Private The Slups Completed Never Con a Con Artist

[Duchess Dusk Rainblade]

Dusk hesitated. Part of her, the spoiled little rich girl, bristled at the idea of her daughter being 'poor', as if she was such a bad mother as to leave her own flesh and blood in poverty, but...

"It's a very small tavern that she lives in," she admitted. "I won't say where, but... Well, I was able to pay the owners a few thousand gilders to raise her as their own, and they acted like they'd never seen so much money in their life, so yes, I suppose I'd say they're poor. I can't imagine what growing up in a tavern must be like, but I just hope she's happy. She... She'd be eighteen now," she reflected. "'Gates, almost a woman. A full grown vixen I've never known. How do I possibly go from stranger to mother?"

 

[Thistle Brambledew]

Thistle gave a thoughtful hum, eyes half-lidded as he nodded slowly. Then the corners of his mouth curled into a sly little grin, and a twinkle danced in his gaze.

"Well," he said lightly, "everybody loves a windfall."

With a flick of his wrist, a tiny mechanism on the cart’s inner wall gave a sudden pop! A delicate spray of fine gold glitter puffed into the air, catching the prism light as it floated gently downward like enchanted dust. It twinkled, shimmered, and then settled softly across the table and his shoulders like a festive accident.

"You could always swoop in like a fairy godmother and sprinkle her with wealth," he added, dry as dust.

He watched the last of the glitter settle on his sleeve, then gave a quiet chuckle and brushed it away.

"Tempting, I know. But easy paths often cost more than they appear. Bought affection is the most brittle kind. Once spent, it leaves only silence."

The light within the crystal ball deepened, the swirling motion turning slower, heavier. The atmosphere shifted again, not with a click or a mechanism this time, but with a weight in the air, a hush that invited reverence.

Thistle’s paw drifted toward the orb. He did not touch it, but the swirling inside seemed to lean closer, as though it heard her unspoken worry.

"She is the root of the storm, isn't she? The one you wronged most, and the one who doesn't know."

He let the words sit, neither cruel nor pressing.

"Truth withheld becomes poison in time. But truth given gently, in your own voice, without grandeur or disguise... that is a beginning. It will hurt. But a wound named can finally start to heal."

He looked across the table again, the gold flecks still faintly visible in the folds of his robe.

"What would you want her to feel when she hears your name for the first time?"

@Duchess Dusk Rainblade

 

[Duchess Dusk Rainblade]

It was almost disconcerting how prepared this beast was with his practical effects. It almost made Dusk reconsider whether or not he actually was paranatural. Maybe a grade one clairvoyant was correct after all. Worth keeping an eye on, certainly, and maybe utilizing as an asset, but hardly a threat in need of acquisition or neutralization. Frustratingly, his point was actually well made. Dusk's parents, such as they were, had found her as an orphan, swept her up from her impoverished origins to lavish her with wealth and make sure she wanted for nothing... And look at the gratitude you showed them. She winced as she imagined a younger version of herself one day pushing her off a balcony for the inheritance. The terrifying thing was, with at least one of her kits, she could already visualize it happening.

She considered the question carefully. What would she want Mina Rose to feel? Gratitude? Relief? Affection? All of that seemed like a lot to ask. "Understanding," she stated at last. "I... I really just want her to understand why I wasn't there for her, and why I did what I did. I don't want her to feel resentment or abandoned. It's important that she know that, even if I wasn't there for her before, that I'm here for her now. That, no matter what, I'm her mother." She'd hardly been a mother to her other four kits, and persuading them to treat her as one would be difficult enough. She was going to have a long road ahead of her, rebuilding bridges at every crossing.

 

[Thistle Brambledew]

Thistle watched her quietly for a moment, the light of the crystal ball swirling across his fur in slow ribbons of green and violet. His voice, when it came, was soft.

"You named yourself her mother. That matters more than you may know."

He shifted slightly, his paw resting once more beside the glass orb as the brazier’s glow caught within it. The mists inside turned slow and weighty, circling like thoughts unspoken.

"She lives in a tavern, does she not? Somewhere in the Tookumberry Keys?"

The ball flickered faintly at the mention, and Thistle’s gaze lingered in its depths.

"I wonder what that would look like. A duchess, cloaked and quiet, stepping through the doors of some island tavern. The barkeep raising a brow. The floor creaking beneath Imperial boots. The gossip starting before the ale’s gone flat."

His eyes rose to meet hers, unreadable.

