Open The Docks Completed Disturbance At The Docks

He felt himself get lifted off of his footpaws, one of his tattered velvet slippers falling to the ground. Though the embrace was warm and cuddly, and honesly one of the plushest things he had felt in his entire life, poor Ruffano was seized in abject terror.

"N...no! No I am not happy! Gimme another chance! I can change! Hellsgates if I knew it'd be over this quickly I'd have branched out more!"
 
Pomodu's expression turned back to surprise, she set the fox down. "No happy?" she inquired with a wumph that rattled nearby window panes she sat down on the street in front of the frightened fox. "Why no happy?" she inquired. "Di'su i'su woh'deh'fu'l pu'la'ce. Many dea'd no stay dea'd i'n Bully Hahbah." She gestured to the ghostly Jeshal as proof.
 
Ruffano wobbled as his footpaws hit the ground, blinking like he'd just been exorcised.

“Not... exactly how I pictured going out.”

He gave his scarf a dazed tug, trying to recover the shape of his composure and utterly failing.

“If the underworld sends that kind of beast after me,” he added, glancing sidelong at Pomodu’s looming frame, “I shudder to imagine what they send after the actual criminals. Cannibal shrews? Wailing sky serpents?”

He turned slightly, eyes landing on the ghostly fox still brandishing steel, with his white fur, blood spatters, metal gauntlet, mad grin.

Ruffano’s ears twitched.

“Now you at least make sense. You’re the terrifying stage villain I was warned about as a cub. ‘Brush your teeth or the Cutlass Wraith’ll get you!’ That whole bit.”

He took a slow step back, tail fluffed and twitching.

Then his gaze flicked between the two of them. Blood-spattered revenant and cheerfully catastrophic demon, and his knees bent in a half-crouch of despair.

“Look, I don’t know what terrible cosmic roulette I tripped, but if this is divine punishment, I humbly request a retrial. Mercy, please! I’m just a lowly fox with flair and regrettable hobbies!”
 
Whilst the large oddly-speaking beast approached the cowering fox, Jeshal held back and watched. He couldn't recall the last time he had seen someone in the Imperium hug. Hadn't this been the place of punching, backstabbing, and Beat A Sean Day? Stunned by Pomodu's ingenious methods of torture, it took until the frightened todd drew attention to him for the laugh to escape.

"AHAHAHA!" The cackle became a wheeze and then a cough before another bout of laughter.

Some powder paint got up Jeshal's nose and he sneezed. He brushed at his muzzle with the back of his gauntlet, uncovering a patch of his copper fur.

"Heh. Show some spine, lad. We spirits seek the Bilge ter wet our whistles, that we do. Beware lest ye receive another red demon embrace!"
 
Two more hours.

Soren fought to keep himself awake in the welcoming office at the Bully Harbor’s docks, which also served as the district’s Fogey headquarters, albeit that portion with a different entrance and separated from where he was now by a set of backrooms, jails, and offices, as he neared the end of his seventy-two hour shift. He would be able to be relieved soon, finally able to go back to his wife and get a few days of rest before he would have to start the process all over again. Gods, he hoped that the Empress appointed a proper MinoJus soon instead of the interim one, who let himself be run roughshod over in the budget negotiations within the Ministries, the Ryalor couple and the MinoWar seizing the lion’s share of the gilders, with whatever pittance left over being divided among Commerce, Niceties, and Justice. Oh, they could still afford enough of the lower ranks, but there was little to no incentive to advance higher. Much more work for minimal pay, just the prospect of “honor” and maybe oneday being elevated, probably near his deathbed, to the lowest ranks of the gentry.

And after all that trouble with that damn “pan-dah” today, if I had not handled that carefully, I would have had a full-blown riot on my paws. Sara had said she had led the beast to the Ministry of Commerce, hopefully to deposit her money and be given a much more appropriate and far less likely to get her killed amount of gilders. Thankfully, he had heard nothing in the last twelve hours since the beast had left, so that had seemed to turn out okay.

