Upon returning to his room, Talinn had quickly and carefully taken off his current set of clothes and changed into his spares, carefully leaving the potentially contaminated clothing in a small wooden hamper by the door. He then gingerly moved to the small footlocker at the edge of his desk and pulled out a few vials of ointment, then spread it over his fur and all the places the little fleas might have jumped. From a small visual inspection and the brief time he had spent with the kit, he should be fine, but it was the only way to be sure. Silvertongue would have to be careful washing his superior’s clothing or he too might have some unwelcome passengers.
Now fully dressed and cleaned, the Minister went over to his desk, and began writing up the necessary paperwork to induct Finnian into the Navy. It was not without its risks, but, compared to life as a street kit, and even compared to his own youth where he and the small amount of Ryalor loyalists had been forced to hide in the depths of the mountains on Westisle, it was pretty comfortable. One day, perhaps far in the future, society might change so that kits might be able to be kits for longer, enjoying time at school with their friends and learning all they might need to in order to accomplish great things in life, such was the Empress’s long-term hope, but for now they had to work with what they had.
Just as he finished the necessary paperwork, his aide and Finnian came in to his quarters. Glancing up, he saw that the kit was now properly dressed, if in some clothing that might be a wee bit too large for him, but he could have the ship’s tailor make the necessary adjustments when he had the time. Silvertongue, meanwhile, looked mildly exasperated, and had come in completely shirtless. The Songfox, in comparison to Finnian, seemed to have been well-nourished and comparatively fit, which was good, but perhaps his mind could use a bit more training if he thought that was the acceptable dress code to normally enter the Captain’s office. And now that Finnian was here, he would have to set at least a mild example, although he did not want to overly scare the kit.
“Thank you, Silvertongue,” he replied, sitting back in his chair, then gesturing to the small hamper by the door filled with his clothes that needed to be thoroughly washed and scrubbed
“if you could take my clothes and properly steamwash them, I would be grateful. I see that you have already gotten a head start with your own shirt.” A mild, but pointed rebuke, just to remind his aide of the proper dress code. There was a lot of chaos that could happen aboard a naval vessel, but at least with decent grooming and dressing standards, one could always feel a sense of order.
Gesturing for Silvertongue to leave, he glanced down at the scared, young foxkit, then offered a reassuring genuine smile. He reminded him so much of young Alwyn, a fundamentally good little kit when he was able to see him, before events had forced his paw. His son would never believe him, he knew, but he had always acted in the best interests of his family, and he would always do so, no matter how dangerous, no matter how vile.
“
Finnian, do you know your letters, at least enough to write your own name?” he asked calmly.
@FinnianBrightfur @Silvertongue Songfox
