Completed The Timmynocky

[Darragh Harper]

“We’re rollin’, we’re haulin, we’re flyin’ on the port tack,
I’ll be scamperin’ aloft, to prove I ain’t gone soft,
Wind’s checked around, chopped about, now we’re headin’ aback,

We’re close-hauled, on the starboard bow, steering full and by,
I’ll be lazin’ in the mess, with grog to drown me stress,
I do me ‘ardest work with footpaws up, warm an’ dry!”
- Darragh Harper, Wish for Better Weather: Collected Sea Rhymes and Poetry

Nonsense songs and half-written poems jabbered inanely in Darragh’s head. In the few weeks he’d been at sea, an entire dictionary of nautical terms had been haphazardly flung into his vocabulary with the force of a cannon shot, scattering bits of grammar and rhyme schemes in its wake. Learning new words in the Navy always seemed to come at the exact moment where understanding them was the difference between life or death.

Put yer footpaws there on the footropes ye daft stoat, that’s what they’re for! Keep ahold of the truss-tackle lad, or the topsail yard’ll dash your brains out! Don’t touch that, it’s the throttle valve for the steam engine! If it blows, you’ll be cooked medium-rare where you stand, boy!”

There were many duties Darragh rotated through, bit-by-bit acclimatising him to every aspect of Navy life. His initial terror at going aloft up the rigging was starting to turn into exhilaration, as he began to trust that the heavy hemp shrouds and creaking yardarms would hold, and that he could trust himself to hang on. He was getting the hang of the rhythm of the Golden Hide herself, from her sonorous voice in the bell, to the steady groan-slosh of her bilge pumps, whenever he was sent down below, huffing and sweating away to dry out the ship’s innermost depths. Her engine was her mechanical heart, the thrumming of her inner works and the rattle of the steam pipes becoming a wordless lullaby to the stoat when he lay exhausted in his hammock.

Outside of learning about his duties, Darragh was also learning about the rowdy, close-knit society-in-miniature he rubbed shoulders with. He had been a wandering stoat for long enough to recognise the knowing looks and whispered cadence of the Vagrant’s Economy - the invisible marketplace of junk and scrap collectors, rag-and-bone beasts, and the furtive procurers of illicit goods who always know-a-fella. The Golden Hide had her own shadowy commerce exchange, in practicalities like tobacco, scraps of writing paper, a pair of gloves, or even a very illicit shot of pure rum. There were also items of more abstract value, such as good-luck charms, a golden earring, Seer’s bones, or even just plain old gambling dice. Just like on land though, you had to know-a-fella, and gain his trust. Fortunately for Darragh, any perceptive eye could pick up that he was no tattle-tale.

Not all had been plain sailing for Darragh. For every grizzled old senior seabeast that was willing to teach him better knot-tying through mouthfuls of curses and spit, there would also be some cheeky younger jack that outranked him by a hair, and enjoyed treating him like a new punching-bag. There had been a few beasts so far that had challenged him to a proper boxing match - deep in the hold when the Middle Watch was on and no officers were likely to get wind of it. Darragh had made good account of himself, and given out a few black eyes, in return for the lesser share of bruises. Most of the crew and the fighters would honour the outcome of such a fight as the final word on a disagreement. Most.

Darragh hadn’t fought Able Seabeast Jinks, but he had beaten Jinks’ friend, Harrow, in one of these under-deck scraps. He’d shaken Harrow’s paw, the two had agreed that Darragh did not owe the ferret a month’s worth of doing his laundry, and that should have been the end of it. Jinks, however, seemed to hold a grudge on his friend’s behalf. Perhaps it was because they were both ferrets, or just that Darragh was a lowly deckswab who should have rightly lost to a more experienced Navy jack. Whatever the reason, Jinks wouldn’t challenge Darragh to a fight directly, but instead pulled rank to assign him a continuous barrage of tasks that the stoat couldn’t justifiably refuse.

“Oi! Harper! Get me the ship’s Timmynocky, sharpish!”

Darragh inwardly groaned at the sound of Jinks’ petulant tone. He had just finished a lesson in tying the gaskets for a furled sail, and the ferret had cornered him as he’d been coming down the foremast shrouds. The stoat was not very good at hiding his emotions, his muzzle wrinkling in frustration as he tried to recall if he’d heard that word before.

