Private The Trenches Hiraeth

[Callisto Bluemoon]

“Hmmmm, no, I don’t think this will fit after all.”
“The building or the area?”
“Building. Trenches seem as good a place as any, but we’re far too residential. Need easier access. We’ll only get complaints, you know how it is.”

Dutifully the little stoat Fearne scribbled down further notes as she trotted after Callisto, trying to keep pace with the new Minister of Commerce as he strode away from the sprawling building they had been inspecting. Since his return to Bully Harbour the wolverine had wasted little time with his schemes, mysterious as his intent still seemed to his aide. At the very least she knew this was the beast’s way of getting to better know the city now he was to live here, but it was no private residence he was searching for. He was planning something.

Still, she supposed he would tell all eventually: for now she resigned to push up her glasses and follow on with the day. Callisto checked his own pace to better accommodate the other mustelid, eyes roving over the imposing multi-level structures of the Trenches. Three times he’d stared at maps (twice getting lost prior to his meeting with Fearne, a detail he had elected to omit) attempting to pinpoint the most likely areas for larger structures to suit his plans. They had strayed severely off course with their latest option: cutting through towards the Portside would have to be their next move.

They weren’t to get very far. No sooner had the pair turned down another street, both paused momentarily at the sight which lay before them. “Is that a carriage?” Fearne blurted, “you don’t see those often. Must be around the rich.”
“Hm.” His nose twitched, scanning the transport and those tasked to pull it. On delay he realised Fearne was waiting for further instruction. “No, we don’t want a road like this.” Scribble scribble. “Fancy that, though, a big lump like that. These are the sorts Commerce makes plenty from: idiots too rich and too idle to do something like walk. Soft paws mean a loose grip on gilders. All you have to do is convince them they’re too good for what everybeast else is doing. They’re all the same, beasts like-…”

Words tailed off. It was a miracle they did not dissolve into a snarl. He had seen at least one of the beasts stepping onto the street, couldn’t fail to recognise the fur pattern. This has to be a joke. Can’t I have one damned success without him breathing down my neck?! He hesitated for a moment; remembered his aide and elected to seize the initiative whilst still possessed of it. “I think I’d better have a word with these ones, actually.”
“Sir?”
“Just a private business opportunity. We’ve been at this for some time, so why don’t you take a break?” He patted her carefully on the shoulder, smiling indulgently. “I’ll meet you at the docks.”

Fearne had several questions but suspected that she would receive no answers. Bobbing her head, inwardly grateful to put her paws up and have a breather from Callisto’s breakneck pace, the jill skittered off before he could change his mind.

Not that he would. Callisto turned his attention back on the carriage and increased his stride to catch up. “Aha!” He clapped his paws together, muzzle split in a grin which did not reach the spite still shining in amber eyes. “I thought I recognised that tail. It’s been too long, Nicolas!”

@Nicolas of Iron Pit @Irene Stickypaws

 

[Nicolas of Iron Pit]

Travelling to Bouillabaisse Harbour from Iron Pit over the last week was a kind respite for Nicolas from the usual chaos of his household. While he missed his kittens, leaving them at times with their tutors and nannies, giving them free paw to experiment and enjoy some freedom was ultimately a good thing for their psyche, but also for the Nicolas himself. He did after all spent a lot of time raising all four, working his best to provide them most optimal futures, be it by nurturing their growth in preferred fields, or working on polishing their less fortunate traits. Especially as his wife didn't put quarter of the effort into raising them, even if it was her idea to have them in the first place.

While a crew of eight strong beasts managed the carriage and luggage, (all of them being from militant wing of Ministry of Innovation to provide two of the most enlightened members of the Committee security) Nicolas sat in front of Irene, crunching the numbers on his most recent attempt to standardise the way elements were defined. He had an idea for a table of sorts, but he was yet to find an appropriate way to put the fifty-one known elements into it in a sensible way that would operate on scientific basis rather than preference.

For a greater part of the travel, he didn't share a word with Irene, they simply didn't have to. In public they played into their roles of model married pair perfectly. In private? Other than discussing things concerning ministry, science or future plans, the two had great respect for one another yet no love at all. Nicolas long ago had learnt that idle chatter with Irene was pointless, not that he liked it either.

There was however a reason to come to the Harbour together. They were visiting Irene's townhouse that could be found here, deciding if it would be appropriate place to move to. Something that might've been necessary now that after years of plotting, the word was that the Empress would finally give the title of the Minister to Nicolas, returning the control over the ministry from Duke Talinn Ryalor. Something that entire Committee was very satisfied with after series of unpopular, political decisions the Duke made.

