Open The Trenches Trembling Treble

Whisper was not processing right now the words well. Though they were so far treated well by the two other beasts. In a way, it felt bad to once again rely on them for support, kind words, anything for that matter. Whisper really felt as if they were indebting themself more and more. An having only music and talent as their only currency to spare, it felt even worse to abuse them for that matter.

"I... I ju-just don't w-want to b-be u-useless b-burden. Y-you did he-help me a l-lot. You a-are t-too good for me. I..." They had to pause for a longer moment to calm their rising anxiety from overwhelming them again. "I ha-have nothing t-to give. Ju-just... Let.. me d-do s-s-something f-for you." It cost them a lot, but Whisper had enough of being a failure.

But the very same fear was paralysing. Whisper was not a beast capable of acting that easily, no matter how much determination there was in their little body. They did manage to stand up and get the grasp on their violin. But they just had to start. That was the hardest part to overcome.
 
Now was neither the time nor the place for Berchar to reassure the fox that he was anything but too good, for wartime stories would likely do little to ease the anxiety coming off of them in waves. Re-accessing that part of him which found compassion in his work, the jerboa allowed a beat of silence to settle as his mind raced to find compromise.

"Tell you what," he started carefully, "I think you have plenty to give outside of music. If repayment is something you insist upon, why not help me in a different way? Our new friend here," he gestured to Pomodu with a smile, "is clearly new to how things work in Bully. Why don't you help me take a little time to answer a few questions? I wager we're more welcoming to it than most in this place." His attention turned back upon the red panda: truly he wanted to ask a litany of questions as to her whereabouts, where she had travelled and if ever she had visited his home. Such musings would have to wait. "What do you think? We could have a few drinks, make sure you're quite alright." Brows furrowed, then. She had so much money, and yet... "Did you come here all on your own?"
 
Whisper slumped back into their sitting. They were visibly shaken with what just occurred. They managed to push themselves, pulling all they had to move past their anxiety just to show back to those people they are not worthless... and they got swatted down. Tears made Whisper's eyes glassy again, but they didn't sob nor mention it, clearly, to her, the best she could offer, wasn't enough.

Slowly pulling the strings with their claws, playing quietly, just to themself really, a very bleak watlz, Whisper did manage to calm down by pouring the pain into it, even if the fox was the only audience of their own music, they supposed it was just something they had to get used to here in the Harbour. Their voice was hollow as they finally got to responding to the two. "I d-do not d-dr-drink. It hu-hurts me. A-and I am us-useless t-to you. I o-only came he-here recen-recently myself." Whisper informed, staring at the table, avoiding looking at the other two. "I am o-of no help... But I wi-will answer wh-wh-wha-what I can."
 
A swift flush of heat bloomed at the jerboa's eartips, feeling rather that his attempts to try and navigate the situation in as empathic a manner as possible was generating a stack of faux pas his family would have been mortified to witness. He never had quite grasped their level of smooth talking or artful negotiation. When Whisper made several bleak noises from their instrument, picked up by such large ears as his, he was somewhat baffled and put out himself, wondering if he would at all manage to say the right thing.

"No- no you aren't useless at all," he assured, "you just aren't like most citizens of the city. In fact, it looks like you're in good company with us because we aren't either." He attempted a nervous smile, faltering as he considered why they might seem so upset. "I wasn't - telling you I don't want to hear your music, by the by. It was beautiful, I merely thought - with the bow...it might be difficult. And it's already been a difficult night so I would not impose. I didn't realise you're also new here."

Running a paw through his headfur, feeling more embarrassed by the moment, Berchar tried to dredge up a smidge of courage. Or, at least, what he took to be some. "Actually, Pomodu, I think that's a great idea - why not practice? Just...maybe wait for them to tell you how much it costs, first." He looked to Whisper. "You don't have to drink alcohol. Maybe, though, we could share our stories?"
 
Pomodu listened to Whisper's lament, her eyes increasingly widening. The little fox confused her - they were obviously talented, and quite pretty too, at least by the standards conveyed by the art she'd seen of foxes in the Imperium, but they didn't seem to believe in themselves at all. Pomodu pulled her paw away from her pouch, leaving her money alone for now, before looking to Whisper compassionately. "Okay," she allowed. She hesitated before asking, "Why you no li'ke youse'fu? You see'mu very ni'ce! Wha't happe'n?" She paused before offering, "A'n'du you wa'n'tu a hu'gu?"
 
