Private The Trenches What We Are To Each Other

Morgan Liu

Rating: Able Seabeast
Urk Expedition Service Badge
(Closed to Vihma for the moment, any additions would be by invitation)

The porcelain plates clacked against each other as Eirene carefully piled them, arranging the few leftovers and the silverware on the plate. Bezine was laughing at her own joke as she wound her way to the punchline. "So zen I say, 'You no get to talk to Kaden like zat; zat is my job!'"

Morgan, who was leaning back in her chair with one paw atop her stomach, slightly bloated from the truly ridiculous amount of food that she'd just consumed, rolled her eyes at the joke. "Mother, you know that doesn't get funnier the more times you tell it," she pointed out.

Bezine waved her paw dismissively, in a rare good mood. She picked up her glass and swirled the thin layer of wine left within before downing it. "Is fine, I no was telling to you," she remarked. She smiled at Vihma, their guest for this evening. "You sure you no can stay tonight? We have a guest bed."

"You mean my bed," Morgan responded indignantly.

"Would be your bed if you ever sleeped in it," Eirene called from the kitchen as she deposited the dishes in the sink and started to work the pump to draw up water into it. "When you so late come home, always you crash on couch, so we figure you no want it."

"I like the couch," Morgan grumbled. "I feel like the back support is better. That doesn't mean i don't want to have a bed."

"See, zere you go," Bezine pointed out. "Everyone win." She turned her eyes to Vihma, inquiring, "So you stay, or you need for go back to ship?"
 
Vihma hadn’t said too much throughout the meal. Oh, she was happy to be there – happy to be with Morgan and her family, adding to whatever stories Morgan brought up about their trip. It still felt strange, having beasts to return to after a voyage. To be welcomed here as a part of something, not the butt of jokes or ridicule, not an outcast. Not waiting to see who would stab in her the back, or when. Family.

The thought brought a smile to her face. She didn’t miss the days where she’d been alone, seemingly waiting for the days to go by – for her life to go by. It’d been like sailing on a dark and vastly empty sea, with no stars to guide one’s way. Waiting, hoping to see land, to not miss it in the darkness.

She sniffed amusedly at her own reflections, enough that Bezine might even have taken it as a response to her joke about the Felmarian weasel she so often liked to talk about. Vihma had sailed her ship through the dark and lonely seas, and somehow in some way she’d found her promised land.

The weasel barely caught Bezine’s question, caught up in her thoughts. Luckily she had time to collect herself as Morgan contested just whose arrangements were being offered up.

“I wouldn’t mind staying over, if ye’d ‘ave me, I mean. Rather not ‘ave t’kick Morgan off her bed, though - after being on the ship so long.”

Vihma was out of uniform for once, coolly dressed in a weathered white shirt. She considered herself lucky for having not gotten food on it – Bezine and Eirene’s cooking was far better than what she’d been served on the Golden Hide, even if their enthusiastic use of spices sometimes pushed the limits of her own unrefined palate. She’d had her fill, and then some, eagerly enjoying the wine in particular, savoring the warm confidence it seemed to bring.

“Actually, I was wondering if I might be able to borrow her for a bit, go someplace together in the 'arbour for an hour or so.”

Still smiling, the weasel nevertheless seemed embarrassed to elaborate, looking aside and fidgeting slightly with the sleeve of her shirt.
 
Eirene poked her head in from the kitchen, offering up her opinion. "You two can share bed."

"Mum!"

"What? Is a big bed."

"It's a twin!"

"Exactly, sleeps twins, so big enough for two."

Bezine just laughed, waving her paw to break up the argument. "Of course you two can go where you like. Here," she inquired, reaching to the money pouch at her belt, "you need money for drinks? Zere is a tavern down ze street, no is so bad."

"Oh, so Vim gets an allowance, but when I ask for money, you ask when I'm getting a job," Morgan grumbled. The corner of her mouth tugging up revealed the humor in the situation, a sense of drawing Vihma into the family jokes, making her a part of their dynamic rather than an interloper in it. She glanced at Vihma, raising her brow. "We can go wherever you like," she confirmed. "Mother keeps late hours, so there's not really a curfew to worry about."
 
