Open The Trenches Trembling Treble

[Berchar Fleetfoot]

House Deftclaw. Though forced to reside in the Slups he had often made attempts to keep au fait with the names and houses, though clearly his knowledge had been lacking. For now he made not but decided to play off his embarrassment, grateful that the fox had changed the topic by their own free will. Though their voice seemed unusual, Berchar could hardly talk: more often than not he had fallen prey to mockery.

Taking money felt, after everything, churlish. Fortunately Whisper, again, offered a solution. "Playing sounds wonderful," he agreed, "thank you. I'm not sure if you'd be comfortable playing outside or if we should find somewhere else, though. What would you prefer?"

His eyes darted to Pomodu again, and the smile hovering on his whiskers grew a little. "Oh, and if you don't mind my saying so, I have to say I haven't met a red panda in...well, since I came to the Imperium: it's quite a delight. What on earth brought you here?" He hadn't meant his tone to sound quite so incredulous, but after his experiences it was difficult to envision anybeast coming here by choice. For all of her apparent wealth, perhaps she, too, had been forced here by ill fortune.

 

[Pomodu lu Modokunomulo]

Pomodu nodded her vigorous agreement with the idea of playing someplace else. Her eyes widened as the question turned to her. "Me?" she asked, surprised. She put a paw to her chest, as if to confirm. "I a'm co'me to see di Valupinusula," she explained. "I heah di sutories guoing u'p, a'n'du I wan'tu mee't di legen'dusu." She reached into her bag and pulled out a leather volume, flipping it open to an illustration of a pair of foxes embracing each other, two signatures on the page. She beamed as she explained, "I mee'tu ahready. Maybe I mee't moh."

 

[Marie "Whisper" Deftclaw]

Whisper let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. A payment for their kindness Whisper could truly provide. But indeed, this was not a place for it. Whisper could play on stage, for public or at home. Playing on streets however? Too scary for the lithe fox to fathom.

But then the following words have been processed. Of course those two were foreigners, but now the little fox had learnt those two were from the same land, a concept that those two were just kind due to local customs hit her.

Suddenly trembling more and a bit more anxious, Whisper hesitantly spoke, ears flat on her head and gaze focused on her paws on the ground. “S-somewhere w-with a scene… o-or pri-private if you de-desire. I d-do not want to o-overuse y-your g-g-goodwill.”

 

[Berchar Fleetfoot]

For a long few seconds Berchar stared at the open pages of the book as though they were a confession of insanity itself, utterly bewildered by both the illustration and her enthusiasm. Of course he'd heard all of the propaganda: the promises of fame and adventure in the city; a place where a beast could begin life anew with opportunities for even the lowliest, with dedication, to find a pawhold on the ladder. It had taken him only two weeks to settle into the harsh reality for most. Part of him was concerned she was living his story a few steps behind. Worse, he was concerned that this was a long-term belief. Poor beast.

Responsibility had never been Berchar's favourite word even when it came to his patients, but between Pomodu's earnest enthusiasm and Whisper's quiet anxiety he felt bound to stick around - even beyond tonight. Both seemed green to the streets of Bully Harbour and he hardly wished that on any beast.

"There's a much nicer tavern more on the edges of the Trenches," the jerboa explained, "where I think they would appreciate the music more. That is, unless Pomodu, you have a suitable residence? Unfortunately mine is rather out of commission."

 

[Pomodu lu Modokunomulo]

Pomodu seemed to be having some difficulty parsing Whisper's stammer through the existing language barrier, but was at least polite enough not to say anything of it; instead she looked to Berchar, gleaning context out of his side of the conversation to put the course of discussion back together. "I sutay a't di Biluge," Pomodu explained, looking back to the tavern with a frown. "Hmm. Pehhapusu no moh. Goo'du I kee'p my ba'g today." She pulled her bag off her shoulder, itself large enough to smuggle a moderately-sized beast, and showed them its contents: a whole heap of books and journals, a sturdy box for her writing and drawing implements, and, sewn into leather harnesses to keep them from squashing the other items, three sizable gold ingots with an empty slot for a fourth. A whole mess of loose change of various (though mostly large) denominations sloshed around in the bottom of the bag. That the red panda was carrying around what probably amounted to half the annual gross domestic product of the entire Harbor was, in a word, insane; that she seemed to think nothing of showing it to these two strangers bordered on the suicidal.

She closed up her bag and wondered aloud, "Maybe we fin'du new hotelu. Wheh you tinuku we go?"

 

[Marie "Whisper" Deftclaw]

Whisper was already standing on weak knees. Seeing the excessive amount of riches that were carried and handled so carelessly almost caused them to faint. After stumbling hard, Whisper fell onto Berchar and only because of holding onto them, avoided collapsing onto the ground. They were both small and light enough to not cause that much of discomfort, yet as soon as Whisper got their footing they stared at Pomodu with huge, scared gaze. They tried to speak, say anything, ultimately failing due to sheer fear of someone this rich and thus important just casually speaking to them.