Open The Bilge In The Bucket Rumors, Rumors

[Vertherian Ullyanov]

It was an ugly Smarch day, the kind with cold, wet winds and the kind of driving slush that soaked through fur and left a beast miserable and muddy. The dark-furred she-cat pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she trudged down the street towards the Bilge. 'In like a badger, out like a mouse' they say, but I don't see any mice around here.

As soon as she thought it, though, the sentiment was proven false. There was in fact a small family of mice hurrying along the street in the opposite direction, having about as much luck as the cat herself in keeping out of the worst of the weather. How the Imperium had changed. How everything had changed. It used to be that she could show her face on these streets without needing to take precautions against somebeast recognizing her. The consequences of her own actions, she knew. The acknowledgement was not to be confused with regret. It would still be safer to remain away, of course, but as good as her contacts and her sources were, sometimes a beast just had to use her own eyes and ears.

It was a risk being here on Vulpinsula in the flesh, of course. But a manageable one. As far as anybeast knew she had not been a player of concern for many, many years, so the likelihood that they would be looking for her in particular seemed slim at best. She looked different, too. Age had silvered more of her fur, leaving more streaks in the black fur she suspected was one of her more identifiable traits. Her hood-- a perfectly reasonable choice on a blustery day like this-- cast enough shade across her face to obscure the dark blue of her eyes, and the dim lighting in the Bilge would do much the same. She was still the same diminutive cat as she had been when she last set paw here, but she was hardly the only short beast in the Imperium, and her height would be made less obvious just as soon as she sat down anyway.

And if worst came to worst and it turned out she had miscalculated by even being here, it wouldn't be the first time she had to escape over the rooftops or through the sewers. Until then, she was just another old seabeast returning to the Bilge to learn all the latest gossip.

She slipped in through the doors, stomping the mud and slush from her boots and pulling her hood back to reveal the face of an aging black wildcat, ears tattered from a lifetime of violent endeavors and close calls, still long-ish headfur tied back with a single ribbon. There were empty seats at the bar, and she crossed to one of them and sat, raising one claw and ordering a beer from the monitor lizard behind the bar before turning to the next nearest patron.

"Good old Bully Harbor," she purred. "The more things change the more they stay the same."

 

[Keinruf Zvirskyy]

The pine marten sat at the bar, one arm draped across on the wooden top, his face tucked into the crook of his elbow. His ears were limp and askew, his tail dragging on the floor, occasionally fluttering with a twitch. His other paw clenched the handle of a half-full mug of something thick and noxious. The green army officer's coat he wore was pulled tight around his shoulders, golden epaulettes scrunched as he tried to curl in on himself further.

Not from the cold. No, the cold was fine. He liked the weather. But this drink.

It was amazing. It burned without scalding. It felt syrupy, yet thin as water, and left his mouth tingling as though ants had bitten the insides of his cheeks and tongue. And it made his head feel...

Absolutely atrocious. Sailing without sailing. He'd already swayed, his first hour or so back on land after the voyage, and now the world swayed with him. He was certain if he opened his mouth he would throw up, but somehow it never quite came.

Instead, he straightened up just long enough to bring the mug back to his mouth and chug down another gulp of the fascinating brew, before his face fell back against his arm, his head tilted to the side, glassy-eyes wandering. Something swam into focus. It looked like a wildcat, but also like a shadow, and he blinked a few times, nuzzled his face into his arm to clear some tears out that had swelled up, and looked again. It was a wildcat and a shadow. That made sense.

"Tell me about it," he muttered, without really meaning to. The thought had appeared in his head, and then it had left his mouth, and he didn't care for that happening without his permission. "Horrible bloody place. Awful, terrible. Rude, smelly beasts. Someone ought to clean dzem up. Out. Clean dzem out. Stab... every last... von of dzem..."

He couldn't stop it. He grit his teeth, but the will was not his. His tongue was not his. It belonged to the ants, to the drink.

He groaned and hiccuped, and pulled his arm from the bar top and let it fall to his side, and let his head fall forward onto the wood with a good, solid thunk.

