Open Zann's Alley/Backyard Follow the Bums

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

A white shaft of streetlight filtered through a narrow window and onto a wall with flaking blue paint, just above an unmade bed. Muddy boots and a worn blue coat sat on the floor bedside, along with a half-empty bottle of Cap'n Dreadmain Rum.
Upon a small, roughly-carved Rustic desk with a matching chair, a candlestick, a matchbox, three sticks of charcoal, some papers, and what looked to be a journal bound in plantleather lay upon it.
Above the bed, a charcoal portrait in a Rustic wooden frame hung, depicting a heavy monitor lizard with an upturned nose and a top hat, alongside a squirrel with tufted ears and a visible scar under her eye. They posed together in the vein of a respectable married couple, the monitor standing and leaning against the chair the squirrel sat upon, the squirrel's paws folded in her lap and her big brushy tail fluffed. The monitor was dressed in a tatty suit and clutching a pipe while the squirrel was in a dress, a small smile playing on her lips.
On the chest of the blue jacket on the floor were stitched "Move-A-Lot Corporation" and beneath it, "P. Skelling."
The papers on the desk were all various charcoal pieces, some of the monitor lizard staring solemnly at the viewer, dressed in various worn suits and dress shirts, others of the squirrel, assumably, one Piper R. Skelling. The pictures of the monitor seemed like moody self-portraits, the artist staring into her own dark eyes and firm features, while the pictures of Piper were much more affectionate, her tail curled and ears at fine points, her fur neat with just a bit of charming scruff, her paws slender and gentle and the light in her eyes and in the brightness of her smile positively dancing.
While the sketches were likely Mayday's, the journal bore Piper's name emblazoned across its green cover- Piper Rasia Skelling.
Within it was a collection of her day to day life- her feelings as a stranger to the ways of Bully Harbor and her struggles as a woodlander, her slowburn romance with Mayday and her joys and trials of loving someone outside her species as well as someone of her own gender; her lousy, exhausting work as a dockworker for Move-A-Lot Shipyards, and her struggles dealing with her younger brother, Alpine, helplessly addicted to the party and often sharing poor company. She mentions wanting to crush her supervisor, a rat named Grainier W. Woodlaus, under a rack of canons, and making a habit of drinking and having pierogies after work at the Breadbasket, a diner in the Trenches, with a mouse named Peldrow P. Gamin. Her latest entry was brief and puzzled, reading merely: Thee untinkabl has ocured. An answer to Lyfe's problems? We shal see. I fere thee worst, & hope for thee best. Will updayt soone, if I can. Thanks diary.
It was dated Soggus 23rd. The day after was her first of three missed days at work that led to the missing persons case being filed.
A voice came then, from behind the weasel, cold and hard with a characteristic reptilian hiss and an added lisp atop it.
"Sstho... they ssthent you ssthniffing, just like she ssthaid they would. Good thing for that ssthtupid door... you're a quiet one."
The large monitor lizard was dressed in beaten blue top hat, a white apron adorned with stitched flower images, a pink shirt and gray britches, and bore a cat-o-nine in one of her big scaly hands. Her flat eyes were narrowed hatefully, and the floorboards creaked when she moved.

~ ~ ~

The ferret's grin only broadened in its size and delight at the vixen's suggestion. "Well, now that you mention it..." she said coyly. "I certainly wouldn't mind a certain Fogey captain getting caught with something valuable. Heh." she leaned back in her chair, poured another shot for herself and swirled it in her glass. "My detectives are all two-bit thugs looking for an easier living, whack Fogeys booted from the force, and ghosts like the one who just walked out past you while you were coming in. They've about as few morals as anybeast else here in this bloated fish carcass of an empire. They'll do what I sez, especially if Satira's pals are framin' their old enemies. Which, speakin' of-" The detective tipped her hat up above her brow and leaned in slightly then, eyes shining in the joy of conspiracy and lips pursed in pleasure. "Anything a fine woman like yous needs doin', Miss Furotazzi?"

