Open The Market Restricted Goods

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

Ishy stared unhappily. The wagon in front of him had left half an hour ago laden with eight heavy crates. These crates were on the last leg of a very long journey. On that journey, Ishy had lied on forms, evaded customs patrols, betrayed a packet ship captain and crew, irreparably damaged the cultural traditions of Westisle, and gotten far too invested in keeping the contents of these crates alive and well for his liking. He wanted the goods gone, a happy client willing to return for business, and money in his paw. Yet with the early-morning quiet quickly rising in volume to the mid-morning peak, the team pulling the wagon had puffed back into the long-tailed weasel’s view, cart still laden.

“Awright, guv…hff… we’re done ‘ere,” the lead rat said, bending over double and wiping his brow with the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “You said pull the cart… hff… We pulled the cart… hff… as agreed.”

“I said deliver the crates,” Ishy said. “You haven’t delivered the crates. Not. Agreed.”

The lead rat threw up his arms in exasperation. “We went to the address. Fogeys everywhere. I says, ‘Deliv’ry fer mistah Hah-tacky-yama.’ They says, ‘the Westisle bloke?’ and I says, ‘guess so innit, we’re just the delivery beasts’, and they says, ‘he’s corked it’. So we came back ‘ere.”

Ishy was silent for a good five seconds. Then, “He’s dead?”

“That’s what the slugs are crowdin’ round ‘is house, treadin’ in his funny rock garden for, so I’m led to believe. Payment, mistah Kite? Oi!”

The rag-tag group of hungry looking rats pattered after Ishy as he wordlessly stomped down the road in his heavy sharkskin boots.

“I ain’t makin’ up a whoppin’ daft story like that,” the lead rat blustered as he trotted beside the taller, broader whaler, “I already told ya, he’s-…”

“…-dead,” finished the Fogey, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, sir. Was ‘e a relation of yours?”

Ishy frowned. “He was a fox.”

“Y-yes… that’s correct,’ the constable said, the tips of the stoat jill’s ears going red. “I was just… testin’ you. Plenty of folk tryin’ to claim the inheritance, and all.”

“How much was ‘e worth?” The lead rat piped up.

“Cor, couldn’t say mate, but you should see ‘is dinin’ hall, got all kinds o’ strange Westisle bits’n’pieces,” the Fogey gushed. Ishy listened with dwindling interest. He was a smuggler, not a burglar, and all Mr. Hatakayama’s fine belongings were out of his reach.

“He owed us money,” Ishy interrupted, not bothering to wait for a break in the Fogey’s verbal hemorrhage over his late client’s taste in interior decoration. “A last delivery.”

“Oh right, I remember youse lot, with the wagon,” the Fogey nodded. “I guess you could talk to ‘is solicitor, once they start sorting out Mr. Hata… Hakaya… Mr. Hackey-Sack’s last will and testament.”

“That could take months,” Ishy stated.

The Fogey chuckled. “Don’t I know it, mate! These lawyers, eh? You got a warehouse, maybe? Chuck ‘er in there for a few months, then charge ‘em a holdin’ fee, that’s what I’d do.”

“…you offer surprisingly sound business advice, for a Fogey,” Ishy commented.

The stoat puffed out her chest, and grinned. “Been studyin’ for transfer to MinoCom. I’m hardly stickin’ to bein a ploddin’ flatpaw me whole life. MinoCom beasts make a mint, y’know. You oughta join, you seem like an enterprisin’ weasel yourself. We mustelids can’t let the bushy-tails have all the fun, eh?”

Ishy stared until the silence became uncomfortable. He was slowly pulling apart every word and every phrase in the stoat’s sentence, trying to work out if the Fogey was mocking him, making a joke, or just being specieist. He settled on ‘not sure I want to know’, and checked his pocketwatch. Inexorably, the day was ticking away, and he had live cargo to move.

“I prefer small business,” Ishy said with a shrug, trying to remember what beasts said they liked about small business. Something about the personal touch? He tried the phrase out cautiously, as if answering a verbal exam. “It’s something about… the personal touch?”

The Fogey nodded. “I can respect that. It’s small business owners like y’self that are the backbone of our great Imperium! Well, can’t stay and chat, citizens, I’ve got a dead foreigner’s estate to itemise!”

“I can’t stay either,” Ishy said, attempting some kind of polite exit, but finding himself unable to stifle a miserable groan. “I’ve got to go get-…”

“-…stuffed!” The cat declared, patting his stomach. “Utterly stuffed. Ooh, could I manage dessert though? Mm… it’s mango pudding today. You tried these mango things? Sweet fruit from the far corners of the world, here on my plate thanks to the sweat and toil of generations of inventors, shipwrights, explorers and entrepreneurs. Fie, I say, to those that hearken for simpler times. Modernity! Modernity, Ishy, is a beautiful thing!”

“Can we talk about the cargo?” Ishy asked wearily, staring at the cat’s pudgy midriff and imagining flensing the feline like a toothy whale. He had his skinning knife. There would be only a few complaints. But then he’d have to find another fence…

“Madamé? Madamé?” The cat called, unnecessarily accenting the word. “Just one slice, thank you. My compliments to Giraud in the kitchen, as always. It’s perverted.”

It took the long, awkward silence between them for Ishy to realise that last phrase had not been directed at the waitress, but at himself. The weasel blinked, mentally spooling back the last fifteen minutes of conversation to try and work out context. He reached another blank. Gates, why was it impossible to talk to anybeast in this sweat-stinking bloody town? Ishy had tried to work out how other beasts mentally arrived at verbalising the inane things that poured out of their mouths, and concluded there was no logic to it at all. He suspected most beasts just left their mouths running automatically, generating garbage noise until the little sparrows in their heads hopped back onto the controls again.

“What’s perverted?” Ishy asked, his eyes drooping down to stare at the crumbs on the cat’s plate. He wanted to leave.

The orange-furred feline waved a plump paw. “This shipment, these little… curiosities. It takes a sordid mind to think that’s natural, or appropriate.”

The weasel had started counting crumbs. “It’s a Westisle thing. They all have ‘em.”

“Nasty, immoral foreigners,” sniffed the cat. “I’m sorry, Ishy, old son. I’ve moved a lot of goods for you over the years, but I have to draw the line. I’m a free thinker, but really, this is…”

“They’re all going to die, soon,” Ishy interrupted, checking his pocketwatch again. Tick tock, Ishy, it seemed to say. Day’s wasting. Another day of expenses burning out your pockets, while the value of that wagon dwindles to zero. Ishy played out the conversation in his head again, trying to work out where he was going wrong. “What about… modernity?”

“Tch. Modernity is one thing, but what you’re talking about is pure decadence,” the cat said dismissively, stifling a burp. “It’s evidence of a degenerate, stagnated culture that permits weirdos to indulge in their… creepy fetishes.”

Ishy got up, and walked out of the cafe without another word, or so much as a final glance at his useless fence. The cat was about to protest at being left the bill, before he realised the long-tailed weasel hadn’t ordered anything the whole time. Then the mango pudding arrived, driving the out-of-sight Ishy firmly out of mind.