"Hallo," he mumbled into the bar. "Vill you be my friend? Help me stab everyvon?"

He lifted the mug above his head and gave it a little wave, surrendering to it.

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

It wasn’t so much the rain as the incessant cold which bothered Tanya. Chill seeped into her bones and set up residency there with far greater ease than it used to in her youth. A lifetime of seafaring and long nights waiting for targets had made her rugged towards the elements back then, though she had been merely a scrap of a vixen with a thin, brittle coat and little padding about her muscles to speak of. Decades of milder Kutorokan weather had gone a long way towards reversing her tolerance.

The realisation had become an unshakeable thought that morning as she’d paced her office between meetings, watching raindrops slither down the panes. You got old. Worse, they’ll think you got soft. Next thing you know they’ll be planning your retirement and shipping you out to Downel if they don’t drown you on the way over.

Hours trickled by with the necessary drudgery of her workday, but always green eyes would return to the windows and so, too, to her thoughts. It was maddening to the fox that she could not break from the cycle, and so it was eventually decided that a brisk walk and good drink would prove sufficient cure for the melancholy which had settled in her chest. A good, sturdy, scruffy old spot like the Bilge would be the cure, she was certain of it. No sooner were her duties concluded the vixen was out like a rocket, barely pausing to grab her heavier coat before ducking out into the downpour.

It was a brisk walk to the Slups indeed, made all the brisker by blustery Smarch winds tugging and playing with her tailbrush. By the time she arrived at the Bilge she was suitably dishevelled from the rain, chillier than before but imbued with fresh energy as though she had just proven something to herself. Her reward was now in sight.

Tanya caught the eye of the monitor behind the bar before she’d even reached it (a necessity learned when as short as herself: beasts rarely thought to look down, though perhaps that had changed now mice were beginning to frequent the area) and gave a nod. She’d never been choosy on beverage. Trotting to the bar itself, she regarded those closest: a marten who seemed to be doing an admirable impression of a dishrag with the artful way he had draped himself over the bartop caught in conversation between the furniture and the feline next to him.

She gave the cat a look. Looked again. Her ragged half-ear twitched; surprise, admiration, and a small flicker of malicious glee all communicated in an arch of the brows. She’d not seen that face in seasons, and at once the memories flitted through her mind of a longbow-wielding Captain leading a raid; a well-deserved Ministerial position; biting her tongue in the palace of the Emperor.

How times change, indeed.

There had always been that inherent feline elegance about Therin and even now Tanya felt a flutter of self-consciousness to be in her presence looking as she did. The smile she offered was genuine, though the relaxed nature of it less so. “Well now, ain’t this a pleasant surprise? Yours ain’t a face I expected to see around these parts again.” Inclining her head towards the mustelid whose name she would later sorely regret asking for, she grinned. “I ain’t interruptin’ you and your mate here if I was to take a seat, am I?”

 

[Levin the ermine]

"Levin, just come in and out. Don't draw attention to yourself, don't speak to the guests, if they see you run out immediately , if they follow you I'll scare them away, but if you do that you'll mess it all up!"

"I understand Professor Dowganosyv!", Levin had to yell through the winds, and almost fell back and curled up into a ball from the force of the wolverine's words. This wasn't his first time doing something like this, he often scouted out locations for Dowganosyv to visit and make a great impression on. This was however the first time the wolverine tried a place such as the bilge in the bucket. A lot was riding on this, there was going to be a spark that could either blossem into a great career, likely for the rest of Dowganosyv's life, or it could burn down everything he had, that he just didn't have the energy to rebuild from. Everyone knew what happened at the bilge in the bucket, and he needed to make the best of it.

Levin was equallly concerned. He wanted Professor Dowganosyv to succeed, in fact he wanted him to be adored by the whole imperium, or as many as possible. Not because he would be better off for it, but just because he liked his guardian. He taught him so many things, gave him food, water and shelter, showed him so much of the world. As much as he loved his family and where he came from, none of them could give him such opportunities. The least he could do in return was be of help to the large elderly mustelid.

