Open Roll Out The Barrels - A Feast!

[Till Dupré]

First impressions could mean everything and as one of the first badgers to set foot on an Imperium ship, not to mention a bafflingly androgynous one, Till was keen to show their shipmates that they were not something to fear. With an old-fashioned woodlander upbringing, it was her custom to form bonds through the sharing of food and companionship. It was also Till's hope that most of these beasts had never experienced this sort of culinary delight. It wouldn't be a frequent treat, owing to the shelf-life of many ingredients for a sea voyage and the cost she had helped cover from her own pocket, but within the first few days of the ship's voyage toward Croper's there was an opportunity.

A feast! With the help of her galley assistants, Till busied themselves for hours, a myriad wonderful smells permeating the surrounding decks. Tables were spread with an astonishing amount of treats, designed for beasts to stay and mingle or simply drop in for a bite before dashing back to their duties. Truly the Hide's galley had outdone itself.

There were flans; pastries; oatmeal cookies; bowls of fresh fruit; dishes of greensap cream; and little fruit pies and tarts. For main meals there was a great baked bream with lemon and herb seasoning; vegetable or fish stews; vegetable sausages; and shrimp and potato pie. More desserts boasted candied chestnutsl apple crumble; a mint mousse; and apricot jelly. For drinks there was of course grog, but also several cordials, a light ale, and a sweet cider.

"Come and fill your bellies, one and all! Do be careful not to overdo eet, zough I know it may not be so simple!"​

 

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

One of the first sets of rapid pawsteps descending towards the galley at Till’s call belonged to Lorcan. The big todd had only recently concluded a heavy shift, spending hours up and down gangways taunted by the growing aromas of bubbling pans and simmering pots. Now came the culmination of that torturous wait, and he was eager to sink his fangs into what had smelled so delicious all day.

Dark bistre eyes swept over the delightful array of fare on offer when he stepped inside, brush setting a slow wag. It was impressive; his countenance reflected as such as he gawped at pastries and pasties alike. Shiny, flaked crusts baked to a golden turn; colourful stews bubbling gently in burnished copper pots, nestled beside a veritable rainbow of tarts. That wasn’t even to speak of the bream, which Lorcan’s nose had immediately identified, steaming lightly beside more treats than he had seen outside of celebrations before.

Kutorokan cuisine was distinctive in its own way, and he was ever-fond of the seafood, though his parents could not lay claim to being the most exceptional of cooks and food had often been more practical. This feast, then, proved quite the exiting opportunity. Furthermore, he remained hopeful that a night in relaxed quarters might prove just as bountiful for socialising. Both himself and his sister were still new to the Hide and her way of working: Lorcan himself was still feeling the drag of loneliness spending his days amidst a sea of those already so well-bonded. With good fortune, a creature or two might deign to spend some time with him.

It all looked fantastic. He wasn’t certain when Kinza would have time from duties to join in, but the fox was loath to wait with hot food prepared and remained assured there would be plenty for all, regardless. The big fox flashed Till a toothy grin. “I make no promises, mate,” Lorcan chuckled as he found himself a bowl and spoon, eyeing both bream and the fish stew as he spoke. “You’ve outdone yourself, I’d say, an’ I’m intendin’ to show full appreciation!”

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

The scent found him before the doorway did.

Lemon and butter, bright and clean beneath the deeper comfort of baked crust and simmering broth, drifted down the corridor in warm ribbons that cut clean through tar, brine, and the ever-present memory of coal. Swifttail had known it was coming. He had scrubbed the last of the engine-smudge from his paws with deliberate care, brushed out his platinum fur until it lay neat along his shoulders, and drawn on the secondhand navy coat he’d altered to fit his frame, the cuffs hemmed, the sides taken in, the seams reinforced where they had begun to give.Beneath it, his familiar green tunic rested like an old comfort worn thin with memory.

He paused at the threshold of the galley just long enough to take it in.

