Private The Docks Two Kits in a Trench Coat

[Cricket]

How she didn’t shriek with either childish glee or abject horror Cricket never knew: her mind barely had time to flash to concern for Finnian when Ruffano’s quick actions saved the day. Reflexively she threw arms around the todd’s neck, making an awkward noise in the back of her throat upon realisation that she had just done so, and in public no less. Feeling the vibrancy of her scales begin to intensify around her face, the gecko decided discretion to be the better part of valour: a rare occurrence for her, but right now she was rather flustered by the sudden change and yelling back at the boisterous onlookers would only make things worse.

They were still professionals. This was just a minor bump in the road.

She supposed that included the bump when her bottom hit the tiles and Cricket awkwardly skidded several feet: she never had been graceful when it came to sticking the landing. Still, her clothes were already filthy enough so there was no real harm done save to her pride. Dusting herself off, she shot Finnian a glance and opened her mouth to check he was alright before Ruffano reassured them. Paws still half-outstretched to help her young companion to his footpaws, she shot the older todd a quizzical glance.

Her tongue shot out, moistening eyes dried by the acrid air, and tasted something else amidst the stale perfumes and tobacco. Despite assurances otherwise trepidation settled on her features, warring with a grudging respect for Ruffano. Damn it but this todd had his plans together: she could learn a thing or two from him, if he didn’t end up holding this ring against her. “What’s even going on out there?”

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Being carried was such an uncomfortable thing. The foxkit was glad for the weight to finally lift off of his shoulders, but Ruffano only had one arm under his legs. Dame Frondoux threatened to split in the middle, leaving Finn dangling from the fox's arm like a kit on the monkey bars. He clung to Cricket as they stumbled down the stairs -- but his grip was weakening. As the hatchling hooked a leg over Ruffano's arms, Finn's grip broke, and he fell.

Fortunately, there was enough tension in the coat to keep him from falling all the way, and he rolled to wrap a paw over Ruffano's elbow. He clung there for dear life, legs dangling backwards and brush flagging in the most undignified manner. His knee banged roughly on the door as they burst through, and for the second time today, he went sprawling on the floor. "Oww~!*!" came a faint little groan from the kit.

The poor kit was completely exhausted, and lay on the floor gasping for air. Cricket was up lickety split, and already getting her bearings in the powder room. Finn, on the other paw, needed a minute -- and waved off her offer for help. "N-nawh... ...I'm good... I'm just gonna... ...lay here and... die, maybe..." he panted. Dramatically, he rolled on his back, and let out a frazzled sigh -- entirely oblivious to the commotion starting outside the powder room.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano approached and knelt beside the fallen kit, brushing a swirl of dust from his vest as he helped Finnian upright onto his haunches. He steadied the young fox by the shoulder, expression part concern and part exaggerated disbelief.

"I respect the dramatics highly, Finniford, but you can’t sleep through the climax!" he chided with a grin. "Not when you are lead role!"

The fox gave the kit a playful tap on the paw, then beckoned Cricket closer with a grand sweep of his arm.

"Now then, my stars... gather ‘round!" he urged, lowering his voice as though they were plotting in the wings before curtain call. "Miss Frondoux, that was a stellar performance. I dare say award-winning! Remind me to bring you a bouquet when our final curtain call concludes, and we are on our way to roll in our well-earned riches!"

His attention returned to Finnian, paw landing with a firm, fatherly pat between the shoulders. And you, strong lad! You saw the mountain before you, set paw upon it, and laughed. ‘Twas naught but an ant mound! Your strength sees you now perched atop in victory, stronger than you’ve ever been before!"

Outside, muffled shouting grew sharper. The acrid smell of smoke began to slither beneath the door, twining with the cloying perfume of the powder room. Ruffano’s ears twitched. His grin turned sly.

"And now, my brave companions… for the final leap of faith." He tapped a claw lightly against his snout. "Our stagepaw Griblo has set the mood for us! Panic and retreat! The audience fear a fire, but we three know the truth. T’is naught but a ruse! A diversion to claim our winnings!"

The rumble of the crowd swelled. A chair toppled, a glass shattered, many voices cried out for an exit. Ruffano rose to his feet, snapping open the powder room door just a sliver. Smoke curled in like a living thing.