“Aye, okay-so, Able Seabeast, but what manner of thing is a Timmynocky?” Darragh asked, bracing himself for the explosion to follow. As expected, he received a firm cuff to his head. Jinks was taller and heavier than Darragh, his shirt sleeves always rolled up to show off his strong arms, and a blue cotton cloth he'd bought in some far-off port tied around his thick neck.

“What, they didn’t have ‘em in Ould Took-um-berry?” Jinks sneered, in a poor imitation of Darragh’s lilting accent. “Why don’tcha show some o’ them smarts you pretend to ‘ave under that ugly hat, an’ find out? Call it a um… trainin’ exercise! I want that Timmynocky by the first dog watch, Harper, or I’ll make it a disciplinary matter! Now shift it!”

“Aye-aye, Able Seabeast,” Darragh said miserably, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice, which brought a satisfied smirk to Jinks' face. The skinny stoat tugged a scrap of his headfur and scarpered, trying to look busy and determined.

Spiteful gutless Jinks, why doesn’t he just call me out, if he hates me so much? Let’s just have a good fight and get it over with. Tch, typical cowardly bully, Darragh ruminated to himself. Now where would I keep a Timmynocky, if I had one and knew what it was for?

Perhaps it was a part for the engine? Or maybe some kind of specialised tool? The trouble was everything on the ship seemed to have at least more than a few nicknames, so for all he knew, he’d been holding a Timmynocky not an hour ago without even knowing that’s what it was called.

“Erm, just after the ol’ Timmynocky, mate, ye haven’t seen it?” Darragh asked around. Blank stares. Shrugs A guffaw and a shake of the head. Darragh felt his shoulders droop, as he headed below decks. Maybe it was in a storage room. Or maybe, come this evening, he was utterly doomed.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

The tang of whale oil hung heavy in the air, thick and cloying in the cramped storage room. Swifttail crouched beside the barrel marked with a faded stamp of the Ministry of Commerce, one paw steadying the small oiler can, the other gripping a brass-handled spigot turned half open. Viscous amber liquid trickled out with a slurp and a glug, coating the inside of the can with slow, syrupy swirls.

“Blasted stuff,” he muttered.

A sudden squelch between his paw pads made him scowl. He lifted one paw to find a smear of oil slicking his fur to a glisten.

“Every flamin’ time,” he grumbled.

Tugging a filthy rag from the back pocket of his soot-dusted navy-issue trousers, Swifttail gave his paws a few vigorous swipes. The fabric left behind streaks of gray grime, but it was better than nothing. He stuffed the rag off to the side atop a crate of fraying ropes and turned back to the task, carefully topping up the canister.

The door suddenly burst open with a metallic clunk. Swifttail jumped, claws jerking on the spigot.

“Hell’s...!”

A sudden burble of oil surged from the barrel, sloshing over the rim of the can and spattering across his sleeve, his trousers, and the planks at his feet in a pungent wave.

He snapped the valve shut, ears flattened and eyes narrowed, tail bristling behind him.

“Oi! Watch it, would you? I nearly drowned in fisk!”

He spun around ready to give whoever barged in a proper look.

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue, the current Aide-De-Camp, was as far away from the oil as he could be in the crowded storage room. On another of the endless tasks the Captain had for him. He didn't envy Swifttail a bit in that moment, though he did pity his fellow fox. He was lifting up a crate when the door was slammed open, the sudden surprise causing him to drop it from its paws. It crashed onto the deck, as Silvertongue nearly leapt onto the shelf, his tail poofed out in alarm. He turned around, holding a paw to his chest. He was about to speak, when Swifttail spoke for him. Rather harshly in fact.

"Swifty." Silvertongue said, a bit out of breath. "I would appreciate it if we did not get hostile with fellow crew members." He wanted to try and keep the peace. The last thing he wanted was to report another issue to the Captain. "I'm sure he didn't mean to alarm us like that."

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail stood, grabbing the rag and wiping the stinking substance off his garments the best he could and sighed.

"Sorry Silvie. Just a bit frustrated," He smiled softly.

"Any my apologies to you as well," He nodded to the stoat.

 

[Darragh Harper]

In his rush, Darragh forgot just how well-oiled the hinges on the storage door were. She might have been a middle-aged warship, but the Golden Hide had been skilfully refurbished and fastidiously maintained to a state of Military Readiness - including new hinges that would not get stuck at a critical moment. Which meant as soon as he shoved the door open, it swung neatly aside, out of his scrabbling fingers, and came to a stop with a loud thunk against the bulkhead. The stoat winced. Well, at least there wasn’t anybeast important around that might take offence.

