pirates with him. "Well well, 'ello Silvertongue." He said with a grin. "We simply 'ave ter stop meetin' like this." He tutted. "We ought to arrange a date an' get a spot of tea sometime."

Silvertongue stepped back, looking behind him quickly. There was no beast blocking him off. He could run.

"I can't 'elp but notice Greeneye ain't wif ye. 'E's usually on ye like a fly on shit." Heskel said, laughing along with his companions.

"What a cute simile." Silvertongue commented sarcastically.

"Well... I don't know what dat means. It don't matter if Greeneye ain't here." Heskel said with a grin. "E'll come runnin' once we make ye sing fer hi- OIY-! E'S GETTIN' AWAY, YEW IDIOTS" Heskel shouted as Silvertongue turned and sprinted down the alleyway.

Silvertongue started to pound on random doors, not remembering which one he was supposed to go to. He couldn't wait long enough for the doors to be answered, as the pirates were bearing down on him. He kept running, but they were catching up to them. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of them, a weasel swinging their cutlass down at him, and he whipped out his rapier.

Swish- CLANG! TING! TING! CLANG! TING! CLANG!

The sound of swords clashing rang out in the alley as Silvertongue fended off his attacker.

"Well, well, looks like the little drummer boy's got some bite to him!" Heskel laughed as he sauntered foward.

"I- what?! I play a lute, you dolt!" Silvertongue shouted at him as he parried the weasel's blows.

Heskel snarled and he raised his whip, cracking it in the air as it snaked out and wrapped around Silvertongue's rapier.

Silvertongue yelped in alarm as he struggled to keep his sword in his paw. The weasel in front of him raised his cutlass to strike Silvertongue down, and Silvertongue took the opportunity to kick him in the stomach. The weasel was sent stumbling back, but in the process Silvertongue lost the grip on his rapier as it was yanked from his paws. He grimaced, and he turned to run, only to see a big burly ferret blocking the way. Silvertongue ran towards the ferret, regardless, and he did a frontflip, jumping over the ferret's head. He didn't quite stick the landing, his foot catching on the uneven cobbled street, and he fell hard.

He groaned as he was grabbed by the ferret, who laughed. "He was jumpin' around like a clown, Boss!"

Silvertongue came face to face with Heskel, the stoat putting his whip away and cracking his knuckles as he walked forward. "Yea, well, yew boys know what this clown is missin'? A big red NOSE!" Heskel cocked his fist back and punched Silvertongue hard on the snout.

Silvertongue yelped as the fist connected with his muzzle, and he instantly felt warm blood leaking from his nostrils. This wasn't looking good...

 

[Tal'Rakan]

"At late hours this city is almost.... bearable" Mused Tal'Rakan in his mother tongue as he wandered the streets. So far he had only seen what he hoped was the worst this city had to offer. Grime, overcrowding, chaos. Nothing he would remember from his homeland. The scents were in particular the worst of it all. It was either overwhelmingly artificial, as if someone mixed incense with water and rubbed it into the fur or it was vile. Not a single place had natural, clean scent.

But at this late hour it was... acceptable. It was cold but his plumed coat ensured his warmth. Red Phoenix's feathers ensured his well-being. The scents however were mostly gone, the chaos subsided and his night vision was better than most beasts around, letting him take this place anew.

He wandered the streets alone, not afraid much. He was bigger than most beasts around, wore finest armor his land could offer and had his battle claws at bay. In no way he felt endangered. In the end, even in death he would serve the Phoenixes. As a reason for Vulpinsula to apologize for Diplomat's death, leveraging tool.

Rakan's ears turned as he heard commotion. Plenty of it was around, usually criminals as he had learnt. Ones that his presence would easily scare away.

With no respect for ruffians no matter the land, Rakan followed the noise. He was a diplomat, but he also would bring order of his kind as Phoenixes emissary wherever he went.

And turning the corner he saw it, some beasts of yet to be determined by him kind beating a fox. One looking like a noble. Perhaps he could curry a favor this way.

So he put on his battle claws and scraped them on the wall to get the attention, observing them as any good general would.

"Leave this preast alone." He simply said in calm voice. A gust of wind made the feathers of his garments move and make him look like a giant bird of pray, coming in for a kill.

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna was walking back to the Lilting Lily from an afternoon spent with Ivo, ostensibly reviewing the plans for the upcoming heist on the Vermillion Mansion. In truth, very little close examination of documents had gotten done, set aside in favor of a much different kind of review. She was still blushing a bit, patting at her headfur and hoping that it wasn't too obvious. Falun always gave her grief whenever she took a new lover, especially someone within the network. "Y' never rut where y' eat, Anna," he'd complained to her numerous times. "Don' mix business an' pleasure, it jus' gets messy."