"In mere moments, you’ll leave this dank, pestilence-filled room and trot to the center of the stage. Not on top, but just before it, where a small hatch waits. That is your entrance below. There you’ll find what we came for: a ring of gold and rubies, glittering like temptation itself. You’ll know it when you see it."

He pressed a small matchbox into Finnian’s paw. "For light," he murmured, eyes glinting. "Please, my boy, do try not to start an actual fire."

The room rumbled fainter as the crowd outside continued to stampede for the exits, the building now mostly evacuated. Ruffano tilted his head toward the door, voice rising once more to his theatrical grandeur.

"You have but minutes, my fearless leads! Go now! Find that ring, and make history!"

The fox flung the door wide, and a rush of smoke and noise burst inward like an encore applause. He gestured them forward with a flourish.

The kits’ silhouettes vanished into the haze. Ruffano lingered a moment longer, paw pressed to his heart, before letting the door swing closed behind them.

 

[Cricket]

A snort of amusement escaped her snout at Finnian’s dramatics (was he certain he was an orphan and not Ruffano’s with that performance?) nudging the other kit playfully in the ribs with a footpaw to encourage him up before the older todd drew them into the final act.

Cricket listened intently as Ruffano began to outline the plan, the gecko’s eyes glittering avariciously whilst chaos continued to unfold outside of their hiding place. She had been so suspicious of Ruffano (in truth she still was, buried though it was beneath excitement and the prospect of riches), but there was no denying that this fox had smarts. Already his talents – knowledge of diversions, costumes, backstories and more – were being considered for her own arsenal of schemes down the line.

Still, if she played her cards right, she’d not need to scam a soul for months. Cricket focused her attention back on the instructions. “Centre-stage hatch,” she repeated, “got it. C’mon, Finn.” Fighting the urge not to swipe the matches from Finn’s paws for herself, the gecko stuck close to the younger todd instead as they headed out into the haze. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, without eye protection, but she’d faced worse miasmas in the Slups.

Ducking her head a little to try and bring her snout closer to the boards, and better see them, she began padding for the stage, murmuring to Finnian as she went. “Hatch, hatch…Oh, right, uh…are you goin’ down there, by the way, or am I? Not that I’m, uh, afraid or anything, you just might fit better.”

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

"Oww, oww, hey! No kicking!" laughed Finn, looking up playfully at Ruffano and Cricket from the floor. Reaching up, he clasped the todd's arm with his paw, and hauled himself to his feet.

With a grin to Cricket, he briskly beat the dust out of his pants. They'd really done it, hadn't they? Successfully infiltrated the venue. It was an exhilarating feeling, being somewhere you shouldn't. For someone supposed to be a goodie two shoes, he was quite enjoying himself.

As Ruffano beckoned him closer, the foxkit eagerly trotted over to join the huddle. Gates, but the little kit yearned to be a part of something bigger than himself. He'd always had trouble making friends with his own age group -- but here he was, best mates with an older todd and gecko. Finn could hardly believe how quickly they'd bonded together, and was already busy dreaming up the escapades they'd go on together. Perhaps they'd become art thieves! ...but you know. The good kind, that stole art back.

Finn was so far off in that daydream that he hadn't even notice the smoke wafting into the room. Just as a flash of alarm registered on his face, Ruffano thrust a box of matches into his paws. He looked terribly confused for just a moment while his mind caught up with the conversation. Ah... aaahhaaa!! Now he got it.

As they rushed out into the smoke, Finn took Cricket's hand so they wouldn't get separated. A few other beasts were still bumbling their way to the exit, but they overlooked the short kits fumbling their way to the stage. At any rate, the smoke wasn't so bad lower to the ground. "Y'mean under the stage? I mean... two's better'n one, innit?" he asked in a lowered tone.

Reaching the stage, Finn crouched down, and began to grope along the front for a hatch. His paws stumbled upon a brass ring, and he gave it a pull. But with a sudden realization, Finn halted and stood upright. "Aww shoot!" he hissed with a little cough. He looked back towards the powder room as if he'd forgotten something, a yearning regret written on his face. "We shoulda done a... paws in, one two three! thing..." he lamented. With a brisk yank, Finn tugged the door open.

Oh. That's why Cricket didn't want to go underneath. It was terribly dark under the stage. Finn fumbled with the matches, and with a little skiff, a flame spurted to life. Like a propper little kitscout, Finn guarded the flame until it caught, and then held the match upright to keep it from burning down too quickly.