As he settled into his chair, finally, he yawned, and even began to doze off a little. It was late, and it seemed like a quiet night on the docks. Usually they only got smugglers around this time, maybe the occasional assault, which his sergeants could handle for the most part, and, honestly, given the lack of a proper MinoJus, the Tazzis probably got to most of them first to begin with and only left the ones who would not pay whatever they charged to operate to be found and punished by his beasts. The absolute state of the justice system in the Imperium. He would change it, if he could, but he had already done very well for himself, and the opportunities to climb further for a beast who had started out in the Slups were slim. Best to just relax and-

A small crowd of beasts suddenly burst into the Welcome Office, instead of the proper entry next door, screaming, startling him and his small crowd of Fogeys.

“HELP! HELP! THERE BE BLOODY DEMONS STALKING ABOUT!”

“THE GHOST OF THE IRONCLAW HAS COME BACK FOR HIS REVENGE!”

“THE BIGGEST RED DEVIL YE’VE EVER SEEN!”

“SWORDPLAY THE DEMONS HAVE REAL SWORDS I SWEAR!”

“FOGEYS! FOGEYS!”

Soren, startled out of his long-awaited slumber, shot up in his chair.

What in Hellgates?

“Steady there! I say steady! What in the blazes are you going on about?” He cried, alarmed, as he began to make sense of the situation, beasts all shouting at him about ghosts and demons in his district.

Just my luck. Two hours. I just had two hours left.


**********************Some time later********************


A very tired, very grumpy middle-aged stoat, accompanied by a half-squad of Fogeys, the most he could muster at a short notice, poured out of the welcoming office, two of them carrying bright lanterns that illuminated the street. They soon began marching in the general direction of where the disturbance had been reported, their pinks of rank gleaming in the darkness. Honestly, he thought, this was really the purview of the Ministry of Misanthropy’s Occult division, but, understandably, few beasts ever went to go knock on the doors of that Ministry’s office and fewer still ever came back out once they did so, so it was often up to the Fogeys to be first responders when it came to the supernatural. Soren had seen a lot of strange things in the Imperium, but he had never seen an actual demon or ghost. Usually, it was somebeast playing some sort of prank or running a kind of scam, or some sort of misidentification, but if he did not address it, soon the whole district would fly into a panic, given how superstitious the average resident of the Harbor was.

“S-sir…” said cadet Henry, nervously glancing around at the darkness in front of him as they searched for the “ghost and the demon” that had been reported. “...I don’t know, sir, are we equipped to handle this? Are our truncheons, y’know, magical?”

Soren wanted to die inside.

“Yes, Cadet Henry, I will have you know that every truncheon we hand out is specifically blessed to be able to exorcise demons from beasts or to make ghosts materialize so as to be handed over to the Occult division.”

“Really?” The bright-eyed cadet replied “What is the proper way of handling them? Do we have to recite any incantations? Any special instructions or the like?

Soren repressed a sigh, and, entirely seriously, replied, taking out his truncheon from its holster. “No, Cadet, it is just like in the academy, you just kind of beat them until they stop, then haul them in….”

He thought a little bit more, then reached into his jacket, pulling out a blank stack of Fogey job applications and holding them in one paw.

“Another trick is to show them these job applications, and force them to read. That terrifies most spirits in the Harbor these days, they seem to be horrified of the idea of working an honest job, or reading at all for that matter. Most of the time, you do not even need to use the truncheon.”

Suspiciously, the fears of the average Slups dweller and most spirits and demons in the Harbor seemed have an extremely high overlap.

The young cadet nodded earnestly, looking somewhat in awe at his Squad Captain.

“Now, they should be around here somewhere."

@Corda & Cordan LeConte @Ruffano Quickwhistle @Jeshal the Ironclaw
 
Ruffano peered over the top of the barrel just in time to hear the ghost fox rasp about spine.

“Spine, you say!?” he barked back, voice climbing an octave in disbelief. “I’m a theater kit, I have no spine!”

He placed a paw to his chest dramatically, indignant and appalled, as though accused of carrying military fortitude in his coat pocket.