Vihma’s whiskers flicked in embarrassed amusement. Daring a look towards Morgan, the weasel considered the possibility of them sharing the bed – thought of the stronger ferret’s comforting presence beside her, the warmth of her body against her own, of her gentle breath on her fur.

The weasel bit her lip and glanced away, but she was smiling when Bezine offered coins for them to spend.

“Thanks, Betsy,” Vihma managed, suddenly finding herself in a more awkward position, faced with a gift she knew Morgan wouldn’t have received for herself.

“Y’don’t ‘ave t’give me anythin’, though – got enough gilders t’spend from the Urk trip, and the food was a treat on its own.”

It made her feel odd, sometimes. She was so new to them, to this family she’d found. How did she merit consideration before Morgan did?

“Asides,” Vihma said, more to Morgan than her parents. “I think we’ll be fine without spendin’ much. Was 'oping to jus’ go someplace down by the water – found a few good spots over the years.”

The weasel seemed to reflect on something, tail idly curling to one side.
 
Morgan's playful grumpiness evaporated when Vihma mentioned going down to the waterfront. "Sounds great to me," she enthused. She got up from her chair, wincing a bit as she pulled her leather jacket off the back of her chair and shrugged it on. While the valve had been removed from her chest, the injury still ached whenever she moved too suddenly or carelessly. "Thanks for a great meal, Mum," she called to the kitchen.

"You two be safe," Eirene called back to them. "De docks no are much safe at night, so if is trouble, run to de Fogeys."

Morgan just rolled her eyes before glancing to Vihma. "You good to go? Maybe we can snag a bit a' dessert from somewhere on the way back," she remarked.
 
Vihma watched Morgan wince with more than a hint of guilt. She remembered too well how she'd been pulled from the water, bloody and still. How she'd had to check the ferret's pulse just to assure herself she was still alive. How she'd lost track of her for such a short time, and almost lost her forever for it.

The weasel shook her head, clearing her thoughts as Morgan asked her a question.

"Dessert?"

She looked at her like a fisherbeast with a strange catch, eyes widened in comical disbelief.

"You mean you can still eat after all that?"

Vihma took the few belongings she'd arrived with as they made to leave - all the contents of a military satchel she'd been using as a purse of sorts. Slinging that over her shoulder, the weasel gave Morgan a playful nudge, being especially careful with her given her injury.

"We can go wherever ye like on the way back, jus' wanted t'show you somethin'... maybe get a drink or two. Feels like it's been a while since we got t'do anything together, neh?"

The tawny-furred weasel practically glowed despite the doubts and darkness of only a few moments earlier, just happy to have Morgan to herself again.
 
Morgan grinned as she playfully nudged Vihma back. "Been a while since I could walk about without Doc Barrett throwing a fit," she agreed. "Y'know the first thing I wanna do once this patch is off? Go back up to the crow's nest with ya. With the weather all warm now, bet it's a lot nicer now than it was on the way out. Ain't much privacy to get elsewhere."

They descended the two flights of stairs down to the street level, then made their way out onto a rather picturesque section of the Trenches, flowerpots in the windows and actually clean cobblestones to be found everywhere. According to Bezine, the first apartment she'd ever had was two blocks away - "Zough ze neighborhood no was so good zen," she'd reminisced. Morgan wasn't thrilled about the implied gentrification, but it at least meant she didn't need to worry about getting stabbed as much.

"Alright," Morgan declared, putting her paws in her pockets, then taking them out again as she decided it was too warm. "Which way to this spot you found?"
 
Vihma felt her face flush under her fur, breathing a silent chuckle as Morgan made another one of her plans known. She brushed her whiskers, looking to the ferret and then away again, certain words catching in her throat before she could say them.

As they made their way out the door and down the stairs, the weasel felt for something in her satchel, seemingly making sure it was there. Seemingly satisfied, she took off in one direction, just assuming her friend would follow her.

“Actually, I’m not… ‘m not entirely sure ‘ow to get there from ‘ere, really.”