Whisper hesitated for a moment, again. They trusted the two for the moment, even if in their mind, Whisper was absolutely worthless in their eyes. The two were kind and patient with them, but Whisper was just unable to get over the idea of any beast being altruistic. That is what their family assured them of while protecting them from the outside world. Now however, on their own? Whisper wasn't at all ready for the reality.

More instinctively than anything, they leaned themselves into Pomodu offer, allowing her to hug them while explaining. "I... am a runt. S-sickly, un-unable to grow past... that." They moved their shaky paw to point at themselves. "I sh-shouldn't be a-alive. Sh-shouldn't make it t-to the a-a-adulthood." Something between a chuckle and a sob broke from her. "I w-was protected a-at home. B-by my parents. M-my siblings. They n-nu-nurtured me, a-allowed me to play music. Fo-for long ye-years I was o-only able to s-speak through the s-sounds of pia-n-no. I was too weak and fra-fragile to play or spend time with other ki-kits. B-but I became good at music and my pa-parents invited o-other nobles so I could play for them. They told me tha-that this is what I-I am good at, this is what I ca-can d-do to make my family p-proud."

After a few more sobs, Whisper mumbled, more calmly now as Red Panda's hugs were very therapeutic. "S-so while I am still looking like a k-kit, not even closely sh-shaped like a woman I s-supposedly am, I came here, t-trying to pull my weight... a-and failing." Whisper finished with a final sob. Telling someone who listened was actually very nice and Whisper didn't even care now if it will hurt them later.

"S-sorry for being d-d-dramatic. I-I... am bad at talking. Th-that is wh-why I wanted t-to p-play. It is th-the only th-thing I am decent at. And I w-want to gi-give back s-something to not be the parasite I u-usually am..." The fox added after a short break, then looked up at Pomodu. "You a-are v-very warm miss. Li-pad-ilu-go-to... S-sorry if I made a mi-mistake. I-I just never m-met a b-beast from p-places s-so foreign that my t-tutors ne-never mentioned them." There was some fascination in their eyes. For any reason, Whisper was now turning their trust into fascination. Turning their head around to Berchar, their eyes were still glossy, but no longer were they sad. "S-same go-goes f-for you Mister. I ne-never seen a be-beast like you before. N-n-no offence!"
 
It was difficult not to feel a wash of empathy for the poor fox. At his stature Berchar knew all too well about perception from others, living a life shielded from the dangers of the world, and seeking solace in a lonely life through the arts was all too familiar. As it was he had simply fallen into painting rather than music, though never had it been embraced as something to take seriously as Whisper’s family had encouraged. So much for making them proud as a doctor.

“None taken,” the jerboa assured, “I can tell you few here have, and they’ve been far less polite about it.” He looked up to Pomodu. “I’d wager you’ve had a word or two yourself, ma’am, though perhaps being much taller has its benefits. I’d love to talk some time about where it is you’ve come from, but perhaps we’d better focus on the Harbour. I’ve been living here around three years myself.” Quite suddenly he wondered if he was really the beast to be answering any questions about how the city worked, but…well, he hadn’t died for three years in the Slups: as far as he was concerned that was experience enough.

He toyed with his glasses, polishing the fragile glass with a rag from his tail. “Now, about this usefulness…I’d like to tell you that you owe us nothing but your company and that you’re no parasite, but if it would help to consider a profession…well, performance is wonderful but have you ever considered teaching beasts to play as well? I don’t know about you, miss - do forgive me, I presume you aren’t married – Pomodu – but after the performance earlier I know I’d love to learn from someone with such skill.” It was not mere flattery: long had Berchar wanted to learn piano. Time, then schooling, war and finances had all stymied such a fantasy.
 
Pomodu held Whisper in her arms, giving her the softest, warmest, most supportive hug she could manage as she listened. She was getting better at understanding through Whisper's stutter; while she'd never struggled with it, one of her brothers had experienced great difficulties in articulating when he was young, and the king had spent a great deal of the royal fortune in finding and recruiting a specialist to help the young prince through the condition.