But as he felt that the carriage had stopped, after a moment he closed the massive encyclopaedia of chemistry and elements he was writing in. It was just a copy and he wrote the whole thing himself after all so using it as a notebook was anything but efficient. That was when he stretched his tail and muscles and spoke to Irene for the first time since the morning breakfast they have shared at the hotel before reaching the city. "Irene, I believe we are at the address you gave. It is now your time to lead the way." He then put on the jacket of his suit and looked towards the small doors of the carriage.

Leaving through them wasn't easy for a massive wildcat, especially with a tail that was almost his size. Nevertheless, when he placed his hind paws on the cobbles and offered his paw to Irene to keep with his role, he looked around and noticed an issue. Based on the map he studied earlier, the townhouse should be close to the Ministry of Innovation. Instead, right now they were close to the sea. Yet before he could comment on it. A voice came that instantly caused Nicolas to turn his head around to the point of almost snapping his own neck.

"Callisto." The wildcat spoke, helping Irene out of the carriage and then finally turning his front to the wolverine. "I did not expect to see you." ever again. He added in his mind, keeping furrowed and stern expression, hiding his dismay. Deciding to be polite but ruthless he put his tail over Irene (something he never did) and moved his paw between the two. "Irene, this is Callisto, my former associate. Callisto, this is Irene, my wife."

 

[Irene Stickypaws]

Married life, to Irene, was one of those necessary inconveniences that life and high society foisted upon her. Much like eating, breathing, and sleeping, the constraints of cohabiting with Nicolas were an annoyance that enabled her survival, ones that she had not yet determined how to mitigate. Unlike these biological constraints, Nicolas, at least, could by and large be ignored and for the most part seemed to be content with it. She knew very well that for him, she was a necessary inconvenience as well. She'd considered a few times whether slipping a few of his rarer chemicals into his tea might make for a more tolerable situation, but she dismissed it as an unnecessary risk disproportionate to any potential reward. Besides, he at least was good at managing their offspring whenever Irene was too preoccupied to consider their existence, which, these days, was most of the time.

As they arrived, Irene closed her notebook and set it aside. Her life of espionage had instilled in her the habit of enciphering all of her work, a trick that proved just as useful in the scientific community as in the political sphere that existed alongside it. She couldn't help a small sigh of mild annoyance as her husband and his tail blocked the door. The thing was vanity, really; the minutes and hours he spent having it primped and groomed seemed like such a waste to her. Intellectually, she could accept that such displays were necessary to sway the minds of lesser beasts so they could maintain their influence and funding, but still, it was an inefficiency that could easily be removed, if only such feeble minds were similarly displaced. She clenched her paw around her pencil, allowing herself three seconds in which to fantasize about what such a world, liberated from the debilitating influence of stupidity, would look like. Then the time elapsed and she rose from her seat to follow her husband.

The debilitating influence of stupidity made itself known as Irene exited the carriage and looked around. Her nostrils flared, annoyance rising. This was 764 Brownstone Way, not 754 Brownstone Way. She looked down the road a stretch farther, counting the doors to where her townhouse stood, unassuming in its row of homes. She'd just opened her mouth to castigate the porters when another voice spoke.

The fur on Irene's neck rose, and she turned to glare at the interloper in their affairs. Callisto. She'd heard enough mutterings from her husband in the depths of the night to suspect what the beasts had meant to each other once. That, in full honesty, she held absolutely no ill will regarding at all. In truth, if companionship was necessary, achieving such without the possibility of unwanted offspring seemed an ideal arrangement to her mind. She'd even debated whether it would be more efficient, in her idealized society, to strictly forbid romantic interaction between the sexes except where regulated by the government for sanctioned acts of procreation. No, what irked her was the emotion she could hear in her husband's voice, the trepidation and stiffness of his voice. His tail draping over her shoulders was another annoyance that only served to confirm how ill-at-ease he was; he never did that except when he was panicking. A panicking beast was not a rational beast, and Irene loathed her husband when he became irrational.

She managed to school her expression into a shallow mask of polite affability, mimicking the porcelain masks her tutors had used, in conjunction with a mirror, to teach her to mimic certain displays of emotion. She offered her paw, wrist hanging limp like a marionette's tugged up by a string. "Charmed to make your acquaintance, Minister Bluemoon," she addressed her husband's new contemporary, her tone modulated with the rises and falls that provided a shallow facsimile of congeniality. "We did not expect to see you in the neighborhood, certainly not at such a distance from your offices." She'd rather hoped they could avoid having to mingle with the other ministries at all. Save for in Misanthropy, there was no one she remotely considered worth talking to, and even her old mentor and handler was beneath her notice and prowess now. What exactly Nicolas had ever seen in Callisto to instill this level of infatuation, she could not begin to say.