With a cocky grin, he looked over his shoulder at Cricket. "Y'aren't scared of the dark are ya? ...well... ladies first!" And blissfully unaware of the shame he was about to heap on himself, the foxkit ducked under the stage, and crawled in head first.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano watched until the last wisp of Cricket and Finnian’s tails vanished into the haze. Smoke billowed thick across the floorboards, curling like a stage curtain over the young pair. For a heartbeat, his paw twitched as if to call them back... then he caught himself, drew up straight, and pressed a paw dramatically to his chest.

"Break a leg, my shining stars!"

The fox let the powder room door swing shut behind him. The latch clicked, muffled by the declining din beyond. He leaned his back against the wall, handkerchief pressed daintily to his nose, eyes flicking toward the thin line of smoke slipping under the door like a living serpent.

"Every grand production requires its intermission," he muttered, voice muffled by linen. "Though one hopes not in a lavatory."

He paced once, twice, tail swishing, then crouched beside the old powder shelf, posture composed but eyes tight with worry. Ruffano shut his eyes, inhaled through his perfumed cloth, and gave a small, crooked smile.

"Be safe my little troupe… don’t disappoint me now."

---

The basement of the neighboring building was no place for applause. It smelled of damp timber and rot, of rusted nails and old wine turned sour. Crates and mannequins leaned in crooked piles, and a single lantern burned low beside a rough tunnel clawed into the wall.

Ressik Pike crouched by the breach, hunched shoulders glistening faintly with moisture. He turned a small sandglass in his paw, squinting as the last grains slipped through.

"Almost there," he rasped through uneven teeth. "Jusht a little more and we’re in."

Behind him, Brask Fenroot wiped grit from his fur and scowled. His coat was the dull brown of mud-soaked leather, his paws heavy with callus.

"Smells like dead rat an’ wet paint. Place better be worth it, Ressik."

The smaller weasel didn’t look up. He worked with precise flicks of his chisel, shaving fragments of old wood away with care.

"It’sh worth it, Brashk. The dame's payin’ plenty. She wantsh her rival’s ring... an’ when she flashesh proof, that rival’sh finished."

"Don’t sound like much t’ me," Brask grunted. "A ring’s a ring. Sell it an’ run."

Ressik’s black eyes gleamed in the lamplight. "You don’t think. You jusht dig. I think. I get us paid twice."

A low vibration shivered through the boards above... the scrape of tables, a distant rhythm of shouting and tumbling chairs. Brask froze, ears flicking.

"What’s that? Show goin’ on?"

"Crowd noise, maybe," Ressik replied, smirking. "Meansh we’re safe. No one’sh gonna hear a thing."

The chisel bit deeper, wood splintered, and a faint draft of stale air gusted through the hole. A curl of smoke followed—thin, white, and acrid.

"There," Ressik breathed. "Right where she said the trinket fell."

Brask cracked his knuckles, baring yellowed teeth in a grin. "Then let’s grab it ‘fore them fancy softclaws upstairs clap us deaf."

Ressik blew out the lantern. Darkness claimed the basement, save for the dim orange wink of a smoldering fuse and the ragged hole yawning beneath the stage.

Together, the two weasels crawled into the darkness...

 

[Cricket]

Cricket was about to respond, fire back a challenge to the younger todd about how girls were just as capable of being fearless thieving scumbags thank-you-very-much when he…merely dived in himself. The gecko blinked, too confused for a moment to respond, and then had to clap a paw over her snout to stifle a barking cackle. Indeed all which prevented her from doing so was catching the trapdoor before it could slam down and setting it gently, swing open, against the boards.

No she wasn’t scared. Not at all. She was simply…being a shrewd entrepreneur. The ring’s profits were going to be split between herself and Finnian but herself being the originator of such a bold scheme meant that it was her right to defer tasks, right?

Nothing to do with the dark and the unknown and the cramped spaces and…

Coiling her tail about the hinge of the trapdoor, she let it hold her weight as she leaned down into the cavity, hissing towards the little orange glow of her little orange friend. “We’ll get lost an’ never come back up if we both go down,” she lied quickly. “You see if you can find it and I’ll guide you back!”

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

With the match held high, Finn loped forward on three paws. The stage was just high enough that he could crawl comfortably, but standing up was out of the question. Never the less, he did so accidentally, and scraped his head against the floor boards with a soft thump. "Criiiicket! We're not gonna get lost," he chided, bracing his forearm against the stage floor. A shower of dust rained down on him, which caused him to sneeze violently enough to shake out the match.