What she heard was enough to break her heart. It wasn't just the tragedy that Whisper had experienced; Pomodu had heard many stories of the Vulpinsula, and knew that this was a place where beasts could go from terrible tragedy to wonderous victory. What truly tore at her was the way that Whisper spoke about themselves. Many of the terms the young fox used were those that Pomodu had been warned repeatedly by her tutors to never use to refer to other beasts. How much must this poor thing loath themselves to talk about themselves in such a fashion?

Pomodu nodded eagerly at the jerboa's suggestion of a job as a tutor. "Ye'su ye'su!" Pomodu agreed eagerly. "You pulay very goo'du! I a'm ba'du wi'f di musicu, bu't i'f you tea'ch me, I pay you foh lea'hn. I tinuku you ah very good a't musicu." She'd grown up in a palace where music and dance were commonplace, but Pomodu had always struggled with those arts. It hadn't been until the troubador who became her mentor came to court that she discovered her love of stories and storytelling, an art which had led her directly to these shores.
 
Whisper sunk deeper into Pomodu's hug as they heard the suggestion. Not that they didn't thought of it earlier, but it was not at all something that was expected of them. The bigger problem was... Whisper's inability to talk with beasts. It scared them, especially when it came to the ones they didn't know. Images of being hurt were far too common in their mind.

As for the two however? Whisper still had not a lot of idea about the two. They sold their heart to them (not that it was hard) but they were very much unsure yet what to think fully of the two. "I... c-could. B-but, I w-want t-to hear m-more about y-you two first. I a-am v-very poor w-wi-with talking so I ne-need trust. I am pathetic s-speaker b-but... It is easier when I trust the other side."
 
Berchar grinned at Pomodu: he was in full agreement, give or take the ability to pay. As it stood he was barely making ends meet, but it was an indulgence he’d craved for years…and, well, things had been difficult in the Slups. A pleasant distraction would be well worth the investment, especially if Whisper was willing to teach.

The request caused the jerboa to blink, a little bashful at the idea of speaking of himself. No beast had really made a point to for some time, and he was not entirely certain what he should divulge. “Oh, I-I’m not really certain there’s much to say,” he shrugged, “My name’s Berchar, as you know, and I arrived here around three years ago so I would say I'm rather settled. Civil war was tearing my country apart, so it felt prudent to leave.” The truth, if not the entirety of it. “I’m a doctor by trade, though I do so love the arts, especially painting. I haven’t a practice to work in so I do the odd job to get by these days. I live in the Slups, which I do not recommend.”

Scratching his whiskers he let out a chuckle. “That’s…really all there is to me, I’m not especially interesting – unlike, I am certain, our friend here.” Head tilted to regard Pomodu with a smile, he was only too happy to pass the task of introductions along to her.
 
Pomodu listened with interest to the jerboa's stories. There were jerboa in Lipadilugoto as well, but she'd only really interacted with those who had served at court, mostly as ministers. Being a very minor member of the royal family far down the line of succession, she hadn't received much of their attention, which had been just fine with her. She wondered where this jerboa was from; his Vulpinsulan was very near flawless, at least to her ear, something that filled her with a small amount of despair for her own limited ability and what she knew to be a pronounced accent.

She blinked at the attention turned onto her, and she gave a small shrug before adjusting her hug to better support Whisper. "No i'su so i'nuteresuti'ngu," she remarked, stretching out 'interesting' to a remarkable seven syllables. "I li've wi'tu my family i'n di pala'suh, guow u'pu wi'tu my buota'su a'n'du sisuta'su. My fata di ki'ngu, he bui'ngu di pehfohma'su fuo'm many pua'ce'su to pehfoh'm. I'su de'n I heah di sutori'su o'f di Valupin'sula." Her eyes almost seemed to shimmer with the reflected candlelight as she recalled those tales. "I'su be'sutu sutori'su I evah heah. Di heroe'su, vilai'n'su, aduvenutoh'su, i'su amazi'ngu to me. So, whe'n di ki'ngu die, I a'su'ku my buo'ta di new ki'ngu foh I go to di Valupin'sula to see myseh'fu. A'n'du so I co'me heeh." She shrugged lightly, as if it were nothing. "Li'ke I say, very bori'ngu."
 
Whisper listened to Berchar's story without a word, looking at them with interest. They wouldn't pry more into their words, gates knew this fox would themselves die from anxiety in such scenario. So while Whisper wanted to know more, they just politely nodded with acceptance at what was stated.

