Private The Docks One Good Turn

[Cricket]

Finally. For all the realities of the slow passage of time and the lack of resources available to a kit on the streets, Cricket was not a patient youngster. In the wake of the Opera House disaster (something still sitting weightily in the back of her mind and pit of her stomach) the gecko had felt…unsettled. Unsettled on multiple accounts, few if none of which she could place claw upon. Introspection was for grown-ups, after all, and though it sickened her to think she might not have long in joining them she would cling to the obliviousness of kithood with all her might.

At the very least one thread in the strand of feelings became abundantly clear after having eavesdropped on Finnian’s training session, and that night she had pored over the latest developments in her life. Furballs, stolen rings, vulpinists…and she needed an edge. She didn’t have a crew to rely on, or Stoaties to train with. She barely trusted anybeast over eighteen.

But there had been that fox with the strange arm, Jeshal. He’d vouched for her for no personal gain of his own and not made it out like he was doing her some grand favour. He’d kept her safe all told. His arm was cool. She was no scholar or master of intelligence, but word in the streets travelled quickly and he was distinctive enough that after some digging she got her answers. Jeshal was a Captain now, apparently. She wondered if Finn knew of him.

Either way, once his identity had been re-established the youngster had spent the following weeks lingering at the dock awaiting the return of the BlackShip - because of course a ship would always be bloody at-sea the moment she needed them. Huffing and grousing on the daily, impatience had turned to forgetfulness. She’d become sidetracked with the occupation of survival; by the next time she wandered to the docks the ship had been back for the better part of a week. She could have tugged her own tail off and smacked herself about the snout.

Skittering around the busy dockside, dodging beasts with crates and stumbling over lines and nets, she could only wish that he might at least be around. Some small time later and her frantic prayers seemed answered: a flash of deep fur, a glint of metal, a nice black coat. “Hey – hey, Ironclaw!” she called out, grateful for his epithet for she had forgotten his forename in her excitement. “Ironclaw, mister – sir - Captain! I need to talk to you!”

@Jeshal the Ironclaw

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

Lover of the sea though he was, Jeshal was glad to be getting a little respite from the ship following the fallout of the last voyage. Brought about on purpose, of course, and something that could not be dwelt on long because gods of story liked exposition only when it was good and ready. Unfortunately, he had accumulated a few hangers-on, a group of his crew who were each after improving or further sullying their reputations and hoping that one historied captain of questionable loyalties might be the answer. It was therefore of some relief that he was called upon by a familiar acquaintance. Had it not been for her unique species and the situation they had been embroiled in together, he might not have remembered her at all.

“Well if it don’t be Miss Crockett! Cricket? What be the matter?”

Jeshal waved his entourage along toward Bully’s main thoroughfare.

“Off ye go, mateys. I’ll head off ter the Bilge when it suits. Get y’selves good an’ sloshed, haharr!”​

 

[Cricket]

“Cricket,” she stressed emphatically (next time an adult called her Crockett they were getting bitten), catching herself from too petulant a tone considering what she was about to ask. Jeshal’s dismissal of his entourage further cemented the influence he wielded. This wasn’t some bumbling Fogey or well-meaning tawdry actor: this was a Captain, and of one of the largest ships in the Imperial fleet. One had to wonder, more now than ever, why he’d seen fit to stick up for her at the Opera House let alone protect her from the attack. Couldn’t be that he was just a decent sort. Those at the top never were.

Now that she was stood before him, the little gecko felt her usual impish confidence falter. She hesitated on her next words in the manner of one sensing they were about to request something ridiculous. Her tail coiled to be gripped between her claws. “Alright, so…so what I wanted…” After a further moment longer to compose herself Cricket inhaled sharply. The words which tumbled out were rushed and defensive. “I know I already owe you for helpin’ me and all an’ I’d not ask you to do more if I had any other choice, but you was nice to me, so’s…I wanted to ask if you could help. You were good with your sword at the Opera,” a nod to the cutlass in question, “I want to be, too. I can’t pay you much, I don’t know if there’s errands I can do for you or help some’ow, but I’ll pay you. I don’t like owing beasts an’ I promise I learn quick! I just-…” Her snout twitched. “I just don’t like not knowing how to fight proper and you seem good at it. So…will you teach me?”

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

It would probably make Jeshal's old enemies roll in their graves to know that, whilst he had absolutely intended to gain some leverage over Cricket at the Opera House, it had been nothing to do with why he had saved her. He didn't think he had particularly been a hero about it either. His reasoning for hauling her away from the fiery, murderous chaos was likely as intentional as what she had done to help him fight the vulpinists. Instinct in the heat of a crisis. He had been left baffled by the whole affair.

Which wasn't too different from how he felt now that he was being asked to instruct a small gecko. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing. Years on Kutoroka had slapped sense into him that vicious things could come in small packages, and some of those he had brought with him before he knew anything about what lived on the island. His wife had made a living out of people underestimating small vixens with sharp knives.

He listened carefully, folding his arms, measuring his expression so as not to give Cricket any suggestion he was not taking her seriously.

"Well, now, that be some proposition." Jeshal scratched his chin with his good paw. "Might be I have errands, says I. 'Tis a tempting trade if we find an arrangement what suits. If ye don't mind long stays from shore, there may be opening fer another cabin beast. If enlisting be not to your tastes, I could do with a beast about the streets keeping an ear out fer information. About anything, even if it seems boring. 'Tis no small thing to be in the know about matters in the Harbour, especially when us sailors be missin' out on the goings-on. What say you?"​