"Aaahhh~! Oh no, it's dark! Heeeelp me, I'm scaaaared~!" he sang teasingly. Skiff. Skap. Skap. Fsshhh! A second match sparked to life. Turning to Cricket, he pointed to the match with a dramatic eye roll. "It's just a stage, 's not like a huge forest! All y'gotta do is go forward until you hit a wall, and follow it. Y'can do it blind! C'mon in, I don't know how long this will take, and we don't got infinite matches!"

Turning away from Cricket, Finn loped another pace or two forwards, and began to look around. He nudged his footpaw along the floor, until a gleam of light caught his eye. The floor boards had a gap just wide enough to fit your claw through, and a ray of light shone down from above. There, in a pile of dust, lay a small tarnished ring.

Finn let out a whoop, and knelt down to quickly snatch it up in his paw. "No way, is this it? Hey Cricket, guess what I fou--" Finn had just begun to turn back to look at Cricket when something caught his attention. The fox snapped his head back around, locking at something beyond the shadows. The fur along his arms and nape instantly stood on end, and he sat still as a stone statue. Whatever he saw, he dared not take his eyes off of it.

After an agonizingly long pause, he began to creep back towards the hatch. "Cricket... Cricket!" he breathed out in a horse whimper. "I just saw something move... I think there's someo--"

Finn let out a startled yelp as the flame licked at his fingertips. The match dropped to the floor, and glowed for just long enough to reflect off a pair of eyes staring back at them.

And then, it went out, swallowing them in darkness.

There was a panicked gasp, a scuffle, and then Finn let out a blood curling shriek.

 

[Ressik Pike]

Darkness swallowed the matchlight whole. For one suspended heartbeat there was nothing but Finn’s scream tearing through the crawlspace… and then the dark answered.

There was a sharp hiss of breath. Claws scraped against timber, and a slinky shadow lunged from the black.

“Brashk.”

A paw snapped around Finn’s wrist and yanked. Another crushed into the back of his collar, slamming his muzzle against splintered boards hard enough to rattle his skull. Hot breath flooded his ear, sour and acrid.

“Got ’im!” Brask snarled, tightening his hold as Finn thrashed like something feral in a snare.

Finnian exploded in pure fight reflex. His heel drove backward with all the force he had, catching something solid. A grunt burst behind him. He twisted, claws raking wildly until they met fur. He felt them drag - felt resistance - and was instantly rewarded with a sharp curse.

A metallic skitter rang out near Finn’s paw.

Ressik moved for it.

A narrow blade of light slicing down through a crack in the stage caught on gold half-buried in dust. He stepped into the beam and crouched, fingers closing neatly around the ring.

Behind him, Finn bucked again, slamming his head backward. It connected. Hard. Brask’s grip faltered for half a second.

Small teeth snapped.

Found flesh.

Brask hissed in pain.

“Hold still, y’little...”

Ressik did not turn. He polished the ring once against his shirt, slow and deliberate. Then he lifted the ruby to his fang and dragged it lightly across the edge, testing its grit.

After a moment, his jaw set.

Behind him, Finn’s kicks grew frantic. Boards shuddered under the struggle. Smoke thickened, clinging low, stinging eyes and throat alike.

“Easy now,” Ressik murmured.

Not to the kit.

To Brask.

He slipped the ring safely inside his coat and finally looked back into the dark.

Finn’s breathing came ragged and wild.

Brask’s grip had shifted, tighter now, but uncertain.

Ressik’s voice cut clean through the crawlspace.

“Kill ’im, Brashk. He’s seen too much.”

The words were calm. Calculated.

Smoke curled between them. Above, distant shouting rose and fell like surf against rotten wood.

Brask’s arm flexed.

Finn writhed again, claws digging for purchase, heel hammering uselessly against the boards.

“He’s jus’ a kit,” Brask muttered.

Ressik’s eyes did not blink.

“He’s a liability.”

His gaze glittered in the low light.

“Do it. I won’t ask again...”

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

The scream tore through the powder room door like a blade through canvas.

Ruffano froze.

It was not a startled yelp. Not a childish shriek at cobwebs or cramped dark. It was guttural and raw. Wrong.

His ears flattened against his skull.