Pomodu however caused Whisper to melt. Not just figuratively from the warmest and comfiest hug they were getting, possibly only second to piling with their family or hugs of their mother. Whisper became boneless from the fact they were in arms of a sister of a king. They barely could make a whine as they stared at Pomodu with eyes that were almost almost nothing but pupils.

They did try to say something really, but couldn't. The idea alone of being hugged and comforted by a royalty was making their strained mind almost collapse on themselves.

Once again paralysed by fear, they had zero idea what to do... but there was Berchar here. Whisper managed to turn their head and look at them pleadingly, almost at the brink of tears again. Wordlessly asking for help.
 
Earlier that day when he had woken groggy and uncomfortable from a night on the floor (his flatmate having broken apart his bed the week prior), the weasel in question had threatened, in explicit detail, how he would at last catch and eat the unfortunate woodlander. He wondered here and now if perhaps that had come to pass after all and if this wasn’t some bizarre kind of purgatory. Berchar was a creature of the Slups now: what was even happening for him to cross paths with both an extremely talented musician and foreign royalty?

The jerboa looked almost blank-faced as he regarded Pomodu, jaw slack and ears barely twitching. The quietest “oh” slipped from his mouth as he scrambled to process the red panda’s words. She might yet be lying, or at the very least confused, but she had seemed so earnest and forthright, which wasn’t even to speak of the excessive wealth. That she had been allowed to wander was somewhat concerning, though Berchar supposed he’d been given pretty much free reign in his youth. That, and he was far enough down the order of inheritance that his death or disappearance would have been of little consequence.

It would have been tempting to laugh and make some manner of awkward joke to break the stunned tension, but then he caught Whisper’s eye. The fox seemed to be pleading for intervention, though the little jerboa rather feared he didn’t know exactly what would help without hurting the friendly Pomodu’s feelings. He really should have paid attention in those etiquette sessions. “Well- well I for one find that absolutely fascinating, actually.” It was tactful, but at its core truthful. “Royalty doesn’t often walk these streets. I’d love to know a little more about just what tales they told you because they sound…rather different from those which brought me here, I can tell you. Stories of heroes?” He smiled; caught Whisper’s eye once more. “Oh! Drinks! Perhaps if you would still be interested you could pop our friend down for a moment and try your paw at ordering with the single guilders?
 
Pomodu's eyes lit up at mention of stories, and she might well have regaled them with an unending series of tales had Berchar not made a timely inquiry about drinks. This distracted her enough that she set Whisper back in their seat and she focused on the menu, her lips moving as she read over it. When it came to the numbers, she had to do some work to make sense of them; from the way that she counted on her paw, running her thumb over each segment on each finger, it seemed like she might be used to either a base eight or a base twelve number system, and was having to do conversions in her head to adjust to the Imperium's decimal system. "So," she asked, putting a pawful of coins on the table, "I'f we ge'tu di guo'g a'n'du di Oh'du Iro'n'saidu'su, i'su tuee o'f dee'su sihvuh, a'n'du fouh o'f dee'su littuh o'ne'su?" She pointed to a set of coins that made up thirty-four gilders - over the combined price of the drinks by six gilders.
 
Whisper missed the warm embrace surrounding them from each direction. Surprisingly so considering Pomodu was not someone Whisper had known for long. But there was something honest about them that felt right. After giving a thankful look and nod to Berchar who resolved the situation, in their eyes, flawlessly, the fox tried to focus on the calculations Pomodu was doing. Mathematics were something Whisper was decent at, after all, musical notation had quite a bit of math behind it, but not something they have excelled at.

But seeing the way Pomodu was counting was enough to grasp that they were not doing it in usual numeral system with a base of ten. And yet one that went above four for sure. Knowing the price of the drinks, Whisper decided to explain the same way they did once to their younger sister. Also ensuring they would not get grog. Whisper would die drinking anything stronger than lightest ciders.

"S-s-soo... I will ju-just have water or juice. As I s-said, I cannot dr-drink. That w-would bring the price t-to five gilders" The fox pulled up their paws, holding their pawfingers up. "N-now, coinage is s-simple in the Imperium. Look at m-my paws. I have five pads on it r-right?" They used one paw to take the gilders and delicately placed them on the open paw, putting four gilders on one finger pad and one on the large pad in the middle section of the paw. "Y-you can count a coin for e-each pad. A-and since we have two paws, you can g-get to ten coins. T-two fives make a ten." Whisper did take some more gilders and put them on their other paw as well, now holding ten gilders, one per each paw pad.