…Oh. You were just too impatient to wait for your sunset execution, huh? Death by foxes, I like it. It’s exotic, but refined. You bloody fool.

Darragh saluted, raising his paw in a longest-way-up flourish, palm faced downwards to hide the tar stains on his palm-pad. Not that he thought the Engineer’s Mate would be particularly offended by the sight of more muck, but Darragh wouldn’t let it be said he forgot his manners before he went down. His face looked almost as crumpled and defeated as the battered hat perched over one of his ears, his whiskers starting to droop.

“B-Beggin’ yer pardon, Engineer’s Mate, beggin’ doubly yer pardon, Aide-de-Camp,” Darragh babbled. “I-I’ll handle that mess right away, sirs, I know there’s a sandbag in here just for the occasion of a daft fool like m’self causin’ a mischief, d-don’t trouble y’selves, though I ‘spect you’ll want to be clappin’ me in irons shortly, ah, I should mention I’ve already got a flayin’ comin’ my way at eight bells regardless so erm… s-saves your good selves precious time an’ effort, so it does!”

The stoat was darting from crate to barrel while he chattered, his paws visibly trembling, his tail bottle-brushed right to its ink-black tip. He had not really merited the notice of either fox much before on this voyage, though he had seen them both in passing. In particular, the officer's vibrantly coloured outfits had caught his attention, especially since Mr. Songfox seemed to be on-duty and breathlessly busy about the ship at all hours.

The more lurid rumours floating around Darragh’s mess said that Silvertongue Songfox was some Imperium-renowned musician, who had stolen away to sea on an officer’s commission for dark and mysterious reasons. The tales grew more fantastical depending on the sobriety of the speaker, some said he had played a violin, or harpsichord for the Empress herself, but earned himself a death sentence when he rejected her advances. Others said he was a trained opera singer, a countertenor that could make even the most flint-hearted of the elite weep like babes, who had grown bored of his soft existence and taken up the profession of a highway robber, only to be unmasked, and forced into hiding. Darragh wasn’t sure he believed any of that word-for-word, but he had to admit, he was curious.

Swifttail had been far less a target for rumours, at least as far as the Tall-Tale Trust of Darragh’s mess was concerned. They had little understanding of the engineer’s job, the engine itself was buried deep below and off-limits, so it was rare for them to even get a glimpse of his distinct platinum fur. The nastier things said about Swifttail really were the kinds of things you always heard about foxes - that they were always meddling with things they shouldn’t, and that they were far too clever for their own good. Darragh felt he’d rather have the company of beasts too clever than ones that were too stupid. The latter made very poor art critics.

“Ah, here it is!” Darragh heaved up a half-empty sack of sand. It came in useful for soaking up all the various nasty fluids that splattered the Hide’s decks on a daily basis. The stoat dragged it over to the barrel, his snout twitching a little as he caught the smell of the spilled whale-oil.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail shifted aside as the stoat stepped in, careful not to crowd him but with nowhere else to go. The storage room hadn’t felt this small even when it was just him and Silvertongue, and now the air felt twice as tight. He angled himself near a crate and kept his tail curled neatly to avoid knocking anything else over. The whale oil slick on the floor glistened under the lantern light, still reeking strong enough to sting the nose.

The stoat’s expression was uneasy, like he was bracing for a scolding that hadn’t come yet. Swifttail caught the way his shoulders hunched, the way he didn’t quite meet their eyes. Something about it tugged at him in a way he didn’t like. He’d seen that look in other beasts... and in the mirror, once upon a time.

He let out a quiet breath through his nose and bent to help as the sandbag was dragged forward.

"Hey, it’s fine. I ain’t gonna flay yeh."

He paused, catching the flicker in the stoat’s body language again, and tilted his head.

"You said that like you really thought I might. Or him." He gestured lightly toward Silvertongue. "Bit dramatic, don’t you think?"

His tone stayed light. Gently teasing, but not sharp. He didn’t want to draw Silvertongue’s ire again. He was still smarting a little from the brief scolding earlier.

Swifttail helped settle the bag and gave the stoat a faint nod.

"Honest mistake’s all it was."

Then, with a glance toward Silvertongue with a faint gleam in his eye, he added with a softer edge to his voice:

"Bet yeh weren’t expectin’ two foxes to be tucked away in here."