“Little Finn…”

The name caught in his throat. He dropped the perfumed handkerchief without noticing.

“Finnian!”

He was moving before he felt his paws hit the floor. The powder room door resisted when he yanked at it, its swollen wood and warped hinge deciding now was a fine moment to betray him.

“Open!” he snapped at it like it had personally wronged him.

He threw his shoulder into the panel.

It groaned.

He stepped back and slammed into it harder.

The latch splintered loose and the door burst outward, coughing smoke into his face.

The haze was thicker now, no longer theatrical in its gentleness. It stung. It burned. His eyes watered instantly as the acrid air clawed down his throat.

The dance floor was in ruin. Chairs overturned. Tables on their sides. Tankards bleeding foam across the boards. A lone shoe lay abandoned near the stairs, a purse trampled half open beside it. The panicked evacuation had left the place looking looted and haunted all at once.

Another crash echoed from somewhere near the stage.

Ruffano staggered forward, one paw braced against a tilted table to keep his footing. A spilled drink nearly sent him sprawling as his immaculately polished shoe slid out from under him.

“Cricket!” he called, voice roughened by smoke. “Finnian!”

He coughed and pushed onward, weaving between debris. Each step toward the stage was a negotiation with wreckage. His footpaw struck a fallen chair leg. He kicked it aside without looking.

“The lad’s in danger!” he shouted into the haze, no trace of theatrics left in him now. “Where are you?!”

The stage loomed ahead, half swallowed in smoke.

Ruffano reached the midpoint of the floor and faltered, one paw pressed to his ribs as another coughing fit seized him. The air was growing worse. Thicker. Harder to draw.

But he pushed on, eyes scanning desperately through the shifting veil.

“Hold fast, Finnian,” he rasped. “I’m coming!”

 

[Cricket]

The sour glare Cricket shot Finnian might have held more impact were it not for the haze now crowding the stage. Still, she took the younger todd’s playful tease as a bruise to her ego and her scales brightened in indignation. She still wasn’t scared! Scared was for little kits who had mothers to cling to the aprons of. She was talking sense and survival! No beast with a head on their shoulders would willingly go into the dark like that.

Apart from Finn, it seemed. Despite an agitation to prove him wrong the little gecko refused to move and remained crouched beside the trap-door. She’d seen beasts die in far less spooky conditions, and if he wanted to be the brave man and find the ring that would suit her goals just fine: she could consider herself a leader, then, right? Good at giving orders and not having to lift a paw. Yeah, she rationalised to herself, it was merely delegation. It would be if Cricket had known the word delegation, anyway.

Without the matches or Finn’s sunny disposition beside her the gloomy space felt even more ominous and suffocating. Crouched miserably as the seconds ticked by it was all she could do but to mentally repeat snatches of old shanties from her infancy to fill the space. Well we was a-fishin’ off ol’ Alton Bay, a-brawlin’ and haulin’ and trawlin’ all day…In…In windy ol’ weather and stormy ol’ seas, When the wind’s blowin’ fierce haul-…no, pull-…

Finn’s call snapped her back to reality with no small amount of relief. A sigh hissed from her snout. He’d actually done it - and the ring was real to boot. All they had to do now was get the ‘Gates out, lie to Ruffano and make off with the money. Easy pickings after all.

Then came the pause; the uncertainty, which, for a moment she suspected to be part of a joke upon her own fears. He’d made such a to-do about the dark after all that it made sense to tease. Then his voice became squeakier, and then-- Cricket startled, wide unblinking eyes staring at shuddering boards and the scrabbling, desperate sounds of survival exploding beneath her claws where once things had been so ominously still. She sat frozen for another eternity with mind and body seized by the icy paw of shock and real fear. Vindication would come later, but for now she was simply, truly, scared.

“Kill ’im”

The hissed command lanced through the floorboards and directly into her nervous system like a bolt to the chest. Cricket was not a heroic type: survival had depended on being the fastest, being the sneakiest, being the first to duck and weave. She wasn’t one to rescue others if it put her in danger. Finn held the ring, though, and furthermore he’d been kind to her. Loyalty was hard-won with the gecko but kit solidarity was a powerful foundation from which to build. Some adults were trying to hurt – no, kill- her little friend. He was too nice to come to that sort of end.