"What about you and that minstrel then?" Marianna had shot back. That had been enough to shut him up. She'd enjoyed twenty whole minutes of silence after that.

Now she was patting at her fur, making sure she didn't look like she'd just been engaged in rigorous exercise, as she turned down the alley to the back entrance - and saw a seen that stopped her cold. That minstrel of Falun's, Silvertongue, was currently getting assaulted by a rough crowd. Marianna knew at a glance that this wasn't one of the neighboring gangs moving in on their turf; she had brokered a peace with each of them, and besides, this lot weren't wearing any of the signature looks for those outfits. Luckily, it seemed there was one bystander willing to intervene: a tall wildcat of some stripe, decorated in feathers, and warning the assailants in a rich accent that Marianna, never having traveled outside Bully Harbor since she was a toddler, couldn't place.

"The cat is giving you sound advice," she called to the ruffians as she advanced. She kept her gaze level, her voice calm, her paws in front of her holding her purse as she approached. Not threatening, but hopefully appearing in control. "It appears you may have gotten lost. I suggest you turn around and head back the way you came - leaving our associate alone." She spotted one of the upper windows of the Lilting Lily open just a slant, one of Falun's goons, as she thought of them, peeking out at the trouble below. No doubt they'd be mustering in the tavern to come storming out; she just needed to buy them time. She fixed her gaze on the ruffians, trying to project a confidence she didn't quite feel.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

The floorboards creaked softly as Ruffano Quickwhistle leaned in for one last kiss, his cravat slightly loosened and his waistcoat askew from an evening of poorly-planned passion and better storytelling. The tan vixen at his side gave a little hum, half-sated and half-bored, as she adjusted the ribbon of her nightrobe.

Then... BANG BANG BANG!

Ruffano flinched so hard he nearly choked on his own gasp, recoiling behind the vixen as if she were a stage curtain and he the understudy caught mid-scene change. She turned to him with a raised brow and a look so flat it could’ve pressed linen.

“Gutless,” she muttered, folding her arms.

“I was acting!” Ruffano huffed, indignantly straightening. “One must project terror clearly or the balcony crowd won't catch the nuance.”

She smacked his shoulder with the back of her paw. “Then go open it, o theatrical wonder.”

He sulked, made a show of sighing as if burdened by the world’s greatest tragedy, then reluctantly stepped toward the door. A glance through the peephole. Nothing. He cracked it open. No one there...

But the sound. Shouting and the solid crunch of fist to nose drew his ears to attention. Ruffano peered down the alley. A troupe of pirates were clustered in the waning light, and at the center of the chaos, a foppish fox was bleeding at the snout. Flamboyant, wounded, defenseless. Theatrical, tragic, beautiful. And there, towering and feathered was a beast he couldn’t place. A living warbird striding from some exotic tale to intervene.

Ruffano’s jaw slackened for a heartbeat. Then he turned back to the vixen.

“Lock the door. Bar it, bolt it, and stuff a dresser in front if you must. And keep out of sight.”

She frowned but nodded.

Ruffano reached for the iron poker from the hearth, still warm at the tip, and stepped into the cool air with the same expression a fox wears before walking onstage with forgotten lines.

He strode forward nervously, but with an exaggerated flare of his coat, like a cape caught in a non-existent breeze.

“Evenin’, gentlebeasts,” he called out, voice lilting and loud enough to carry, “I don’t mean to interrupt your impromptu street theater, but I hear the Fogeys are charging seventy-five gilders a pop for unlicensed performances now. You’ll have to invoice your audience next time.”

A few of the pirates turned toward him, snarling.

He raised the poker like a rapier. The glow of the hearth still clung to its tip.

“Leave the lad alone, would ya?” he said, his voice tight but clear. “He’s got better things to do than bleed on your boots.”

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

"What der hell-" Heskel turned, suddenly seeing multiple bystanders where there hadn't been any before. His eyes first fell on the wildcat, and he almost did a double take- the decorative plummage making him akin more to a bird of prey. Then, his eyes fell onto the fox with an iron poker. Lastly, lastly, he saw Marianna standing in the alleyway. His mind was racing. This was the second time some beasts had intervened like this. Why would any beast care to stick their nose in business that wasn't theirs? He turned to his fellow pirates, communicating silently with some paw signals.