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue noticed the stoats posture. How he seemed to shrink into himself. The stuttering. He was all too familiar with it. It was like looking into a mirror. Silvertongue stepped forward. He wasn't much older than this beast, but still felt the need to put him at ease. "Hey, you can relax. We aren't going to haul you off in chains for startling us, for goodness sake." He gave the stoat a concerned look. "Is there anything you are looking for in here? Perhaps I can help you find it- hopefully it'll only take a minute."

 

[Darragh Harper]

There was a sincerity in the eyes of both foxes that was like a bucket of cold water to Darragh, washing him out of the spiral of panic he’d entered. It had been unfair to think that either of them had such cruel impulses as to view him as a fresh target. He had allowed Jinks’ threats to loom over him, and cast a shadow over his perceptions of others. Swifttail’s irritation had clearly been fleeting, and his light tone made Darragh’s ears and whiskers perk up.

Ahh, he’s just having a tease of you, now! What were you so bristled about, you daft stoat? Besides, of all the stories they tell about Mr. Songfox, he has no reputation as a flogging officer.

“To be sure sir, my tongue ran away with me for a moment,” Darragh agreed. “As it is though, I think Able Seabeast Jinks does intend to make an example of yours truly today, with a rope’s end or worse. I suppose he expects it might improve my perception for findin’ lost tools.”

The sand soaked up the oil, and the spill became a pile of dark, grainy mud. Dustpan-and-brushed away, the mess might as well have never been. Darragh allowed himself a small smile as he cleaned up. He felt a little shy, even as his jitters had calmed, as his problem became the centre of attention.

Mr. Swifttail probably knows enough about the ship to take her apart and put her together again, and Mr. Songfox is virtually one of the Captain’s own paws. It seems a shame to have to take up their time asking such a simple question, but there’s no doubt they’ll know the answer. I might put off a punishment today, at least until Jinks can find something else to nail me with.

“’Tis a might cozy with two true gentlebeasts and ol’ Darragh in here, to be sure. I’m only after the ship’s Timmynocky, though. I’ve gotten no straight answer neither to the ol’ thing’s shape nor utility, so I’m somewhat relyin’ on my gut to tell me where’n’what it is.” Darragh explained. “Seabeast Jinks has set me to findin' it as a trainin’ exercise, though to be honest, the only trainin’ I get ‘round him is thinkin’ of how rude I can be when rhymin’ his name. Er! Not that I make a habit of slanderous poetry!… Least not about them that don’t deserve it.”

Darragh hadn’t quite meant to let such a cheeky comment slip out, but he was fairly sure the foxes were not Jinks’ friends. He chuckled awkwardly, and rubbed the back of his head, making more of a mess of his unruly headfur.

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

"Jinks, hmm?" Silvertongue asked with eyebrows raised. He still wasn't familiar with all the beasts on the ship, but from the sound of it he was just a standard crew member. "Well, if this beast is giving you a hard time- Darragh. That's your name, right? Just let me know. I'll be more than happy to have a word with him."

He looked over at Swifttail. "Now, as for the... um... Timmy- the Timmynicky- the Tommynocky- Timmynacky- AGH! Bleh-!" He shook his head and spat, as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth. "Whatever the dang thing is called! I've never heard of it before. What about you, Swifttail?"

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail gave the stoat a grateful glance as they worked together to sweep up the worst of the spill.

“Thanks. I...uh, Darragh, right?” He squinted, hoping he hadn’t just guessed wrong. “Appreciate the help. Hate to think how far this stuff would’ve spread without a second set o’ paws.”

He looked over at Silvertongue.

“Don’t think I’ve met an Able Seabeast Jinx. Sounds like one to steer clear of, though.”

He paused, cocking his head slightly.

“Timmynocky, though…? No. That one’s new to me.”

He tapped a claw against his chin. “Closest I’ve heard in the engine room’s a 'trunnion’, and that ain’t somethin’ you fetch. It’s riveted in place.”

He scratched the back of his head in thought,then winced. The acrid stench of whale oil hit his nose full force as he pulled his oily paw away from his head fur and toward his nose.

“Augh. Smells like I rolled in the bilge!”

He shook his head and groaned.

“Sorry I can’t be more help. I’m gonna try scrubbin’ this gunk off and get back to work ‘fore ol' Rugg gets to wondering where I am.”

With a tired huff, he made for the door with a fully filled oiler can in paw.

 

[Darragh Harper]

“Aye sirs, Darragh I am, Darragh Harper, pleased’n’honoured to meet your acquaintance,” Darragh said, doffing his hat politely. “Not to worry about me, Mr. Songfox, I’ll be okay-so. I expect I’ll just have to earn Jinx’s respect, is all.”