He watched the pale specter wobble forward again, still muttering about guzzling spirits and vengeance and the Bilge in that otherworldly drawl. Ruffano blinked. Then pointed loosely toward the city.

“If that’s the direction of your haunting, I shall not stand in your way. In fact, allow me to clear the way. Sweep the road, fluff the barstools...anything that doesn’t involve exorcism-level 'hugs' or whatever.”

He cast a wary glance at Pomodu.

“And I mean no more of that. Whatever kind of attack that red demon leveled upon me was uncalled for and, dare I say, emotionally compromising.”

He began cautiously backing down the alley, one paw still raised in theatrical deference to Ironclaw, the other gently brushing dust from his coat.
 
Pomodu's eyes widened at the fox's reaction of the hug. Had she misstepped? Usually beasts liked her hugs. She got to her footpaws, shifting the heavy pack on her back. "I a'mu sorry," she apologized. "I no wanna to ma'ke you ma'du." Her eyes brightened as she realized something. "I buy durin'ku?" She reached into one of her coat pockets and pulled out a half-dozen glittering golden hundred-gilder coins - each one enough to get a party of four thoroughly sloshed at the Bilge.
 
Since the self-proclaimed theatre kit seemed to be of no threat, Jeshal sheathed his sword. The shine of Pomodu's gold lit a fire in his ex-pirate heart and spurred him into excited action.

He rushed the two of them, snatching at Ruffano to get an overfriendly arm about him, and patted his gauntlet gently upon Pom's back.

"How very kind of ye, demon friend. Drinks fer all of us! Come along spineless beast, toast with us an' I won't be forcing ye into me crew o' the damned, haharr!"

With that, hoping his charisma would do the work, he intended for them to continue on, little knowing Fogeys were on an intercept course.
 
As the tired and motley group of Fogeys made their way through the streets of the docks, boots falling upon the broken cobblestones, Soren yawned. Hopefully, it would just be some kind of delusion of some beast or a run-of-the-mill scammer, and he could just warn them off, head back to his office, and serve out the rest of his shift without any problems. He just wanted to relax and be left alone, for once. Maybe he would not even go home after the end of his shift to deal with his wife and kits, instead, perhaps, he could lock himself in unused closet and have peace. That idea sounded more and more appealing the longer he thought on it.

Of course, life had a way of ruining his plans, as it always did.

As they turned a corner, the group of five Fogeys abruptly ran into a strange group. A “ghostly” fox with a sword, a giant red “demon”, and a civilian in marching order. Before he could do anything, Henry, the young tawny ferret cadet, burst forth, not with his truncheon, but with a Fogey recruitment application in each paw, directly in front of the two "supernatural" beings, and shouted at the top of his lungs as if he were one of the many clerics giving a fiery sermon.

“Halt, apparition and demon! See this form and despair! A job application-all fair beasts in the Harbor know that the thing you are most afraid of is a good honest day’s work! If you still remain on this mortal plane and do not go back to whence you came, you will...you will…” he theatrically paused, doing his best impression of a hard, intimidating look “…have to get a job!”

He took a moment to glance proudly back at Soren, who had given him such excellent advice.

Soren slowly put a paw up to his face and grimaced behind it.

I should have never taken a position above Constable.
 
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Ruffano stared at the gold coins in Pomodu’s paw as though they were glowing with radiance."

“Do you... do you carry that casually?” he asked, voice rising an octave. “I suppose that tracks. An underling of Vulpuz would, wouldn’t she?”

He shifted his focus to the ghost when he raised his gauntlet and extended the offer of a toast in place of a haunting.

“A drink?” Ruffano blinked. “With you? And her?” A wild gesture toward the looming red panda.

“To freedom?”

He staggered half a step in disbelief, then straightened his coat with a sharp tug.

“I’ve had worse deals.”

And just as he turned, perhaps ready to follow them into the dark for what could only be the most absurd pub crawl in Bully Harbor history...

“Halt, apparition and demon!” came a bark.

A lantern flared. Boots thundered in from around the corner. Ruffano’s arms shot up, paws open, tail bristling.

