Open The Bilge In The Bucket Little Rascallos

Character Biography
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She strut down the street with a swagger in her step and song in her throat. It whistled out between a twisted tongue and crooked teeth, lips pursed tight to push the air out just so. Heads turned as she passed, eyes wide. Some beasts retreated. Some craned in for a better look.

Curie Rascallo, her head covered in a broom-like mop of bright green fuzz, basked in it. The dye hadn't washed off her paws, and she'd tried to wipe it off on her tail before remembering her tail was not a towel. She radiated with buzzing energy, hopping, skipping, occasionally waving at passerby and helpfully explaining she was not diseased, nor contagious. Although she hoped her joy was.

It had been months since she'd seen her sister, and now almost weeks since she'd seen her other sisters, and that was the most she had ever been away from them. Today, that changed. She'd arrived in Bully Harbour, she'd gotten her papers sorted out, she had her map in paw, her belongings in a rucksack over her shoulder, and her mission was to find the beast who, of all the beasts in Bully Harbour, was most likely in the top 0.05% of beasts who didn't wish to ever be found and perceived.

She was gonna perceive the heck outta Cryle when she found her.

There would be hugs. There had to be. She wouldn't tolerate any of Cryle's flinching away, not this time.

Curie arrived at the Bilge in the Bucket, the eponymous tavern, the Big BB, where legends were born, raised, and murdered in wacky high-jinks-filled bar fights. A Bully Harbour legend, that's what she was going to be. Curie and Cryle together, the dream team! Part of the dream team, anyway! Of course, they'd need Kylrie at some point...

The doors swung open. She stepped through the threshold, mismatched boots thudding on the plank floor, and imagined the shadows were just right so that nobeast could see her face, just her silhouette. Unfortunately, the tavern was quite well lit. She gently closed the door behind her and tried not to apologize for interrupting a card game near the entrance.

And then swaggered up to the bar, drawing herself up to her full height, tail stiff and straight behind her. She tried on a mysterious, brooding expression, and leaned one elbow on the bar, leaned back against it, and turned her head over her shoulder to the barkeep. A guttural, growling tone would do, she decided. Something to make sure that everybeast knew she meant business.

"I'm looking for thomebeatht," she said, squeakily. "A criminal. A ne'er-do-well. A proper villain, aye. Goeth by the name Rathcallo. Cryle Rathcallo. Heard of her? Bet you have. The Shadow of Magh. The Thcourge of Polithe Cuthtody. She'th never been caught. I aim to catch her."

She tilted her chin up, defiantly, and gave a huff and a derisive sniff at the thought of this particular rat ever evading her.

"Nameth Curie," she continued, unfazed by anybeast's reaction thus far. "Bounty Hunter."

She patted her stomach and gave a commanding belch, which came out as a small hiccup.

"Do you have any drinkth with appleth in them? I'm in the mood for thomething thpithy. Maybe even..." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she pushed her glasses up her long snout, conspiratorially. "Alcoholic."
 
"Forests above, Mister Lasichin!"

"I prefer being called Herman honestly. Hmm, let me see what I have here..."

The weasel looked carefully at the cards in front of him. Four of gilders, five of daggers, six of daggers, and a six of hearts, with a five of gilders turned up some distance away. Herman came often to the bilge in the bucket, but only entered it once or twice. He could always find his way there from wherever he was in Bully Harbor. From then on he learned how to get to other parts of the city from the bilge, and thus his city navigation somewhat improved. This time he was drawn to stay by a promise of a good round of naughty kits, and the round didn't disappoint. It was shaping up to be a close game with the older fox he was sitting against, who hawkishly watched his every move and was ready to pounce at every counting mistake he might make. But the second lap ended with a leap for the mustelid, he just needed to count the cards carefully and the game was his.

He and his opponent were momentarily distracted by the entrance of the joyful rat.
"What you figure, my beast Herman? A be or a wannabe?"

"A quadrupal run of 3 makes 12, 2 pairs make 16, and 8 counts of fifteen makes 24"

herman picked up his peg to move it along the board, but the fox just pulled out a gilder and slid it over to Herman.

"Mister Craftpaws, we agreed not to play for stakes..."

"I prefer to be called Ferion, and don't mention it. That gilder will serve you more than it will serve me, since youth and fortune are on your side".

"Please don't be so defeatist Ferion, your days aren't over yet"

"Oh my good days are well behind me, now it's all work, bilge and sleep until...until...oh you know, whatever ends up going on when we fall down and never get up."

Herman nodded but his ears were listening to something else. A low voice towards the counter, whispering words that sounded familiar. "Goeth by the name Rathcallo, Cryle Rathcallo".

"I can tell you're about half way to the evergreen forests by that grin of yours, Mister Herman. Sorry to leave you so early, I have my own naughty kits to take care of. But like clockwork you can find me here at the same time, we must play again"

"Until next time, Ferion"

herman stood up and made his way over to that joy-radiating rodent. He looked her over, wondering if she really looked like his colleague or if all rats looked the same to him. Either way, it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"Excuse me, did you say something about Cryle Rascallo?"
 
"Yeth. Yeth, I did."

Curie had watched the weasel slink over, watched him watching her. She straightened her shoulders, coiled her tail, jutted a leg out in a way that she thought might make her look like she was ready for action, if action dared to be ready for her. All while trying to play it cool, suave, relaxed, sophisticated. Unhurried, unbothered, in control.

"She'th a thcoundrel and a thcallywag, and I aim to bring her to juthtithe. I'm a Bounty Hunter," she added, crisply pronouncing each word in a way that would have made her sister proud. "And if that rogue ith in prithon already, I'll jutht have to break her out to fathe the proper authoritieth!"

She flexed her arm, her lime-green paw clenched into a fist, and smirked as she tried to kiss her bicep and only succeeded in wiping her face on her sleeve.

"I athume you've ran into her by your interetht. Tell me, how hath the villain maligned you? I will thee to it reparathionth are made."

The bartender grunted and nudged a drink over towards her. A drink as green as her headfur sparkled inside the glass.

"Your appletini, marm."

"Why thank you good thir! How much doeth thith cotht again? I've got thome gilderth here, hold on..."

She began digging in her rucksack, one ear quirked towards Herman, the other towards the bar.
 
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