Open The Bilge In The Bucket Under His Wing

Chokra had been bar hopping for the past few days. He had no success in finding Silvertongue. Now Madame Lorelei had up and disappeared. He was essentially a fish lost in a vast and confusing sea, but he wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to drink. He walked into yet another seedy bar, as if he owned the place, and he looked around. The customers were the usual sort. Rummies, the lot of them. Rats and stoats and weasels, a ferret or two. The only other foxes were the barkeeper and a young vixen in a modest dress, serving drinks.

Chokra shook his head, walking up the the bar and settling down in a seat. He pulled two things from his jacket. First, a pawful of gold coins, and secondly, an old and yellowed piece of parchment paper.

"I need two things." He said in a low voice. "I need your strongest drink, and any information you might have on this young lad." He placed the paper down, revealing a family portrait. The sketch was of an older male and female fox along with their son. Chokra pointed to the young todd in the picture, who was wearing fancy clothing. "Lads' name is Silvertongue. He might have done a bit of performing around here. I'm his uncle, you see, and I'm worried about him."
 
The stoat bartender leaned in, scrutinizing the picture. "Ain' seen 'im myself," he commented, "but I 'eard there's a fox wot's been playin' the circuit around town. Supposed to be not 'alf bad. 'Course, we get a lotta performers like 'at around 'ere. It's the bloody Vulpine Imperium, mate, ya can't swing a dead mouse by its tail without hittin' a fox."

Corda, finished with passing out her round of drinks, came back to the bar with a tray laden with empty mugs and steins. She still had to hold it by two paws; she didn't trust her balance enough yet to dare attempt it with one. She set her tray down as she looked at the picture. "I think I've seen him in the Bilge in the Bucket before," she commented. "He likes to wear blue, doesn't he? Unfortunately everyone from across the city goes to the Bilge, so it doesn't say much about where he might be." She leaned in, looking at his face before musing, "He is handsome, though. I'm sure my brother would find him very attractive."

"Well, don't go bringin' yer brother 'round 'ere," the bartender warned. "We ain' that kinda establishment." He reached under the bar and brought out a bottle of Kohler's Klear Water, as the aging label proclaimed it to be. A small note on the label warned not to open it within ten feet of open flame. "This is the strongest we got," the bartender noted. "I mostly just keep it in case I need to strip the varnish on the bar to get a stain out. You want stronger, you'll have to go up to Innovation an' try t' bribe one a' them beasts inta givin' you some Red Stuff. I 'eard you can get a thimble full for a 'undred piece."
 
"The Bilge, eh?" Chokra noted with an eyebrow raised. "Thanks for that, little lady." Chokra flipped a gilder in her direction before slipping the picture back into his jacket. He reached over and took the bottle of Kohler's, pouring himself a glass. Without hesitation, he downed a shot of it. Slamming the glass down, he gasped and shook his head. "Hell's Teeth! That's got a damn good kick to it!"

He went to pour another glass, when he noticed some of the other patrons staring at him. "What's this, then?" He turned to them. "Yew lot have an issue with me?"

Chokra realized that they were staring at the bottle. "Oh, this? What, do ye expect me to share? Oh, drinks all around, eh?" He laughed in their faces. "Sorry, I only pay fer my own drinks!"
 
The bar had indeed grown quiet as various patrons stood up, glaring at the fox. The bartender spoke up from behind him. "Tradition is, newcomers buy the bar a round, old man. Don't reckon you wanna spit on our traditions around here."

The vixen waitress, her eyes widening, rushed to exclaim, "I can cover his round -"

"Nah, Corda," the bartender dismissed her without even a glance. He was polishing a glass stein that looked like it had surprisingly sharp edges around its base. "It ain't about the drink, it's about respect, an' this old man better learn to pay it." Nearly the whole bar was on their footpaws now, forming a dense crowd between Chokra, the waitress, and the doors.
 
As the increasingly hostile atmosphere intensified, heading rapidly towards conflict, the doors to the bar swung open – though one might have to look down to see exactly who had chosen to intervene at this moment.

Berchar was not just down on his luck this month: he was desperate. With rent overdue (his co-tenant was hardly likely to be coughing up his share either; he was loathe to have that conversation again), but employment scattered of late he had been running out of options. His medical supplies were low and so was access to parchment without which he could not make decent gilders. Back to bar work it was. It had taken him further away from home to find a bar or tavern he wasn’t already dismissed from for one reason or other, but this seemed as good as any place.