"Would you walk through those whispers? Risk what the rabble may say, just to speak your truth to a daughter who does not yet know your name?"

The smoke in the cart thickened slightly, pressing inward, like the room was holding its breath.

"Image is armor. But armor keeps more out than knives. It keeps out touch. And truth. And sometimes... love."

The orb pulsed faintly in the silence between them.

"I cannot show you her heart, but I may show you the shape your shadow might cast, should you enter her world."

He turned his paw, palm upward toward the crystal ball.

"Shall we ask the mists what they might reveal?"

@Duchess Dusk Rainblade

 

[Duchess Dusk Rainblade]

Dusk hesitated, a bolt of fear going through her as the hedgehog surmised Mina's location. He was clever, maybe too much so. She would have to assign an agent to keep an eye on him, as a precaution. That, or she would have to keep coming back to give him a financial incentive to maintain his silence.

She considered the crystal ball, the light flickering within. She knew it was likely all bunk, but... There was definitely something about the hedgehog that was more than the mundane, whether it was a clever mind or a touch of the paranatural. Dusk nodded, looking to the crystal ball. "I want to see," she confirmed. "I want to know what could occur, if I come into her life."

 

[Thistle Brambledew]

A dry chuckle escaped Thistle’s throat, soft like sand rasping against old stone.

"You needn’t fear what you’ll see," he said, almost kindly. "Only what you choose to do with it."

With a flick of his paw, a small mechanism near the brazier released a hidden tray. A coil of incense slowly ignited, exhaling a soft ribbon of lavender smoke laced with something darker. Something like clove, or peppered sage. The light dimmed in response, the shadows of the cart lengthening, growing still. The swirling within the crystal ball deepened to a slow, viscous motion, like breath fogging thick glass.

Thistle lowered his paws to either side of the orb, never touching, only feeling the air begin to hum faintly beneath them.

"Let the veil stir," he whispered, "not to show the road ahead, but the weight of its crossing."

The swirling fog inside the orb did not part. It did not show visions. It only churned heavier now, more insistent, as though the questions it held were turning back toward the one who asked them.

"I cannot tell you what you will find," Thistle murmured, voice low and distant, "but I can tell you this: there may be hardship in her soul. Quiet suffering. Wounds that did not come from you... but ones that may yet respond to your voice."

He watched the light pulse softly.

"You could be a balm. A salve. A light in a world too long dimmed. But..."

The air shifted again, even heavier and thicker with the fragrant haze.

"You could also break something fragile. Shatter the careful balance she’s built around a truth she never knew was missing. The truth may liberate her... or crush her. And you along with it."

The orb pulsed once more, then settled into its endless swirl.

"There is no answer, Duchess. Only weight. Only consequence. What is healed may scar. What is cracked may hold... or crumble."

He finally looked up, the mists still dancing in the depths of the orb.

"Are you willing to bear both possibilities in full?"

@Duchess Dusk Rainblade

 

[Duchess Dusk Rainblade]

Dusk winced as she listened to his prediction. It made sense, of course; if in any way there were hardships in Mina Rose's past, wounds that had not yet healed, then meeting her prodigal mother could very well rip them open again. Mina Rose might very well hate her for abandoning her, only to return now. It might even be more than the girl could fully bear.

Dusk took a deep breath before she admitted, "No. No, I'm not." She fell silent as she considered this, weighing how to go about it. "I know that, as a mother, I've been a disappointment," she admitted. "None of my kits really like me. I'm also not well-loved by anyone, and I know it. Most beasts hate me because of my work. To find out that I'm her mother would be to find out that the most despised femme in the world accounts for half of her blood... and the other half would be from the most despised male in the world." She shook her head as she concluded, "That's a terrible thing for a young femme to find out. If I had an alternative, though, if I could give her another parentage..."

Her eyes lit up as a thought entered her mind. "That's it," she enthused. "I simply don't tell her... or rather, I give her the name of someone publicly lauded, beloved. An icon, a hero who she would feel glad to be related to. Someone like my dear sister, perhaps."

 

[Thistle Brambledew]

Thistle leaned back, paws resting on the worn table as the crystal between them dimmed. The swirling slowed. The incense burned lower. The hush between them became complete.

When he finally spoke, it was as if the cart itself leaned forward to listen.

"So... to right the wrong of falsehood..." he began quietly, "you offer her another falsehood. A prettier one. One wrapped in ribbons and laurels. But false all the same."

He did not raise his voice. There was no accusation in it. Just the gentle pressure of truth, laid bare.

