Baubles and Bullies
✧ ✧ Reavers ✧ ✧
- Jaksor, Vannon, Bafaloukos, Coaxoch
- Halyard Antiques
In the village of Halyard lies an antique shop. A very old, very decrepit antique shop. The owner either cut his losses after the hurricane or was killed by the storm, and the building has been left to rot. What hasn't been looted sits decaying in heaps about the store. The front door, or what's left of it, swings open and a tall, lean polecat steps inside, narrowed eyes peering about in the darkness, split only by light from the broken windows and holes in the ceiling. [Jaksor]
"You always take me to the nicest places..." Sinking his teeth into a roasted fish on a stick Vannon enters behind the polecat. The fox casts his eyes about the room as he tends to his snack. Times had been tough on the gang to be sure, but they were still a pleasent vacation compared to where the fox came from before joining up with Jak. The fox is looking healthier...sleeker. Even if his red vest and trousers are starting to show some where and tear around the edges.
Vannon decides to test the bosses mood with a jest, to see what level of crankyness the ol' one armed bandit is in today, "I should have known you would be into antiques, what with the hook you carry. But don't worry, your personal hobbies are safe with me. I can keep a secret."
"Y're lucky I didn' leave y'r useless hide back in th' forest f'r that snake," Jaksor growls under his breath, eyes casting around the store as he moves further inside. At the jest, though, he turns towards the fox, the hook coming up to prick sharply against the inside of Vannon's nostril. "Mebbe we c'n find y' an antique nosering," the hob wonders pointedly.
The fox let's out a howl as he lifts himself up on his tippy toes to avoid getting a nose ring, "OW! OW Owowowoowowowowoowow! Jak! Jak! Stop!" It seems Jak has finally found a way to shut the fox up, through physical violence no less. Vannon grabs the false arm with both paws, his fish on a stick falling to the ground.
Jaksor's actual arm is very real, and the muscles bulge beneath Vannon's fingers and the straps holding his hook in place as he pushes the hook a bit farther, following the fox's upward movement. If he had a paw, it would be clenched. "I told y' once before, /business/ ain't th' place f'r jokes." His 'point' made, the polecat turns back to the room, lowering the hook and jerking his arm out of Vannon's grasp. "Now look around an' see if any of this c'n be useful. Place's in bad shape, but it migh' serve our purposes with a bit'a fixin'."
The fox turns away quickly, clutching his nose. He dabs at his nose once then twice, he swollows his 'you are the joke,' comment and instead says "Yeah, Jak...real lucky. Real lucky indeed." The fox picks up his fish, wipes the dust off of it and begins to eat it again. Vannon is many things, a picky eater is not one of them. "So what are you hoping to find here anyway?" The fox lifts open a near by chest with his foot paw, then lets it slam shut, "I can't imagine any of htis stuff is worth selling."
Vannon's nonsensical additions about luck go completely unheeded as Jaksor picks through some of the rubble and rubbish, pausing to examine an old book in decent condition. "We need a front. Somethin' we can take over cheap an' make enough money t' seem as real merchants," the polecat explains, setting the book aside and continuing to rummage around. "Seems like this place is abandoned, so we don't even need t' spend any of th' loot fr'm th' town hall raid t' get it." A particularly moldy tome drops a chunk of pages onto the floor as he picks it up. "Migh' need some extra wares, though."
One of the best things about villages is food; even better when it's food on a stick. Bafaloukos got caught up with the vendor for one reason or another, but now he appears in the ramshackle door, munching his own smoked treat. It's not clear how long he has stood there, slouched against the moldy frame, but suddenly he pipes through a mouthful of salmon, "Ye' should 'ave gotten a fishie, Jaks. Mighta' improved your chronic grump." A grin splits his snout, and the old dog raises a claw to dislodge an errant fish bone from a tooth. He spits it on the floor.
"Oh. Is that all." The fox picks up an old lamp, exams it and then drops it with a loud crash. "I would have gone with a pawn shop myself. Easier to fence your own goods. But this could work. You just need a beast who can actually run the store. Someone good with maths, for accounting and such incase the guards ever decide to look at our books and what not." The fox turns to his fellow vulpine as he spits onto the floor, "Thankfully that beast doesn't have to have a whole lot of class, else our entire gang would be doomed..."
The fox at the door draws Jaksor's attention away from the fox tossing lamps onto the floor. "Put a couple fish on sticks an' th' whole lotta you go soft as month-old melons," the polecat sneers, thumping the mildew-ridden tome closed. "I didn' know all y' wanted in life was three squares a day."