“Are they… real?” the squirrel asked, peeking into the crate, eye wide with horror. “They can’t be real… they look really real…”

Ishy hunched his shoulders. Never again. This cargo was too hot, and the potential customer base too niche. He needed to get rid of these nuisances before they either up and died, or he was arrested.

“Do you want ‘em or not?” Ishy growled.

“Well, erm, I might know some beasts with, shall we say, unusual tastes,” the squirrel said, rubbing his scruffy chin. “The only question is…”

He lifted one out into the light, which made the long-tailed weasel wince, and look around for anybeast paying too much attention. The squirrel ran a paw down the precious thing, as if admiring how well-formed its contours were.

“…how in Dark Forest did they grow them so small?”

Ishy glowered at the miniature potted tree in the squirrel’s paws. It was all he could do not to snarl and dash the stupid thing to the cobblestones. A tree too small to give shade, fruit, nuts, or firewood. The Westislers had perfected the art of utter, mathematically demonstrable uselessness in a living thing. He heaved a sigh, and made his best effort at a sales pitch.

“Modernity is a beautiful thing,” Ishy echoed, voice as flat as a board.

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

Being a rather successful merchant, owner of a trading house that handled goods coming from as far as Fyador and as expensive as Ivory, Naika had to often walk the market. While it was a good moment since she was actively doing robberies, she didn't forget the most important thing. Knowledge was power, and gathering it was paramount.

Of course, no beast would be able to say this was Naika. She had her spots painted over, dyed fur and headfur, used different voice and wore clothes befitting more of a captain of trading ship. She looked nothing like the beast she was, and very much not like herself... which wasn't hard as she long forgot who said herself was.

For sure one who didn't know her well would not be able to say who this pussycat was, perfect for gathering intel and figuring out the mood on the markets. She had her trusted sources, but doing so herself was much more accurate... especially as she didn't have it in her to trust a word of a male, especially a todd. And there unfortunately were heaps of those here. Unavoidable plague upon society really.

Fortunately, she could hide her sentiments well. And as such, even now, she was leisurely chatting with one todd merchant about the prices of tea. Having information was the edge she liked to have, just as much as setting rumors. She was trying to make the people believe there was a huge tea shipment incoming. That was true, she organized that one, but spreading that rumor would let others believe it was safe to not order tea for a while, trying to avoid loss from oversupply. But she had vastly different intent, stalling. Making beasts think that was a hoax, putting what reserves they have with high prices to compensate and then flood the market with moderately priced goods.

And no beast would be able to trace it to Naika. After all? It wasn't her nor any of her employees who had spread those rumors.

Finishing her chat, she passed by one very unhappy merchant who was not too satisfied with a group of haulers and a fogey. Their discussion was… entertaining. A nice little bit to give her some chuckles. But it was at the end of the whole conversation her attention was caught and surpassed just curiosity. The talk about perverse items made her tail stand at ready in particular. It meant good business. Beasts, especially males, loved perversions and paid great coin for.

She did not expect to see a bonsai tree coming out from that crate…

But it mattered not! Those were superbly valuable! Much more so than most would think! And she smelled a good business she could do with those. She pulled out a flask of water and a bit of cloth. Washed the masking from spots on her muzzle and turned her coat inside out, to the much more appealing side.

With that, and a shift in her tone, she was no longer a small sea trader. She was a merchant again, signified with rings she put onto her paw fingers. Padding from the corner she did her transformation, she emerged from the ever moving crowds with a predatory prowl.

“Hello good beasts. Apologies, but I’ve overheard some of your… discussion. Are you looking for a buyer maybe? As a representative of a trading house, I may have a good offer for your goods…” She asked, a mix of sultry and warm expression entering her muzzle as she took onto the role.

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

Ishy was hungry. It was mid-afternoon by this point, and his rat teamsters had just returned from one of their frequent lunch breaks, still grumbling as they eyed the wagon and resented its unsold state. Ishy had re-applied his perfume in the meantime, convinced that all this walking about had caused him to sweat. As the wind dropped, this gave the long-tailed weasel a definite musk-scented aura.

“Cor… that stuff ain’t half strong,” the lead rat commented, wrinkling his snout. “You uh, tryin’ to attract a mate or sommat? Are weasel jills drawn in by… whaler smells?”

“I don’t know,” Ishy shrugged, uncertain why the rat was asking. Was this small talk? He should say something a jack would say when presented with the idea of attracting jills. That would no doubt appeal to the rat’s sense of masculine camaraderie that Ishy hoped would keep them from coming to blows for the next hour or so. “Um. I hope so. Then we could sell her some miniature trees, too.”

The rat snorted, then doubled over laughing. Ishy fidgeted with the ring in his ear, his eyebrows knitted in puzzlement. The other rats were snickering too. Had he said something funny?

Yet as though he’d uttered some magic spell, there came a jill after all, albeit a feline one. Ishy’s eyes focused in on her paws at first - it was often wise to do so in Bully Harbour. He noted her rings, and saw no obvious weapon. His gaze traveled to her eyes, as he tried to arrange his face into a mask of polite sincerity. Somehow, he felt like she was also getting into character. Perhaps she really was the merchant she seemed to be. Or perhaps she was a lunatic with a small-tree fixation, and there was no trading house she worked for at all. As long as her gilders were real, Ishy was prepared to believe whatever persona she wore, and expected she would offer the same courtesy to him. Just two honest beasts making a legitimate, mutually beneficial transaction.

“You are just in time, ma’am,” Ishy said, a litany of salesbeast’s lies coming out with rehearsed confidence. “We’re down to the last eight crates. I’ve had some interesting proposals already.”

“Don’t think she was proposin' yet, mate, you haven’t even taken her out to dinner!” one of the rats piped up helpfully. He then squeaked, as the lead rat’s footpaw came down on his tail.

“Take a closer look, admire the excellent condition of all these trees that could be yours,” Ishy offered, carefully lifting one of the potted trees from the open crate, the rote-learned lines still flowing easily. “This is a fine example of high Westisle culture, guaranteed to liven up dreary rooms, bring years of joy for the amateur gardener, and break the ice at parties.”

“Blimey. Now I want one,” the lead rat muttered, scratching his head and looking at the tree with newfound wonder. Ishy looked down at the potted tree in his paws, surreptitiously looking for any broken leaves or wilting. He was at least telling the truth about their condition - he had discovered he had an unexpected knack for the routine of giving the trees enough light and water during their journey. Despite having traveled by sea for weeks and land for a few more, the trees were doing remarkably well.

…Oh no. Now Ishy was starting to wonder if he might want one as well. He was turning into a pervert, cursed by the Westislers he had stolen from.

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

Naika was decent at appraising goods. She was helping with merchandise even before she became a criminal, and the latter did also teach her how to judge items by their value quickly. However, here, she had a looot of time and based on what she overheard before, she had a decent plan to handle that whole scenario. It included a small investment, but she had enough money to not fret that.

"Oh I am more than aware." She started with a suave nod. "I know of a beast who has one. It speaks really of their status and shows certain opulence that most goods do not! Not just serving as an oddity, but also serving well to show sophistication, both from ability to maintain it and knowledge about those." Her first move was complete. Showing that you know much about the topic was usually enough to dose an expectation of easy riches. It could potentially cause the deal to be off instantly, as some wanted to find a fool for their goods, but even then it would save both sides time.