“Oh for the love of stagecraft, I haven't done a thing wrong!”

Then, noticing the focus was mainly upon the specters...and apparently trying to hire them?... Ruffano went from pleading to pouting.

"Oh recruit them after I have my promised liquor and levity with my tormentors!"
 
Pomodu's expression turned quizzical at the approach of the Fogeys and the brandishing of the form. The cadet shouted a lot of words that she didn't quite understand, waving about a piece of paper. Had she missed a form earlier that day? Her eyes widened as she caught one word: job. They were here to give her a position in her government? Would she join the pantheon of immortals like Metal Arm Jesahalu and Poison Fox Tanuya? She'd accomplished no great deeds yet - but maybe this was her invitation?

"Danuku!" she enthused as she stepped forward and accepted the form, as an afterthought taking a golden hundred gilder coin from her pocket and placing it in the cadet's paw. She looked about for a pen, then noticed the exasperated leader of the group, and her expression brightened. "I know you! Hallo! I a'mu Pomodu lu Modokunomulo! We mee't today!" She pulled her copy of The Intermediate's (Yes, YOU!) Guide to the Imperium, Now With Complete Directory of Places That Will Get You Killed. "I'su very goo'd!" she enthused, giving him a pawthumb up.
 
Jeshal faltered in his stride at the appearance of the Fogeys. What he did not expect, and perhaps he should have knowing the renowned competence level of the Fogeys, was for the game to continue. Apparently the latest legislation for the police in Bully was to present the undead with pieces of paper. In the event any real undead showed up, Jeshal did not hold much hope for Fogey life expectancy.

Since Pomodu had the leader occupied, he decided to turn his attention upon the youth who had been donated the gold. He patted Ruffano on the back and lurched toward Henry with his claws splayed dinosaur-style. He eyed the remaining job application without truly reading it.

"Arrr 'tis a great shame ye came out all this way with the INCORRECT form, says I. Seein' as I be already under the employment of ol' Vulpuz, ye be needin' a Ghost Poachin' Warrant under Clause Twelve, subsection 94B, trimmed with brimstone, not the tar pit parchment. Very important that. Seems I must carry on a-haunting 'til then!"

A grin and the ghost-fox stared at the gold coin.

"Although, I be not above a bribe."
 
“Ser? Ser? What should I do? Did I mess up? U-using an incorrect form? Sir???" The young cadet cracked, his voice faltering as the “apparition” accosted him and the “demon” moved forward with suspicious joy.

The rest of Soren’s squad, following standard procedure, fanned out, attempting to encircle the group so that they might be able to be caught if they tried to bolt. Soren, meanwhile, took a closer look at the group as they responded to young Cadet Henry. He recognized the red “demon”, instantly, how could he not? The “pan-dah” from earlier. He had hoped that Sara had directed her to the Ministry of Commerce, who would have hopefully directed her to a safer area, but no. His keen eyes caught the 100 gilder coin, marked with the face of the Empress, going into Henry’s paw. Well, at least they had done the absolute bare minimum and given her proper Imperium currency, if in extremely high denominations, not reducing the chance that even with her size someone would try to mug her, but at least hopefully not inciting an entire area-wide riot like what would have happened if she still had her ingots. He decided he would deal with her first.

Henry glanced over at him, still nervous and unsure of what to do with the 100g coin, worth an entire week’s salary for a cadet.

“Ser…?”

Soren sighed.

“Give it back to her, Henry, and step back away from the apparition. That one seems the most dangerous."

“Bu-”

“Henry!”


“Yes, ser!”

The cadet offered the coin back to Pomodu, as Soren watched her take the job application. Well, she probably would not actually fill it out, but if she did, given the beast’s huge size and her knowledge of the language of her species and a few others, he might actually consider hiring her. Although the Fogeys were not exactly known for following the methods of “proper policing” that the various academics from Length constantly wanted them to adopt, a big beast like her, versed in foreign languages, could help deescalate situations where a truncheon was unable to do the job. And, at least, she was reading the new, updated versions of the books he had given her, which should, in theory, prevent her from being killed at least.