"And what's so wrong wi' that?" Bafaloukos gibes, hefting himself out of the slouch to step inside the shop. An ear cocks back in mild amusement as he surveys the ruins of history. "Not a moon ago we were cookin' our *own* victuals, an' now we got coin t' pay somebody else t' do it. Isn't *that* what it's all about, boss?" He moseys through the rubble and detritus, plucking up various items for inspection. "Antiques is good, Van. Beasts'll drop a lot of coin on others' ancient leavings."
"One beasts junk is another beasts Treasure," The younger fox chuckles, "And yonder fox speaks wisdome Mr. Hook. You think you've known hunger and want. Trust me mate...you don't." The fox's voice drops to a suprisngly serious tone. A moment passes before the once starvily thin fox's smile returns. "I think we can actually do this. Seriously. It's actually not that hard. I had a few family members in the traveling merchant business. They...weren't very successfull at it, a few died coinless and destitute, others got eaten by monitor lizards, but still...point is it won't be too hard to polish up this junk, make what's left into nick nacks or...or something.
"Nothin', till th' coin runs out," Jaksor replies sharply, eyes taking the time to glare at Bafaloukos. "An' it /will/ run out at th' rate we're spendin'." The roof above gets the benefit of his glare next, softening the longer he considers the structure. His hook raises up to begin to gesture while he explains the necessary repairs, but Vannon's rant interrupts his train of thought. "What I /know/ is without me y'd be pickin' y'rself outta somethin's teeth by now." Vannon's variable attitude towards the plausibility of using the shop as a successful front is dismissed. His stories, though, seem right in line with what the polecat already knows about the fox. "An' thanks f'r lettin' me know it shouldn't be /you/ runnin' th' place."
Among the junk, Bafaloukos finds an ornamental goblet, which he scrutinizes while his comrades exchange licks. Empty divots advise that jewels once dappled the chalice, but those were previously pried and plundered, and only this despoiled silver cup has been left behind. Holding the remainder of his snack in his mouth, Bafaloukos rubs the tarnished antique against his shirt in a haphazard effort to remove the tarnish. He then lifts it, gazing at unto his deformed reflection, as he chews the last of the tender fish, swallows, and chucks both chalice and stick into a corner. "We'd truly be lost without ye', boss," he chimes, still grinning. "So happens I know a thing or two about shop runnin', boys. Got family in the... the business."
The fox sighs in relief, "Oh thank all that is holy for that. Having to live by a schedual? Greeting customers all day and using paper work? I would /die/ in here." The fox get's a devious grin, "Think our scaley canable lizard would be a good fit to help Baf out?" The idea of the otter eating lizard running a shop brings a smile to the fox. "I suppose I can work on advertising the place, after we get it up and running." Maybe find that grey furred vixen again. The fox smiles at that too then shakes his head.
Nine minutes out of every ten Jaksor looks like he'd rather kill the rest of the group than work with them these days, but his vision for Halyard has restrained his violent temper thus far. The polecat spends a few moments quietly fuming to himself, letting the anger vent before he attempts interacting with the vulpine duo further. "...First thing we need t'do is get a proper roof on this shack," he eventually announces, head tilting upward to indicate what's left of the ceiling. "We c'n ask around town, see who'll do it cheap. Even if it's a blasted long-ears."
Bafaloukos moves closer to his vulpine cousin, so that he might deliver a gregarious elbow to his ribs. "Aye, see? Ye' don't give us lot enough credit, boss." The old crook then hops behind Vannon. He is somewhat taller than his peer, but stoops to hover his chin just above the shoulder of the other fox, as golden eyes follow Jaksor about the room. "Mmhm," he hums agreeably. "In a moon's turn, we'll 'ave this place lookin' like proper enterprise again. In fact, once m'lunch digests, I might even be willin' to pick through this rubble for ye'. See what's left of value. Looters move quick, and they ain't got the best eye for value. Guarantee we can buy a new roof by sellin' off only 'alf of this shambles."
The grey fox oofs, rubbing his sore ribs, "Hey, carefull mate. I havn't put on that much meat on my ribs yet." He turns to the pole cat, "I'll go see if there are any cheaply cheap carpenters in town." Briefly the fox wonders if such a creature still exists in this town. Halyard would have been better repaired by now if they had one, right? Maybe Vannon can sneak away and find himself some dinner. After all, there is nothing better than being able to buy food for once. Finishing his own fishy snack the fox thrusts his paws into his pockets and continues to chew on the stick. "I'll stop by later to help out Baf. Just try to leave some of the good stuff for me to pocket too, yah?" And moves for the door.
"Don' let 'im touch anythin'," Jaksor advises Bafaloukos as Vannon leaves.