In doing so she considered the whole spiel about perversion. It was bemusing really, especially considering what she considered perversed. This was at most a novelty, a caprice that the rich may want. There was nothing perverted about those trees. One wouldn't call a dwarf beast perverted would they?

Refusing to follow that line of though, Naika instead opted to stop by the weasel again and continue speaking some more.

"But Your hauliers are right mister! Deals should be made over dinners. If you won't mind coming with me that is. I see your goods are authentic and I can check if all crates contain them when we are back... hopefully with a written deal in paws." She gave on her most charming expression, even if she would never bother to seduce a male representative of any species, at best those were just good for getting better deals, at worst they could be just swatted by as nothing but a little playfulness.

Waiting for their decision, she already knew where to go. Nearby restaurant in the southern part of Zann's. Not expensive and made for merchants who came to The Market just to sell some goods before returning back to their homes. Perfect place for this sort of a inconspicuous deal. For now she circled the crates lazily like a cat... one she always was, no matter her delusions.

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

Ishy felt his stomach writhe like a grub on the end of a fishhook. Was this merchant making up her knowledge about the tree as much as he was? Or was she subtly mocking his shallow marketing ploys? He could not tell. Her words sounded as authentic to him as his own. The weasel tried to follow the cat’s eyes, hoping to see past the veil to her true intent. No such luck, as she circled the goods like a shark. Feeling uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact, Ishy turned to place the potted plant back in the crate.

“I am, um… so glad you understand what… joy these little trees are,” Ishy said, not sounding particularly glad at all. If this prowling feline really did know so much about these ridiculous Westisle abominations, she might be ask him more complicated questions. He would be helpless if he had to go off-script!

…And then she proposed dinner.

The rats whistled and whooped. Somebeast… some dead rat walking, Ishy thought, shoved him in the back, forcing him to take a couple of steps towards the cat jill, his eyes widening. Suddenly Ishy was way too close, and her eyes were very blue and her teeth very white and sharp. She was not tall for a cat, but Ishy was a respectable height for a weasel, so their faces were almost level. Ishy was sensitive to smells at the best (and worst) of times, and past his own perfume, he detected the scent of feline and… something else. An earthy aroma, mixed with a harsher chemical. Perhaps she washed with a poorly manufactured soap?

“I uh… y-yes? Yes. We should eat dinner together. Um, at the same table. Not… not the same plate though,” Ishy mumbled, his voice growing very hoarse. He didn’t know what to do with his paws, so his thumbs had ended up in his coat pockets. His long, bushed-up tail curled around his boots.

“Hahaha! Mister Kite on a nice fancy dinner with a lady-cat,” the lead rat guffawed. “Don’t mind if we’re downin’ a few beers across the street, matey! Come find us once the goods need shiftin’.”

And just like that, Ishy was left holding the group’s last lifeline to making a sale, as the rat hauliers scampered down the cobblestone street, chattering and laughing away at the weasel’s expense.

While social cues were Ishy’s greatest weakness, his mind worked a bit better when planning a strategy. Over dinner, perhaps there would be alcohol. He didn’t drink himself, but he knew it made beasts more talkative, and suggestible. If this cat was as indulgent as the last trader he’d dealt with, she might end up revealing more about herself in terms Ishy could understand. It was a strange paradox that it took mentally impairing a beast with liquor before they started making straightforward sense.

“If you prefer formality, I’m Mr. Kite. If not, call me Ishy.” Ishy held out his paw to shake. He would let her take the lead to wherever she felt comfortable… at least as long as they stayed around crowds, and didn’t venture into the poorly-lit Slups. It was only late afternoon, but if the bargaining lasted into the evening, Ishy didn’t want to have to fight his way out.

A realisation entered his head, like the clear ringing of a bell. He recognised the scent that had puzzled him at first; but he’d smuggled enough cheap henna in his time, to vain beasts trying to hide greying fur. The chemical smell wasn’t soap, it was dye. Ishy’s face recovered some of its passive calm. How interesting, he would have guessed the cat was around his age. There was of course, another reason a beast might wear dye in their fur; if they needed a disguise.

Ishy was starting to find this cat a very interesting beast indeed.

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

Ah how beautifully this male melted under Naika's act. With their own workers catching the wind of her intent, they were quick to assist her in he game. Now she was left with one mumbly and shy weasel. With a small shake of her slightly chubby bottom, one that spoke of how complacent in her new life as a merchant she was considering how lean and agile she was back in her criminal days, but at least one that was apparently seen as attractive among the femmes she mingled with, she moved back to them as soon as the rats started leaving.

She chuckled at the notion of them eating from a same plate. She would never do so with a male, but she found it delightful that he felt he needed to specify that. Still, she was not here to try seduction. She had exactly zero trust for those who made her mother and daught... sister suffer. But if just doing this little could help to do her work? Naika done much more for much less when the time when the times called for it.

The names this ferret gave were as polite as the paw he had offered. She had taken it, and she gave a name of this very figment of her mind she was now wearing. "Firaya. Pleasure to make your acquaintance! Informality calls for nicer conversations Ishy, so we will stick to that if you're giving me a choice." That is where she shook the paws, delicately, and took a step back. Her tail gestured to follow her as she started walking to the southeastern edge of The Market, where the southern part of Zann's District could be found.

The walk wasn't long, very quickly they stood in front of a tavern called "The Salt Casket". It used to be apparently a salt storage, before the warehouse district was created. With that, it still carried that specific smell of salted everything. It wasn't oppressive and the tavern was alright, most clientele being traveling merchants. Entering it, Firaya beelined for the free table for two by the window, awaiting Ishy to join her.

Her plan was simple, meal and words could make him easy to work with and secure her a good deal. If not? Among her rings filled with various powders. One of them had stupefying properties... but it was expensive so she hoped there would be no need for that one. "Now that we are here... feel free to order what you crave, my treat." She offered, but she did notice on her way here as Ishy got calmer. Whatever it was, she had to figure it out. For now, she ordered smoked salmon. Firaya loved smoked salmon. Naika preferred tuna.

And after the ordering was done, Firaya spoke to Ishy again, much leisurely. "Soo, tell me Ishy, how did you end up with crates of live plants that no sane individual would sell?" It was a question with a loaded trap, accented by her toothy grin and playful eyes and emphasized with slow slashes of ther tail.

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

Ishy sniffed as they entered the Salted Casket. The smell of sea-salt was thankfully inoffensive to him - he would hardly have made it through his years as a whaler otherwise, with far more briny scents to contend with. He remembered to take off his hat as he stepped inside, for this establishment was clearly one or two cuts above the bawdy watering-holes that served returning sailors closer to the wharves.

If nothing else went right tonight, at least Ishy would eat. Ishy felt no hesitation in ordering for himself on Firaya’s gilders - the day had been stressful, and that made his appetite as monstrous and wide-mouthed as a baleen whale.

“What’s in your potato soup?” Ishy asked the serving-jack. The scrawny ferret lad blinked up at the taller long-tailed weasel.