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Bezine considered the portrait at length, unable to keep herself from smiling a bit ruefully. She'd been paranoid for so many years, refusing Eirene's repeated entreaties for them to have a family portrait painted, even just a small one. Anything that could suggest the true nature of their relationship, in Bezine's eyes, created the risk of being outed and persecuted once more. Now she found herself regretting that decision as she poured over the various sketches around the room and on the desk, the art done with a heavy but talented hand. The love for Piper shone through in every stroke, and, as Bezine moved on to the diary, she found emotion to match poured out in written form as well. She didn't know how long she stood there reading it, pouring over each page not just for clues to the squirrel's whereabouts, but to better understand and share in the emotional highs and lows of Piper's journey. By the end, there were tears lining her eyes, and as she closed the book, she hesitated, torn between taking it with her to protect the sanctity of the words, or leaving it in case Mayday should return.

The choice was made for her when the reptilian voice hissed behind her. Bezine started, turning to see the monitor had gotten the jump on her, sneaking in just as quietly - no, more so, given the door - as Bezine had. The weasel's eyes widened as she caught sight of the cat-o-nine in the monitor's claws. A weapon like that could do serious damage, and the reach of it, while not ideal for close quarters like these, would make dodging or parrying with her dagger quite difficult. Bezine decided to try a different approach.

"Mayday," she said softly, putting her paws out to her side to try to seem less a threat. "I am 'ere just for to 'elp. Piper's employers, they worried when zey non see 'er, so zey 'ire a detective. I only come to see she is safe. Please," she implored. "I am just 'ere to 'elp, zen go 'ome to my wife." She hoped the admission that they shared a secret would buy her a little bit of goodwill. She'd been 'roommates' with Eirene for thirty years, and had spent most of that alone, afraid to confess to anyone else their secret. Having any kind of community would have alleviated some of that fear.

~ ~ ~

Marianna considered the offer carefully. Telling too much too soon might undermine their relationship, especially once Detective Lafley realized the full scope of Marianna's ambition, but... "There is one thing," she allowed. "Among my near-term targets is an especially valuable diamond-studded choker - the Vermillion Choker, it is called, said to have been commissioned for one of the Vermillion Nobles. The combined weight of the diamonds is said to be nearly fifty karats, and is valued at almost seventy thousand gilders. Recently this piece was inherited by Carmine Vermillion, the current heiress of the family, and is likely housed someplace within her mansion in the Insanely Rich Area. My efforts to find a route into the mansion have thus far been stymied. What I really could use are the architectural plans filed with the Ministry of Niceties, but, well, a Furotazzi asking for those plans would rouse some suspicion. I thought that you might have some alternative approaches in order to acquire this valuable information."

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

The monitor's ridged brow furrowed, and her grip on the cat-o-nine slackened slightly. "Wife?" She repeated.
The big lizard tarried there awhile in the doorway, uncertainty on her features and in the drape of her long tail.
Finally, after what felt perhaps like an eternity, she knelt to heave the door back up and slip it back into its hinges, blocking out the crooked city streets.
She heaved a heavy, rattling sigh, lit the lantern, and dropped down onto the old ciuch. The sitting room was messy, with chipped and fractured walls, bottles and trash crammed into the corners and a pan with old, blackened fish sitting picked at and unwanted on the small woodstove. "What do you know?" Mayday gruzzled.
The monitor rooted around until she found a half-empty bottle of 108th Brand Vodka and uncorked it, taking a swig.
She prodded a finger at Bezine then.
"You're lucky I've got a ssthoft spot for foolssth like us, missth detective, or you'd be a fresh coat of paint on the wall for breaking into my home. Ssthit."
She pointed to the weathered armchair. "And tell me everything you know about my missthing wife."

~ ~ ~

"Huh. A burglary job, eh?" Nycaria tapped her chin, looking thoughtful. "One of my newer hires used to run security at the Ministry of Commerce, a marten by th' name of Danzael A. Hewing. If he could convince Niceties to let him in to inspect their hallowed halls for weaknesses in security..."
She shrugged, smiling. "Especially given that bombing scare recently with that mad postmaster, and the various political troubles... Hell, I bet he could get those plans. I could have them in your elegant paws by week's end."