Once Vannon is gone, Jaksor turns back to the room. "Prob'ly gonna need t' find a carpenter myself," he mutters, hunkering down to slide his paw under a fallen beam and slowly shift it off of the shelf it toppled. It's difficult with one paw, as the hook mostly just supports things, but he doesn't ask for help either, and after a few tense moments the rafter is removed. "Still got a bit left from th' town hall job," he notes. "Should be able t' pay first, sell later."
Bafaloukos has proven himself to be awful at construction, a la the jailhouse incident at their former camp, so he makes no comment on the topic. Instead, the fox lets Jaksor mull over the problem of carpentry, while pretending not to notice as the polecat fumbles with the heavy beam. An ear flattens in surprise when their pack leader conquers the beam. Best not forget that hook, old fox. Sinking to a crouch, Bafaloukos starts to idly sort through the nearest pile; some things are relegated to a trash mound, and those of value are placed in another. Now and then, he stops to give a particular treasure a close eye. At present, a ring. Pinching the band between his thumb and index finger, Bafaloukos squints. "Good call," he says, as he dons the ring in a seamless gesture. The hand is then held out for his boss' inspection. "See? Gold."
It seems that someone has finally decided to wake up today. Coaxoch, after slinking around to a few places, has finally recognized some of the voices in the antique store and decided to investigate. As he enters, he yawns (why does his breath always smell like meat?) and it's clear that the lazy thing has been napping and sunning himself for the better part of the day. At the very least the rest seems to have done his wound some good. The bandages around his side hide it, but the cut he'd gotten is healing nicely into a stitched-up scar. Coaxoch steps aside nonchalantly as the beam falls to the floor, and he simply stares at the work being done until someone notices him.
"Nice," Jaksor replies, without ever once glancing up to see if the ring in question is actually nice. He's far too busy with the shelf, which is lying facedown. The bronze hook skitters across the stone of the floor as he gets a grip on it, heaving upwards to turn the construct on its side, revealing the contents beneath. From this position the hob notices Coaxoch, looking much better than he has recently. "Eat someone t'day?" A perfectly normal greeting.
Something acrid invades the musty air of the shop. It could be leftover lunch, or it could just be the unavoidably distinct stench of being a lizard: sun-baked scales, death, all of it so discomfiting and alien. By the time Bafaloukos looks up, Jaksor has already hailed their strange crony. "Coax," he chimes, rising to his feet while simultaneously rubbing dusty hands on his trousers. "Ye' like antiques? We just became th' unlikely proprietors of this lovely operation." Arms extend with pride, and the fox twirls full circle, a babe in toyland.
"No," Coaxoch replies to Jaksor. "Eating rationsss." He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a strange-looking strip of meat, something that's definitely not woodpidgeon. He holds it out to Jaksor. "Jaksssor want?" His head flicks towards Bafaloukos as the fox asks him a question, and for the first time Coaxoch takes a really good look around exactly what he's in. It's dilapidated, full of things that smell like the sea, and rotting wood. "...No. Coaxoch no like antiquesss if ssstore isss antique."
It's not the first time Coaxoch has offered Jaksor a nice chunk of what(who)ever it is that he eats, and as is now customary, the polecat politely refuses with a brisk shake of his head. Bafaloukos' dance raises an eyebrow, but the todd is always a bit... off. "We c'n sell on credit." It's totally out of the blue, but there it is, and once it's out, he feels compelled to elaborate. "You sells 'em on stuff they ain't able t' buy righ' out," pointing at Baf, "an' we go after 'em f'r more if they don't pay fast enough."
Bafaloukos trots to where the polecat has moved the cabinet. He grabs the dusty chunk of furniture and, with a grunt, he rights it. Then the fox shoves the thing against the likeliest wall. Next, off comes his tunic. Too old to maintain its shape and caked with filth, it's well suited to use as a rag. The group will need to purchase new clothes if they're to be taken serious, anyhow. With the tunic-rag, Bafaloukos makes a smooth swish over each shelf, refreshing them for use. As Jaksor details their scheme, he nods, beaming. This sort of calculated villainy is right up his alley.
Well, that's something of a relief anyhow. Coaxoch was half convinced that the group was about to try and go legit like a bunch of woodlanders and try to make a living off of selling pointless things to beasts, and cutting all the excitement out of their life in the process. It's still a little too convoluted for him though. After all, what's wrong with just killing someone and taking their stuff? That's what being a bandit is all about! "Eh... Coaxoch like better then." Another shrug from the lizard, who still makes no move to actually help with straightening things up. "Fox isss ruining ssshirt." He oh-so-helpfully points out.