Dark eyes widened behind his spectacles at the sight of every back turned to block somebeast or other from an easy exit. He was not in the mood to interrupt – in fact he would happily have turned tail and left altogether if money wasn’t forcing his paw. Back pressed to the wall he performed an awkward hop-slide manoeuvre around the edge of the room until he could make his move to the bar.

Long ears pressed flat to his skull in the fragile atmosphere, he stood on tip-paw to clear his chin of the bartop and hoped his presence would catch the eye of the bartender enough to ask his question. He would have stayed silent, prepared to take cover, had his eye not caught the parchment already on the counter. Old habits die hard, and he could not stop himself from blurting excitedly to the older todd regardless of the fact his attentions would likely be elsewhere. “Oh! That is a splendid illustration, sir. Did you perchance draw this yourself? It’s very good!”
 
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Chokra was weighing his options, paws balled into a fist, when the strange beast approached him. He had to admit, it was the strangest looking mouse he’d ever seen. Chokra nodded, half distracted.

“Aye, I drew it. Though it were a long time ago. Now.” He addressed the other beasts in the room. “Forgive me for being ignorant of yer… traditions. So, I’m to buy every beast a drink, eh? Of course! I’ll just start with the woodlander, ‘ere.” He opened the expensive alcohol and poured a glass, placing it in front of the young creature beside him. “You drink up young’un, courtesy of yer Uncle Chokra.” He chuckled a bit, then he poured a second drink, holding it out to Corda. “One for the little lady, too.” He smiled at her, before he turned to the others, and a silence fell over the bar.

The smile quickly disappeared from Chokra's face. "You kids might want to get under a table." He said to Berchar and Corda. Without warning, he began to chug the alcohol himself, flipping the V sign out at the other patrons of the bar.

Indignant shouts of outrage targeted Chokra, and a rat rushed forward, trying to snatch the bottle away. Chokra refused to let go, swallowing down as much of the booze as he could. Another rat ran forward and punched Chokra in the gut, and Chokra spat out the drink all over the two beasts in front of him.

Taking the half empty bottle, Chokra reared back and he slammed it over the first rat’s head, shattering it and spilling its contents all over the floor, before turning around and stabbing the paw of the bartender, who was just about to shank him from behind with the stein. The second rat punched Chokra in the back of the head, and Chokra reeled from the impact, before elbowing the second rat in the neck, sending him stumbling backwards and clutching at his throat.

“You lot really don’t want to do this.” Chokra grunted. “I’m just looking for me nephew.”

The sea of angered faces didn’t seem any less persuaded by this.

Chokra could already feel his bones aching. He groaned, and reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife, throwing it at a stoat and piercing through his eye. He then punched a ferret in the face before hurrying over to the stoat, yanking his knife from their eye. Another fox with a shank ran forward and stabbed at Chokra, but Chokra twisted out of the way of the blade. He turned around and stabbed this opponent in the gut, before kicking him away.

Chokra was holding his own, but he was outnumbered. Another sneaky blow to the back of his head sent the older fox to the floor, and he struggled to get to his feet, his world reeling, his vision blurred, meanwhile more of his opponents approached from all sides.
 
Corda felt panic rising as the sea of faces turned hostile. This was the worst place for her to be, cornered, trapped. Even that poor mouse-like being who'd joined them was now stuck here, in the middle of a potential mob. She couldn't escape, she had no way to get out -

Cordan awoke, and he scowled. Well, this was certainly some predicament Corda had gotten them in now. More than that, he was without his weapon and outfit. He looked about behind the bar, but the pack in which she carried his weapon and to which she strapped the belt with his sword was nowhere to be found. Well, that was an inconvenience to be sure. He did noticed, tucked beneath the bar, a folded red tablecloth - probably used only to impress the rate high-status customer that ventured in. Tucked in the back corner as well, there was a broom to be found. Well, Cordan decided, glancing about and noting the impending air of violence, it would be better than nothing.