Lanternlight gilded the tables. Steam curled lazily toward the beams. Laughter rose and fell like surf against the hull. And there, across the press of bodies, he caught sight of Silvertongue, caught mid-conversation with an officer, posture composed, expression attentive. A small warmth stirred in Swift’s chest at the sight.

He knew the stories that lingered behind that composure. The old fears that striped fur could summon without warning. Silvie’s unease with badgers was no secret to him. Swift’s gaze flicked, almost involuntarily, toward the broad-shouldered figure commanding the galley. For a heartbeat he wondered how that meeting would feel when it came.

He did not interrupt. If Silvie was on duty in that moment, then so be it. There would be time. There was always time, when a ship was steady beneath their paws.

His gaze shifted fully now, settling at last on the badger presiding over the abundance.

He was aware, distantly, of the old tales. The ones of Badger Lords and bloodwrath, of ancient wars and vermin cast down beneath striped vengeance. He had grown up on stories too, though his had been told beneath the sweep of the Skyfire Veil and tempered by traders who came and went with goods and gossip alike. Till Dupré stood nothing like the fearsome figures of childhood legend. She stood like a professional at her post, sleeves rolled and work well done, a cook proud of her craft.

He stepped forward without hesitation.

“You’ve done the Hide proud, Chef!” he said warmly, offering a respectful incline of his head before reaching for a tin plate. “Smelled it all the way down the corridor. Thought the boilers had sucked up a school of fish and were cookin’ it into soup. This stew of yours is definitely preferred!”

A generous wedge of bream found its place first, the lemon glaze catching the light. A ladle of fish stew followed, thick and fragrant, then a square of shrimp and potato pie balanced carefully along the rim. Bread - proper crusted bread - was tucked along the edge, and a small tart claimed what space remained. When Till urged him to take more, he yielded with a sheepish grin and allowed another spoonful of something sweet to be coaxed aboard.

He poured himself a flagon of sweet cider, licking his chops as the liquid gleamed and foamed invitingly.

The galley was thick with beasts now, elbows and shoulders jostling in good humor, and he turned sideways to navigate the crush, shielding his plate instinctively as one seabeast laughed too loudly behind him. He stepped to avoid another, half-turned...

...and collided solidly with something that did not give.

The impact was firm enough to jolt the breath from his chest. His plate tipped treacherously; gravy sloshed toward the rim; cider surged within its tin cup in a perilous arc. For a heartbeat it seemed certain the floor would claim a casualty.

Swift’s grip tightened. He shifted his weight back, leveled the plate with quick, practiced reflex, and steadied himself before anything could truly spill.

“Woa-woah... Gates, sorry...” he began, already looking up.

His eyes were met by a todd with golden-red fur with broad shoulders, a bowl and spoon held in his capable paws. Recognition followed a breath later; he’d seen the towering fox about deck, warbow slung with easy familiarity.

Noticing a narrow pocket of space beside him, just enough to stand without impeding the flow of traffic, Swift angled himself into it with quiet practicality, back half-turned to shield his plate from further disaster and keep his cider secure.

He tore a piece of bread free and dragged it through the stew before taking his first proper bite.

The sound that left him was low and involuntary, somewhere between a hum and a groan of contentment. Lemon brightened the fish; herbs lingered; the broth settled warm and steady all the way down.

Worth the wait.

He swallowed, wiped his paw discreetly against a folded cloth at his belt, and cast a sideways glance at the larger fox beside him. Up close, it was easier to see the set of fatigue in the line of his shoulders, the heaviness beneath the eyes that only came after long labor.

“Looks like you’ve earned this,” he observed gently, gesturing with his bread toward the laden tables before claiming another bite. “Shift must’ve been a heavy one. Good thing the reward’s fit for it.”

Another mouthful, this time of the shrimp pie, and he gave a small nod of approval to the air between them, as though sealing an agreement with the galley itself.