Only moments later Ruffano could be heard calling out for them as he returned (with what seemed like genuine concern: strange for a grown-up but welcome in the moment). Gripping her old knife tightly, loose though the blade was, she turned her head and called out. “Over here!” With any luck she could at least keep them busy until Ruffano could do something more substantial to help.

Cricket dropped down into the space without a backwards glance for to do so would have killed the impulse and made her hesitate. Gripping both blade and her nerve she identified the shapes writhing in the dark and set herself upon the largest one.

“LET GO’VE HIM YOU *$@&S!!”

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn was fairly adept at avoiding scraps and brawls as a street urchin. The risks of conflict were simply too high, and he was a scrawny thing. Gates knew what would happen if he caught a nasty wound or broke something -- it might be the end of him. The few times he'd been scruffed for trespassing, he'd been very compliant. At most, the shop keeps would throw him into the street with a little boot, and struggling would only make matters worse.

But Brask gave Finn no time to make that choice. Finn's eyes were still adjusting to the dark when he was yanked off his feet and slammed into the ground. He simply saw stars. Arms and legs flailed to try and get purchase on something, and he slammed his elbow into a support beam. A blinding ache shot up his arm, disabling his right paw.

Over the sounds of the struggle, Finn heard Ressik's murderous intent. While Finn knew some older beasts to be flippant with their threats, there was something about his tone that Finn didn't doubt. They meant to kill him. As his blood ran cold, a memory of the morning flashed before his eyes -- walking with Cricket along the streets, enjoying the baked goods from Mr. Larsen. How odd that such a happy morning had suddenly turned into a fight for his life.

"Lemme go!" he cried out in a panicked yelp, prying at the weasel's wrist -- but the grip held fast no matter how Finn clawed and bit and thrashed.

In the distance, he heard Cricket's voice call out, and the fight immediately left him. There was only one useful thing he could do in the moment.

"CRICKET! RUN!" Twisting his body as he could, Finn got one footpaw caught on Brask's hip, and violently tried to kick away from him.

 

[Ressik Pike]

Smoke clung low beneath the boards, turning the crawlspace into a choking gray womb of dust and dry timber.

Cricket hit Brask like a dropped brick.

Her steel flashed, and the old knife bit shallow along his side. Brask roared, his grip on Finn loosening as instinct overrode intention. He shoved the kit hard — not toward safety, just away — and lashed a boot backward, catching Cricket and sending her skidding toward the stage hatch in a scatter of dust.

“Y’little lizard… I oughta—!”

He staggered, one paw clamped over the shallow wound. Blood slicked his fingers. His breathing came ragged now, fury and doubt tangled in it.

Finn scrambled blindly, claws scraping wood as he rolled and crawled, landing near the dark oval of the tunnel breach.

Brask turned halfway between Cricket and the boy, uncertain for a single, fatal second.

That was when Ressik moved.

He did not shout. He offered no warning. He simply stepped smoothly into Brask’s blind side.

The knife slid up beneath the ribs with practiced precision.

Brask stiffened.

A wet, shocked sound left his throat. He tried to twist, tried to see, but Ressik’s paw held him close as the blade drove deeper, angling upward.

Close enough for Brask to feel the breath at his ear.
“I told you I would not ashk again…”

Brask’s grip slackened and his weight sagged. Confusion flickered across his face — not pain first, but betrayal. His knees buckled, and he collapsed hard against the boards, the sound dull and final in the tight space.

Ressik let him fall.

For half a heartbeat, the only sound was the rasp of Brask’s final rattling breath and the distant chaos above as blood began to pool beneath him.

Then Ressik turned.

Finnian was already moving.

The kit had scrambled backward on pure animal instinct, eyes wide and fixed on what he had just seen. One paw slipped against loose dirt at the tunnel’s edge as he dragged himself into the breach.

Ressik’s jaw tightened.

He had made a miscalculation.

He should have taken the witness first.

Smoke continued to settle. Cricket coughed somewhere behind him. Above, an older fox’s voice carried through the boards — closer now.

He had no time. No second chances.

Ressik lunged for the tunnel, pursuing the easier mark — and the easier escape.

@FinnianBrightfur @Cricket

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

The smoke had thinned just enough near the stage for Ruffano to see the hatch door hanging open.

He reached it in three uneven strides and seized Cricket by the shoulder before she could vanish from sight.

“Stay back!”

He hauled her toward him on instinct, coughing as he dropped to one knee and peered into the crawlspace.