“Uuuuhmm… potatoes… cheese…” The ferret replied slowly, scrunching his snout in thought. “Some onions, uhh… butter an’ milk.”

“I want a big bowl of potato soup, without the onions.” Ishy thought for a moment. “…And also no cheese.”

The ferret pulled a face that Ishy couldn’t interpret, and turned around to shout into the kitchen. “Big potato soup, no onions, no cheese!”

“One runny mashed potatoes, comin’ up!” The chef grunted back.

Once Ishy was seated, his attention wandered over the Salted Casket’s interior, and in particular its clientele. There was a chance he might recognise a face, and he wasn’t willing to risk being recognised first. He had returning business partners in Bully Harbour of course, both legitimate and black market, but he also had a small collection of former associates that had burned him. Some of them might be so bold to attack or demand a duel in public, others might just tail him until he was alone. Not a complication Ishy wanted to deal with before dessert.

“I love how travel broadens my horizons,” Ishy said. His words were not his own - he was borrowing stock phrases from a travel pamphlet he’d read, extolling wealthy Imperial citizens to consider visiting Westisle. MinoCom seemed interested in promoting the newly-incorporated provinces as ripe with opportunity for business and pleasure, but it was obvious MinoNice had a paw in wanting to spread Vulpinsulan culture to the barbaric Fyadorans. “These newly-incorporated provinces are ripe with opportunity for business and pleasure.”

Ishy’s eyes finally returned their gaze to the playful look Firaya was giving him. “A ship takes what cargo it can, and that includes passengers, if they can pay for a cabin. That’s how I met. Mr. Takayama, from Westisle. He was starting a new life in Vulpinsula. A town-house here in Bully Harbour, though I suspect the trees he ordered were for a property he owned out in the countryside. He arranged the seller, I just moved the cargo. Don’t bother trying to corroborate this with him, though. He’s dead, and here I am, dining with a lady of refined tastes. Lucky me.”

It was easy to twist the truth here and there. Ishy actually had no idea if Takayama had a country property, but if this cat were as much an honest merchant as Ishy was an honest delivery-weasel, it amused him to think he might set her off on a wild chase into the Vulpinsulan interior, searching for an abandoned house stuffed full of valuable Westisle trinkets. Ishy had no reason to throw that lie in, really, it was just a habit of his to be at least a little dishonest. Practice, he supposed, for telling bigger lies later.

“You said you represented a trading house. They must put a lot of trust in you to make deals on their behalf,” Ishy said, trying to shift the topic to Firaya herself. “Perhaps you might tell me a little about the work you do? It’s a good idea to make trustworthy friends in this business, after all.”

The ferret serving-jack tottered back to their table, setting down a generous plate of smoked salmon in front of Firaya, and a large, wholly unattractive bowl of very plain, white potato soup in front of Ishy.

“Baw-Appetee,” the ferret attempted, kissing the tips of his claws. His anxious expression gave away his concern though, as a thick bubble in the soup burst. Surely the weasel didn’t really want to eat food so bland?

“It seems we forgot to order drinks,” Ishy said to the ferret, though his eyes did not leave Firaya’s. “Do you have any of the finer liquors in stock for the lady?”

A bold move. Ishy did get a thrill out of taking risks, after all.

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

Firaya at first was appalled at the choice of food made by Ishy. It didn't make much sense to her why would this beast not indulge themselves when given chance. Was it simply that he was cautious? Not wanting to end indebted to her? Could be, and would show that this weasel knew the ropes. There was however also another reasoning that made sense. He was genuinely not caring for taste. That would make him about as bland as his commentary about the travel. At least from his muzzle, they sounded like selling points, not opinions.

The following explanation was more intriguing, and made Firaya consider him harder. She didn't miss the little attempt at the end and gave it a wide grin, showing her sharp teeth and fangs. His explanation however made sense... sort of. Someone who would be able to get so many trees would be rich enough to get themselves a proper transport ship, not having to go with cargo. Unless they made a fortune here, which while possible, would definitely be noticeable for someone who was dabbling with markets daily. Like Naika, Firaya's boss.

Still, giving the attention usually worked well with males, meaning that once the weight of the topic was shifted onto her, she had a little game to play. "Ah, what can I tell you... I am just a trading representative from Rustyfangs Exchange. Definitely not as interesting of a life as a sailing merchant like you has!" Appeal to their pride was made, now she could answer the question properly. "My boss, madame Naika, puts highest trust into those who can make most profit! And being a trader is all about risks, so I do not fret to do some bold trades hoping for big profits... If the trading house gets coin with my efforts, I can be assured I will get a very good percentage of it, really a great deal I have to say myself. So I tend to walk the streets seeking opportunities. We have other able cats to deal with more formal deals like contracts and stocks. I simply bother with more... nuanced trading." She explained how the business worked in the most basic way she could. There was no lies here, save for the fact that Firaya was not employed in that place, nor that she existed really.

As the ferret server came back and delivered their food, Firaya was ready to dig in, albeit she felt bad she was eating a proper meal unlike her counterpart. There was a bit more compassion in this wildcat, even for males that Naika disliked wholly, and it could be seen in her eyes. Fortunately Ishy himself suggested a great solution. Liquor! Buuut, only if the two were to drink it. She had to hold onto her advantages after all. "Ah, indeed! A bottle and two mugs please! I ask for wine, but I will let my companion choose dry or sweet to his preference." The ball was again sent into Ishy's court.

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

Ishy’s ears almost imperceptibly flattened, his snout wrinkling ever so slightly as he contained his disgust. Wine! The whaler disdained all alcohol, and had a particular aversion to beers and ales - the most foul-smelling, according to his sensitive nose, especially once it was spilled down shirts and onto tables and floors, and left to go stale. As for wine, anything even approaching sweet would make Ishy’s face pucker up like he’d bitten a lemon. He supposed he would have to play along for the sake of the deal, and at least Firaya seemed enthusiastic about drinking. The weasel’s plan was working… with a few slight unforeseen obstacles.

Ishy cleared his throat. His mental library of Normal Sentences Beasts Say did not extend far into ordering wine. Without some pre-prepared fake patter to make him sound intelligent, the whaler weasel was left adrift, his words coming out in short, sharp bursts, as though he was jabbing for them in the dark with his harpoon. “Um… Get us… some wine. Dry! Dry wine. The driest… uhh… the white one? The white dry wine.”

“Uhh… yes, sir? We 'ave a Magh Savvy-Naw 1746, which is medium-bodied wiv a subtle oaky flavour to balance its fruity characteristics,” the serving-jack recited, casting a perplexed glance at his inarticulate customer. “Or we 'ave a Downel Reez-ling 1724, a light, dry an' citrusy classic perfect to match wiv a bold… spicy dish.”

The ferret glared pointedly at the congealing potato soup in front of Ishy.

“Oh, thank the stars,” Ishy said, breathing a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to drink the citrus one. He only liked citrus in watered-down cordials, though his crewmates made fun of him for having barely a drop of lemon in a mug of water. The sailors believed it had medicinal properties as well, since fewer of them seemed to catch scurvy while drinking the stuff regularly. If Ishy had a citrusy wine, the experience could have ruined his liking for mildly sour fruit cordial for life. Regaining composure from that momentary lapse of emotion, Ishy cleared his throat. “Ahem. Thank the stars you have some quality wine, I mean. The Magh 1746 will pair excellently with our meals.”