"You seek to spare her pain, I know. But pain cannot be unmade by a lie. She will not have a mother. Only myth. And when that myth is pierced, as all are... it will not be sorrow she feels. It will be betrayal."

He lifted one paw, brushing away a curl of smoke drifting across the crystal ball.

"If you give her a hero, she may thank you. But she will never love you. Not truly. Because she will never know you."

He let the silence settle again, then offered a gentler tone. A glimmer of another path.

"If you were to offer yourself as a mother...offer yourself as a truth. A flawed truth. And then she chooses to reject you. It is still part of an aching conscience healed. You fear the unknown, but desire the wisdom that is being withheld. Is rejection truly a worse wound than the festering hole left by your willful ignorance?"

@Duchess Dusk Rainblade

 

[Duchess Dusk Rainblade]

Dusk hated that he made sense. 'Gates, it was awful, but it was true. If she posed as Mina Rose's aunt, she might be loved as an aunt, maybe even the 'cool' aunt... But that wasn't the same as being a mother. She sighed, clearly irritated by the validity of the hedgehog's advice. "It's not that simple," she allowed. "Being my kit is... Well, let me put it this way. Between them, my kits have been through a good half dozen or so assassination and kitnapping attempts. Their eldest cousin was actually assassinated before any of them were born. Being in our family is, frankly, bad. There's times I wonder if we're actually cursed, silly as that might sound. If I bring Mina Rose into the family, I'm inducting her into a life of suffering. It might actually be merciful to let her be Tox's child instead. She has her enemies, yes, but she has no real power now, so she's not a target to anyone. It might be a way for me to be in her life, to at least be an aunt to her, without putting her in more danger."

 

[Thistle Brambledew]

Thistle gave the faintest shrug, followed by the slow spread of a dry, knowing smile.

"If the fates call for such a choice..." he murmured, "then so be it." He reached forward and drew a linen cloth from the shelf beside him, gently draping it back over the crystal ball. "The spirits do not deal in titles. Only outcomes."

He reached down beneath the table and drew forth a narrow wooden box, edges worn soft by time and fingers long gone. Inside was a deck of cards, once beautiful, perhaps even sacred, now dry and crumbling at the corners, their gold leaf dulled and flaking like memories left too long in sunlight.

He held them reverently.

"They were painted by paw, these were," he said softly, almost wistfully. "Gilded in gold leaf and kissed by moonlight on the night of their first draw. That was a great many seasons ago. Now they speak with quieter voices... but they still speak."

The cards made a faint rustle as he shuffled, not with precision, but with the weary familiarity of one who had done this too many times to count.

"I am but a mere woodlander, Duchess. It isn’t my place to order the skulk of nobility to task," he said, gently. "I read, I interpret. Whether one walks the truth or tucks it beneath silk... is not mine to say."

He drew a single card.

There was no flair. Just one worn edge lifting and falling to the table with a soft tap. He let it breathe between them.

Then, slowly, he turned the card.

The image was faint beneath the wear, but still unmistakable. Two vulpine figures entwined, tails curled together, backs half-turned to one another, their gaze stolen by different horizons. Between them, a jagged split ran down the card like a crack in porcelain.

Thistle’s eyes narrowed faintly.

"The Lovers," he said at last. "Reversed."

He traced one crumbling edge with a clawtip.

"A choice of closeness... or deception. Two paths wound tight, but only one leads forward. Harmony risks becoming a mask. Connection, a trap. The heart divided."

The shadows in the cart seemed to lean in again. Not in menace, but in solemnity.

"Tread careful, Duchess," he murmured, not unkindly. "Assassins aren't the only dangers lurking in your muddied waters."

@Duchess Dusk Rainblade

 

[Duchess Dusk Rainblade]

Dusk hated to admit it, but she had a deep and enduring fondness for divination cards. Perhaps it was the ornate art, the hint of the esoteric in their designs, the allure of secret knowledge in their reading, or just that they were so fancy that a good set could cost as much as a small apartment. In her younger years, she'd spent a summer with an artist, posing for him while he'd painted a complete set of cards inspired by her. The finished cards had been so beautiful that, in the decades since, she'd only taken them out of the case perhaps five times, and never in direct sunlight.

The Lovers card was one of her favorites, specifically for its contradictory meaning to conventional understanding. The notion of a crossroads, of a choice to be made, was such a delicious and tantalizing idea that, even with the risk of making a false step, Dusk found herself growing eager for the results of the divination. "Choices breed consequence," she commented, her tail poofing up a little bit as she couldn't quite keep it from wagging a little, flicking about in eager anticipation. "I certainly appreciate the dangers that lurk within those waters - and I will tread carefully in."

