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.

 

[Vertherian Ullyanov]

Therin grinned. She would perhaps not have grinned quite so widely had she known the name of the marten sitting beside her, having known-- and heartily disliked-- the original owner of that name, but as she didn't, it mostly just felt like coming home. It wouldn't really have been a trip to the Bilge without random offers of violence, after all.

"Stab everyone?" She asked "Seems like a great deal of work, if I'm honest. Any particular reason beasts might need a good stabbing?"

She eyed the marten's mug. She could have the barkeep refill it, of course. The question was whether or not more drink was likely to make him more talkative or if it would simply drop him into a drunken stupor. He at least seemed likely enough to have the sort of ground level information that could be so helpful in the right paws.

And then, a familiar voice and a sensation much like the floorboards snapping and going out beneath her. Her first impulse was to hiss a word that would alerted Niceties to her presence on principle. She managed to turn and gesture to the seat beside her instead, a toothy, feline smile spreading across a muzzle that was much more grey than it had been the last time she had laid eyes on this particular vulpine. And if her tail was somewhat more bushy than it had been a moment before, it was easy enough to blame it on the sleety breeze that moved through the Bilge in the wake of the door being opened yet again.

"I could say the same about you, Admiral," she purred. "It is good to know the ambiguous reports of your demise were, once again, much overstated."

And then, chaos once again. It was her own fault for choosing to set paw in the Bilge. She should have known better; the fact that she didn't was proof enough that she was dreadfully out of practice. And not remotely as unrecognizable as she had hoped. She still managed to hiss a response before the stoat disappeared as suddenly as he had come. "Who's an Ullyanov? Get off the bar!"

After that, she could only hope. That the pine marten to her left didn't make the connection. And that Tox didn't see fit to use it to her detriment Right This Second.

@Keinruf Zvirskyy @Tanya Keltoi

 

[Keinruf Zvirskyy]

Voices. Loud voices, everywhere, all at once, forever. Behind his ears, behind his eyes, prodding his brain with little pitchforks until his neck fur said "ow". The drink didn't like other beasts talking.

"It is," the marten moaned, sighing and sobbing all at once into the bar top. "It is so much vork. Vhy dzey never say how many beasts? And dzere are old... old... poles. Polices. Everyvhere! And dzere are stoats - "

As if to prove his point, stoat happened. Keinruf lifted his head just enough to watch the little ermine kit with a bleary, beleaguered expression, then flumped down again as the lad popped off.

" - guard stoats, army stoats, navy stoats, mercenary stoats, inkblotch stoats, do you know? How many - can't even sit in a, in a place... dzis place, viszout some... Admiral..." He sloshed his mug in the short vixen's direction. "Bloody... step-stools..."

He flopped his head to the side, one eye wobbling up to the feline with a plea of sanity trapped behind his gaze.

"So how, how, how'm I... stab and kill everybeast? Not get caught? Can't! A hundred beasts a day? Dzey just keep makink more! Is it already bad enough, to stab a kit? Maybe, maybe a szousand beasts a day? So much vork. My stabbink arm get so tired, and I vill be old." He began to weep softly. "So old, and ugly. No von vill love me. No ear scritches for ugly old Keinruf."

He pulled his arm back up and proceeded into a full-on bawl into the crook of his elbow.

The bartender glanced over at Vertherian and Tanya and shrugged.

"He hasssn't even finished hisss first drink..."

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

Vertherian’s curt address to the young jack before he trundled off provided confirmation to some of Tanya’s suspicions. The cat was still maintaining her privacy, and if the Empress was anything to go by, such was a wise decision. The Bilge being her port of call in such circumstances was certainly interesting enough, but Tox could well appreciate a certain curiosity for the old inn. Doubtless in her boots she’d have made the same visit for old times’ sake. What a departure from the finery of Amarone it must have been, though one had to wonder where they had slipped off to in the intervening.

“Oh, I dunno about that,” she chuckled, “I think a piece or two’ve me died along with the old MinoWar building. Can’t take it all with you, eh?” It was about as philosophical as she was likely to get.

The bar stools were, as ever they had been, just a little too tall for comfort but the old technique of bracing one footpaw on the bar and the other on the crosspiece worked as well as ever. She settled in on the opposite side to the marten with a comfortable curl of the tail and regarded Therin with a grin, though curiosity remained.

“Been many a season, ain’t it? How’ve you been keepin’?”

