Furotazzis Private Zann's Alley/Backyard Tail Fishing

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna was used to the bluster of males. Her brother certainly seemed to bloviate enough to whip up a monsoon with the amount of wind he moved. She also was far too accustomed to melodrama from years of consuming romantic literature of dubious artistic quality, and thus found herself little moved by the actor's protestations. Methinks the vixen doth protest too much.

Still, he was right in a way about their strategy - and, despite being called out on it, perhaps it was wisest to lean in. Marianna spread her paws in acknowledgement before clasping them before her again. "We could, I suppose, do things in the traditional Furotazzi fashion," she allowed. "Falun would do so in a heartbeat if I asked; he rather does enjoy proving his tolerance for viscera in that way. However, I still have my faith in your character, and hence this discussion has remained bloodless. I remain hopeful that we can chalk this all up to a misunderstanding, and maintain our professional relationship - including with suitable compensation for the indignity of the moment." She let the offer linger in the air, leaving the manner of said compensation to the imagination. If this todd had come seeking romantic fulfillment, such could be arranged.

"Please," she implored the fox, "if you would bear with us and suffer a moment more. What is your opinion of the supremacists themselves? Speaking within the confines of a room populated solely by foxes, of course." She gestured between the trio of them, hopeful that the privacy of the moment would win some trust.

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo stood up and let his tail gently brush against Marianna's. A silent 'thank you' for her joining in and trusting in his suspicion. Ruffano was definitely hiding something, Ivo was now assured of it. At least knowing how other beasts acted when interrogated, Ivo wasn't taking too much to himself anything that Ruffano was saying.

While Marianna made her points and gave her questions, he wandered slowly towards the bookshelf, from which he had produced a book that looked exactly the same as all others, titled "The Charmer". Opening it and holding in his good paw, Ivo came back to stand by his vixen, making sure that she would be able to see the contents of the book.

Said book was one of few things Ivo planted in the room. It was in fact a quickly collected dossier on what he could get about Ruffano. There wasn't too much, but enough to, if needed, find him both suspicious and give him criminal charges.

"And while yer at it... I would ask fer politeness. T' only thing that we've harmed was yer pride, albeit considerin' ya've exploited kits and possibly gassed beasts in public places? I dun think ye have as much of it as ya speak." Ivo added, reading from the collection of notes on Ruffano from the book. Those may have not been solid proofs, but enough beasts would confirm them to convince any judge.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano’s ears twitched at the sound of Falun’s name like somebeast had just cracked a whip. His paws shot up in a sudden, animated flurry.

"Aah! No, no, that should not be necessary!" he sputtered, backing a step as though he might materialize as Marianna had seemed to. "We can discuss this as civilized beasts of culture, yes? No need to call in that brute... he’s likely still pickin’ marrow from his teeth!"

The actor let out a nervous little laugh, straightening his vest and trying to reclaim what tatters of dignity remained. He even flashed a shaky grin toward Marianna, as though a touch of humor might smooth the edges of the situation.

Then his eyes flicked to Iva, and to the book in her paw. The Charmer. His expression warmed for half a second before curdling the moment she began to speak yet again.

"Exploited kits? Gassed beasts? Have you lost your senses!?" He barked a sharp, incredulous laugh, paw pressed dramatically to his chest. "That’s the work of a madbeast! I’ve never stooped lower than a little fib and a stage dive! I’m a performer, not a monster. My crimes are dramatic, not demonic!"

He paced a tight circle, tail flicking in agitation, before pausing as Marianna’s voice softened again. The talk of “compensation” stopped him dead in his tracks. His ears perked.

"Well..." he began, voice honey-slick now, "I do appreciate generosity when it’s extended. I imagine a suitable token could help soothe such a frightful misunderstanding." He smoothed his whiskers, all mock civility once more.

When the question came about the supremacists, he chuckled and lifted his paws in a gesture of theatrical surrender.