The ferret chewed on his lip, as if debating whether to ask the weasel how one wine could pair both with a sumptuous fish, and liquid potatoes. He thought better of it, and scurried away.

Ishy let his hunger get the better of him for a moment, and ate heartily. Gulping down thick, creamy soup never looks graceful to begin with, but the whaler had been taught some basic etiquette a very long time ago, when he had been small and doted upon by his parents. Though his profession, the gold piercings in his ear, and the skinning knife on his his belt all suggested the weasel was raised rough and poor, the truth was Ishy belonged to the middle-class. Hence why, despite his stilted way of speaking, he did not have much of the loose Vulpinsulan accent.

Ishy carefully considered Firaya’s words as he ate. He did not recognise the name Rustyfangs, but that was no surprise. There were plenty of small traders across the Imperium. This one seemed to be run by cats… perhaps a family business? Could Firaya be so trustworthy to her boss, this Naika madame, because she was her daughter? That could explain why Firaya was so bold and confident - perhaps her mother had been training her from a young age. Much the same way Ishy would have been trained to work in either his mother or father’s businesses… before the war took everything from his family.

“Oh yes, it’s exciting,” Ishy agreed, straightening up and puffing out his chest a little. Though he was often lost at sea for reading compliments, he was fairly certain Firaya was saying something admiring about him. “I could tell stories too outrageous to be anything but the truth.”

The wine arrived, and Ishy’s tail quickly curled around his seat. His eyes widened as the ferret poured… and poured… and poured. How much wine did the fool think he needed?! At least Firaya’s serving was equally generous. Ishy raised his drink, his face still unsmiling. He had been told before that his smile was unnerving to beasts, and the last thing he wanted was to put the cat off by baring his teeth at her.

“To bold trades, and big profits,” Ishy toasted. He tried to look suave, he really did. Yet anybeast that even mildly understood body language could tell the weasel was nervous as he tipped his drink back, and gulped with the determination of a kit being forced to take his medicine.

He was a jack, Ishy thought. A big, strong jack. He was supposed to be good at this. Jacks could hold their drink better than jills, everybeast knew that!

Right?

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

Firaya was bemused more and more as she observed the jack on the other side of the table. He struggled so much when taken out of his element and thrown into the unknown. She could allow herself a little chuckle, not out of pity nor mockery, one of the self-perceived hilarity of the situation. She was the one here who actively took on one of many identities and should fumble when given too difficult of a role yet this weasel fumbled even at being himself.

They did know the etiquette, were kind enough to bother with trying despite apparent struggle with both speaking naturally and anxiety with the drink. She did toast too. "And to the opulent futures!" She grinned as the glass she had went smoothly down her throat. Firaya liked booze and could take way more than Naika, but as a merchant it was rather reasonable to have experience in drinking in your resume. Many deals were after all done over those.

Unfortunately, the Jack wasn't too talkative as it seemed so far. Maybe the topic of the trade would actively awake his mind? With males it was a gamble always, but one Firaya had to take. "Say Ishy, I want to know a bit more about..." She hold the word with a purr for effect. "the deal you've had earlier. See what you were working with. I have my ideas sure, but it would allow us to come to more mutual understanding now wouldn't it?"

She continued to pick at her fish, slowly savouring each flake with a small twitch of her whiskers. She was in her element. Wine, wish, deals... what not to love here? Well, maybe if Firaya was a real beast, this would be her everyday life. Naika however? She quietly sat inside and threw curses at herself. Not only dealing with a male, which was often enough to upset her, but also having to waste time on frivolities while other more pressing matters have waited? Naika was angry... but Naika too was not a real beast.

However she was the primary one, Firaya and others were all secondary. Naika craved some action so another generous round of wine was promptly poured into glasses using Firaya's paws. And Firaya responded with enthusiasm. Once again, raising it to toast.

This was not going to be an easy outing, but none was when one beast had to account for needs of dozens within.

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

((OOC: Sorry for the delay!))

Wine. Wine wine winewinewine.

Wine? Whiiine!

Wine tasted bad.

Wine tasted bad because it was gross rotten fermented grapes that a rat maiden had stepped in. They hired rats to crush the grapes because rats have naked hairless footpaws. Which means less chance of fur somehow making it through the whole process into a bottle. It’s unlikely… very unlikely.

But it must have happened at least once.

Ishy woozed. They had both drank a glass of wine, then another, then… maybe another? The weasel frowned at his glass. It was half-filled, or had recently been half-emptied, he wasn’t sure which.

“Of-… of course,” Ishy agreed. Tell her all about the amazing deal she was inheriting from Mr. Takayama. What a good idea…

“See… we were supposed to be moving ceramics out of Peltarra. Teacups… saucers and things. Tons of ‘em.” Ishy explained, his brow furrowing as he tried to work out just how much detail he should go into. Firaya needed the whole story, right?

No! Not the whole story. Not the trade secrets. No important names. Just… an impression of how difficult it had all been. How much time and sweat and musclepower Ishy had strained. How many beasts were expecting a cut.

“Erm… load wasn’t lashed properly when it was bein’ craned over. Lost the lot of it in the Rya river. So we um… So I um…” Ishy paused, mind slipping down a flight of stairs as he tried to think. “The word got around I guess. Bad look for us. Couldn’t find any other cargo. Then this Takayama bloke- white fox- turns up in his Imperium-fashioned suit… stuck out like a rat’s tail amongst all the dressing-gown wearing Westisle blokes. Said he wanted passage. No… no questions. No papers.”

Ishy waved his paw languidly. Ooh, his glass was empty now. Funny how it did that. He was just getting into his stride too! Ah well, he couldn’t tell the rest of the story on a dry throat. Bubble bubble goes the wine.

“Said s’okay, can’t read your foreign papers anyway. He fills- and I mean fills- the hold. Furniture. Trinkets. Silverware. His own -hic- tea set all wrapped nice in cloth. Brought everything but the kitchen s-… the kitchen -hic!- stove.”

Ishy’s spoon was starting to clink against the bottom of his soup bowl. His tail swished lazily, his eyes taking on a half-lidded look. He must have eaten a bit too fast. He had a tendency to do that, since he never ate anything interesting enough to slow down and savour it.

“So he gets all like there’s beetles in his pants when we -hic- get stopped by a customs clipper… so I hid him in a… hid him in a… oof…” Ishy shook his head. Bowl empty. Glass empty! This was ridiculous, he was just getting to the good bit!

“Hid him in a laundry pile! Everybeast’s dirty socks’n’shirts’n’unmentionables, and this fancy little tod curled up -hic- right under their noses.” Ishy swirled his glass of wine (his fffourth? No, he had to still be on his third), trying to look as though he was admiring the colour or something. Actually he just liked the bubbles, but he was fairly sure that wasn’t a sign of being cultured.