Darragh tried to put on a brave smile. He really couldn’t ask for Mr. Songfox to step in on his behalf. Much as it would be a comfort to have somebeast at his back, questions might be raised about how Jinx’s grudge against Darragh had started in the first place. Even if the fox knew about the crew staging fights - and it was likely a few officers did know, for it would be astounding if two seabeasts simultaneously got severely bruised the same night by accident all the time - it was still something only to be acknowledged with a sly nod and a wink.

On the other paw, you could just lie to him. Say you have no idea why, but the ferret’s got it in for you. That would mean of course taking a favour you don’t deserve by dishonest means. Mr. Songfox deserves better than that, giving away his help so freely.

Darragh felt his chance to dodge punishment slipping away once again. Neither fox had ever heard of the Timmynocky? This was becoming impossible! Darragh slunk out of the engineer’s way, trying not to look too disappointed.

“Er, did I say it right? Timmy-nocky… Timmyknocky,” Darragh enunciated, as if sounding articulate enough would summon the very thing into his paws. “If it’s at all any clue, it sounded to me like there was only one on board… and everybeast I’ve asked so far either laughs or shrugs at me. Perhaps it’s somethin’ so obvious as to be hidden in plain sight?”

Feeling glum and none the wiser, Darragh turned to follow Mr. Swifttail, sensing the engineer would be far too busy to bother with him soon. The platinum fox would be heading for the engine room, to attend to tasks far more important. With any luck, that would save Darragh the embarrassment of having Swifttail witness him being strapped by Jinx later on. As he reached the door though, a question quietly crept up and tapped on the front door of his mind.

...What was Mr. Songfox doing in here, anyway?

Darragh stopped, and pivoted on his heel to give the fox a quizzical look. “Did you need a helpin’ paw y’self in here, sir, while I’m about? Would seem a shame not to return your generosity, after all.”

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

"Oh, well- I just needed to fetch a new inkwell for the Captain's quarters. I just hope I didn't shatter any of them." Silvertongue leaned down, picking up the crate once more. He pulled open the lid and reached in, pulling out a pristine glass jar filled with swirling black ink. "With how much paperwork the Captain has me doing, the last one ran dry surprisingly fast." He slipped the jar into his pocket and placed the crate back where he had found it. He then turned back to Darragh.

"I appreciate the offer, Darragh, but I ought to be the one lending YOU a helping paw. This Timmyknocky sounds like it's an important thing to find, if Jinks is all up in a twist about it."

In reality, Silvertongue had his suspicions that this might be some sort of prank or hazing. He had experienced it plenty of times during his time on the pirate ship Sea King, and if he could put a stop to it here, he would.

"Let me go with you. I've a million other things to do, anyhow, so what's one more task to complete?"

 

[Darragh Harper]

“It’d be my pleasure to take a midday stroll in your fine company, sir!” Darragh replied with a broad grin. He was really starting to like Mr. Songfox.

The pair of them drew more than a few odd looks. Darragh the rough-and-tumble teen, fur sticking out in odd places, in his raggedy open shirt and patched breeches. With his lithe figure and bristled tail, he looked as if he’d been hired as the ship’s broom. Silvertongue, the picture of a dashing young adventurer, his fur glossy and vibrant, burning orange and immaculate white contrasted against his richly coloured outfit. Scruffy stoat and fancy fox, both sticking their snouts in every nook and cranny. Alone, Darragh probably would have gone unnoticed, but with the Aide-de-Camp himself at the young Deckswab’s side, the word was starting to get around about their perplexing quest.

“I think we can rule out the engine room, thanks to Mr. Swifttail,” Darragh mused aloud. “And it might be hard to convince ‘em to let us in the galley. You know how cooks are, think everybeast’s comin’ to steal their broth.”

“Oi, Harper! Wotcher stickin’ yer head in ‘ere for? If yore lookin’ for a mirror don’t bother, yore still an ugly liddle scarecrow!” Called a crewbeast from inside the carpenter’s workshop.

“Who gave you permission to use up the air in here, belching out that noxious gas y’call your opinion, ye great bloated bag o’ bile an’ bilgewater?!” Darragh snarled back without a second thought. He winced, and grinned weakly at Silvertongue, having momentarily forgotten that the colourful banter between shipmates might not be so acceptable in more refined company. “…and mind your filthy language, anyway! There’s an officer’n’gentlebeast present!”