“I’m Swifttail,” he added after a moment, tone easy and unforced. “Can't say we've had a proper introduction.”

He followed the introduction with a sip of cider, the sweet, fresh taste settling easy on his tongue. He remained comfortably in the shared pocket of space, half an eye still on the room in case familiar faces drifted free of their duties before the apricot jelly vanished entirely.

 

[Amnesty Greysoul]

Amnesty paused just outside the door of the galley, her stomach grumbling and a roil of emotions accelerating her pulse and threatening to give free rein to nausea despite her hunger. How long had it been since she had sat down at a feast? With comrades? In celebration? Oh, there had been relaxed meals taken in good company, the kind that were sustaining to the body and the soul. And there had been pleasant evenings spent in conversation with those she might, if pressed, have described as friends.

But something like this? With food that her nose had already confirmed was several steep steps above their normal provender? With as much of the crew as possible gathered in one place at the same time for as long as possible?

It felt like nothing so much as the Midsummer Feast they had celebrated every year in Redfur's Bywater.

So perhaps that was why her paws shook and her tongue felt thick and dry. She grown so accustomed to forgetting, so comfortable pretending she didn't have a past. It was easier that way, acting as if there had never been anything else to her life than the little she had now. Trouble was, the memories remained. And if she didn't either step inside or turn and walk away, somebeast would see her.

Her stomach growled again. Walking away was the worse of her two options. Amnesty pulled in a deep breath and held it, begging her body to release some tiny fraction of the tension currently holding her rigid. She breathed it out. Slowly, through her nose. She forced her jaw to unclench. She entered the galley. And if she didn't look particularly at ease, she was still there, and that was more than she had been certain of even five minutes before.

 

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

The unexpected collision at his back was enough to jostle some of Lorcan’s well-piled platters. Swiftly he compensated with a twist of the paw to avoid slopping stew before he could add, no doubt, to tomorrow’s swabbing duties. Worse still he’d be wasting good food: not a drop of fare this quality should be fed to the boards.

He half-turned and at once old-school masculinity poised itself to offer sarcastic comment or acerbic accusation if the culprit dared complain or accuse. Clearly the previous craft he had worked upon were made of poorer stuff than the Hide’s crew: the handsome todd, of a similar age to himself and fur so distinctive by Lorcan’s standards that he couldn’t help but recognise the figure, apologised at once. For a split second this caught him off guard, but eager to befriend as he was the incident was gone from his mind as swiftly as rough breezes passed across the decks above.

Shoulders relaxed and Lorcan’s tail set up a slow, relieved wag. He grinned ruefully at Swifttail’s keen observation. “Aye, it’s been an…adjustment,” he confided quietly, “I ain’t ever been on a ship this size before an’ didn’t rightly know how much labour a body can be given each shift. Still, if the food keeps up like this now an’ again I can’t see a reason to grumble…too much.” His snout wrinkled, winking. “I do love a good grumble.”

For a moment the solid fox juggled piping hot bowls and cutlery in an awkward dance of manners as he tried to free a paw to offer the silvery todd. In doing so he risked, once again, slopping stew from the bowl and mumbled a curse as he scalded a pad. Dark eyes flicked to Swift and realised his own paws were not free: with a slight flush he abandoned the attempt and gave a bob of the head. “I’m Lorcan: good to meet yer, Swifttail. I don’t think I’ve seen you on deck much but if mem’ry serves I think I heard your voice during promotions that you work with the engines? Sounds like heavy work on body and mind, though I can’t say as I know much about it myself. How’d you get into that?”

Popping a piece of bream in his mouth to try and clear some space (and inhaling through his jaws to counteract the blistering temperature of freshly-cooked food), his peripheral caught an off-white coat enter the galley and maintained awareness of their presence: once they were closer, he was like to invite them into the conversation, also. The more the merrier, as far as the gregarious fox was concerned.