“So we show ‘em the manifest that says we have ceramics, we open up the one crate… the one crate mind you that’s got his tea set in it, and I say… I say really sarcastically, y’know… ‘D-d’you -hic!- wanna see the rest?’ and the daft lubber just waves his paw and sods off.” Ishy was definitely bragging now, and enjoying it despite the way the room was tilting. It occurred to him he didn’t get to show off his cleverness nearly enough, and nobeast ever appreciated him properly for it either.

“Anyway… then Takayama comes out and is all gratitude for a thousand generations this and my ancestors smile on me that. Thought that was the end of it… till he sent me a letter about two- no, three months ago.”

Ishy frowned. Now he knew he was getting into the prickly part that would sound a bit like smuggling. He had gone into enough detail so far though that glossing over this part wouldn’t be possible. He drained his glass - it was distracting him when he needed to concentrate!

“He had an itinerary of these potted trees waiting at a greenhouse in Summerdock. Urgent delivery, couldn’t keep ‘em too long at sea, no -hic!- customs, no -hic!- questions as usual. These trees... erm, they’re hard to import because… because they’re so hard to look after! So most captains won’t accept them as cargo. So I told ‘em I had eight crates of Peltarran cupcakes!”

Ishy attempted a lopsided smile, which opened up like a toothy gash in his face. This was the Important Lie - the little trees were hard to import because of goods restrictions that ensured the House of Ryalor got a cut of every trade. The lords of Westisle were the official gateway between the mysterious West and the rest of the Imperium, and they guarded that privilege jealously. The cupcakes part was a lie too - he had simply deceived the captain and crew about the worth of the trees, passing himself off as a scientist carrying boring specimens back home to the University of Length. Better that Firaya think that Ishy had duped some stodgy old packet ship captain (which was barely illegal, perhaps against some badly-enforced maritime code), rather than undercut trade laws that the Ryalors enforced like a pack of starving wolves.

“So… so it’s been a long journey… a hard journey,” Ishy nodded as though agreeing with himself, his expression growing very solemn. “Mr. Takayama was gonna pay… -hic!- well… never mind. After that trouble, I was going to charge him three hundred and fifty gilders* a crate for all shipping and haulage, but… I am prepared to take a slimmer margin, provided I can meet my commitments to my… peers.”

Ishy spread his arms. “So y’see it really is a -hic!- one-time, special offer here. Not going to be getting a shipment like this again. Ever. You will be the first, last and -hic!”

Gates, wine was awful. He hoped the bottle wasn’t empty yet.

*Approximately $1750 in modern currency - perhaps reasonable for an import-restricted luxury item, but ludicrously beyond the means of most beasts.

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

(OOC: Weclome back! :3)

Firaya was fortunately quite good at handling wine, which meant she was only pouring her third glass while Ishy was getting his fifth. As expected really, paying for dinner and booze was one very sound way to get the other beast into the talking mood and make them docile. Ishy seemed no different and he certainly delivered now waaay more than Firaya ever wanted. It wasn't just a whole story, that in a way was captivating, especially when spoken by this beast that was very reclusive and shy just moments before.

And despite getting tipsy herself, Firaya knew a lot as a merchant, especially one working for a trading house that dealt with luxuries. One of those things were customs, tolls and tariffs. Luxury goods were eagerly put under those due to the fact the people getting them had money to chip in that extra gilder or a hundred. As such, the wildcat could catch a lie when it happened. Not the full scope of it, but enough to realise this beast was a smuggler.

Playing with her glass a bit, running one of her paw pads on the edge, making sounds as if using some sort of an instrument, Firaya pondered what to do now. Being an honest merchant, unlike Naika, would mean she should report that to the Commerce and get a reward and praise for doing just that. However, as all merchants, she lived for profit. Smuggled goods were for sure very profitable because of lack of tariffs inclusion into the price tag. Ishy here charged however still a bit more than expected by her, possibly as a for of 'danger tax'.

"Fascinating story... and such a silly one too!" She enthused. "There is just so much I could ask you about with those! But alas, maybe some other time. It would be nice to assure it happens." Firaya gave one slightly seductive grin, much to displeasure of Naika, but alcohol was doing its work now.

There was mild dismay however as she noticed there was no longer any fish left to flake and chew upon while continuing this conversation. Instead she thus took another sip of her wine. At least a few of the inner personalities screamed at that so Firaya knew she had to find a new thing to keep them at the table aside from booze.

"I have to say Ishy, I admire your journey and what you went through to get those trees. As an indoor cat, one that spent their whole life in the city, I ponder often if I would have more fun running the ships instead. Definitely sounds like an adventure... then I remember I like having running water and enough goods to keep me nicely curved." She joked while carefully looking around for a waitbeast that she could call over to the table.

"Sadly, let us speak some buisness now... thirty five silver gilders for a tree? Now that is for sure not as massive of a price tag I see when usually dealing with such items from Fyador or Westisle..." Starting of a good paw was a good tactic, preparing the other side for the blow. Firaya could play harsh, but she wasn't seeing need for it now. "But it is usually due to customs. And your trick at avoiding them... surely that lowered the cost of obtaining those by a margin now didn't it?" She added while keeping her welcoming, coy smile. Flashing her fangs as she finally spotted a waitbeast close enough to get their attention by simply raising her paw.

"Please, two desserts for us. Whatever Chef's specialty is. Oh and another wine bottle too!" She mused to them before returning her attention to Ishy, slowly and innocently blinking at him.

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

“Two slices of peach pie an’ cream,” the serving-jack confirmed to Firaya with a nod. Ishy opened his mouth to protest, even at the risk of jeopardising the deal. Nothing came out though - he couldn’t work his wine-numb mouth into uttering a single word before the ferret was already slinking away between the tables.

“Issa challenging yet highly satisfying -hic!-… career,” nodded the weasel in a daze, returning to thoughtless patter as he tried to think. Maybe they could cinch an agreement before the horribly sweet dessert arrived? Then he could… pretend to be full, perhaps? Firaya wanted more wine too… this cat’s appetite was never-ending!

“Yes, exactly! Fewer gilders to the tax-beast, more in your -hic!- pocket, ma’am.” Ishy nodded enthusiastically, relief flooding into him that they were approaching the haggling stage of the conversation. This was a game with simple rules that Ishy rarely failed to play to his satisfaction. They would talk prices, Firaya at some point might pretend no longer to be interested, they would come to a price somewhere in between the high and low offers, and then Ishy could run home to bury his poor dizzy head in fresh linen sheets, cut himself off from all this unpleasant sensory stimulation, and never think about those dratted trees ever again.

…Only she hadn’t made a lower offer, or any offer. It seemed she wanted him to do all the work of haggling for her! And in the meantime, those awful servings of pie must be creeping closer. 320 gilders. He would start with 320, she would drop to something under 300, he’d hem and haw his way to 300 and then…

And then Ishy spotted the Fogey at the door. He stared for a moment. It was that same dratted stoat jill from before, her belt loaded down with truncheon and manacles that glinted in the light, her face far more stern and suspicious than when she’d been dispensing business advice. She was scanning the room’s patrons. Well, never mind, she probably was looking for an empty table to sit down now she was off duty, or something. Ishy’s attention returned to Firaya, but his ear twitched when he heard the nasal police-jill’s call.

“OI! Is there a MISTER KITE in ‘ere?”