The workshop did not turn up the Timmynocky either, only saws, hammers, chisels, and other ordinary sort of tools that had no special name. It also turned up a lot of sawdust, which made Darragh sneeze, so eventually he had to concede defeat, and retreat. Slinking from the workshop, and further into the depths of the ship, Darragh chuckled, exchanging a look with his companion.

“I’m sorry if that wasn’t me most noteworthy contribution to the language, Mr. Songfox. I’m afraid I inherited me mum’s pair of lungs, an’ having more brothers an’ sisters than changes of clothes taught me how to use ‘em loud and proper,” he explained. “’Tis just a bit of good-natured ribbin’ though, all in fun. Most of the crew’s a good sort, so they are, even if many of ‘em have lived a rough life or two.”

Of course, rumour has it that Mr. Songfox himself has had a past more colourful than his pantaloons. If you manage to get along and make friends, you should totally squeeze the story out of him. Don’t force the issue, but I am dying to know if the whole thing about him being an opera-singing highway-fox is true.

Caught up momentarily in his thoughts, Darragh hardly noticed that the next stop on their quest was into the infirmary. He had not yet had occasion to visit this part of the ship, and had been thanking his lucky stars it was so. As a young stoat with good, strong teeth, clear vision and a hardy constitution for one so underfed, Darragh had evaded doctors for much of his life. He preferred reading about medical dramas in cheap pulps, with all the gruesome details that could be put into print, rather than participating in them.

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn was bored.

Goodness. He'd imagined life at sea would have been much more exciting than it actually was. It'd been almost a week of sailing, and there were no pirates, no mermaids, not even an Alkamarian Merchant Vessel to plunder. Finn had hoped they'd teach him all sorts of wondrous things like how to fire the cannons and swashbuckling, but no.

Leeches. Barrett had him organizing his leeches.

The foxkit's face contorted in disgust as he carefully set a leech down in a bloody dish of hunks of meat. "There you are Mortimer... time for breakfast..." he grumbled, watching the leech writhe around in it's fine mess. Fetching another, he set it down in the bowl alongside the first. "And look, it's your brother... ...Mooortholemew." Frowning, Finn examined the second leech closer. "Mortimer, what have you done to your brother? He's dead! You murdered him!"

"Oh well..." Fishing the bloody dead leech back out of the bowl, Finn set him aside on a little towel. Mortholemew would serve as fine fishing bait. (At lest there were some fun things to do at sea!)

 

[Kaii Nashirou]

Kaii moved through the ship with visible on his snout displeasure.

He was holding onto his still healing arm, but it wasn't the cause of his current mood. A certain Pine Marten and chirurgeon was.

Sure he may have came back to heavy work a bit before he was advised to, but the ship needed working paws. His were capable. And that is how he ended covered in oil. Cleaning his fur and clothes took a long while, the bandage he had was the last thing to clean and he went to the doctor to let the specialist do it.

For some reason he wasn't happy about it. Truly Kaii couldn't understand him. Doing something as he asked was seemingly making him displeased as much as doing something the way that was most logical. Years of discipline and following orders truly rearranged mind. Kaii felt like this should be researched by someone capable.

For now though he decided (and was in part told to) that seeking the little assistant to the surgeon was for the best. Young blood like him could use more practice and wasn't yet corrupted by having a stick up his tail.

He finally found him organizing... Leeches of all things. Kaii gently cleared his throat as he came in.

"Hello Finn. I wished to ask you if you could help me with the bandage you've put on earlier." He extended his wounded arm, showing the bandage soaked in oil. "Barrett was too grumpy to do it and I want to make sure someone capable helps me to reapply it." He explained, sitting down by the kit and looking at the leeches with a curiosity in his eyes.

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn's countenance brightened as soon as Kaii rounded the corner. A familiar face always cheered him up -- especially when it gave him license to ignore his chores. The foxkit eagerly stood up from his desk, tail flagging behind him with cheer. "Kaii!" he cried with excitement, as if the fox had just come to rescue him from a death sentence. "Oh yeah, hold on lemme get some fresh bandages!"

Hopping off the stool he was perched on, Finn rushed over to the medicine cabinet to fetch bandages. There were many skills required of a loblobby boy, and most of them were tedious. Mopping and stoning the floors, cleaning the head, bringing food for patients. (Not that Finn minded terribly, it was certainly an upgrade from his life in the Slups.) But changing bandages was Finn's favorite. He got to show his skills off a little, and help people to boot!