 

[Thistle Brambledew]

The Duchess’s tail said everything.

Not in a vulgar way, heavens no. It was the twitch, the poise, the way her entire frame leaned forward ever so slightly, like a dancer waiting for the music to resume. She was ready. She wanted it. That whisper of hope, no matter how fictive, had sunk its claws in, and now she stood on the cusp of chasing it.

Thistle shifted ever so slightly in his seat. The lantern light caught the side of his snout, tracing his quills in dull gold.

"There it is," he murmured, not without reverence. "The will to run. You've taken the first step already, Duchess. You're holdin' the story now."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering, not conspiratorial, but reverent, like he was naming something sacred.

"Truth is a stone. Hard. Unforgivin'. Set where it falls. But lies..." He made a little swirling motion with his claws, "Lies grow roots. They wind, they twist. Pull too hard, and the whole garden might come with 'em."

With a practiced motion, he reached under a small velvet cloth on the side of his cart and produced a tiny object, a glass bead, faintly cloudy, wrapped in aged twine and smelling faintly of dried rosemary.

"A keepsake," he offered simply. "For remembrance. Or remorse. Use it as you like."

His gaze never faltered.

"If you're to wear grief, wear it proper. Not all beasts can tell real pain from rehearsed sorrow, but the good ones" He tapped his temple lightly. "They feel it. Let the silence between words do some of the speakin'."

Behind him, the Porter shifted, as if roused by the gravity of the moment. His hunched form rose slowly, bags clinking and claws ticking lightly against the cart as he adjusted something unseen. He made no sound but for a low, almost insectile chchkt.

Thistle let the silence stretch. Then, with a gentle gesture of his paw, he concluded:

"If your heart is ready, then this is where I let you carry the tale alone... unless, of course, you wish to hear more."

@Duchess Dusk Rainblade

 

[Duchess Dusk Rainblade]

Dusk considered his offer for a moment, tempted to ask him for more. There was also the matter of discerning whether or not there was actually anything paranatural about him... but then again, she'd seen enough that she felt she could safely say that he was just a particularly flashy showbeast. "I think, for now," she allowed, "I have enough to proceed on." She hesitated before adding, "Perhaps, though, I can come to visit you again - for further advice, at a later time. Here." She reached to her belt and pulled a pawful of golden gilders from her coin pouch and set them on the table. "My gratitude," she indicated, "for your discretion." She hesitated before lowering her voice, speaking far more honestly than she had in years. "You do have a rare, powerful gift," she admitted. "I don't know how you do it, but... well. I won't forget anything you've said today."

 

[Thistle Brambledew]

Thistle plucked the gilders from the table with a little flourish, the coins vanishing into his sleeve as if swallowed by the velvet itself. He inclined his head, ever so slightly, in acknowledgment of her words.

“Discretion,” he said gently, as though offering a proverb. “I’m no gossipmonger, Duchess. Even the greediest spirits beyond the veil know better than to barter in secrets not their own.”

He did not rise until she was fully gone.

Then he exhaled slowly, a long, quiet breath like steam let from a kettle.

The stillness settled around him.

He turned to the cart and raised one paw, as if reading the air. A beat passed. Then he nodded.

“It’s time.”

One by one, the cart’s signs came down. Bottles were gathered and trinkets folded into neat cloth wraps. The lanterns were snuffed, the shelf latches secured. The velvet curtains rolled back into their compartments with a soft hiss. As the final latch clicked into place, a tiny bell inside gave a single, muffled chime.

The Porter, hunched and still until now, creaked to life.

He shuffled forward unbidden, and Thistle met him at the yoke. Together, wordless as always, they set to work. The harness was lifted, adjusted, clicked into place around the Porter’s shoulders. A final tug of the straps. A nod.

Thistle clambered aboard, his robes settling around him. He adjusted one of the dangling charms at the corner of the window, then rapped twice on the wall beside him.

With a groan and a rattle, the cart began to roll.

It turned down a side road and disappeared into the mist.

For a long time, nothing stirred in the quiet square.

Four days later, the main well on Juniper Street was quietly cordoned off by city officials after its waters turned bitter and foul. Dozens fell ill. Four elderly beasts did not recover. No cause was ever found.

@Duchess Dusk Rainblade