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

Associate. Callisto was of half a mind to make commentary on the cat’s choice of words, but this new introduction had thrown him for a loop. So, the miserable sod had married, had he? Time was always likely to change a beast but upon meeting Irene he rather suspected there was more than mere romance at play. Still, she seemed a match enough. Funny, really: for all his focus on the sciences Nicolas was never shy of a good deal.

Two on one were unfavourable odds, but he’d always been a confident speaker. Electing to ignore the affectionate gesture the wildcat was giving his wife, Callisto first took Nicolas’ paw, grip like iron, and smiled into his face as he shook it. “Aaah you know me, old boy: never one to be predictable, that’s how you get caught. Have you not heard?”

Turning his attention upon Irene without waiting for response, the wolverine took her offered paw with gentler pressure, rough pads dwarfing her daintier ones. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, tone light. “I must say you look rather handsome, madame. I suppose Nicolas still has a penchant for the younger beast? Anyway, you are quite correct that this is quite a way from Commerce.” He couldn’t be more pleased with the fact. “I think it most important a beast gets to know the city they’re working in as much as possible: there’s plenty of industry in the Trenches after all. Knowledge is power, wouldn’t you say?”

His gaze turned upon the well-kept frontages, nose wrinkling as though somewhat concerned. “You aren’t here because of housing, are you?”

 

[Nicolas of Iron Pit]

Nicolas knew Irene well enough to know she was anything but pleased by both his gesture and the situation. She was however polite enough that he had not have to give her a signal that she was overstepping, something he found himself doing more and more these days. In fact he was glad their agreement gave him power to temper her ideas and act, definitely she would be very dangerous otherwise... but so was she under his protection.

Nonetheless, Callisto was someone who occupied his mind far more as of now, even if Nicolas hated it consciously. He however indeed knew this wolverine well. More than he willed to admit. And could tell that he was not showing the whole picture, while also trying to switch the topic. Alas, as in the past, Nicolas well knew how to get around it... and the situation was calling for it. Especially at the fact Callisto was now a minister, while Nicolas's status was yet to be publicly revealed. It gave some ample opportunity to not make the discussion weird yet. Taking his tail back, slowly swaying it around as he would, Nicolas stood there with both paws behind him, observing the area around meticulously.

"I do, Irene is however merely two years younger than I am. She undoubtedly has impeccable bloodline. Either way, I still am surprised to find you here, I would've expected you at the factories beyond Zann's Backyard perimeters and industries within it to be more of an interest to you than small, artisanal industries at the docklands... however yes, I suppose that is where your unpredictable nature comes in." He spoke with measured interest, showing no genuine surprise and hiding his attempt at pettiness.

"And to answer you, Irene owns a tenement around here. We typically live at my estate in Iron Pit. But Bouillabaisse Harbour is definitely a place that needs to be visited often..."

 

[Irene Stickypaws]

Irene liked very few beasts, and even that statement could only be made by clarifying that 'liked', to her, meant that she did not fantasize about their elimination.

Irene knew within seconds that she did not like Callisto.

As he dropped her paw, making backhanded comments about the neighborhood and choice of locale, she bristled, the prickling of needles under her skin as the fur on her neck and tail stood on edge. She had never been good at the exchanges of wit, the slippery manipulation of words like grease with grit in the mixture, a lubricant designed to irritate and grind down all it touched. Nicolas knew her signs, and she'd often relied on him to signal her, to reel her in when she went too far and overstepped the bounds of propriety. She hadn't gone that far, at least, not yet.

"City living provides an opportunity for change," she noted. "Are you familiar with the philosophy of minimalism? By utilizing only what is strictly necessary, furnishing sparsely and with an eye toward raw utility, one can shed distractions and focus concretely on one's goals. You might try it, perhaps."

Of course, it was a lie. Irene was a hoarder by nature; once she had her claws in something, she was loathe to let it go. Even then, what she couldn't keep or use anymore, she felt an overwhelming compulsion to destroy. If I cannot have it, no one can.

She didn't miss the looks between her husband and this interloper in their lives, and her eyes hardened into a challenge. Borrow him as you like, but try to take him from me and I'll leave you holding ashes.