The pirates then turned their attention three ways. A rat and a weasel drew cutlasses, approaching the oddly dressed cat. "Priest." The rat chuckled. "That aint no priest, it's a bard. Stupid cat."

The big, burly ferret dropped Silvertongue unceremoniously to the ground, turning towards Ruffano and cracking his knuckles. "So, are ye offering ter bleed on our boots in his place, then?"

Meanwhile, Heskel licked his paw and quickly smoothed out the fur and his head, before grinning at Marianna and swaggering towards her, grinning all the while. He truly was a... unique sight to behold. A large, fat stoat whose stomach wobbled as he walked, with uneven yellow teeth and unkempt fur, and dressed in simple sailors garb. Not exactly a contender for bachelor of the year.

"Excuse me, me dear poppet." He said. "Ye needn't be worried fer such a little pansy like 'im." He motioned to Silvertongue. "Ye see, 'e actually ran away from 'ome, an' 'is dear mother 'n' farder are worried sick about 'im, they is. So, me mates an' I are just bringin' 'im back to 'is loving famerly. Out o' der goodness of our 'earts."

Silvertongue was collapsed on the ground. He lifted his head up just enough to see Marianna, and his eyes were filled with worry. He managed to lift his paw and motioned for her to run away.

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna kept her chin raised, looking the slovenly stoat in the eye as he approached. "That is a most novel explanation," she remarked, "especially since we have already taken him in out of - well, perhaps not the goodness of our hearts. I'm afraid you'd have to search very hard to find any goodness there. You really don't know whose territory you're in, do you?" She tried her best to protect amusement and calm, her eyes noting movement in the upstairs window of the tavern. A crossbow was being aimed squarely at the stoat's back. "You see, this lad is under the protection of the Furotazzi Family. So, if he's to be escorted back by anyone, it would be us - and I think we can make that determination without your recommendation, thank you very much."

 

[Tal'Rakan]

As the vixen spoke, the lynx coiled to strike.

Tal'Rakan was disgusted with how... primitive and spiteful those beasts were. More so, they were stupid. The fox with... heated piece of metal? A weapon of sorts stood on the other side of the alley. Also he didn't fail to spot a shooter that aimed at the stoat back. They were encircled, outmatched and more importantly,

He was already past the tipping point.

He pounced. Four enemies was nothing to him.

First rule of efficient warfare was to be stealthy of deceptive. He had shown himself in pursue of glory... but they didn't see his armour below the coat. That made for a very surprised look once the rat cut into him mid-air only hearing a clank of hitting metal and ceramic.

He got to the weasel, plunging his battle claws deep into their chest.

Second rule of efficient warfare was to be fast, faster than your enemy really. Third rule was to command well. Using strengths and combine your troops advantages to reach best results.

That is why he moved and jumped off of the back of the burly ferret, they were only a bit smaller than Rakan himself but were nowhere near as agile, he pushed the ferret out of their balance and towards the fox with hot rod. Hoping they would manage now with an off-guarded target and out of balance target.

With the momentum he got, he jumped at the back of the stoat, albeit only managing to pull them onto the ground. He couldn't finish them as the rat that earlier hit him, regained composure and struck at his actual weak point, the legs. He had to block and he did, but this lucky manoeuvre bought time to the remaining opponents.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

The burly ferret turned toward him and Ruffano froze. His paw tightened around the poker. The ferret’s gaze locked on him with the slow inevitability of a falling stage light, and Ruffano felt every bit of bravado melt clean off his bones. His knees itched to run. His tail bristled with anticipation. But his footpaws refused to budge, affixed to the cobbles by some cruel, metaphorical glue made of shame and terror.

Only now did he notice the vixen, calm and poised even amidst the chaos. Elegant, dangerous, Furotazzi. Ruffano’s ears twitched back.

The Furotazzis were watching this? Hell’s teeth. What had he wandered into!? He’d just wanted an afternoon of cheap romance, not a front-row seat to whatever turf war or gang drama this was shaping up to be.

And then the bird-cat thing moved. One moment it was standing, menacing and strange. The next, it exploded into motion, a gust of feathers and flashing claws, and all hell broke loose.

Ruffano’s yelp came out embarrassingly high-pitched as the ferret stumbled toward him, knocked off balance by the melee. In a panic, Ruffano jabbed with the poker. The fire-warmed tip met fur with a hiss and a puff of smoke. The ferret howled.

Ruffano recoiled, eyes wide, the scent of scorched hair curling in his nostrils. He stumbled back a step. Then another. His paw slipped once on the cobblestones, but he caught himself, barely.

One more twitch, one more movement and he’d bolt, unless something stopped him...