He leaped over the bar, ducking beneath it and pulling the tablecloth over his shoulders as the sound of violence erupted in the room, hurriedly tying it about his neck. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. He stripped off Corda's skirt, leaving him in his pantaloons, and charged past the bartender, bumping against his legs and causing a momentary distraction that resulted in a broken bottle in his paw. Reaching the broom, Cordan swiftly broke off its head with his footpaw, then hefted it experimentally. Not quite the same balance as his rapier, but it was better than nothing. Now, if only -

A hat went flying as its occupant was forcefully removed from beneath it, and Cordan caught it, flipping it about before sticking out his tongue in disgust. A beret? Well, he supposed it was better than nothing. He affixed the beret upon his head, and then, cape billowing behind him and broken broom handle in paw, he vaulted the bar once more. "Have at ye, villains!" he cried, brandishing the broken end of the broom at them as he stood beside the injured elder fox. "I'll not let you lay paw upon my comrade in arms! Retreat now, or else I can assure you, your casket shall be kept closed to conceal the humiliation you will face at our paws!"

Several of the patrons looked between each other in clear disbelief. It was obvious that the barmaid who had just been meekly serving them a few minutes ago had put on a silly costume and affected a lower register, now daring them to fight. A few glances was all they needed before charging at the pair of foxes once more.
 
Though his considerable ears stood rigid with indignation to be called young, the jerboa was certainly not likely to voice his opinion. He barely had time, anyway: the glass was pushed towards him but before any response could be made the todd had turned his attention back to the crowd and

Oh, no. Well, this bar wasn’t going to be employing any time soon.

Berchar would very much have liked to take this fox’s recommendation and dive for one of the tables, but the incoming melee was going to become a sprawling mess: he only needed to see the first swing to know as much. As the violence kicked off he cringed back against the bar, wide-eyed as the barmaid came vaulting over to the aid of the lone fox who had stirred up so much trouble. Well, the creature who was supposed to be the barmaid: there was something curious about that one. They seemed quite the pair. Bold. Dashing. Exciting. He found himself quite suddenly jealous of their willingness to act, even in the face of such odds. It could never be him.

Glass shattered near his footpaws and with a squeak Berchar scrambled to clear the bar with a jump in the opposite direction to the foxes. As he did so, he stepped on the old broom head, the force of his jump sending it spinning out across the floor to trip one of the vermin bearing down on the duo. He was not even aware of this, popping up only to snatch up the drawing on the bartop and stuff it in his pocket.

Down with him, too, came one of the lamps on the bar. His thoughts were racing: he wanted to preserve the flame just in case…well, there was a lot of alcohol about to be drenching the floor, and in a pinch he could threaten to-- oh, who was he kidding? To offer this rabble an ultimatum as such would be to take the risk of shouting it to them, let alone being taken seriously. That wasn’t even to speak of the damage fire could do…

But those foxes. They might need help.

Tugging at his ears, wracked with indecision, Berchar finally popped his bewhiskered face over the bar again to watch the chaos unfold.
 
Chokra groaned, and he pulled himself up, turning to see the barmaid coming to his aid. Not his proudest moment, for sure, but he would take any help he could get. Pulling himself up to his feet, he wiped some blood from his face. "Right, ye bastards- have at ye!" He pulled out a scimitar, having lost his knife somewhere in the chaos of the fight. He had a sword, while most of the other patrons had only their fists, some wielding knives or other shanks. Not exactly a fair fight, but Chokra couldn't care less about fairness. He ran forward into the fray, stabbing and swinging with near reckless abandon, cutting down one foe after another in quick succession. A few of them slipped past him to charge the barmaid, though there wasn't much he could do about that. He may have been old, but he still knew how to fight. He was just struggling not to double over with each swing, his chest heaving with the effort of the fight. Chokra cursed under his breath, sharp pain shooting through his joints. He had no other choice. He waded over to the bartender and he held the scimitar against his throat.

"Ye still want me ter pay fer everyone's drinks?!" He snapped. "Or do ye want to meet yer fate in der Dark Forest? Or better yet-" He grabbed one of the lamps. "Do ye want this place to go ter blazes wif all of us in it?"
 
Cordan swing with the broom handle, far more clumsily than he would have liked. Compared to his beloved rapier, it was too thick, the balance all wrong - but it was better than nothing. He managed to bat away his attackers, keeping them at bay, if nothing else, buying time... but for what?