"The supremacists? Hah. Complicated lot, aren’t they? I suppose I admire their passion. A fox should celebrate who they are. The grand country, the artistry, the blood and breath that built it. There’s a beauty in that kind of pride..."

He caught himself mid-sentence, muzzle scrunching as if he’d just bitten into something sour. "But don’t mistake me! I don’t hate other beasts, heavens no! Why would I? A full house is a full purse. Woodland, mustelid, even those scaly-skinned eccentrics... they all clap the same when the curtain falls!"

He waved a paw as if to dismiss any lingering doubts, voice rising as he warmed to his own words.

"I’ve no stomach for blood, mind you. Never wanted to see anybeast killed for a cause. Even Kilaris... poor fool as he is. For all his pomp... didn’t deserve to go up with his birthday candles. I just..." He shrugged, helpless grin returning. "...saw no other way he’d leave that ministry, that’s all!"

Realizing how that sounded, he winced and hurried onward, looking at Iva once again.

"You read your little books and whisper your theories, but I know what this is. Two foxes sniffin’ for a scapegoat so they can feel safe again! That they caught the perp and all is well once again! Well, news for you: the only thing I’ve ever led beasts to is laughter!"

He stopped short, fur still bristling, and gave them both a defiant grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"And if you want a confession...fine. I confess to being talented, charming, and bloody unlucky!"

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna paced as she listened to the rambling explanations offered by the thespian, his tone rapidly changing as he varied from callous to qualifying, finally ending up back at indignant. She had to admit, if this was a performance, it was a good one in that he did a very good job of voicing some of the intrusive, unsavory thoughts that dwelled inside everybeast's head. Marianna would never admit to it herself, but she could certainly appreciate some of the motive behind the vulpinists, even if she disagreed with their philosophy and methods. He could make this a one-beast, one-act play, she mused. Confessions of a Misanthrope. It would play to a sold out theatre with three seats in it.

She sighed, straightening up and looking to Ivo. "What are you thinking?" she asked softly, approaching her partner to get her read on the situation. Ivo was the more suspicious of the two of them by far, and the more likely to detect any subterfuge.

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo for his part wasn't either as impressed nor as amused by Ruffano's theatrics. Even if he could appreciate the art, being a sensitive soul himself, Ruffano to him was clearly playing for time. Besides, Ruffano in his act spoke a bit too much. Something that Ivo was ready to expand upon. With Marianna coming closer, he passed dossier to her as now his time to question came into the play.

"Am thinkin' theatre 's better place fer such dramatics."

Ivo had one little disadvantage here with broken paw, he couldn't hold something and draw on it. And since his way of committing things to long-term memory was heavily connected with putting them onto paper, he knew that in a day or so, nothing about this day would stay with him. "M'dear, could ya write down from now on what's happenin'? Jus' bullet points would do."

With that he could turn to Ruffano, there was a grin on his muzzle, just not one that was directed at the other todd. "Alright pal. Explain this. First of, ya say ye ain't bloodthirsty, that ye don't even think Kilaris should've died and that jus' was t' only way. Which means ye sayin' you did in fact do somethin' 'bout it, meddled there. And then, if ye had anybeast t' get so many explosives t' that place. They could've jus' poisoned him no problem. Less flair, less victims, less blood. Ye both sayin you had means and that ye chose the method that was very flashy and costed may lives... or someone chose it and ye've agreed jus' t' get Kilaris. Either way, ya were workin' on it with somebeast, since ye couldn' getta Niceties alone, per yer words."

But Ivo wasn't done, he had one more thing to go through. He couldn't keep his calm for this long, so while he was still respectful, his tail was bristled and perked, just like his good ear. He once more held the dagger ready to stab with it. More importantly, he once more was close to Ruffano, enough to be dangerous, letting him know of it with a scowl.

"Also. ye coulda settle on one version. First ya say ya mock 'em supremacists. Then ya say ye can admire 'em... play what role ya want. But ya ain't leavin' on yer own without telling more than what ye act brings t' yer tongue."