Jaksor was more interested at getting to the loot below the shelf than actually /using the shelf,/ but Bafaloukos' idea is a good one and he nods approvingly. He has no intention of purchasing new clothes; after all, Baf is the shopkeeper. If he wants to destroy his current wardrobe, that's his call. "We'll need t' poke around an' find out more about this protection racket 'round town," the polecat adds. "We c'n push those pushers t' th' next town an' take over ourselves."
"What's it they say about omelettes and eggs?" Bafaloukos counters on the topic of his shirt. He moves two paces back from the cabinet to survey his work, absently brushing his hair back with a hand. His rag is unceremoniously dropped to the floor when the fox heads to collect the items in his treasure pile: the marble bust of a hare, minus one ear; lumps of sea glass, polished smooth by sand and salt; a trio of forks whose tines are only *slightly* bent. "Have ye' dealt with any of the mountain hares yet?" he asks, adjusting the items on the shelf until they look just so. "They seem to pose the biggest threat around 'ere. Watched a couple young bucks rough up a weasel th' other night f'r lookin' at 'em wrong." That may be hyperbole--or an out right fabrication--but his point stands.
Coaxoch isn't sure that Baf's idea is a good one... he seems to be using his clothes for rags, and if he keeps doing that, he may end up having to greet future "customers" in the buff. Probably not a great idea. As for the loot... it's garbage. REAL garbage, and Coaxoch is glad that he's not the one who has to deal with this shop. Instead, he volunteers for what he hopes will be a more "fun" activity. "Coaxoch glad to run off pushersss. Glad to kill- er... ssscare them off." He cracks his knuckles to prove his point, long lizard fingers resting on the hilt of his weapon. "Haresss like haresss from coassst? Good fightersss, haresss from coassst."
"Bindi 'ad a run-in with 'em," Jaksor replies, face twisting a bit from the bad taste of the memory. "Tied 'im to a chair, he said." The polecat is uncertain how much Bindi did or didn't give up, despite his promises of fealty. "We'll 'ave t' keep an eye out f'r them. An' as far as th' pushers, we push till they move, or till they die. Whichever comes first."
This frilled savage may not appreciate the finest trinkets of yore, but Bafaloukos sure does. With a bit of help from his cronies, he intends to instill that respect in the denizens of Halyard. Value is relative, after all; a social construct. But, unlike roofs and jailhouses, it is a brand of architecture at which the old fox excels. "From the coast," he echoes with a grim nod. While Jaksor relays the tale of Bindi's encounter, the gray dog walks to the front window of the shop. There are boards nailed there, leftover from the hurricane. At first, he teases them with a weak punch, but the next jab is harder, and the final strike fully dislodges one of the planks. Now they can see out. He cranes his head to see above the village--beyond the village--to the looming peak down shore.
It hadn't quite clicked in Coaxoch's head that Salamandastron was the actual mountain that they were in the shadow of; he'd assumed it was just some other one, but now he rolls his eyes. "And Jaksssor thinksss that mountain haresss not jussst come and force usss out?" He's growing somewhat skeptical of a plan that relies on woodlanders not wanting to toss them out on their heads at the first opportunity, especially those hares. Hadn't they gotten a reputation for putting down uppity vermin groups in the past? Were they really THAT lazy that they wouldn't walk to a town adjacent to their mountain and start cracking heads.
"They ain't come callin' t' put a stop t' th' current racketeers," Jaksor reasons, watching Baf as he scrubs away at the shelving. "Way I see it, we run our crime organized, low key, stay off their map, they stay off ours." His eyes glance back towards the door towards the street beyond, careful not to speak /too/ loudly. "They're too busy fightin' pirates an' th' like t' worry over us."
The polecat is probably right. As Bafaloukos recollects scenes from his exploration of the blighted village, he realizes that the stories of the Long Patrol hares are just that: stories. "Aye." He walks away from the window, finding another pile to tackle. Now he chucks any unwanted debris out the open window. Refuse goes in the street, right?
The lizard shrugs, and in the end he has to admit that Jaksor's at least somewhat right about that. The hares don't seem too terribly interested in running out the other criminals... though Coaxoch isn't exactly sure that the others are really worth chasing out. He supposes that they'll just have to see how things turn out once they get going. For the time being though, he yawns and takes a seat on the closest object that can be used as a chair.
"Ideally, we take out th' boss an' take control of th' gang." It's the most logical and potentially lucrative option. Jaksor leans over now to help toss things that can be picked up with one paw through the window. "Once we get some money... get some more on our side... even them hares might 'ave a hard time gettin' us out."
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