He gave her a curt nod and a slight smile.

“Miss Modokunomulo, I am glad you are enjoying your stay here in the Imperium so far. If you would, could you stand over there to the side?” He asked, pointing to the right and gesturing for the group to let her pass.

Now that the demon was out of the way, he glanced at the remaining two in the party, one a “ghostly” fox and a normal fox, who seemed to have dealt with Fogeys before as he had both his arms up and paws open to show he was no threat to them. He decided to get the normal one out of the way first, although he did not recognize him, and remove his cadet from what appeared to be the most dangerous of the group with his cutlass drawn.

“Henry, go over to our ‘normal’ fox over there, and get his information would you?”

“Yes ser!” The eager cadet replied, going over to Ruffano, pulling out a stylus and a wax tablet, the contents of which would be copied by a scribe unto paper later.

“Name, age, and profession?”
Henry asked.

Finally, he turned to get a closer look at the spectre, paws on his truncheon and keeping enough of a distance away that he could draw his truncheon if he needed to. He glanced down at the left paw, then back up to his face, something was familiar about the beast. He and his friends had played with the various trading cards going around in his kithood, usually of the Ministers and the Captains of the Hide as part of the MinoNice’s “educational” programs at the time, and he swore he had seen a beast like him before. Falun Ryalor? No, he was a fox, but he still had his paws. Marquo Senderjay? He wasn’t dressed nearly as properly. No, this one was…

Jeshal the Ironclaw? Captain of the Hide and later Minister of Commerce? But he was dead! He had read the reports as a young cadet. Alkamarian saboteurs, or, perhaps faulty maintenance. Blown to bits, such that the bodies could never be found. Was he an actual ghost? Or had the crafty fox actually managed to cover up his death?

“Could that be you, spirit? Jeshal the Ironclaw?”
Soren asked, voice surprised, but firm and polite.

“The Ironclaw? The one whose wife cut off his paw and rumors say sliced pieces off his bum and replaced them with iron because he defied her?”
A younger female cadet gasped, shaking her head, and looking at the old fox with pity. “Poor soul, no wonder he is restless. These days, we would have hauled her in for domestic violence. Oh spirit, we humbly apologize, if you had been born today, you would have kept your paw and your bum! Why, if I could give you a hug for all you have been through, I would. You poor thing, being married to such an abusive monster!”

Another male cadet nodded. “Aye, I heard he was forced into the marriage too, at the point of a blade. Slavery, in my book. The poor tortured todd!”

“A right hero he was, in my book, kept the cake tradition alive when that crazy old Emperor outlawed them. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have had my birthdays for years! He should've been an awarded a medal by the MinoNice, aye, I would've given him one. A badge of honor!” Another exclaimed.

Soren thought carefully. It could legitimately be a ghost, but, it could actually be him. He did not know of any laws under the current Empress that Jeshal, if he were alive, had actually broken, other than perhaps an unlicensed street performance if he were indeed alive and this was some kind of act. On the other paw, entry posters had been given out from that Ryalor Duke that they were to be “invited” to his castle, if they were to show up, which, he had always felt strange, thinking about it, if they had died. He had thought it maybe an administrative quirk, but that the Duke of Westisle know more? That Jeshal’s spirit would one day return?

Holding both paws up peacefully, and giving him a slight bow, he gave the “spirit” a nod.

“Oh spirit of the “Ironclaw”, may I ask that you sheathe your cutlass, and that I may approach you? I just need to confirm one thing, and, perhaps talk a little more in private about the grievances that brought you back to this world.”
 
The lantern beam stopped dead in his face. Ruffano blinked theatrically at the blinding intrusion.

His ears twitched, his shoulders rolled back, and he pursed his lips. When he finally did open his mouth, there was no more pleading.

“Ruffano Quickwhistle,” he said flatly. “Disgraced entrepreneur of the stage arts.”