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

“Industry is industry, old boy,” the wolverine shrugged, relaxed smile refusing to budge in the face of the wildcats. It was one of the few defences he felt capable of using, and with the odds stacked against him Callisto wasn’t ashamed to lean into his strengths. “I’d have imagined you of all beasts know the best of anything doesn’t merely come from the loudest. Small-scale artisans charge far more than the factories, after all: better markets.” It should ache, the memories they had shared of that struggle to integrate around those from higher-born statuses; long nights practicing and debating. All he could feel was a stubborn need to protect his own. He’d fought tooth and claw to access this echelon of society and he would not let them make him feel lesser, feel stupid.

Callisto noticed the prickling of Irene’s fur after his backpawed comments; couldn’t resist indulging in the fleeting euphoria of smug victory to think he had provoked a reaction. As her estimation of him seemed to dwindle so did he of hers, laced though it was with a certain curiosity. She seemed, at least within these first seconds, more akin to Nicolas than anything. Oh the horror if there’s two of the wretched things. He had so many questions and none he could ask without serious reprisal.

“Ah, wise words indeed madam,” he replied with a nod, tapping his chin as he surveyed the frontages. “Never was one much for minimalism, myself. One supposes it feels cold and bleak after a Northlands upbringing, but worry not,” long fangs flashed in a grin, “I am very much capable of holding goals and indulgences at the same time.”

 

[Nicolas of Iron Pit]

Letting Callisto to suffer Irene, for all the pain he still held against his former partner and lover, would be too much for Nicolas. He took her deal in part to protect the world from her. So as her eyes hardened, Nicolas moved his paws up to unassumingly fix the wedding ring's position upon his paw. A simple and natural gesture, yet one that was a signal to Irene that she was beginning to acting too harsh. It was one of many measures he had, but one that he could use without raising an eyebrow.

Focusing on Callisto's words however... Nicolas couldn't disagree with him. Not fully. He made a good point, one that the wildcat agreed upon, but it was not a response to what was said. "That may be true if you are looking just at the profits. But you also know how fickle they can be. I cannot however deny that I wouldn't know the best comes from the artisanal work... It simply lacks the stability the more modern approaches offer. Nevertheless, speaking of minimalistic goals, perchance you would know of the prices for rent in the southern district of Imperial Condos?" The question seemed neutral, but Nicolas had a specific reason for it. He wished and contemplated renting a mansion in The Insanely Rich Area. But now that he knew Callisto was here? He wouldn't stand living near the Ministry of Commerce headquarters. Fortunately he minded not staying in a place that was of lower standards, he just wanted to have alternatives at bay to Irene's place, in case of emergencies.

 

[Irene Stickypaws]

Irene raised an eyebrow at Callisto's cheeky response, contemplating how she might indulge herself in rendering his body down to its base elements. She halted as she caught one of Nicolas's tiny rebukes in the corner of her eye, forcing her rancor to settle. For all that she quietly resented his minding sometimes, he did understand the unwritten rules of socialization better than she ever would, and his influence had succeeded in reeling her back from some truly egregious faux pas at times.

She tried to school her face, with limited success, as Nicolas discussed the rental prices for the condos a little closer to work. Irene had certainly given thought to moving to that district; in truth, the home she kept in the financial district of the Trenches had been a purchase in her early post-Misanthropy days, when she'd needed someplace reasonable enough in price but still tolerable for the society she existed in. Fortunately the neighborhood had done very well for itself since. She wondered if she could persuade Nicolas, on purchasing a condo, to let her stay in her own residence. Certainly there were some benefits to cohabitation, and she bore with it well enough when they were at his family estate, but in town he always seemed an intruder in her sanctum, for which she was sure her resentment was obvious.

Her eyes traveled to the Minister of Commerce, trying to weigh the beast's capabilities. With her husband's impending promotion, the pair would be working together closely, and he was admittedly well-positioned to enact a number of changes that Irene would find desirable. If, perhaps, he could be swayed... It only took a few moments of consideration to decide against attempting such. Even if he were ideologically inclined to accept Irene's premises, he was also thoroughly foppish, and such a type could never keep secrets. The loose lips on the Minister of Misanthropy's newest assistant were swiftly becoming a subject of (and a reliable source for) gossip, even reaching to Amarone. As if anyone would be surprised to learn what a lush Dusk is,she reflected disdainfully. Irene was a teetotaler, considering any alcohol consumption to be an act of self-harm against the body - yet another thing she would ban when her plans came to fruition.