It was a peculiar feeling, to be sat here with her. Of course many beasts had come and gone over the years; fallen in battle or by the wayside; ascended to lofty ranks or languishing in disgrace, or simply faded with a gentle quietness to a well-deserved retirement of obscurity, like the dying of a soft spring breeze. This was no mere beast, however – and yet, when it came down to it, she simply was. It was as though all of the camaraderie of their early years and the paranoia of the last had crystallised into one perfectly uncomfortable moment. There was a power to be held in Vertherian’s identity, and she would be a liar if she didn’t find that somewhat thrilling; for the moment she had no intention of taking advantage of such leverage.

Several questions, statements, jibes and reassurances sprung to mind, but before impulsivity could grasp at one the marten – a forlorn figure who had been decorating the bar in his best impression of some sad, discarded garment - began slurring again.

It was, initially, a welcome distraction. It was nonsense, of course: the prattling of a drunkard filled with a simmering murderous rage and vitriol for the city. She would be concerned about the potential he held for making good on his ponderings were he not so bloody tearful at the same time. Perhaps that should be more cause for concern… She was distracted enough in her reflections that his initial address towards her was met with only a flick of the ear and sidelong glance.

Ugly old Keinruf. A lifetime of cranial damage, seasons of memories worn thinner than spider webs, would never have erased that name. Sense dictated that this could simply be another farcical coincidence. There certainly had been with the likes of Aramaeus. Sense had little to do with it. There was the nickname. There was the single pint. For all the chill weather she began to feel hot beneath her coat.

The only outward break to her composure came as a flaring of the nostrils; a tightening of her grip on the bartop fit to leave yet more gouges in the battered surface. Inwardly she began to riffle through a string of increasingly obscene expletives to try and find one which felt apt. Tanya blinked at the bartender. “Get ‘im another,” she blurted to the reptile without thinking before her gaze swung back upon Therin. With so much of her energy funneled into maintaining a collected façade she could not dedicate any to restraining the added octave in her voice. “You certainly pick your mates, don’t you?”

 

[Vertherian Ullyanov]

How had she been keeping? It had varied so much. Some years were spent in palaces. Others in... lesser accommodations with the knowledge that showing herself might result in varying levels of bodily harm. She chuckled softly into her mug.

"Oh, you know what they say about cats. I've been landing on my feet."

This wasn't a safe conversation. Such a thing didn't exist for her anymore. Certainly not in this familiar, dirty old city, and certainly not with the former (it was former, wasn't it?) Last Quartermaster. But she had so few opportunities to speak with friends.

Something tightened her chest. Guilt? It had been a moment, but her conscience wasn't so seared she couldn't recognize the feeling. So many of the bonds formed in the old years, the golden years had been ripped apart by the same paws that had woven them in the first place. An urge bubbled up inside her to insist to the vixen that she had not known Vlad's plans for Falun but she swallowed it. If she were to bring up that subject it wouldn't be here. Or now. Or anywhere she had not properly and thoroughly vetted for escape routes.

"And yourself? You seem well, but I've known looks to be deceiving."

To her other side, the drunken marten she had first struck up a conversation with continued his slurred, bloodthirsty tirade and she continued listening with one ear and the occasional nod of knowing commiseration. She couldn't say when something in her subconscious first raised its head and bristled with instinct level dread, or when the collection of unconcerning coincidences reached a critical mass and became suddenly and distinctly Concerning.

Or perhaps she was giving herself more credit than she was due, and perhaps her instincts had all lain quietly until the marten spoke his name.

It couldn't be. Not after all these years. And the marten's age was all wrong. But time passed and generations rose and fell, didn't they? A different beast might have asked what they did to deserve this; Therin knew better. A half second of thought could bring to mind enough sins to make up an assassin's dozen, and those were only the ones she still remembered.

Her tail went bottlebrush. She locked eyes with Tanya. Managed a half strangled phrase to the bartender-- "My tab"-- before looking back to the vixen. She cleared her throat with as much subtlety as she could muster and offered a shrug that could have meant anything from "clearly I'm off my game" to "this is definitely not my fault".

And then her brain caught up with her horror.

If this beast was even remotely related to that devil Wright, the likelihood that he might follow through on his more vicious impulses had suddenly increased by a factor of ten (or more). If she could only draw more information out of him...

"Who says you have to stab a beast?"