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano’s bravado cracked the moment Ivo stepped close again. The dagger’s gleam, the cold logic in the todd’s voice... it was all too much. His tail stiffened, paws half-raised in a futile show of calm.

"Now hold on... hold on!" he blurted, ears flattening as his voice wavered between fear and outrage. "You’re twistin’ words worse than a playwright with a hangover! When I said I saw no other way, I meant the minister would never step down! Cold or crippled, he’d cling to that chair till the worms came knockin’! It was a jest! A commentary on the fool's tenacity at sticking around!"

He gave a nervous laugh that died almost as quickly as it began, glancing between them both as though searching for mercy and not finding it.

"And explosives!? Do I look like a demolitionist to you?" He threw his paws wide, voice pitching higher. "I’m lucky if I can light a stage candle without singein’ my whiskers! I deal in theatrics, not warfare! Smoke pots, signal canisters, illusion tricks. Things for the stage! Yes, I'll admit, foggin’ out the Velveteen Curtain was partially by my own paw! But gods above, I wouldn’t know where to buy real powder, let alone smuggle it past a hoard of Unsmudgables!"

He sputtered a moment longer before his gaze snapped to Marianna, indignation returning in full.

"And another thing!" he barked, paw jabbing toward her. "You dare question my scruples when you once asked me to play decoy for a poisoning plot?"

His words spilled faster now, the dam fully burst.

"You remember it, vixen... the Vermillion Estate! The conveniently ‘ill’ band, your whisperin’ about somebeast takin’ a bad bite of dinner! So which is it now, eh? Am I a killer, or just the fool who didn’t notice you were practicin’?"

He half-laughed, half-choked on his own indignation, pacing in a small circle like a caged beast.

"There was no conspiring, no partners, no secret paws in the pie!" he snarled, turning back on Ivo. "You think anybeast I know’s got the skill to sneak explosives into an Opera House? The only crew I keep these days are broke, bitter, an’ hopelessly loud, but we couldn’t plot a surprise party, much less a revolution!"

He stopped then, chest rising and falling hard, eyes flicking between them both. His tone softened, not out of strategy this time, but exhaustion.

"I mock ‘em, aye. Because they mock me." His voice was lower now, stripped of its usual shine. "They shout about purity while forgettin’ who built this country. The rats, the stoats, the weasels! All those dock paws and sailing beasts who froze their tails off for a coin a day. Without ‘em, the Imperium’s just a painted stage with no crew behind the curtain."

He took a trembling breath, forcing a bitter laugh.

"Passion’s fine, but it’s a dangerous drug. Gets beasts thinkin’ they’re heroes when they’re just beasts with torches. I love a cause, sure, but one has to draw a line in the sand somewhere!"

With that, he stood there then, shoulders slumped, tail dragging faintly against the floor, exhausted from the tirade of scrambled thoughts and desperate defense.

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna listened to the fox's scramble to explain himself, to add nuance to his equivocations. In truth, she could understand his perspective entirely too well. Coming from two lines of wealthy foxes, and adopted into a third, she was well and truly familiar with the kind of talk that lauded other vermin (as the politically incorrect term of her parents' generation would have it said) as useful to the foxes, the true masterminds of their kind. It was patronizing, yes, but ultimately well-intentioned. She'd also been around enough to hear the sort of talk that passed between the vulpinists - the words filled with hatred, malice, scorn, that spat upon even anybeast like her or Ivo (or yes, Ruffano too) who saw value in mustelids, cats, and lizards, to say nothing of woodlanders. At the end of the day, all three of them would be stood up against the wall and shot if the vulpinists had their way.

Marianna looked to Ivo and put a paw on his lower arm, meeting his gaze and letting her thoughts be seen. Ruffano might not be the most couth entertainer out there, and his lack of self-restraint and occasional poor choice of word likely had contributed to his exile from 'respectable' performances as much as his political heterodoxy, but ultimately he was as well-intentioned as any of them. "Ivo," she said softly, the word a mere breath.