"A-and what i-if you need t-to pay more? Well... those ten co-coins make f-for one silver gi-gilder." Whisper now put down the coins they held onto a nice stack and picked up one silver gilder. "Th-those are of s-same value. This coin a-and that s-stack. I-if you count si-silver gilders on pawpads, whe-when you get ten si-silver ones, that gives you a golden gilder. So... five gi-gilders twice m-make silver gilder. F-five silver gilders make a g-golden one." Whisper again took just the meagre five regular gilders onto their little paw. "S-so, the price here i-is just that, one paw or five gilders. The si-silver and g-golden ones are not u-used that often." They finished and hoped that it would bring the needed understanding to the matter of coinage. Only now realising that thinking of Pomodu as of their younger sister did help to overcome shyness.
 
Seeing Whisper engage in the explanation with some enthusiasm came as pleasant surprise, and Berchar was in absolutely no mood to get in the way. Leaning against the table, tail curled, he smiled and watched the exchange.

It was probably for the best that he held his tongue: for all that he had been speaking on the matter, finances were the last thing he should be speaking of with any authority. The jerboa was renowned for spending money as swiftly as he came into it, and losing more besides on various scams and muggings.
 
Pomodu listened to Whisper's explanation with wide eyes and rapt attention as the basics of Imperial coinage, one that had eluded her through her training on Vulpinsulan culture and language, finally sunk in. She even followed along with Whisper's demonstration, moving little stacks of coins onto and off of the pads of her paw. When it finally sunk in, she smacked her forehead, an apparently international symbol for 'I must be an idiot'. "Sako vewakebingo i buwiroyode!" she exclaimed, a sentence that seemed to carry the meaning. She pulled her paw away, not noticing that one golden hundred-gilder piece was now stuck in the fur on her forehead like the bindi dot worn by femmes in some distant cultures. "So," she inquired, moving around a few pieces, "i'su tuee o'f dee'su, o'ne o'f di'su?" She was still over the price, but this time by an even ten; apparently she'd done the carrying wrong in one of the additions.
 
Whisper gave a small clap at the progress. While a good part of them was screaming at the prospect of seeing living royalty as a young sister in need of tutoring, it was thanks to doing just that that Whisper wasn't now imploding with stress. And because of it, Whisper got into a role of patient older sibling who cares for their family, for said family was the only source of love and care they've ever received. Especially as Whisper was pretty sure in their mind that said care came form pity more than anything else.

"Al-almost! L-look wh-what you have in paw. One si-silver and th-three gilders. We need f-five, b-but as we ju-just said, one s-silver is worth a t-ten, or two f-fives! So n-now you ha-have on p-paw two fives a-and a three." She politely removed that silver coin from Pomodu's paw and put on the three gilders she held onto three of her paw pads. "Look! Five i-is when you ha-ave a coin on e-each pad." She counted up from one to five on Pomodu paws. "So i-if you w-want to p-pay five gi-gilders, you need a co-coin on each p-pad."

It was only now that Whisper registered Berchar going silent, while he smiled, he was overall slumped, as if masking something. The fox knew that look from their siblings, or even themselves. "B-Berchar... d-did I say s-something th-that bro-brought you a bad m-memory?" They asked quietly, the irony of seeing two older beasts as their younger siblings missing them completely.
 
“Hm?” Blinking from his absent half-smile, Berchar seemed bemused as he gave Whisper a tilt of the head. “Oh, did I look miserable? My apologies if so: absolutely nothing you’ve done.” He had been contemplative but not particularly sad: if anything there was a quiet, bizarre pride at seeing Whisper seemingly in their element, which at once had made him feel condescending.

“I must admit listening to this does rather remind me of some of my tutors, though I have to say your approach is far more…” he searched for a word for a moment, “forgiving, I suppose.” When he smiled up at Pomodu it was not difficult to radiate authenticity: the coin which had affixed itself to her forehead was quite the fashion statement. He hopped up onto his chair so as to better reach for it. Tempting though it was to leave it be, after all the work they had done to explain the value of the local currency it would be suicide to send her to the bar like this. “I for one think Whisper is shaping up to be an excellent tutor: how are you feeling about proving that theory, madam?”
 
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