Vihma shrugged, finally permitting a laugh for herself and her company as they made their way through the rather charming streets, the weasel blazing her path with an energetic, carefree uncertainty.

“I mean, don’t worry – we’ll find it!”

Her steps were a wandering gait in the vaguely seawards direction, turning in her stride so she could face Morgan as they walked. Away from Bezine and Eirene, from the crew, finally alone with the ferret, she seemed more open, more confident – no doubt also aided by the wine she’d enjoyed – though she turned bashful trying to explain away the vagueness of her directions.

“Just a place I remember goin’, back in the day. Before you, I mean.”

She bit her lip again, slowing down to draw closer to the ferret, words slipping from her mouth like she'd die from a moment's silence, like judgement hung on her every explanation.

“’Course, you must know some good stops around ‘ere yourself, neh? Er, I mean – places yer Mums told you about, at least. Suppose bein' stuck out at sea wif me might've made exploring a bit difficult.”
 
Morgan chuckled as she walked easily alongside Vihma, enjoying how talkative the weasel was being. Normally she tended toward the quiet, more reserved than shy necessarily, which made moments like these all the more cherished. "Well, let's put it this way: reckon I know the infirmary now better 'n Doc 'imself," she joked. "Ain' much else I could explore on the trip 'ome." She shrugged before adding, "I've explored a bit around 'ere, but it's mostly just findin' a few places a' interest an markin' 'em as 'This Way', 'Attaway', an' 'O'er There Somewhere'. The streets around 'ere aren't the most straightforward, so really y' just 'ave ta wander 'til ya get there."

She glanced at Vihma, curiosity in her eyes. "Yer from 'ese parts, righ'? Yer old 'ome somewhere roundabouts?"
 
The weasel smiled, despite the matter of Morgan's time in the infirmary. The ferret was here now, alive, safe beside her. She tried not to think of how close things had come.

As the subject changed to the shape of the streets around them, Vihma nodded her head, looking around some as they walked. The trenches weren't really familiar to her either, especially not the more residential side of the streets that gave the area its name. It wasn't a place she'd ever ventured often.

The questions that came next collided with her thoughts, a perfectly timed wreck, like bread carts in the market or ships in the harbor, intersecting at just the right time and speed for maximum damage. Vihma met Morgan's eyes as they glanced over to her, her own gaze faltering quickly under the ferret's mild curiosity.

"Not exactly, no."

She was silent for a moment too long, as though unsure what to say. When she spoke again, her voice came more quietly, measured.

"My parents met not too far from 'ere - place called the Broken Oar, I think it was. Pa worked there, before the war."

Vihma took in an audible breath. Her tongue felt dry - like she was thirsty again. Maybe wine didn't hydrate after all.

"Long as I remember, we lived wif 'im in the Slups, close enough 'e could get to 'is work, not too close that a Fogey or worse might catch Mum."

Memories of dark days lingered on her mind, casting her eyes downwards.

"So, when they took my dad away, t'go fight for some rottin' side or another, we 'ad to move even further in, an' - well, I didn't see much of the Trenches while Mum was alive."

She shrugged, forcing a smile of some sort for Morgan while she tried to move past old longings and past regrets.

"Came here after, on occasion, though. Was a jack that used t'like takin' me places sometimes, least as long as 'e didn't 'ave anyone else."

The weasel's whiskers wavered, eyes lost in another memory, and she swallowed rather than go on speaking.
 
Morgan looked over, somewhat crestfallen as Vihma mentioned a lover of yore. Well, she couldn't really be disappointed; she knew it was a long shot that Vihma would even have interest in femmes that way, especially in one like Morgan. "Oh," she commented, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. "What were ya up to back 'en? You'd 'ave been pretty young, I'm guessin'."
 
The weasel managed a laugh. It was the bitter kind, like she was the joke and her words were the punchline.

"I was. Feels like a long time ago, now."

Vihma held her head high, though it was apparent it was because she felt she had something to prove. There wasn't a point of pride among her recollections, among the swirling memories Morgan had dug up. Not enough to raise her chin, anyway.