Returning with an armload of bandages, Finn hooked his footpaw on the stool, and tugged it over near a cot. He gestured with his elbow for Kaii to sit on the stool, and hopped up on the cot for himself. Though the positioning was reversed, Finn found it much easier to work with Kaii's arm in his lap, given the height differences.

"Was Barrett his usual self this morning?" he asked with a playful smile. Carefully, the foxkit unwound the bandages, and discarded the soiled bandage to inspect the fox's arm. How was it healing? Were there any reddened spots, potentially betraying infection? Had the oil seeped down far enough to contaminate the injury?

 

[Kaii Nashirou]

Kaii just nodded and let the kit to work on his arm. The wound from metal shards was still there but it was closed. No contamination got in and it seemingly was healing well.

"Hard to say with him. For all his knowledge and undeniable skill, he is... inflexible." Kaii explained with a delicate chuckle. There was a little smile on his nominally stoic snout as he continued. "Mr. Barrett was upset with just seeing this bandage stained. My words about him being about as constrictive in his judgements as the bandages he could've done in the time he was yelling certainly did not help. Albeit he didn't try to push me out of his office so... He seems fine." He concluded with a smirk.

While Finny was working his deft claws to fasten the bandages, Kaii's ears flicked as he heard someone by the doors. As they were opening, he spotted Silvertongue, an Officer, as well as the stoat poet he remembered from when he signed onto the ship.

He used his free paw to hold his chest he slightly curtsied. Not due to rank difference but more out of respect. "Greetings you two. What brings you to the infirmary?" He asked as if he owned the place, albeit there was naught but curiosity in his voice.

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh stuck his snout around the infirmary door, peeking to see if the coast was clear. It wasn’t as though he was scared of Doctor Barrett. The big pine marten no doubt had many fine qualities, though the two of them had never directly conversed. Yes, Darragh was sure he was a doctor of superlative virtue, skill and care. The chatter in the mess about how the mad medical mustelid would dislocate your limbs just to keep you held down while he drilled holes in your skull were just sailor’s tales. No, he wasn’t scared, he was just concerned about getting in the doctor’s way. Or being dragged into a totally unnecessary medical check-up. Darragh was healthy. He did not need a doctor.

“I don’t need a doctor,” Darragh blurted out, before he realised that the two beasts inside were not the dreaded Doctor Barrett. He grinned shyly and slunk inside - after all, with Silvertongue at his back, it would be ridiculous to try and back out now.

Darragh had seen Kaii perhaps even less than Swifttail since coming aboard. It was at least known amongst the crew that Kaii Nashirou was a gentlebeast, and not just from the handsome outfits he wore. There were enough sharp bits and pieces in the Hide’s arsenal with the family’s mark, after all. The Nashirou family had been arms producers, and minor nobility. The gossip around Kaii himself was not nearly as lurid as Silvertongue’s, if only because the relevant details were more or less known. The marble fox was the scion of the family, and its last living member. The Nashirou estate itself was a pile of rubble.

It was hard for Darragh to imagine the position that Mr. Nashirou found himself. The Harper family certainly had its own share of plots in graveyards all across Vulpinsula and East Tookumberry Key. However, being the last of his own blood seemed a very remote possibility to Darragh, with far too many siblings, cousins and distant relations to count.

It’s not all doom and gloom though, is it? Mr. Nashirou is young, and healthy to all appearances. There must be some vixen lady in his heart, what handsome and finely dressed gentlebeast wouldn’t have a lover? For all you know, he has a trail of mistresses and cute little bastard kits lining the docks waiting for his return!

Then, there was the little fox kit. Actually, this one was a total mystery to Darragh. Mess rumours did not extend to urchins that ran away to sea, especially when there were much juicier and better-dressed targets to chew over. He supposed from the way he was bandaging Mr. Nashirou, that he must have become the Doctor’s helper.

“Greetings, and a fine afternoon to y’self, Mr. Nashirou,” Darragh said, sweeping his hat momentarily from his head. “And a fine how-do-you-do to y’self, little mate!”

You’re great with kits. Well, actually, you’re great at wrangling kits for suppertime, and giving them naughty ideas, and occasionally reading to them before bedtime. You’re not great at getting kits to do what you want. Still, rather this cute little fellow than Doctor Barrett.

Darragh's grin was strained by fading hope, as he placed the hat on his head. “The two of us, Mr. Songfox and m’self, are just after one of the ship’s odd little particulars, if either of you astute gentlefoxes might know of it. I’ve an assignment to come up with the ship’s Timmynocky, though I’m startin’ to think at this rate the Golden Hide is one Timmynocky short!”

