Private The Docks Two Kits in a Trench Coat

[Cricket]

It would be difficult to prove that the gecko's large eyes could widen any further at all, but the sight of such a large denomination of money captured her attention at once. Never before had such a coin crossed her path, let alone with such nonchalence and flair. She was immediately torn: the money was tempting and the job so simple, but she'd been told plenty of times about the reality of an offer seeming too good to be true.

Still...he seemed nice. A bit weird, but perhaps he was one of those eccentrics beasts spoke about who didn't really understand the value of money. That or there was something horrible waiting beneath the floorboards. If the ring was valuable enough maybe it was worth more than the reward and they could pocket it if the offer began to sour.

The flattery of the older todd's deference to her as the decision maker did not go unnoticed, and once again Cricket puffed herself up a touch more. She rubbed her chin as though giving the matter considerable thought before tilting her head to Finnian. Perhaps she could play off the responsibility after all. "Well, it sounds pretty good, don't it?" she said to the younger fox. "What d'you think? Fancy findin' a bit of jewelry for this fella? The buns can wait a half-hour after all."

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

While Cricket's facial expressions were limited, Finn's were not. The foxkit's eyes widened, his ears swiveled back, and his head tilted to follow the coin as it flashed across Ruffano's knuckles as if he were watching a tennis match.

Though Finn had a healthy dose of skepticism for a todd his age; the trifecta of charisma, money, and adventure completely overwhelmed his ability to reason. Whatever qualms and reserves he had about the older fox had suddenly vanished. Ruffano would know without a doubt, he had a fish on the line.

And yet, the kit's sense of duty gnawed at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear his father exhorting him to finish what he started. Glancing to Cricket, he spoke in a lower voice. "What about the buns though? Shouldn't we... I dunno... finish that first?" he asked uncertainly, before his eyes gravitated back to the coin.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano chuckled softly, paws folding behind his back as he leaned ever so slightly toward the fox kit, just enough to show interest, but not enough to crowd.

"Ahhh, the voice of responsibility! How refreshing! A rare thing in these parts, truly."

He turned to pace a half step before them, nodding thoughtfully to himself as though this new information had caused him to revise a grand internal scheme.

"An honest business fella for once in this crooked town! Delivering buns before diving into adventure... what discipline! What character!"

He turned back to them with a toothy smile, eyes alight with a theatrical sort of admiration.

"By all means, allow me the honor of accompanying you on your noble errand. We'll complete your delivery, and then once your reputations remain spotless and your moral debts paid, we’ll set off for the theater together. Adventure waits for no beast, but I dare say it will linger for us just long enough."

"Besides," he added, with a conspiratorial glance, "we'll need to find you a proper disguise before we make our grand entrance. Something subtle, but striking. Something that says: 'I belong here, and am certainly of gambling age'"

He winked.

"Lead on, young masters of commerce. I am but your humble shadow."

 

[Cricket]

Such high praises - mostly because they were no longer solely directed at her - began to nag at the defensive voice in Cricket's head once more, telling her that this fox must be a swindler of some sort with how effusive he was being. Her snout wrinkled at the thought of moral debts (she wasn't paying any beast a thing), further wary of the lofty words and promises she could barely parse, let alone keep pace with.

But he promised a disguise. A disguise to make her appear older. A disguise, she figured, was being provided free atop the generous compensation already on offer. The avaricious little gecko could hardly resist, convinced that if it all went wrong, well, she could run fast. Probably faster than the foxes and that was all she needed.

"Fine," Cricket nodded, "we'll take care of the buns first; the smell'd drive me mad lingerin' about all afternoon anyway." Unable to resist mocking the older beast now in their company, she twirled her paw and gave Finnian the most outrageously overblown bow she could manage, voice rising to a simper. "After you, good sir."

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn's ears perked, and he looked up at Ruffano with an ungarded and fragile hope. The streets were a hard place to be, and there were certain comforts he missed -- praise being one of them. The kit's tail swayed uncertainly behind him, before it picked up a vigorous swish. His muzzle broke into a grin, and he started off towards the direction of Biddy Babinshaw's house.

"Well Cricket, you know what they say... age before beauty!" he said with a cackle, before taking off in a playful dash. (...well, half heartedly. Cricket still had the buns, and could easily hold them hostage until he apologized. (Which he would, under protest.) )

Still, Finn's cheer was contageous. Nothing seemed to get the foxkit down today, and he even took the buns for his fair share of the trip. As they rounded the corner near Town Hall, Finn pointed out the town house they were approaching in the trenches. It was a narrow three story building with a neatly kept lawn, ornate garden, and brick stairs leading up to a green door. "Biddy Babinshaw lives here... she's... ugh. Well, she's a bit fussy. I'll talk with her..." he explained, standing up on his tip toes to knock on the door. Shave-and-a-hair-cut... two-bits. "BIDDY..." -- oh good heavens, that'd go over like a lead balloon. "...MRS. BABINSHAW, DELIVERY!"