The answer came when the older fox held first the bartender, then the entire bar, hostage. Cordan's eyes widened, darting about the greasy, ale-soaked room. There was probably enough liquor in the floorboards to send up a conflagration that would burn down half the Slups. The bartender seemed to have had the same thought. "You lot," he directed to the injured crowd of patrons, "go sit down. Fun's over. You, sir," he directed to the todd, "please leave. No one's seen yer nephew, you've 'ad your drink, now move on. Take yer weird mouse friend wiv' ya. An' you," he directed in Cordan's direction. "Yer fired."

Oh. Corda's not going to be pleased about this. "I had some effects I brought with me," he stated, leveling his broom handle at the bartender to join the corsair's sword. "Where are they?"

The bartender's brow furrowed at that. "Back room, where you allus put 'em. What's wrong wiv' ya?"

Cordan lowered his broom, looking to the older todd pleadingly. "Sir, I must retrieve my effects. May I beg you to wait for me? Please, I would speak with you further, if you will indulge me."
 
Though he chastised himself for thinking so, Berchar felt a little flutter of pride to hear the todd take the same initiative as he with the flame: his strategy, then, had been sound. Why a beast of the healing arts should be so prone to think of that, however, he was uncertain.

Whatever internal tumult the jerboa was going through it was broken by the change wrought by the ultimatum. He perked up, though to be called mouse cause him to wrinkle his nose, and slowly, cautiously, he hopped back over to the other side of the bar to approach the foxes.

There was much pain and injury in the room; guilt prodded his conscience that he should probably offer to help, but the bartender had given him perfect reason to leave, and no others knew he was of the healing arts. Besides, his supplies were limited and the older todd had been kind enough to offer a drink (a rarity in his experience). He seemed sore – and if any beast was going to be worth his dwindling supplies it would be him.

Berchar nodded away, quiet and unobtrusive as he dug the drawing back out of his pocket. Tugging on the older fox’s sleeve, he offered it back to the taller beast. “So you’re looking for your nephew, are you? Perhaps we could help?” He rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. “I don’t think I’ll be taking up a job here any time soon, so…I have some time on my paws. If you’re willing, that is.” He elected to leave mention of his other talents whilst still surrounded by shattered glass and groaning vermin.
 
Chokra sat down the lamp, but kept his sword trained on the barkeeps throat. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a little sack and tossed it to the barkeep. It was heavy, and jingled with the sound of many a gold coin within. "This ought ter cover the drinks, and damages. I'd hate ter see a good liquor business lose money." He said with something in between a smirk and a sneer, finally moving his sword away. Whether or not the statement was genuine was a mystery, but the money was very much real.

He turned to Cordan with a more genuine smile on his face. "Course. Go get yer things, young'un. I think I'd like to have words with ye, too."

Turning to Berchar, he took the drawing. He looked at it with a heavy sigh, slipping it back into his pocket. "Aye... I'm worried half to death fer him. An' me other half just got the shit kicked out of 'im lookin fer the lad." Chokra said with a pained laugh.
 
Cordan swore as he searched the back room for Corda's backpack. Where could she have left it? His sister would want it someplace out of the way, not easily visible... He found it atop a stack of barrels, pushed back enough to be obscured by the rim. He ditched the tablecloth and beret, instead donning his coat, cloak, and favorite hat, his belt and scabbard buckled around his waist. The backpack slung over one shoulder, he made his way back out into the bar.

"Excuse me, good sir," he requested of the barkeep. "Might I have the skirt discarded behind the bar there? The red one."

"How many skirts d'you think I've got layin' around back here?" the bartender grumped, but he leaned down and picked up the skirt, throwing it roughly at the fox. "I ain't payin' ya for today though," he warned. "I'm takin' it fer damages."

Well, Corda wouldn't be happy about that at all, but Cordan supposed he could see the logic. "Understood. Farewell, good sir," he addressed the bartender, tipping his hat. "May we never meet again."

"Freak show," the bartender muttered as Cordan walked away. The fox tried to pretend he hadn't heard, and that the words didn't sting.