"Surely," Irene commented, looking to the Minister of Commerce's assistant pointedly, "the Minister's entourage would have a complete set of all possibly relevant statistics ready for review at any given moment. After all, how embarrassing would it be for the Minister to be caught in a moment of ignorance? Such a slip would get most assistants fired."

So she couldn't go after Callisto directly. Fine; she'd throw those around him into the fire and see how they fared.

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

Rounded ears perked at the first question Nicolas presented, amber eyes glittering with something between delight and fierceness. Whatever the feline’s true reasoning for his question it felt as though a gentle challenge; a probing claw to assess the new Minister of Commerce’s knowledge of the city he was coming to reside in. Callisto at once warmed to the challenge as ever he had done in the past. He had to remind himself to temper such enthusiasm: it would be all too easy to get lost in the fun and forget himself if he became too engrossed.

Irene’s follow-up only served to push him further to prove himself a capable individual in the face of their intelligence. “Assistant, you say?” He twisted his considerable bulk to frown down the street. The end of a dark-tipped white tail vanished around the corner. Cheeky thing: for all her eagerness to leave she’d stuck around long enough to try and gauge the mood. He’d have to remember that about her, it showed promise. “Oh, Fearne?” He waved a heavy paw dismissively. “She’s a good girl, helped me out during my illness in Amerone but she’s young and needs to take more notes than necessary and fears making decisions of her own. Don’t you worry, though, I don’t need all the statistics after snooping about for a place of my own to tell you the price ranges: I spent some time this week deciding where to stay. Found myself a nice property in the city,” delightfully obscure, “and a flat in the Insanely Rich Area.”

Oh. Oh, but an idea came to mind so deliciously cruel and merciless that the wolverine was willing to cut off his nose to spite his face just to see it done. He clapped his paws together with decisive glee. “Tell you what, I’ve a grand idea: why don’t the three of us go have lunch together and discuss it? I’m certain if you find the Trenches….beneath your tastes….there are far better areas more appropriate for you both. It would be my pleasure!”

 

[Nicolas of Iron Pit]

Nicolas side-eyed Irene as inconspicuously as possible, though, the long lashes of his tail showed his annoyance at the matter. While he was all happy for testing Callisto and poking at his pride... Irene didn't know him as well as he did. Her efforts were welcome, for once Nicolas actually felt that both he and his wife worked together towards the same goal. If only she knew that she was falling into Callisto trap... Trying to corner a beast of his grit and drive was very difficult and Nicolas himself knew best it required a good amount of preparation or knowledge. He himself remembered long debates he prepared for that he and Callisto did over the days, concluding them with more shared time on other pleasures afterwards...

Banishing such thoughts from his mind, feeling the pain of loss they've brought, Nicolas took a deep breath and nodded, fixing his spectacles. The act of moving them around was however one that did allow him to hide another glance around, one during which he used the glass to catch a reflection of what Callisto was looking at, catching the end of the tail that just disappeared there. That assured him about one thing. Callisto already was playing a game, Nicolas just had to figure out the rules.

"Very well. I am not picky about my food, but I won't mind a good prawn or few." Callisto was way too giddy about his offer. His look was enough for Nicolas to know that coming to this dinner was going to be difficult. Hence why he followed up by turning towards the beasts that were hauling the carriage he and Irene came by. "You are dismissed. Take the carriage with you and leave it at adequate place. Then you may continue with your business." A message to the Savants that they were to by all means remain by his side. Subtly hidden in semantics. That was how the ministry codes were after all.

Then he looked to Irene and asked her with polite calmness and slight perking of his ears, running his right paw claws through his sizable sideburns. "And you my dear? What would you rather do? Have a dinner with this most charming fellow or return to your sanctuary?"

 

[Irene Stickypaws]

The flicking of Irene's tail confirmed that she absolutely did not want to go to dinner with this minister, but understood enough to know that she couldn't afford to make a scene or refuse the invitation. This was one of The Rules, and The Rules could only be defied at a cost or with a suitably compelling excuse. The best she could conjure was to beg fatigue from the trip, but her husband was displaying none, and she didn't think that excuse would persuade this pushy wolverine to leave her be.

She made a show of shrugging, feigning her indifference. "I could eat," she assessed. "Perhaps you know a good Alkamarian restaurant nearby. I've not had escargot since my stay in Saullac." She tried to sound casual in her quite deliberate mention of the Alkamarian capital city. She had found that her quite passable command of both the Alkamarian and Miklarian languages, plus her lived experience in the country, tended to impress at parties, though mentioning it too much could be seen as gauche. Irene had yet to determine the appropriate ratio by which to limit herself in that regard.