The other side of the door was deathly quiet for several moments, before creeking open. An elderly, plump, and quite short vixen opened the door, and peered out thru the crack. "Oh, it's you Finny. That baker finally get around to takin' my order? ...figures he'd send someone else to deliver it, the lazy sod... I reckon you'll be expecting a tip, now..." she groused, snatching the parcel of buns and letting the door swing open. Frail, bony paws pulled weakly at the bag, trying to tear the package open. "Lazy good for nothin' can't even count a baker's dozen... try'na take advantage of an old widow!"

Mercifully, the package tore open without dumping it's contents on the ground. The old widow let out an exagerated huff as she counted the buns, before clutching the bundle close to her chest. "Well... at least they're all here. I'd have filed a complaint if they weren--" She stopped speaking abruptly, and pushed her spectacles up her nose to peer at Ruffano and the gecko.

"YOU!" she seethed.

"I never forget a face, Finnian, and that... ...RUFFIAN right there is a scoundrel!" she spat, clutching her precious buns as if to protect them from being influenced by Ruffano. "When I was a little kit, 'Three Wives I Loved the Least' was one of my favorite books, and he butchered it! Can you even read, Mr. Quickwhistle?" she fumed, spitting out each syllable of his family name with all the spite she could muster.

Biddy Bradshaw vigorously set her parcel of buns down on the carpet of her doorstep, and began rummaging in what could only be the Imperium's tiniest purse. "Now 'es out, delivering buns, corrupting the youth, chicanery... and goodness knows what else!" she muttered, slapping a single gilder down in Finn's paw. Leering up at Ruffano, she waggled a finger. "'is father was on the Ambleside, y'know! Shame on you taking advantage of 'im!"

And with that, she slammed her door shut, and ran the deadbolt home. But only a half second later, she cracked the door open just far enough to impart the last of her social graces to Cricket. "Finny's a good todd, dear, but I'm not quite sure he's your sort. Shouldn't you be off at finishing school instead of carousing out on the street with these two?" And just as quickly as the door had opened, she slammed it shut again.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano’s ears drooped, tail following suit in a slow, dramatic slump. His voice cracked ever so slightly.

"But alas, my dear old hag! I too am aggrieved by that performance! It wasn’t my writing! I merely performed what that rag of a script delivered, which was sadly... bupkis!"

He looked down at the gecko kit beside him, as if imploring her to come to his defense.

"Why, young lady...surely you can’t fault the messenger for the dreadful message, can you?"

Then, turning back toward the door, he gasped softly as the vixen’s cutting remark echoed in his ears. His brows shot upward in a show of righteous indignation.

"The ship that got smited by the seas for a gallant rescue attempt?" he cried. "Why, the lad’s father is a hero, and I won’t hear you talk to my business partner that way, you old crone!"

He punctuated the declaration with a fist-pump and a theatrical hop. The closed door didn’t respond. With a small tsk, Ruffano turned to the young fox kit, offering a sympathetic shrug.

"All that effort for a measly single gilder. Simply stated, young’n... not worth it. You’re headed to riches, my dear boy! The theater!"

Kneeling down to their level, he swept both kits up, one under each arm like prized props and spun on his heels facing them down the road.

"Why imagine! Violetta DeLinnet being so thrilled that her precious ring has been returned to her paw, that she simply must take and mentor the brave, enterprising kits into the next top stage stars!"

He gave a sly wink. "That, or stage hands. Either way, the money is there!"

With a flourish, he released the pair, rose up with the pomp of a parade leader, and pointed dramatically down the winding road into the Trenches. And then, he began to sing an old song he heard in some story somewhere...

"Now, off to the Theater!
Hi-diddle-dee-dee
An actor's life for me
A high silk hat and a silver cane
A watch of gold with a diamond chain

Hi-diddle-dee-day
An actor's life is gay
It’s great to be a celebrity
An actor's life for me!"

With a skip in his step and a foxy twirl of his tail, Ruffano marched on, completely convinced the scene was his to command.

 

[Cricket]

It all happened so quickly. Cricket hung back a little when Finnian went to make the delivery, content to let the younger fox complete their task and stay well clear of any irritable, twittering old beast. Adults by and large she was less than fond of, but the older generation particularly frustrated her: they were often too slow, too easily angered, for her patience to bear. Better let Finn deal with her.