“Three-hundred-gilders-final-offer-so-sorry-can’t-stay-for-dessert-I’ve-gotta-uhhh-check-on-my-wife-uhh… three hundred yes yes, many happy years of enjoyment, beautiful trees, unlike anything you’ve seen, wonders of the mysterious Far West, um, um, um,” Ishy rapid-fire mumbled, checking his watch, grabbing a loose menu and peering at it with fake intense interest, tapping his footpaw, and hunching his shoulders. It seemed the pure shock of hearing his name, in the tones of an imminent arrest, had been enough to cure his hiccups, as well as turn the pink insides of his ears red, and give his paws the shakes.

Ishy breathed deeply, his wooziness from the wine overpowered by his instinct to survive and escape. He arranged his priorities - He needed to get out, primarily. Yet he was so close to triumph and… a shudder of anticipation went through the weasel’s body. If he could get away with this deal, turn the cart and its contents thoroughly and legally over to Firaya, well then… it would be her problem, whatever it was. And there was no thrill the smuggler liked better, than getting away with a scheme right under the very nose of the law.

“Think of it this way,” Ishy suggested, trying to look apologetic. “You’re getting the best deal you’ll ever see on items of this nature… and you get to eat both slices of that, erm, delicious peach pie.”

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

Now that was one unpleasant incursion.

Firaya had little doubt what the Fogey jill wanted of Ishy. Especially considering his reaction that was hysterical to say the least. Again, Firaya herself wished to give him back to the law, despite the fact he made a more sensible offer now. After all, dealing with clearly smuggled goods, ones that Fogeys had a general idea of, no matter the profits, was not too smart. Even if she was not a real beast, nor a real employee of Rustyfangs Exchange because she just didn't exist.

But Naika had something to say about that. She lived for thrill and profit, so being the primary personality, she enforced their will to push onwards no matter what. That caused a lot of internal disarray within so many of their split personalities. It was a rarity that Naika got to enforce her will and it was settled that the beast that is currently in control of the body is the one in charge. Firaya was very displeased and with the wine also affecting them, they let out a groan.

Quickly recovering, they had to now think of how to solve this conundrum. Running away with Ishy, hiding him or covering for him were all dishonest methods. "The Salt Casket" had rather decent amount of patrons so the fogey would have to waste a whole day to to truly investigate them all. In other words, making sure that Ishy will stay out of side for just long enough to not be spotted was the best and safest plan.

No.

Firaya had an idea. One that was in great displeasure to Naika and everything she stood for. She cleared her throat and grinned to Ishy. "Oh Ishy, I am aware that I am a bit on the chonkier side, but two slices of such pie are too much even for me." She chuckled as she stood up and sashayed to Ishy on the other side of the table."I also enjoy your company... and would rather not rush such important matter as trade."

No.

Naika on the inside was fuming with anger, but their previous act made it impossible for her to do anything but lash out. Other personalities were keeping her occupied after all with their displeasure. This allowed Firaya to work freely and sit on Ishy's lap, wrapping her arms and tail around him. "Besides... I can see you are stressed. Very much not good for talking money. That is how you can end up making bad deals you know?" She flicked her tongue over her fangs, leaning closer to Ishy.

NO.

Firaya carefully waited as the jill would be passing by, putting her paw on Ishy's cheek."And well, you see... I like to taste the goods before buying them. And with those being trees? I have to settle for the second best." Firaya wasn't maybe interested in males, but seducing them was fun. Naika in the meanwhile swore that she would kill Firaya at first given chance for doing so. Her misandry was far greater than fun or any benefits this deal was about to bring.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

As Fogey Jill got close enough that Firaya deemed it sensible, she pressed herself to Ishy for a long, deep kiss. Latching onto him and gently pulling up his hat to cover the kiss slightly. With that she was sure that no beast looking their side would want to continue looking for long. And even then, they would mostly see Firaya attached to some beast mostly covered by her body.

Naika learned that day that her split personalities were very petty.

And the Jill, as expected, didn't bother to look for too long the pair making out, moving on after a good minute or so.

Parting from Ishy, panting with a smile, Firaya winked with a smirk. "No need to thank me."

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Fish breath. Dyed fur smell. Cat scent. Cat lips. Cat… tongue.

Ishy was fortunate that Firaya’s… solid presence on his lap prevented him from physically hurling her off. He gripped the seat of his chair until his claws dug into the wood, and reassessed his situation, the fog of alcohol swirling around a head-clearing new cocktail of horror, disgust, and fear.

Maybe… maybe this wasn’t unrecoverable. Ishy understood the logic of Firaya’s actions, the uncomfortable smothering over him, rendering him invisible to the probing eyes of the constable. Yet that also meant that his attempts to quickly and innocently finalise the deal had failed. This wildcat merchant with her oily charm and her decadent tastes knew he was In Trouble, and no doubt meant to leverage that fact to her advantage. For a moment, Ishy considered ditching this attempted sale altogether. Start over fresh with somebeast dumber… or just burn the ‘Gates-bedamned wagon, forget the last few weeks of toil as an unpleasant fever dream, and go back to moving stolen antique furniture.

Yet… Firaya had been showing as clear interest in the goods as Ishy could interpret, and had proven herself intelligent enough to know they were smuggled. Perhaps she could be of use as a fence - if she bought illegal imports undercutting the Ryalors, then she must have a good idea where she could sell them without anything tracing back to Ishy, who in return would continue to do good business with her.

In order for this to work though, Ishy would have to fight his innate reflexes, his desire above all else for this sticky, slimy, filthy moment to end. He knew what jacks were supposed to do when jills kissed them. Sort of. He’d heard nauseatingly precise descriptions of moments like this from other whalers, at least. Firaya was staying in-character, so he could do the same.

Cautiously, as though testing fruit at a market for bruises, the long-tailed weasel’s cream-furred paws alighted on the wildcat’s plump hips. He squeezed her mechanically, wondering if this really was the sensible procedure for Having a Snog. She was, as he expected, soft and a bit springy. Ishy tried not to think about whale blubber… too late.

It wasn’t as though Ishy was totally unfeeling, it was just that what little romantic inclination he did have was exceptionally reductive and transactional. If somebeast caught his eye, he would make it plainly known, and have his inability to be charming, gallant or seductive be mistaken for masculine forthrightness, or bold love-at-first-sight confidence. Such affairs never lasted. Ishy hated to maintain long-term associations with anybeast.

Ishy and Firaya parted, in the clear for the moment as the constable gave up with a clodding of boots and jingle of chains. The weasel sat there, muzzle still open. At a distance, perhaps he could be mistaken for being dazed after such a passionate kiss. Firaya would be able to see the deadness in his eyes though, and feel the measured, totally detached pressure from his paws squeezing her in a thinly-painted facsimile of desire.

“This could be the start of a beautiful partnership,” Ishy suggested. It was a line he was stealing from another whaler, who tried it out on a jill every other port they dropped anchor into. He winked back, a motion devoid of any mischief or playfulness, Ishy having no idea what either her wink or his meant at all. It was a kind of code, right? Letting the other know they weren’t genuinely saying what they were saying. “If you liked the taste of that, there are… other goods I can procure for you.”