 

[Keinruf Zvirskyy]

He was lost in his own little world, the conversation between the others - or the entire bar for that matter - passing over him like the moon during the day. He wanted so badly to see it, to understand it, to burn his retinas away trying to observe and process the information being passed around over his head. But he couldn't. His eyes were full of wetness, everything was a wobbly blur, and that was before he'd started crying.

Why was he crying?

He remembered crying, once. Some twenty-eight years ago. One of his earliest memories, in fact. It was the kind of memory that one keeps close, and fresh, to remember why one does not cry anymore.

His parents weren't here, but even through the haze of the drink, he took control and quieted, stilled his breathing, dried his eyes on his sleeve. It was a masterful control of emotions. The last time he'd felt like crying, he'd started having a panic attack instead. The solution to both problems was the same.

Little by little, the feelings faded, though his heart bounced around in his chest like it personally wanted to break out of his body and start slaughtering clientele.

"Who says you have to stab a beast?"

It was a good question. He took another swig of his drink as he thought about it, and wondered why he would do that. He hated the stuff. The drink wanted more of it in him, and he wanted to have never come in here. His brief control was already slipping...

"I suppose," he said, thoughtfully, "I don't. Not just von, anyvay... Mm, but is best efficient vay to do it. Personal. Close. You can feel dzer life leave... See it in dzeir eyes, light fadink... But no, I don't have to stab. I could..."

His gaze went glassy for a moment of fond remembrance of the stories.

"I could trap everybeast in an opera house and set it on fire..." He grunted. "But somebeast already did dzat before I could..."

He turned to the wildcat and grinned, wobbling.

"But you know vot dzey call a hundred Imperium beasts burned to dezz in an opera house fire?"

A pause as the bartender put another mug down in front of him, and Keinruf appeared to wait for an answer while obviously not expecting one.

"A good start!"

He howled with laughter, raised his near-empty mug, and poured it in his ear instead of his open mouth by mistake, then fell off his stool.

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

The slightest narrowing of her eyes indicated a decision was being made. Halfhearted joke though it had been it was vile coincidence that Wright’s…ghost? uncanny duplicate? ‘Gates alive, spawn?! should be here alongside Vertherian this day. After the machinations of the Imperium it would be no stretch to imagine such a contrivance, though little struck her memory of the wildcat holding any positive feelings for the old Kreehold Captain. Still, time soothed many an old wound and a familiar face was worth twenty hostile, blank ones these days.

Paranoia begged her to hold caution; reason surmised that Therin seemed as disquieted her herself. For the moment she resolved to pocket her worries and focus on the immediate threat: the Keinruf-shaped lump at the bar.

Tanya stared hard at the marten as he spoke. If one had asked her to draw the wretched beast who had abducted her those seasons past she’d have drawn an admirably generic likeness to half the city’s mustelid population. She couldn’t even have given his eye colour with any confidence, recalling only the discomfort of each interaction with visceral clarity. That, and the mixed emotions which had bubbled when word had circulated about his dealings with the prior Captain. His accent had been unique, however: it was difficult not to flinch at every time this youthfully-faced mockery of the past grated through another sentence. Her brush tucked itself over her far leg to better obscure any puffing fur.

Keinruf’s joke was not especially shocking after the usual tavern talk which circulated after a few pints, though rankled nonetheless. That entire botched assassination still bothered her deeply. What a waste of good fur dye that had been. At the very least it had all worked out, if not left many an alarming query around this Vulpinist movement: a sentiment she did not suspect this fellow shared. Indeed, species, she imagined, would have little leaning on preference for victim. She wondered what he’d make of the woodlanders.

Oh, her head was beginning to feel full already. At bloody last a tankard was placed before her – Ol Ironsides, it would do – and at once she set to burying her snout in the vessel to soothe her anxieties in the best way she knew how. Let Therin handle the talking: Tanya was going to need to take the edge off first.

 

[Vertherian Ullyanov]

If the marten's tenuous grasp on both sanity and sobriety hadn't already been blindingly obvious to the most casual observer, the last few seconds would have done it. It might-- might-- work to draw the attention of beasts to him instead of her, but it she would have been much happier to have everybeast's attention occupied somewhere else entirely.

The cautious course of action would be to excuse herself from the bar now and hope that her own idiotic miscalculations hadn't caused too much damage. Surely this wouldn't be the first time a pawful of drunks thought they had seen her. Beasts probably still thought they saw the old Mar'kan himself on a regular basis. As for Keinruf, she still had any number of beasts she could send to watch him in her stead with orders to discover whether this was all, truly, just a bad joke played by the universe itself or something worthy of more concern.