 

[Kaii Nashirou]

Kaii was happy to speak with someone who had ornate manner of speech. Beside Silvertongue that is. It felt more like home he had lost long ago. Still, without missing a beat, he started to think about the pursued object. Timmynocky... Definitely not a word from any trade he dabbled with. Also not one from a glossary of nautical terms he read through while preparing for this job. Kaii wasn't a linguist and he knew it well, albeit knowing words was something he wasn't bad at. He knew four meanings of the word 'current' among many other things so he decided to give this mystery a go.

"Timmy-nocky... Perchance you've misheard Mr. Harper?" He spoke neutrally, as his mind was too occupied with processing the word to properly show emotions now. "Wouldn't be your fault considering the hefty accent some sailors have. It sounds a bit like timbernock. But looking for a nock seems pointless..." Kaii mind now worked on full power, he himself deciding that all options need to be exhausted before giving up on assisting the two.

"Timberknocker? Some name for a hammer or other tool maybe? Maybe those are two words..." Kaii mused as he considered more obscure options. Timmy was but a dimunitive of a name, maybe timber. Nocky was either knock or nock or knack. Just maybe they meant tackle? Far fetched but an option. Timmy tackle would be a poor joke, but timber tackle? That would just be carpentry equipment.

That was the final conclusion. If it wasn't that, then this word must've been very illusive or just made up. As life came back to Kaii's eyes, he turned to look at the stoat. Taking a deep breath, Kaii was ready to share his findings. His tail wagged now. Mental excercise was always putting him in a good mood at the end.

"The closest thing I could've think of were timber tackles. Doesn't sound precisely like what you've asked for, but to my knowledge at least this is something real. There is a chance whoever told you to look for it also made you look for..." Kaii bit his tongue just in time. It wasn't time for such dirty notions. Instead he had to speak properly to make his conclusions academic. "Well, made you look for something inappropriate. I might just of course lack proper knowledge of the local slang on this par excellence ship."

All in all Kaii wasn't fully satisfied with this outcome. He had his duties however and already he was not doing them by having his arm rebandaged... The bandage.

Finn.

He now looked down at Finn who was doing his task eagerly. Where Kaii had failed, maybe this kit, who in the end spent much more time with sailors than he did, had an idea about the meaning behind this word.

"Maybe you know something about this? Kits like you are usually much better at slang after all." Kaii stated with slight but honest smile. Being younger gave one fresh and unique perspective at the cost of knowledge. Here however, there was a chance Finn had more knowledge in this matter than any present adult with their polished language.

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn worked diligently to clean the fox's forearm, being careful to not disturb the scabs that were forming. With a roll of gauze, he mopped warm soapy water over Kaii's arm, taking the opportunity to give it a wash. Finn shot a playful grin up to the older fox, his tail flagging out behind him. "What, Mr. Barrett is inflexible? Nawww! He bends over backwards to find something to yell at me about!"

The foxkit looked up alertly as Darragh and Silvertongue entered the infirmary, ears and tail perked. Before he could open his mouth to greet them, the stoat blurted out that he didn't need a doctor. Finn rather detested physicals himself... but being on the other side of the equation now, he found that many of the prospects of checkups bothered him less.

Finn listened into their conversation as he patted Kaii's arm dry with a towel, and began to wrap it in a fresh clean bandage. Given his smaller stature on the Hide, Finn was used to the principle of being seen, and not heard. He was content to just listen to the older beasts talk -- but suddenly Kaii invited him into the conversation. "Timmynocky?" he asked excitedly, cocking his head to one side. "...I'm pretty sure that's a plant, right? Like... ...like... hold on!"

In all actuality, Finn had no idea what that was... but his youthful exuberance convinced him that he had heard it somewhere. Returning Kaii's forearm to it's owner, he hopped off the cot, shoved the dirty towel and bandages in a heap (to be dealt with later!) and trotted over to Barrett's large and imposing medicine cabinet. "Oh... I forgot... Barrett keeps it locked. Wait, wait never mind, that must be the other cabinet!" he said, popping the door open.

An array of neatly organized glass bottles greeted them, all various hues, shapes, and sizes. Each had a neat paper label adhered to the front, with Mr. Barrett's fine handwriting across it. "If Mr. Barrett has it... it's in here somewhere... he organized it by the alphabet..."