Was he flirting? Was that a flirtatious thing to say? Ishy blinked. Probably not? He meant it literally, he would quite like it if Firaya bought other goods from him. He shrugged. “If you want, in future I can set aside luxury goods for you to have first pick. As long as you make reasonable offers… and perhaps ask fewer questions.”

The serving-jack arrived with two plates, each loaded with a slice of peach pie, and a side-bowl of whipped cream. The ferret stared, slack-jawed at the sight of the wildcat sitting in the weasel’s lap.

“Uhh… I’ll just leave it on the table, then,” the ferret mumbled, placing the plates down, and refusing to make eye contact with the pair again as he left.

Drat. Ishy wrinkled his nose slightly. He was going to have to eat some pie after all. Still, he was feeling a lot better now he was no longer… oh! Ishy tilted his head.

“Hm. Thank you, Firaya. You seem to have cured my hiccups.”

 

[Naika Rustyfangs]

"You then own me double the favour Ishy." Firaya responded with coyness before lifting her heavy bottom from his lap and moving back to her own chair.

Once seated, Firaya had to consider now what to do. Ishy was admittedly a bit cute in his horrible attempts at being flirty. Naika was busy crying inside at the fact she couldn't now say she had never kissed a man. But Firaya wasn't winning exactly either. Ishy did suggest partnership, which as suspected was actually more of a business matter than anything in the world of romance. Which would be great... if it wasn't for the fact Firaya was meant to be one without any shady connections or criminal pasts. That ship had sailed when Naika enforced her will, but ultimately, going deeper into this matter was really not something Firaya wanted.

So much so, she wished to change her place with Nailya, the one who actually was capable of handling smuggling goods and had contacts. Firaya knew the legal situation of course, but lacked means to overcome them. Nailya could do so without too much of a problem. Then again... it would require for Ishy to wait about an hour, during which Firaya would rush to their home, change, re-dye herself, mentally reform and return here as Nailya. That wasn't doable, Ishy wouldn't wait for that amount of time for sure.

Taking the peach pie, but leaving the cream, after all, Naika's body all ladies occupied was indeed in need of less food, not more, Firaya pondered again what Ishy said. He can procure goods at wish, or give the first pick to Firaya. It was definitely a favorable deal but...

It also was giving options.

"You see Ishy... I am facilitated to do trades, prologned partnerships are a bit outside of what I can do." She mused, enjoying a slice of peach pie to the fullest, in part also to cleanse the taste of Ishy's mouth from hers. "However, I can get you to talk with someone who would be very much willing to discuss such deal. I in the meanwhile am willing to get this matter to the end..."

Perfect save for Firaya honestly. Naika will be satisfied, Firaya won't get her paws dirty and Nailya would manage that matter way more efficiently and professionaly. However Ishy needed some assurance that it will go amicably for him as well. And so this small deal was still on Firaya, who would only get those trees to let other personalities deal with it.

"So for now, you said three hundred gilders? A nice starting offer really, but I am assured we can go slightly lower than that. How about two-fifty? Considering I would then give you an ability to personally meet and deal with a pussycat I know for sure can handle those matters within our trading house. I believe there is something about the long-term relationship that is worth it after all." Firaya continued on as she now got closer to finishing the peach pie with delighted smile.

Said delight turned into some more harmless remarks. "And I will be happy to see you around in the tradehouse! In the end, you may need a bit more practice in kissing... just a professional advice of course." She winked at him again with a chuckle and instantly regretted it as a sudden spike of pain occured in the back of her head. Naika may have been reclused, but she still was hearing it all and she still was upset to say the least.

 

[Aloysius 'Ishy' Kite]

"There will be no partnership at all, if you or your employer value me so little,” Ishy said with all the conviction of a poorly trained actor reading the script before the audition. This was the kind of line he had heard his father use a long time ago, complete with mock indignity and an almost tearful hiccup in the elder weasel’s voice. The corners of Ishy’s mouth turned down as he bravely attempted doing Sad Eyes. “Miss Firaya, I do hope it is not your aim to take advantage of me in my current state.”

What aspect of Ishy’s current state he was referring to was unclear. He had been sloshed with wine, enstickified with a torturous lip-wetting, strung along and tied in knots as the numerous weaknesses of his negotiating position had been wrung out of him. He had lost his client and nearly lost his freedom. He was in a financial hole for months of work, not to mention still in debt to the hauliers.

“Dear Firaya. You could simply forget such a promise the moment we shook paws. I don’t even know where this ‘Rustyfangs Exchange’ is.” Ishy, for all his tactlessness, at least was wise enough not to point out that he didn’t even know if it existed. That would be outright calling the cat a liar, which would do him no good. All the same, he had the dim sense he was treading on the last of both Firaya’s good will, and his own patience. At best he could walk away with some coin in his pocket rather than none. At worst - Ishy wondered if Firaya would make a scene. Call for that Fogey jill, or run after her…

On second thoughts, watching the cat scoff her pie with nauseating enthusiasm, he could at least outrun that possibility. Yet Ishy could predict Firaya’s reactions no more accurately the harder he tried to imagine being in her position. He checked his pocketwatch, his mind wandering back to the kiss. Did she actually think he had enjoyed any part of that awful muzzle-locking? He had assumed they had endured it for mutual benefit, but Ishy could not tell now why Firaya was still talking about it, like they were going to do it again. Had he flirted successfully? He hoped not.

The weasel scrunched his muzzle a bit, glaring at the peach pie slice in front of him, as if the answers were written somewhere on the crust. The wine in his belly was making him feel a bit ill, the lightheaded buzz of the alcohol having transmuted into tiredness and irritation at the loud conversations around him. If he was in Firaya’s position, he would have spent about twenty gilders wining and dining a merchant, hardly much compared to the profit margin on the trees. But then, if he had worked out the merchant was a smuggler, desperate to offload the goods before the law sniffed him out, he would probably push hard on the price too. He would also stop eating so much revolting rich food. His dessert sat unappreciated, and untouched.

“Consider my position,” Ishy said, his mind pulling out every spare sail in a hard-fought bid to mentally put himself in her position. “If I sold them to you for so little, I couldn’t pay my other obligations. That would make me a debtor. Debtors go to debtor’s prison, Firaya. Would you want to see a good weasel like me in a striped shirt? An iron ball shackled to my ankle? Why, if I walked out of this deal with only two-hundred and fifty gilders, I’d have to gut the next unfortunate wretch I saw for their purse, just to feed my family tonight!”

This part of Ishy’s veiled threat was actually quite easy for him to visualise. The whaler was recovering his confidence now that he was talking a language that made sense to him. Firaya had to be made to understand that if he was pushed into a corner, the risk of committing worse crimes than smuggling would be his only way out. That was the kind of unpredictability a comfy soft-clawed merchant would logically wish to avoid. She had learned too much to simply walk away now. Her own curiosity meant that as far as Ishy was concerned, the cat was Involved now.

“…Which would be terrible.” Ishy added after a moment. “Firaya, don’t force my paw. Words won’t feed hungry mouths. Perhaps I can accept a discount, owing to your quick-thinking, but really, you can’t expect this to go lower than two-hundred and ninety gilders.”