 

[Till Dupré]

The tall todd’s compliments brought a great blush from Till, already so pleased to prove their upbringing wrong that foxes could be genuinely well-mannered. Engineer Fairpaws was next to reassure her of the fact. Till bobbed their head and smiled at them both, leaving them to help themselves and interact once they had bumped into one another. She set about ensuring that hot fare was secured and not liable to cause injury if the waves got a little more boisterous. Around her, galley staff were scoffing and bantering, their moods cheered at getting to eat more than gruel and biscuits. A few of course complained that it was too rich for their tastes and stuck to nibbling the less fancy options.

Till caught sight of the quiet vixen entering the room and beckoned her forward.

“Bienvenue, cherie! Welcome! Please enjoy anyseeng you like. Zere should be sometheeng for everyone and if zere is not, you let me know, oui-oui?”

@Amnesty Greysoul @SwifttailTheFox @Lorcan Rainclaw ​

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

The galley had grown warmer still in the moments since Swifttail had wedged himself into the little pocket of breathing room beside the towering fox. Steam drifted through lanternlight in lazy curls, laughter bounced from beam to beam, and the scent of Till’s cooking seemed only to deepen the longer it lingered in the air.

Lorcan’s answer drew a crooked grin from him.

“Aye, ships seem to find ways of doin’ that,” Swift chuckled, dragging another piece of bread through the stew. “Give a beast just enough work t’ make the supper taste twice as good.”

His eyes flicked briefly down toward the todd’s bowl as Lorcan attempted to free a paw for a handshake, the maneuver ending in a small dance of hot crockery and muttered curses. Swift’s grin widened, sympathetic.

“Best keep hold o’ that bowl, mate,” he said lightly, lifting his own crowded plate an inch in demonstration. “Till’d have our hides if all this ended up on the boards.”

He popped the corner of the shrimp pie into his mouth then, inhaling sharply through his teeth when the heat proved more enthusiastic than expected. A quick breath, a swallow, and a grateful sip of cider steadied things again before responding to Lorcan's question.

“Truth be told, I only signed on expectin’ t’ shovel coal,” he admitted with an easy shrug. “Back home I was a blacksmith’s apprentice, so when I heard there was a great iron beast in the belly of the Hide what needed feedin’, I figured that was close enough t’ the trade.”

Another bite followed, this time a careful forkful of the lemon-baked bream. Swift closed one eye briefly in approval as the flavor settled, then gestured faintly with his bread as the story went on.

“But on the run out t’ Urk, one of the pipes along the engine decided to throw a tantrum. Had a proper nasty crack along the seam. Whole thing started hissin’ like an angry kettle.”

He chuckled softly at the memory.

“Ensign Kaii Nashirou and I managed t’ braze it shut well enough t’ keep her runnin’. Not pretty work, mind, but it held.”

Another sip of cider.

“It held all the way t’ Urk too. Mission went through fine an’ proper. Next thing I know Captain Gyles called me out o' line and promoted me t' Lead Engineer for this voyage.”

He gave a small helpless lift of his shoulders.

“Still half expect them t’ realize they made a mistake an’ send me back t’ the coal shovel any day now.”

The remark was delivered with the sort of humor that carried no bitterness, only lingering disbelief. Swift punctuated it with another enthusiastic sweep of bread through the stew.

His eyes drifted then, almost idly, to the immense bow slung along Lorcan’s back.

They lingered there a moment.

“That yours?” he asked, nodding toward it with open admiration. “Hard t’ miss a bow that size about deck. Makes mine feel like a kit’s toy by comparison.”

Another mouthful followed, then a contented hum as the flavors of herb and fish mingled with the sweet edge of cider.

Across the room his gaze wandered briefly again, catching sight of the quiet vixen Till had just welcomed inside. She stood a little apart from the easy bustle of the galley, tension clinging faintly to her posture despite the feast laid out before her.

Swift offered a small, easy nod in her direction, friendly but unintrusive.