That was all.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t fold. He’d sung for bureaucrats, and kissed the polished boots of “order” long enough to know a predator when he saw one in uniform. Fogeys swung truncheons like they swung judgments...clumsy, loud, and without reason most of the time.

But it wasn’t just the questioning that held his attention.

No, it was how they addressed the red demon. They called that towering, hugging storm-cloud of chaos ma’am?

She was a citizen?

He barely stifled the snort.

And then came the name.

Jeshal the Ironclaw.

Oh, now he remembered. The cards, the stories, the woodcut of the broad-shouldered ghost standing over a deck of shattered planks and broken chains. A rebel and a legend, dead or not.

Ruffano’s tail gave a twitch. He should’ve had that drink. Instead, he stood there, arms now crossed, eyes narrowed. Wondering what in the name of curtain calls he’d stumbled into.
 
Pomodu's face turned to confusion at the request, and at the return of her gilder. "Okay," she confirmed, stepping back a bit, closer to Ruffano. She listened with first rapt attention, then confusion to the stories being traded about Jeshal the Ironclaw. By the end, she looked visibly upset, tears of frustration starting to build in her eyes. "No no," she protested, "Metalu Ahmu Jesahalu a'n'de Poisone Foxe Tanuya dey ah lovahsu! Dey ri'se i'n fire to be i'moh'talusu togedeh! I'su beautifuh sutori!" As if to make her point, she reached into her bag and pulled out a large leather-bound volume, flipping through the pages until she reached an expertly done and apparently commissioned woodblock print of a todd and vixen, both dressed in sweeping, saintly robes, glowing in a shared fire as they ascended into the sky, rising above a city filled with buildings of a style never constructed in the history of Bully Harbor. The sappy and adoring expression shared between the pair was, somehow, the most disturbing part of the entire piece.
 
The crooked grin that Jeshal was enjoying tormenting the Fogeys with fizzled away to a moue of confusion at the young cadet’s creative recounting of his past. Me bum indeed! There was a tight feeling in his chest where brief insult turned fast to hilarity and he had to force the most ghostly snort he could manage in an effort not to howl laughing. Tanya the abuser! He was going to be teasing her about this for months if she wasn’t going to get arrested for it.

Oh, and to be a hero of cake! Evidently with the new Empress and what with him apparently being dead, the truth had been revealed.

As he was making the decision on what to do next, he caught wind of Pomodu’s tearful explanation and his gaze fell upon the depiction of himself and his wife.

It was too much. The withheld mirth unleashed.

“Ahaha-ahaHAHAHAHA!” Jeshal wheezed and sheathed his sword if only so he could slap a thigh and paw at his eyes, dislodging a huge chunk of his white makeup to reveal the grey-flecked copper fur beneath. “Oh, forgive me, me ol’ muckers, the lot of ye,” he said in a much less ghastly voice. “Aye, ‘tis I, the old Ironclaw. Yanking all your chains. Well done, Fogeys, admirable response to a potential threat to the Imperium, says I.” He kept on dusting off the white powder as he spoke. “The lady here be tellin’ the truth, though. Aside from me not being dead, my wife treats me very well. Though I regret I won’t be showing ye the direct evidence, me backside’s very much intact.”
 
“Sir, should we confirm that the backside of the Ironclaw is intact? His wife could still be liable and victims of this type of crime often lie to-” one of his earnest cadets started.

“No we will not cadet!” Soren barked to the younger ferret “Even if it were true what was said, and even if the eminent and honorable Ironclaw were to lie which is not known to be in his character*, the statute of limitations has long since passed! The status of his venerable backside is no longer a concern of the state!”

He offered an apologetic bow to the older, venerable todd before him, before straightening and continuing.

“It is an honor to meet you, most esteemed Ironclaw. They have been many stories about you. It seems that there has been a misunderstanding between what you intended and what the local public has perceived. There were reports of some kind of sword duel, a demon, and a ghost, but clearly, that was simply intended to enhance the cultural appeal of the Docks, to which you were evidently performing a great service.”

Nodding as he pointed to Ruffano, whose conversation he had overheard, he continued.