"Mostly was up to no good, robbin' an' stealin' an' whatever else. Got pretty good at it. Stole a sword, tried to run my own lil' crew - paid the price for trusting the beasts I did."

She sighed.

"That's 'ow I got t'be in the Navy. Was that or a cell."

The weasel was quiet for a moment, eyes seeming to scan Morgan as she walked beside her. Tail tense, voice apologetic, she seemed afraid that she'd set herself up for rejection, thinking it was what she'd said now that had taken the light out of the ferret's mood.

"I'm sorry if I never... well, I don't like t'talk about wot kind'v beast I was back in those days. Didn't want you to think I was... well, didn't want you to think I was like that. I wanted ye t'like me, wanted yer parents t'like me."

Vihma looked away, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt.
 
Morgan gave a small shrug, leaning over slightly to nudge Vihma as they walked. "I think I like ye more fer knowin' ye have a colorful past. Makes me feel less like a screw-up by comparison." She chuckled as she added, "An' I don't think Mum an' Mother would care much. Y'know Mother once ran with a pack o' literal murderous bandits? An' you've heard all about Mum and her apocalyptic death cult. I don't see either's got much grounds t' grouse about what ye did to survive. 'Sides, they like ye too much to be mad atcha for long." She gave a small shrug as she added, "You don't give them near enough trouble fer them to tire of ya - and even if y' did, they're way too tolerant an' patient t' kick ya to the curb. I mean, you know how much trouble I've given 'em over the years, an' even though we moan an' bellyache, they still love me, an' I love them. It's just a different way a' showin' it is all."

She glanced at Vihma, considering her with some curiosity. "Were you worryin' that, if I got to know you, I wouldn' like what I see?" She chuckled as she shook her head. "I guess we really are cut from the same cloth."
 
Vihma's smile returned ever so slightly, brought on by the brief contact with Morgan and kept by her words of encouragement.

"Well, what's your secret, then?"

The weasel nudged Morgan back, more than a little closely, but all the more softly, brushing the ferret's whiskers with her own as she drew near.

"Ye like gettin' in scraps, like running into fights 'ead-first. Like driving yer mums insane..."

Pulling ever so slightly away, Vihma looked to finally try and meet Morgan's eyes again, the glassiness of regret gone from her own, replaced by a grateful, hopeful warmth - such that oozed from her voice like syrup on a pancake.

"Could see all that the day I met you. An' as much as I sometimes wish ye weren't so brave, that ye didn't stick yer neck out for beasts ye barely know, I guess that's something I like about ye too."

It was her turn to laugh, trying to break through the sense of embarrassed indecision that seemed to build up within her whenever her thoughts lingered too long on the ferret.

"Guess I mean t'say I uhh... I like what I've seen so far, neh?"
 
Morgan chuckled, wincing as she stretched the muscles on her side trying to reach up and ruffle the fur on the back of her head. She put her arm down instead, looking away - a bit bashful, though she couldn't quite make eye contact with Vihma. "Yeah," she admitted, "what you've seen so far, I guess. I..." She took a deep breath, regretting it almost immediately as her lung protested. "Ow. Vim, I... ...How much farther to this spot?" She couldn't keep from flushing in embarrassment as she chickened out of saying what she'd wanted to say. 'Gates, you really are a coward, ain't ya?
 
"Oh, right. Ehm..."

The weasel stopped in her tracks, looking around. The streets weren't quite empty, especially near to the docks, even at the later hour, but she paid no heed for the beasts around - whatever wandering eyes and distant voices haunted their surroundings - looking more embarrassed for having lost track of their route.

Well, what could be called a route. She had only vague ideas of where she'd been going, anyway.

"Umm, I think it's nearby, actually."

Looking apologetically back to Morgan for a moment, just to see if she'd follow, she walked still closer to the emerging smell of sea and salt, switching her gaze to the rooftops above as they drew near to the final line of buildings between them and the harbour. Most of the structures were shops of various sorts, a few restaurants - all closed. There was a bar, still burning oil and serving patrons, but she passed that too.

If the ferret kept close, she could see Vihma speaking silently to herself, as though doing some strange mental arithmetic to divine the location of their destination.