“Plenty t’ go around if you’re hungry,” he called gently across the space before returning his attention to Lorcan and his steadily disappearing plate.

Another bite vanished, followed by a satisfied sigh.

This was truly a feast where you savored every last bite.

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue had been attracted to the amazing smell of the feast just like everyone else, only to be caught up in conversation with a fellow officer. Duty came before supper, after all. Somehow, in all the time he had been on the Hide, he hadn't met the chef yet. He felt it was time to change that.
So, finishing his talk up with the much older, stern-faced weasel before him, Silvertongue dismissed himself and walked into the galley- only to freeze in the doorway. There, there, standing there... a badger. Silvertongue instantly went back to the beach.

In his restless mind, he sees that mountain. Salamandastron. It had been a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, the sun glistening off the endless azure waves of the ocean. That beauty had been marred by the sounds of war and blood.

Silvertongue tried to speak, but he choked, his voice catching in his throat. His father had been sent to negotiate with the badger lord and his army of hares. The negotiations went poorly, and Silvertongue watched his father be struck down by the badger's blade. He remembered running over to him, rushing past vermin and woodlanders locked in battle, kneeling by his father's side. He cradled his father's head in his lap. Words were exchanged, but Silvertongue couldn't remember them. There was a terrible roar, and he saw the badger lord bearing down on him now. He froze, and it had been Greeneye who ran in and parried the strike with his cutlass. Then, he remembered getting up and running, Greeneye grabbing his paw and telling him to run faster. He ran away from all of it, leaving his family behind. There was still blood on his gloves.

All of this flashed through Silvertongue's mind in an instant, as he stood paralyzed in the doorway, eyes wide with a terror nobeast had seen in them before. He trembled violently, but he could not will himself to move, neither back nor forward.

 

[Amnesty Greysoul]

The smile Amnesty attempted in response to the cook's warm welcome was at once shy, anemic, and entirely genuine. Some beasts could make even the most awkward feel like they belonged, and the off-white vixen felt a little more tension bleed away from her shoulders. And still more with the nod and gentle encouragement from the platinum fox she felt vaguely that she had met before, though 'gates if she could remember his name.

"If I wasn't hungry before, I certainly am now that I've seen and smelled it all."

As she moved to step further into the galley, she sensed another beast behind her and moved subconsciously to make room for them to pass into the room only for them to stop cold. She paused as well and, turning, saw a look of abject horror etched across the first mate's face. Her own tail bushed unbidden behind her and she followed the Lieutenant's gaze to the huge badger cook.

"'Gates, Lieutenant, are you alright?" She was still close enough that she could reach out a paw and touch the other vulpine's shoulder. She did so.

 

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

Brows raised in silent admiration as the platinum todd explained the misadventures which had led to his ascension. It was heartening, on the one paw, to see that for all the apparent changes in the Navy since his parents’ generation that quick thinking and skill were rewarded irrespective of titles and money. On the other he was simply impressed by the tale and the adventure the Hide had just returned from. The sailmaker he had grown up to become hummed with pride at the thought of the engines being so faulty: Ha! at least canvas don’t get temperamental, pitch a fit on ye and leave you up the creek.

Swifttail seemed a good sort, relaxed and honest in his thoughts: he was pleased that this should be one of the first crew he should meet. The larger fox picked at another piece of fish, inhaling once again as he burned his tongue. Never a patient sort he committed to gamely battling on regardless, but possessed manners just enough to wait until he had swallowed before speaking. “I d’know, mate,” he mused, “from the sounds you’re the sort who earned the spot. Comin’ up with all the fancy bells and whistles is all well and good to look impressive, but the sort’ve work you did probably saved the crew.” He winked. “Glad to hear I’m in safe paws for me first voyage, sir.”

Another balancing act followed, whereby the platter took perch on his raised and folded arm so that he could sample the stew more easily. The flavour profile had echoes of Kutorokan stews of his youth, something similar but not the same as what he had known: it was delightful. A more philosophical mind might have likened it to following his family’s pawsteps back to this city: as it was his only thoughts comprised of stew ‘Gates damned good.