She was glad he did, for the tirade came thick and fast and so did the older todd's enthusiastic rebuttal. "But...I never finished school if I didn' start it..?" the crested gecko murmured under her breath somewhat abstractedly as she tried to understand what supposed wisdom the vixen had imparted. Distracted by such thoughts, Ruffano took her by surprise and she squeaked in protest as she was swept up, snapping at his arm in a futile attempt before she was released.

Promises promises. Watching the fox cavorting and singing in such an outrageous manner was funny at least, and odd though he was she couldn't resist a giggle as she cocked her head. He was contradicting himself amongst all the chatter which should have been more concerning if not for the lackadaisical way he seemed to approach life. He was either addled or trying to pull the wool over their eyes, she was convinced, but which? It hardly mattered: Cricket liked to consider herself more than smart enough to handle herself regardless. One way or another she'd keep one step ahead, run rings around the fox and be off with the money before teatime.

"If bein' an actor means becoming that," she mumbled to Finnian out of the corner of her mouth as she watched Ruffano, "I ain't sure I want it, you know?" Freed of their baked burdens, she used her tail to nudge the other kit as she began walking. "Come on: think we'll be doing an act of charity if we go help him out."

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

"But alas, my dear old hag..."

Finn nearly burst out laughing from the mere shock and audacity Ruffano had to challenge the widow. It was high time someone took her down a notch! Or, at least that's what Finn's inside voice thought. His outside voice nearly started to climb Ruffano, paws waving frantically in attempt to silence the playwright before he incurred the wrath of Biddy Bradshaw. Fortunately for all parties involved, the senile old woman's monologue drowned out her ability to hear.

Finn's ears flattened out, utterly mortified that his lineage was hauled out for display. It wasn't for shame that he hid the story. No, Finn just didn't want the extra attention. Whenever anyone found out, they instantly started looking at him different and asking all sorts of questions. The fox slapped his paws to his face and dragged them downward with a groan. He was so humiliated by the turn of events that he didn't even struggle when Ruffano seized him and spun him around.

The slight change in the story entirely went over Finn's head. He was already too embarrassed to follow the fox's frolicking conversation -- but even if he did, he would have simply assumed his mother's name was Violetta DeLinnet. Finn was a big picture kind of kit. Ring down crack, go fetch ring. In any case, at the poking of Cricket's tail, he peeked out from behind his paws. "Ugh, yeah, I know. I get the feeling Biddy Bradshaw was right about his plays..." he hissed back. "Charity? Awh no, he better be payin' us for goin' through all this!"

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

The streets thickened with foot traffic as they moved inward. Buildings pressed in on either side, some narrow and some stacked, most worn by the decades of sea breeze and warfare. The Trenches. Named not for war, but for the way the tall façades and narrow passages made one feel sunken and small. Ruffano, of course, loved it. He walked ahead of the kits like a parade leader out of uniform, humming a show tune and tapping imaginary beats on the cobblestones with his paws.

"Oh the cobbler’s wife had a peg for a tail,
And danced through the gutters in a slipper of ale.
She imbibed on the moon and she drank down the stars,
Then tripped over a lantern and snored in the bar!"

The tune dissolved into soft whistling as they passed a row of shuttered shopfronts. Repair depots, trinket stands, steam-cured leathers, everything imaginable for sale. The occasional clink of tools or shout from a shopkeep gave the district its usual chorus.

Then they were upon it. The Velveteen Curtain. Tucked between a soot-streaked boarding house and a shop selling cheap pottery, the venue squatted low and broad like a toad with a beer gut. The windows were streaked with grease and dust. The sign hung crooked, the lettering worn down and barely legible. From within came the faint thrum of a piano being played by someone clearly more enthusiastic than sober.

Ruffano’s pace slowed. His tail lowered. The singing stopped. He reached out with one paw, gently halting the kits just short of the entrance. His other paw dipped into his vest and came back with two one gilder coins.

"Go look busy," he said quietly, placing one in each of their paws. "Buy yourselves something from that cart over there." He nodded toward a food vendor hawking deep-fried meat on sticks of uncertain origin.

"I must find you a costume before we continue any further."

With a final glance at the venue's battered door, Ruffano turned and slipped down the alley beside it, leaving the kits a bewildered moment alone.

 

[Cricket]

There was little else for it. Padding beside Finn, Cricket merely gave the todd a look of pained agreement, as if to communicate both kits be on guard to look after their new ward, this eccentric, tuneful old todd prancing ahead of them. She wondered if he’d be the sort to resent being called old; a mischievous part of her made note for later.