Finally they came to a building like any other by the shore, looking dark and abandoned for the night. A sign above the door read "Sharptooths Inc.", with little indication of what was actually sold inside, though bars on the windows and a hefty lock on the door supposed it was probably something worth stealing.

"So - here's the place. Still here after all these years."

Vihma laughed a bit uncomfortably, finally looking around to see if other beasts were looking their way - particularly if there were any Fogeys about.

"I may 'ave... eh - maybe not thought this through? Do you think you can climb to the roof? With your... injury?"

The building ran only about the typical height of most shops lining the streets that gave the Trenches its name, perhaps slightly taller. Somewhat unusually, it seemed to be made of brick - outlines of the brickwork barely visible in the moonlight - presumably a sign of new build from after the Winter War. The roof - what could be seen of it - was surrounded by parapets, chipped by time, wear, and perhaps a bit of war.

In the dim light, Morgan could see Vihma already testing a way up from the side, claws finding purchase in spots between the uneven brickwork as she pulled herself up from a window to the second floor, already testing her way up to the roof above.
 
Morgan's eyes widened as she saw the extent of the climb. "Eh... 'ang on a sec." She watched carefully to see where Vihma grabbed for support, then, hesitantly started to haul herself up behind the nimble ferret. "I think yer fingers are slimmer 'n mine," she complained, a groan escaping her as the act of putting weight on her paws strained the muscles around her injuries.
 
Vihma had already made it up to the top. Of course, she had experience with the specific climb, and seasons of pulling herself up and down the rigging of masts taller than any shop in the Trenches. She looked down at Morgan, face full of concern, though she seemed unsure what to do, decidedly unhelpful for an agonizing moment. More agonizing for Morgan, presumably.

"There uh, used to always be some crates 'ere, we'd use t'get up most of the way. Guess they got rid of those..."

Her head disappeared from the parapets. There was some scrambling from above, and when she came back, her voice was apologetic.

"Actually, it looks like they put a ladder in by the back, if... if y'wanted t'use that instead - wasn't there before, 'onest!"
 
Morgan paused, halfway to the second floor. "Yeah," she allowed, "prob'ly easier." She let go, stumbling a bit as she hit the street. "Ow." She carefully stretched, making sure she hadn't aggravated the injury by absorbing the shock, and, finding it no more or less painful than before, circled the building until she found the ladder that Vihma had promised. A far shorter than it seemed climb later, she was atop the roof. "So, this is yer secret 'ideout, huh?" Morgan mused. "Great place, 'specially since it's kinda 'ard for anyone t' follow ya up 'ere."
 
Vihma was back to looking embarrassed. She didn't quite meet Morgan's eyes.

"Moreso before eh, before that, of course," the weasel said, gesturing back to the ladder.

Shame for her spot not having been as it was before, for her not having led Morgan to it more easily, she nevertheless felt gradually more at ease now that they were there. In the moonlight, the roof was plainly visible. There were a few broken bottles off to the side, some other junk scattered around, but it was mostly clean. Presumably, the roof was meant to serve as a sort of secondary fortification should the harbor be invaded again, as it was during the Winter War. Before her time.

"Used t'come 'ere with a jack. Couple o' times, any'ow."

The weasel let that hang in the air for a moment, walking over to the side of the roof nearest to the ocean, leaning out over the parapets to look out onto its ever-moving waters. Scattered lights burned across several ships and docks further out in the harbor, but the rest of them were black silhouettes against a blue sea, painted brightly where the moon reflected off its shifting surface.

"Was always wondering what was in this place - the store below, I mean. Never did break inside. Prob'ly not worth the trouble."

She glanced back to Morgan, weak smile returning to her features.

"I guess it's more fitting, now - bein' here, I mean - you knowin' more about me, 'n what all I did. Used to gaze out at those waves, just like this, thinkin' of the past 'n frettin' over..."

Vihma looked back out to the sea, wordless for another moment, like it took another breath to continue her thoughts.

"Frettin' over who I was with, what they thought of me. Silly things like that."
 
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