Swift made a further observation and Lorcan barely stifled a slurp as he raised his snout from the bowl with a delighted smile, brush wagging all the faster. “Oh, you’re an archer?!” Immediately several panicked voices in his brain began hollering for him to slow down, to calm his enthusiasm, but there had been so few kits his age outside of his family (and even then his half-siblings were a decade older, leaving Kinza his closest) that the potential of finding a friend was particularly exciting. “That’s great! I do like the heavier bows,” he said, jerking his head to the weapon in question, “but keep a smaller one for day-to-day. Somethin’ tells me there won’t be much excuse to use it at sea, but if our shifts allow it I’d love to have a practice some time!”

Dark eyes flicked across the galley to find the recipient of Swift’s address, alighting on the whiteish vixen who had seemed so content to keep to herself. He’d been about to offer her an invitation of his own when her attention had turned upon another todd in the doorway, one transfixed with a look of abject terror which sat so at odds with his garishly bright costuming. Lorcan frowned, ears settling back in unease to see such a display of fear in what was such a pleasant gathering: was there something he’d missed?

Looking sidelong to Swifttail, Lorcan jerked his head to the duo with uncertainty written on his features. “Not sure what’s up his brush to look so scared, but reckon we should do somethin’?”

 

[Darragh Harper]

Hunger changed a beast.

Darragh had been on duty up the foremast, right where the smell of the galley had been blowing, the whole watch. It had near enough driven the stoat mad. He salivated, he bit at air, he eyed clouds hungrily and saw pies and pastries in their puffy outlines. He composed trite rubbish that started with airy reflections on philosophy, and ended with trying to find a good rhyme with ‘blancmange’.

The bell tolled the change of watch, and a blur of white fluffy lightning shot down the rigging, tail bristling as though its black tip was smoldering with fire. He was utterly convinced it was all over - he was going to burst through the galley doorway and find a few bloated foxes sitting amidst a comically tall pile of empty plates. Just his luck.

There was a fox in the doorway, but quite the opposite of a bloated one. Darragh’s mad dash became something more of a joyful, cheeky skip as he came up on Silvertongue from behind. Friend! Darragh thought! Friend! Food! Have food with friend! Bonding time!!!

“Wotcher, Silvie! Smells that good, eh?” Darragh yapped, patting a somewhat-less-than-ideally-clean paw on Silvie’s tail. He tried to peek around the fox’s shoulders, his head bobbing from left to right, brows knotting as to why Silvie wasn’t rushing forward for a bowl or a plate. “Dahh, don’t tell me this is th'start of the queue! It’s like missin' Giftsgivin' out here!”

Given the height difference between them, and how his damp headfur (well overdue for a trim) was plastered down over his face, to all in the galley, it might have appeared that Silvertongue was being haunted by a windswept ball of snow-white hair and fluff, adorned by a weatherbeaten faded-blue cap. Finally getting a good look in by peeking around Silvie’s arm, Darragh recognised Amnesty, and smiled.

“Oh, ‘ullo Miz Amnesty!” He burbled, missing the look of concern on her face - his eyes were still getting used to the lamp-fired half-light of belowdecks. “Didn’t realise you wanted a word with Sil… vie…?”

Now the colourful spots which had erupted in his vision when he’d bolted through the ship were starting to clear. Silvie wasn’t just stopped in the doorway, he was frozen in terror, and the tail Darragh had patted was bottlebrushed out with fear. His own rumbling stomach forgotten, Darragh gently squeezed Silvie’s arm, looking between him and Amnesty, confusion and worry written in perfect rhyme over his face.

“Silvie? Are you feelin'…” Darragh could hardly finish the question. Silvie did not look like he felt alright at all. Standing on the tips of his toes, Darragh tried to make eye contact with Till, and waved a paw. “Chef Till, marm! Beggin’ your pardon, but we need somethin’ hot and strong for the lieutenant, if you please!”