For a moment, he did not understand what he was seeing. A body lay twisted beneath the beams. Blood darkened the boards. Deeper into the darkness, a gaping hole yawned open where floorboards had been carefully removed.

And at the far edge of the breach — just for a heartbeat — a slim shape slipped into shadow. The last flick of a narrow tail vanished into the earth.

Then it was gone.

Ruffano’s breath hitched.

“Finnian?”

Nothing answered.

Only the faint scuff of something moving deeper underground.

He looked down again.

At Brask.

At the wound.

At the knife still clutched in Cricket’s paw.

Understanding rearranged itself too quickly.

“You…”

The word died before it formed into accusation.

Instead, something like fierce, startled pride flashed through him.

“Gates above, you fought back!”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the widening smoke and the chaos beyond.

“This wasn’t… this wasn’t how it was meant to go.”

His voice thinned, incredulous.

“It was supposed to be simple. Griblo said it would be simple. Just a ring, a diversion, a cut for a clever little beast to fetch it. There was no danger. Certainly no blood!”

He laughed once — short, brittle.

“Who tunnels under a stage for a ring?! Is Violetta DeLinnet’s reputation that sacred?”

The questions hung there, absurd and horrified all at once.

Through the claustrophobic smoke and din of panic from outside, a bell clanged. Voices began barking orders as the Fire Brigade arrived on the scene.

Ruffano’s head snapped up toward the sound, then back down into the hole.

He leaned forward, just enough for the darkness to breathe back at him.

It was tight. Low. Suffocating.

He could not see Finn.

He could not see anything.

“Little Finnian?” he called again, voice fraying. “Answer me.”

Nothing.

His grip tightened on Cricket’s shoulder.

“Listen to me,” he said quickly, words tumbling over one another. “No one will suspect you. No one will suspect a child. We can— we can say he attacked, or that there was smoke, or—”

He stopped.

Because none of that answered the real question.

His gaze flicked back to the tunnel.

“Oh Gates… where is he?”

Above them, more shouting. The crackle of something being dragged. The unmistakable arrival of order in a place that had recently known only chaos.

A thin, wounded sound escaped him, and he wilted back toward Cricket.

“Child… I see no other option but to flee before our situation worsens. It is far too dangerous to pursue, and we absolutely cannot be discovered here when the body is found… if you catch my drift.”

He rose slowly and pointed toward the rear of the stage where the smoke canisters had been stored.

“Listen… We will regroup. We will find Finnian. But right now— we must flee!”

@Cricket @FinnianBrightfur

 

[Cricket]

The world seemed to slow but events happened so quickly: Cricket could not make sense of how time could move so. With her ribs aching after the kick, the little gecko had intended to charge again and try to cover her new little friend when the beast she’d assailed…

From her angle it almost looked like he’d died spontaneously and a lurch in her stomach as sharp as the earlier kick made her wonder if she’d stabbed deeper than she’d thought. It didn’t take more than another eternal instant for the matter to become clear: in the dark and the smoke she saw him, and Finn, and then nothing. The silence was more choking than the smoke. She felt sick.

At least there was one other beast. Blankly she stared at Ruffano as he took in the situation, unable to conjure any sense of pride for her reaction. Fighting back hadn’t helped Finnian. Her gaze drifted to the corpse near her feet. She’d seen the dead before, too much, really, and almost automatically, mechanically, found herself scanning his body for anything she could take. He’d hardly be needing it. His belt, maybe. Might be a better blade on him somewhere…

No one will suspect a child.

Cricket bristled as her temper flared: the indignation was enough to drag her out of dissociated silence. “’Course they would!” was all she snapped, voice tight. They always blamed her and this would be no different. She didn’t care: she could outrun any stupid Fogey grown-up and get herself hidden. This was just a dead beast. They’d lose interest. They always forgot.

She’d not forget Finnian, though. Dry-eyed and pale-scaled, the youngster turned her gaze back into the dark void as reasonable argument was made for them to flee. It was smart, she knew it. There wasn’t any point hanging around, but this all felt so unfair. All for nothing.

“The ring…” Cricket mumbled lamely, jerking free of the todd’s grip to dart forward and scrabble blindly in the dust, coughing and snorting. “Wha’ about the ring?! We can’t…let him just have it: maybe Finn dropped it? It can’t have…” A hiss; a sharp intake of breath, and she shook her head. “Poor Finn- … ‘e didn’t deserve that…”