Where most may have seen The Velveteen Curtain as the den of iniquity it most likely was, Cricket saw only opportunity. Honest work was all well and good but harsh winters in the Harbour had taught her that coin lay also in the art of the swindler. The piano’s raucous noise, the grime on the windows, the general air of neglect about the building all read as containing one thing: cash. There would be drunks, and braggarts, and adults with more snark and money than sense. She could do very well for herself. At least, that’s what the gecko firmly believed.

It came as some surprise that Ruffano was disappearing so soon, taking the guilder automatically as she watched him begin to slink off. Large silvery eyes drifted to the cart. A youngster is always hungry, but she’d had the tart that morning, more than usual, and she was so intrigued…

There was no denying the thrill of mystery. Cricket pulled a face at Finnian as she pocketed the coin. “If we don’t go with him, how’s he going to know our sizes?” she reasoned. “He’d lose his brush if it weren’t attached to ‘is bottom, I bet. Come on, why don’t we see if we can go help him?”

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn was still a little grumpy about the situation with Babinshaw. In his mind, he'd been thrust on a stage and a spotlight shone on him. The humiliation, the embarrassment! (Granted, both Cricket and Ruffano had already completely forgotten about the situation, but that's besides the point.)

However, Ruffano's antics and happy-go-lucky nature chipped away at Finn's grumpy mood. At times the playwright was simply too much, but the showtune about the cobbler's wife got a furtive grin spreading out over his face. Gradually, the foxkit cheered up, and was enchanted out of his funk.

The sudden gilder thrust in his paws startled him. Looking up, Finn realized he had almost no idea where he was... But did that matter? The adventure had begun in earnest! Finn looked over to the cart, and his tail started to wag. "Hey, we're gettin' paid early!" he exclaimed in a stage whisper.

The call of the food vendor was strong, but Finn was surprised to find the call of the dark alley even stronger. Bully wasn't always a safe place, and in general he'd kept to the main streets... But with Cricket as his companion, he felt braver and more daring.

Tucking the coin into his pocket, he eagerly followed after Cricket with a wag of his tail, blissfully unaware of the venue Ruffano had brought them to. Seemingly, there were two todd's who would lose their brush...

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

The alley behind the Velveteen Curtain was narrow, damp, and smelled of something awful. A crooked lamp hung above a sagging stage door, its flickering light just barely illuminating the faded paint around the knob, once red, but now a peeling film of neglect.

Ruffano adjusted his vest, squared his shoulders, and knocked three times with the back of his paw, briskly and confidently.

The door creaked open a sliver. Through it peered a ferret with sharp eyes and wiry posture. He was wearing a faded blue vest, quite a few ridiculous rings, both paw and ear, and sneering with one lopsided fang. All together he appeared as vermin-like as beasts come in these parts.

"Ah, Mr. Jankweed," Ruffano purred, clasping his paws together as if greeting an old friend at a society dinner. "Happy to see you enjoying a night of culture for a change?"

The smile he wore was all teeth and no sincerity. It was the kind of banter exchanged between beasts who owed each other favors, lies, or bruises. Probably all three.

Eyes twinkling at the Ferret's colorful retort,, Ruffano leaned in slightly.

"You got the crate, Grib?"

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

It was like a sauna inside the cramped backstage corridor. Griblo sniffled, again, paw pressed under his snout to stop the steady drip. Mildew clung to the rafters. The stink of old glue and stale greasepaint made his tongue curl. He’d been suckered into this gig, and he knew it.

He muttered curses under his breath, rattling around in the dark like a ferret in a steambox. “Murkin' fox… ruddy favor… rotten mothballin’ playhouse...”

The knock came like salvation. Three sharp raps on the battered side door. Griblo squinted through the crack as he opened the door to its chain stopper.

"Go an’ boil yer mangy tail, fox-face, I ain’t in the mood."

Still, he undid the chain and opened the door wider. A wave of cooler alley air swept across his snout like a balm. He sniffled again, wiping his nose on the back of his paw and eyeing Ruffano like a beast who’d just stepped in something offensive.

"Yeah, yeah, I got’s it. Tho’ I don’ get why ye’d steal a box o’ moldy, moth-eated rags."

With a grunt, he grabbed the edge of the crate and heaved. The wooden box screeched across the floor and thudded into the alley, overflowing with garments in every hue of theatrical decay. Silk puffs, flared shoulders, ancient hose, coats with buttons missing, and a plethora of other stage clothes with no dignity left. Every last piece smelled like mildew and stale grog.

Griblo wiped his paws on his trousers with disgust. Then he looked up and froze. A little gecko stood behind Ruffano. Big glistening eyes. Unblinking. Judging. Boring into his soul.

The ferret recoiled like he’d been hexed.

"Oi oi!" he barked, pointing a claw behind Ruffano, voice cracking with irritation. "What’s wit' de kits, mate?!"