Fogeys Open The Market The Golden Voyage

[Perila Z. Mogul]

@Marianna Furotazzi
"Miss?" The older wildcat scratched an ear quizzically as the large stoat staggered off with the postmaster, who was more dragged senseless than accompanied by.
The Thieves, many hollow-faced and emotionally exhausted from the proceedings, stood and sat about with much less bravado. Now, they appeared a lot more like the usual desperates who made up the Imperium's criminal undercurrent.
Satira nodded to the vixen, once she'd knelt to recollect her violin. The ferret looked over her prized instrument carefully, inspecting it for damage. She smirked slightly. "Sounds good, guv."
She flicked her eyes up to the vixen. "I'm glad we're doing business. I'm sure we all are." She ran her fingers across the instrument's body, and then placed the bow across it. A sharp, hopeful tune played across it, singing of golden dawns and new beginnings.
"The old Frockbottom Dresses Co. Warehouse, Northern Warehouses district."

 

[Perila Z. Mogul]

@Drummond "Crayfish" Grogg
Onstage, the play was reaching its end.
The brave Admiral Eldon and the few ragtag survivors that made up his entourage struggled back to the ship awaiting them.
Eldon, limping and using a spinal column for a cane, shook his head as he spared a glance back to the woodlands beyond.

Never again, aye, never again,
Shall I walk such rotten shores!
Humble explorers made so many corpses,
On this dreaded Cahntinent's woodland floor.
Forget this Hell, where the deathbell knells,
Aye, let's turn our cheek and be away.
Admiral Eldon of proud Imperial swell,
Shall not die this accursed day!
To the desk, aye, to the desk,
I shalt retire most glad and rich!
And perhaps you, faithful Cadet Tench,
Will join me in politics?

The fox turned to find the weasel cadet behind him sprawled from a slingstone and more woodlanders swarming on the other side of the stage, and dropped the makeshift cane.
"Perhaps not! Double time!"
As Eldon and his surviving followers, including Carbuncle and Fondulio, fled for the ship with mad woodlanders on their heels, the music from the pit reached its climax and the heavy and towering curtains drew to a close.
Applause thundered from the audience, including from amongst the Fogeys, who had long since shirked the case at paw to watch the show. One of their number, Bevy Saltlick, was missing- being smaller than the rest of them, she and their extra large peanutbox had been sent flying out the exit and into the darkness when the alto had screamed during the night attack by the dreaded "deaduns", the Chapel's bloodmad child soldiers. Several other officers had lost their hearing. So was the sacrifices that must be made for the arts.
Sergeant Shunkirst was on her third cigar when their new informant arrived with a battered, bloodied and barely-conscious rat in tow, wearing green rags.
"Now 'o in th' name o' Khan d' yis got 'ere, bub?" The wildcat drawled, sitting up in her Opera seat. "'Nuther one o' those drifters livin' in th' Operatic walls, stickin' their peepers through th' eyes in th' portraits, speakin' in riddles an' th' loike?"

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna slowly exhaled, calming herself a bit, as Satira gave her a point of contact in return. In the underworld, such was as good a gesture of trust as any. "I will be in touch," she promised, "and I look forward to doing business with you." She glanced at the violin, relieved to see it hadn't seemed to suffer. "Perhaps we had best make a discreet exit," she suggested, "before any Fogeys come looking for this bomb. Somehow I doubt our informant friend will manage to keep his story strictly to what benefits himself."