Some delicious hot badger-made stew would set Silvie back on an even keel, Darragh knew it!

@Silvertongue Songfox @Amnesty Greysoul @Till Dupré

 

[Till Dupré]

Till's eyeline drew across to the stricken, flamboyant fox, prompting from her a pout of concern. It wasn't hard to guess why her presence might cause alarm. Thankfully they did not seem angry. She tried to make herself seem as small as possible whilst his shipmates gave him encouragement. A familiar acquaintance, the stoat Darragh, called on her.

"Absolument, Monsieur 'Arper. There is -" sometimes they managed the Vulpinsulan pronunciation, "fish or vegetable. Eef you need a leetle kick, I might 'ave some 'otroot in ze back?" Till smiled as sweetly as possible, ensuring she showed no teeth. "Please do enjoy!"​

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue was suddenly thrust back into his senses. He wasn't on that blood-soaked beach, surrounded by the stench of death. He was on the Hide. Safe. With his friends. And he was making a damned fool of himself. "Pull yourself together, for Kitsune's sake!" It was that inner voice of his. Not his normal one. The other one. "You're supposed to be a Lieutenant, and yet here you stand trembling like a frightened babe. I suppose you'll be pissing your pantaloons next?"

Silvertongue took a deep, shuddering breath. "No, no. I'm okay." He looked to both Amnesty and Darragh. "Please, go and enjoy the feast." He pulled himself away from them, and he found a table away from everyone else. He willed himself to be calm, but his whole body seemed to tingle. He took his hat off, seeing his paws trembling violently. He willed himself to be still, but his body refused again.

"Come on, come on." Silvertongue grimaced. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Now you're crying?" His inner voice sneered. "Gods, you are a pathetic whelp. You realize, you only got your rank through circumstance. You don't deserve it. You're still the sniveling coward you were all those years ago when poor dear daddy died. If he were still alive, he'd probably die of embarrassment seeing you like this."

Silvertongue's heart sank into his chest. He could feel the eyes of the crew and his friends fixated on him. "On top of it all, you're ruining the feast for everyone else!"

"I'm sorry, everyone." Silvertongue muttered. He couldn't dry his eyes, no matter how hard he wiped at them, and he turned away in shame.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail had just torn another piece of bread free, dragging it through the last of his stew, when a shift in the room brushed against his awareness like a change in wind. His gaze lifted, drawn toward the doorway where the press of bodies had stalled, where something had gone just slightly wrong in the easy rhythm of things.

There, just beyond the shoulder of a passing seabeast, he caught sight of Silvertongue.

Swift’s ears twitched faintly. The piece of bread pausing halfway to his mouth as something quiet and instinctive tightened in his chest. He had seen that look before, and knew what it meant when it found a beast unawares.

For a heartbeat, he almost moved.

But then—Amnesty was there.

Darragh, too, all bright energy turned suddenly soft with concern. Till had already gentled her posture, voice lowered, presence careful.

Silvie wasn’t alone.

The tension in Swift’s shoulders eased by a degree. Not forgotten, just set aside. He let out a slow breath through his nose and finished the bite he’d paused on, the flavor grounding him again in the present as he lowered his gaze back to the tall fox beside him.

“Aye, thank you,” he said, picking the thread of conversation back up with an easy warmth, as though it had never faltered. “Reckon you’re right. I’ll not argue with the promotion too hard.”

Another quick bite followed, this time more cautious, though he still gave a soft hiss as the heat caught him off guard again. He laughed under his breath at himself, chasing it with a sip of cider.

“Suppose I’ll just have to keep the finicky thing running proper-like fer beasts like you, then!” he added, grin flickering.

His eyes flicked once more toward the great bow slung at Lorcan’s back, admiration returning easily.