But.

She was here now. And Tox was here now. And the marten was drunk now, and there was no absolute guarantee he would allow himself to be found in such a vulnerable position again. And one of the various safehouses and hideaways she had established for herself so long ago was still functional not so very many streets away. She had at least thought to check that much before coming here.

Therin locked eyes with the Admiral for a pointed instant. Then, she slipped from her stool to the floor and made to help lift the sodden marten to his feet.

"On second thought, friend, you seem to have already had more than enough. Why don't you come with us someplace quiet until your head stops pounding?"

It was an obvious ploy. Hamfisted, desperate, and indiscreet. And if it was enough to put them back into a situation she had half a chance of controlling, that was a price she was willing to pay.

 

[Keinruf Zvirskyy]

Keinruf lay on the floor of the bilge, staring up at the rafters. His coat was spread around him, leaving his fluffy orange chest and brown belly on full display. A position of weakness he would never find himself in, were he in his right mind. But for the moment, he was content to let himself be, to breathe the dank, cold air, to feel the drip of drink down the side of his face and out of his ear.

Then the feline stood, and he instinctively clamped his legs together and rolled onto his side. The instinct went further than that. Her paw approached him as her words slipped through the drink in his ear, and he rolled away, knocking his head into another stool, his tail catching against the bow and quiver of arrows he'd leaned up against the bar when he'd first come in. The clatter spooked him, and slightly dazed, he pulled all four limbs beneath himself and half stood up, scampering forwards and away from the danger.

Only to bonk his head into the side of a table.

By this time, he'd finally understood the words spoken to him, and so used the table to stand up, slowly, carefully. He wobbled, nodded amiably to the lone half-asleep squirrel blinking stupidly at him at the table, and staggered back around towards the bar.

"Dzat sounds great," he said. "Dark, too?" He blinked his left eye, then his right eye, trying to look at the wildcat. There was just some kind of blur now.

"I come vidz you, yes... ve go stab somebeast, is a good time... Ah, you know? I have anodzer mission, find my sister... She marry stupid peanut baron. Prude... P... P... Pumpkin... no, is not... You know vord, vot is... Prim, she name herself... Apricity Prim... need to stab husband, take her home... She szinks she is Imperium now... bah..."

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

Now that she was becoming reasonably acclimated to this second knife-twist of shock jabbed between her ribs today it felt only prudent to keep an ear on the conversation. Regardless of any personal feelings there was at least one, if not two, potentially influential beasts within the Imperium now seated beside her at the bar. To close herself off to their company would have been foolish in the extreme. Much though she deigned not to interfere her ears remained pricked for the conversation to come lest anything were to come of a drunken marten’s ramblings.

Us. Still snout-deep in the tankard of strong liquor, Tanya took full advantage of the half-turned faces to permit a raise of the eyebrows at the wildcat’s suggestion. She strongly suspected Therin to be as wary as herself these days, if not more so all considered: was she extending a certain level of trust, or merely hoping to keep a suspicious party closer? Either way it was curious and Tox was becoming increasingly invested. I’ll have to get a pint to take with me, though.

She’d have made no attempt to stare nor follow Keinruf’s progress had it not proven so very spectacular. One footpaw pressed to the bar, she pushed to swivel herself upon the polished stool. Green eyes tracked the fellow as he startled, then stumbled, then seemed to process Therin’s words at long last. Whiskers twitched in reticent amusement. Alright, he might yet be a damnable creature and a shadow from a time best forgotten, but he was amusing.

For about seven seconds, at least. Brows lowered as Keinruf laboured through a sea of letters in pursuit of a name. It was like a shipwreck coming into inevitable focus through a night-glass: an ill feeling which settled in the pit of the stomach. Apricity Prim. The little pregnant opportunist they’d picked up. Of course that girl would be trouble even now. What did that even mean about-

No. Noooo. She couldn’t bear to think any more on Keinruf and what he might have been up to. Not sober, at least. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Was Dusk this messy when she’d arrived in Bully looking for her? ‘Gates she hoped so.

“I know of Ms Prim,” Tanya said mildly, though she had little intention of offering what little she was able to disclose. Instead she looked to Therin and offered a lazy wink before sipping from her tankard. “If you was both lookin’ to get clear of the bar, though, perhaps this is a chat better had elsewheres, hm? The Bilge gets a might rowdy, doesn’t it, ma’am?”