"Good, now go and come back quick. You shouldn't stay at a place like that too long, it isn't good for any beast especially not one as good as you",
Dowganosyv nodded in the direction of the pub, and the ermine disappeared quickly, coming in along with a tired fox. He immediately felt uncomfortable, partly from the smoke which he rarely smelled in this much quantity before, the fact it was packed with beasts much taller than him, that none of them looked friendly or in a good mood, and that he stuck out among them like a hurt footclaw. There were just too many conversations going on, too many groups drinking in misery together, too many tables covered with boards, dice and cards, Levin couldn't decide what to make of this place. Everyone seemed to be occupied, maybe they could be interested in an impromptu demonstration by the professor, but it was not a sure thing they would all receive it well seeing some of their moods.

But something caught his eye. It was the bar, and the three beasts sitting at it. He had skimmed over them before, assuming they were friends deep in a private conversation. But when he let his little black eyes linger on the beasts there was something familiar about them. He looked at the little imperfections around their ears, on their paws, just close enough to make him curious. Did he see them in the "Who is who of the Vulpine imperium"? From the back it was hard to tell, he would need to see their faces. And to see their faces he would need to get close, probably climb onto the bartop, it was just going to be a quick glance and he would run out before anything bad could happen.

Levin got into a run and jumped, grabbing the bartop and pulling himself up, managing to sit down between A pine marten's head and a wildcat's drink. His eyes immediately looked at the short beast, and he squeaked out in delight, slamming his paws together. Then he looked at the vixen, and did the same thing with even more enthusiasm. He recognised them both! He had to lean more than was respectful towards Vertherian Ullyanov to make sure, but up close the resemblance was clear. He didn't need to do the same for Admiral Tanya Rainblade Ryalor Celtoi because her painting in the who is who was brand new, and it captured the details of her face in great detail. This wasn't what Levin was looking for exactly, but it was going to be wonderful! He wished he could speak to them himself, but Dowganosyv knew how to talk better with old beasts, especially ones with so much story behind them. He looked down at the green coated pine marten, a far younger beast and certainly not infamous enough to appear in the "Who is who of the Vulpine imperium". Being in this company made him interesting on his own though, and Dowganosyv could find out more about him as he talked.

"Oy! Get off! Get offff!"

Levin realized with a start that he was sitting on the bar for longer than was considered polite around here, and that everyone was staring at him, including the two celebrities and the annoyed lizard.

"No kitssss! No kitssss! No kitsss! Kitsss go out!"

Levin followed the reptilian barkeep's advice, sliding off the bar and slipping into Vertherian's lap, before finally getting on the ground.

"I'm sorry Misses Ullyanov."

He blurted out at her before running out of the bilge, all eyes following him, most of them sounding amused and entertained. "Eh, at least they liked it", Levin thought to himself as he rejoined Dowganosyv at the corner.

"What is it like there?", the wolverine immediately got to the point.

"It's packed, lots of beasts there, but at the bar is Empress Verthe, Vertherthi..."

"Don't make things up Levin! The empress is in Amerone!"

"No no I'm not lying, it's Ullyanov, the wife of the emperor, former one"

Dowganosyv's stare froze Levin in place, only his lips and tongue could still move.

"And Admiral Tanya Celtoi, the former minister of war, and a pine marten"

"A Freimont?", Rosmakh asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"Sir...they are the Freemonts, and no, it's not anyone famous, I don't know who it is".

Dowganosyv picked Levin up and ran towards his apartment, quickly reaching it and placing Levin inside.

"You did great Levin. This night couldn't have went better and it's all thanks to you. Continue reading while I'm away"

"You won't need my help sir?"

The ermine offered, but the wolverine closed the door without responding. Levin slumped sadly onto the couch, staring up at a stain high on the wall almost touching the ceiling. He was in no mood to read right now. He didn't do that much today, but he already felt tired. If only he could be with Bibbie or Nevali in this deathly quiet room, he would be so much better.