“And aye, I do a bit o’ archery when I can,” he went on, nodding toward it. “It’s more an interest than a necessity these days…”

He tilted his head slightly, considering it with open appreciation.

“Wouldn’t mind learnin’ how t’ handle somethin’ with a bit more bite to it. If you’re willin’ to show a few tricks, I’ll happily return the favor an’ show ye how to forge proper arrow tips!”

That last earned a quiet chuckle from him as he tore off another piece of bread, this time reaching for one of the sweeter offerings to break the rhythm of savory. The tart disappeared in two neat bites, followed by a satisfied hum that seemed to settle the last of the earlier tension from his frame.

Across the galley, the moment at the doorway continued to ripple outward. Swift didn’t stare, but kept a casual glance so he wouldn’t lose track of it.

Just in case.

@Lorcan Rainclaw

 

[Kinza Rainclaw]

One of many beasts aboard who had been driven mad by the wonderful smells permeating the ship, Kinza was only too glad to finally escape her needlework to join the feast. So accustomed to Kutorokan cuisine and, more usually, whatever her family had cooked up on the island, this was more of a novelty than if she had been true Vulpinsulan.

No sooner had she arrived at the entrance, oblivious to any muting of the atmosphere, Kinza strolled in with her eyes wide. “Vulpuz’s b—!” She corrected her sailor’s language. “—arnacles! This looks amazin’!” Tail wagging, she grinned around at all the foxes, the stoat, and the smiling badger.

Plate and spoon of her own snatched up, she started shovelling things on with almost as much abandon as a hare.

“All right, Lor’?” she greeted her brother from across the room. “Ooh what’s this? This looks good!”​

 

[Amnesty Greysoul]

Amnesty exchanged a further glance with Darragh as Silvertongue broke from them and made his way to an isolated table in the far corner of the mess hall. She was still so new aboard. Still so unfamiliar with all these beasts and all the history they carried with them. Where anything she said might result in her footpaw getting lodged firmly in her mouth, maybe the young stoat would have a better change to say something that would actually help.

Or maybe it was better to not say anything at all.

Her shoulders twitched upwards in an approximation of a shrug, as if to make sure Darragh knew she didn't actually know what she was doing. And then she followed Silvertongue without a word, stopping only to get food to still her rumbling belly and offer a grateful smile to Till.

And then she slipped into an empty chair diagonal to where the Lieutenant had taken a seat with only a murmured "may I?" by way of request.

@Silvertongue Songfox (et al.)

 

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

Uncertain as he was of the proper thing to do, such formally-established hierarchies within the Imperial Navy remaining as they were a mystery to be actively untangled with as little ruction as possible, Lorcan found himself following Swifttail’s lead. The todd was of higher station and easy-going; it was simple enough to put his trust in the platinum fox, so when he dismissed the question and continued the conversation, Lorcan presumed not to crowd the brightly-dressed one in the doorway. At the very least there were already a couple of beasts tending to him.

“Forging?” Ears perked at the offer at once, tail starting to wag afresh. “Oh, that’s very generous – though I think a little unfair on my part. You’ll need far fewer tips to adjust to a heavy bow than these old lumps’ll manage with a hammer.” Said paws were raised with a chuckle. “Not that I’m saying no, mind: I’d love nothing more’n to be able to make my own. Takes a fair chunk out of my pay, arrows as big as mine. You forge a lot’ve things?”

He was about to ask more regarding the forging of arrows when his sister’s greetings cut across the hubbub of the cabin. He raised a paw in greeting before beckoning her closer. “Alright, Kinz?” Lorcan called. “Packin’ it away near fast as I am! Good ain’t it?” He inclined his head back to the todd beside him with a smile, some tension at last beginning to leave his anxiously-held shoulders. “If it’s forgin’ and engines you lean into I’d get my ears boxed for not introducing you to my sister Kinza. She’s much smarter than me when it comes to these things. Kinza, this is Swifttail, he’s the head engineer on here – a real clever fox!”