He met the other fox and the strange mouse outside. "Pray, sir," he cried, falling on one knee and bowing his head. "Having witnessed you in battle, I beg your leave to join you in your quest. I will gladly stand beside you and fight, to aid you in your search for your lost nephew, and, if you will have me, to train as your student, oh master of the blade. My sword and soul I both offer for your inspection." He drew his blade, holding it horizontal between his paws in offering.
 
Chokra glowered at the bartender, but he stayed his tongue. There had already been more than enough action today and he was tired. So he wordlessly left the bar with Cordan and Berchar in tow.

Once they were outside, he was surprised by Cordan's request. He took the offered rapier in his paws, giving it a few test swings. "Nice blade. It's got good balance to it. Seems well taken care off." He offered the sword back to Cordan. "Come on, kid, get up. None of that bowin' and supplicantin' stuff fer this old corsair."

He watched Cordan curiously. He wasn't sure exactly what their deal was, but for now there was no harm in playing along. "I do 'ave just one question. Is yer- uhh.... sister, gonna be okay wif you doin' this?"
 
Cordan looked down, abashed for a moment at the question. "My sister has always supported me in my endeavors," he stated, "whatever the cost to her. I have no right to ask this, but... in the course of our quest, should she join us in moments of peace, would you please permit her to aid in our quest as well? She is an earnest healer, despite her lack of training, and I am certain she will not begrudge us as she tends to our wounds."
 
Eyes glued to the floorboards, sodden though they were with blood and alcohol, Berchar kept his head down and only spared the bartender a quick, sharp glance at his parting words to the younger fox. He scurried out after them without another word, mind racing.

His thoughts would usually have been on money – or the lack of it and what he might need to do next – but this curious duo held his attention. Duo? Trio? This youngster was…certainly an interesting one. Vague memories from his training tickled something in the back of his consciousness but he did not dwell upon it, rather removed and polished his spectacles as he watched this youngster pledge his service. Was he supposed to be offering as such? He hardly had a weapon of his own to speak of.

Maybe he could be of use in other ways. He coughed politely. “If it’s training your – uhm, sister – would want, I might be able to help with that. If you’d be able to afford the supplies, that is.” He rubbed the back of his neck, offering an anxious smile to the older todd. “I admit, I’m…not much of a warrior, but I know the city well enough and you’ve both been kinder than most to me. If there’s anything I could do to help either - any - of you, I’m willing.” Just pleasepleaseplease don't ask me to fight.
 
Cordan brightened at the offer of training for Corda. "I'm certain she would be delighted," he remarked, "if you'd like to make that offer to her once she joins us. While I study the blade, she will study the scalpel. ...Scalpels are a medical thing, are they not?"
 
Chokra laughed a bit. "Don't you worry, big ears. Yew can leave the fightin' to us foxes. We know how to scrap proper."

He grinned and he pulled Berchar and Cordan close. "Looks like I got me a first mate an' a ships' surgeon. At this rate I'll have me own crew again in no time. Now, Let's go to this Bilge and see if we can get any information about me dear nephew."
 
Another nod (though Berchar had to wonder exactly what was going on with this fox) and the jerboa opened his mouth to reply but cut himself off with a muted squeak when Chokra pulled him close.

“C-crew?” Quite suddenly the little fellow began to wonder just what adventure he’d signed himself up for. The older todd was speaking in jest, surely? It wasn’t as though the dashing swashbuckler was actually in the market for crewing up a ship of his own. If he was, well…they were both, as he’d stated, scrappers: he might as well make the best of it and stick close to those with some experience.

“Right, yes, absolutely! The Bilge, you say? That’s not so far from here…” Smoothing back his headfur fastidiously, Berchar made what he hoped was an elegant leg, though he was long out of practice with formalities. Beasts often made mockery in the Slups, after all. “I should probably introduce myself properly: Berchar Fleetfoot, at your service.”
 
Cordan brightened up at his acceptance, and being pulled into a group embrace by his new mentor. "Cordan LeConte," he introduced himself, stepping back into a sweeping bow, his hat pulled in a respectful arc as he addressed the pair. "At your most humble service. You have already met my twin sister Corda." He straightened up, returning his feathered cap to his head, and grinned at the pair. "Shall we away then, to seek glory, grog, and good company elsewhere? Once we have your nephew safely recovered, we shall be the Three Foxes and a... Mouse? I apologize, good sir, I've yet to make the acquaintance of another of your species."
 
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