“I assume this was your dueling partner from earlier? Note that both you and he have technically committed the crime of an unlicensed street performance, but I shall find you personally not liable, after all, due to that your status and that it appears you have just made a recent return to the Imperium, and could not possibly have known of the changes in the law. Your companion over there, however…”

He pointed to the other, much younger fox, kept from running away by another cadet.

“Should have well known and informed you, being as he admitted being an ‘entrepreneur of the stages arts’ and will be getting a fine of 75 gilders**, to be payable immediately, or else he shall be taken into custody until such time as he can either pay it or work such off. Unless anyone here is willing to pay the fine for him.”

Finally, he turned to address Pomodu, carrying the a woodblock apparently depicting the "official" narrative of Jeshal and Tanya’s romance, likely influenced by the Ryalorian Duke as a way to portray Jeshal and Tanya as heroic characters, given that they were related to him.

“Indeed, Ms. Pomodu, it seems I will have to educate my cadets here about the true nature of the honorable Jeshal and Tanya. They are great heroes of the Imperium to be given all respect and deference, their romance being one all beasts in the Imperium should hope to emulate."

*As far as most younger beasts knew after decades of time and propaganda.
**Equivalent, in this poster’s understanding, to be roughly $375.
 
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Pomodu looked a bit confused at the official response; there were a number of words in the explanation that went over her head, but she did know 'gilders'. "I ha've di giludurusu!" she trilled, clearly thrilled to be of use. She pulled off her backpack and opened it, a thick jingle of coins sounding. "Seven'ty fi've?" she asked for confirmation. She reached in and, walking over to Soren, pulled out a pawful of hundred-gilder coins, beginning to put them into his paw. "O'ne... two... taree... fouh..." She counted them off as she placed them in his paw, clearly intent on placing seventy five of the large golden coins in his paw.
 
Ruffano recoiled like he’d been slapped with a fish.

“Seventy-five gilders!?” he spluttered, fur bristling in offense. “For what, breathing theatrically in the wrong postcode? I wasn’t performing. I don’t perform on cobblestone!”

He jabbed a paw toward the dirty paving stones beneath him with utter disdain.

“You think I’d debut on a street corner, without a spotlight, curtain, or even a mezzanine? Please!”

But it was too late. The Fogey wasn’t listening, but Pomodu was moving.

One gold coin clinked into her paw. Then two. Then more.

Ruffano’s eyes widened as she raised the glinting heap of gilders like it was a casual tip.

“WAIT!” he yelped, scrambling forward. “That’s enough! One coin! One generous, absurdly kind coin is more than these uniformed barnacles deserve!”

He spun, pointing a claw at the officers and then sharply to the coins.

“She’s covering my fine, not buying your district a second headquarters!”

Then, with a theatrical sigh, his voice softened just a touch:

“Leave me a bit for a nip of rum or a flagon of ale once this idiocy concludes, would you?”
 
Being held in high esteem as well as forgiven for his ‘lack of knowledge’ was a relief, even if Jeshal’s easy grin did not reveal it. He had to feign brushing more makeup from his nose to stifle laughter at the younger todd getting blamed.

It wasn’t from the kindness of his heart that he chose to step in where Pomodu was concerned. At this rate, she’d be out of coin like an overeager gambler, and that wouldn’t do for any ongoing swindling at all.

“Not to worry, mateys. With me being such a fearsome sight, I’m sure the lad forgot himself in the moment.” He plucked the fourth coin back out of Soren’s paw. “Three of these should suffice for the trouble of your time, especially if I take full responsibility for the performance.” His gaze bored intensely into Soren’s, as if to say ye know very well how much these are worth and this is all I be letting ye accidentally swindle, just in case Soren had the morality he expected of the average Fogey.

Jeshal toyed with the coin, passing it between his digits with only a slight disruption of flow from lack of practice.

“Thanks be to our kind patron here, let’s all have a round at the Bilge, aye? Unless there be somewhere you gen’lebeasts would have me introduce meself more formally? I believe Tanya’s on her own mission.”
 
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