Dames
Continued from “Marshank“
"Ever jest wanna leave tha lot of 'em behoind, 'gus?" Stubb says as the dragon clambers up behind him. The weasel folds his arms across the top of the parapet and gazes out across the landscape. "Can' even remember whoi oi rounded 'em all up in tha first place. Protection? Bes' ta travel in numbers, an' Toads know oi'd 've doied sev'ral toimes over if oi 'adn' brough' you along."
"Still..."
Angus huffs a bit, winded by the climb, but is soon comforted by the relative stability of the rampart. He slouches beside Stubb, his backside against the mossy crenelations. "Since day one, mate," the scoffs through a loose grin. "Ye' were gettin' paid t' round 'em up for ol' Hack, right? Or somethin'. Toads know." He folds his palms around the edge of the stone. "S' bloody pandemonium at this point, though. Those dames is gonna get us killed."
Angus cringes at the clamor of the brawl ensuing below. "Not t' mention that," he grunts, languidly gesturing, as barks and squeaks resonate throughout the fort.
"Ay, an oi'm startin ta fink all dames is loike that." His eyes fall. "Eivah crazy or out ta get you." He bites his lip and turns away from the sweeping panorama splayed out below them, toward the bustle in the courtyard. "Heh. That's 'Actor. Still got a foight in 'im. Good ta know. Startin' ta fink 'e'd gone soft." He pauses, seeming to watch the fight between the squirrel and fox. "Oi dunno. Long as dey don' do me no 'arm, no point in leavin' em. Come ta loike some of 'em, an'. An' oi don' know where else oi'd go."
"Ain't nothin' t' mull over, mate. S' a cold honest fact. Bringers of heartache an' misery, th' lot of 'em." Angus is similarly rapt by the boxing brutes below; he winces now and again, in concert with particularly catastrophic blows. "Heh. After a few more o' those punches, he'll be soft fer sure. Nigh mush, I suspect." Heaving a defeated breath, the lizard reverses, turning from the droll skirmish to, at last, inspect the view. "Mmf. Some of 'em. But certainly not all, mate. I took a shine t' Amy and Dang ages ago, can't so much find an angle t' latch on t' th' others. Th' dog price is all right, I 'spose."
Stubb nods. "Maybe i's a moot point. Dere's room enough for all of here, for tha toime bein'. An' i' seems easy enough to defend, in case anuvver army comes lookin' for trouble." He breaks his eyes away from the battle. "Noice view, too. Remoinds me a Halyard. Shame the cold wevva's comin' on." He begins to move along the wall. With each step, he extends a tentative foot forward before shifting his weight onto it, careful not to disrupt anything of structure importance.
Angus lags for a minute, glued to the horizon--the shimmering waltz of the Eastern Sea. Freed from the trance by a short shake of his head, the dragon slinks after his weasel chum. "Aye. S'long as it ain't got too many current tenants." A cagey look rolls to the longhouse, from which the strange cat fellow sprang, but his eyes promptly return to the unscrupulous stones beneath his feet. "If we kin stick out the snows here, though, versus exposed inna' forest, it'll be worlds better than th' last. Dopey dames or no."
Stubb forces an unvoiced chuckle through his skinny chest, a show of good will. "Ay. Shou'dn' snow much 'ere, neivah, so near tha sea. Least, i' never did where oi'm from." He continues to pursue his precarious course along the walltop. He shifts his weight forward onto a stone, and it gives way beneath him. He's thrown off balance, tumbling in the direction of the sinking paw. Inertia saves him: it carries his upper body onto the more stable stone on the far side of the newly-formed gap, and, scrambling, he manages to keep himself from tumbling into the courtyard along with the dislodged stone.
Angus almost bites through his tongue when the stone dislodges and Stubb sinks. He extends an impotent hand, as if his hope is to tether the plummeting weasel in some supernatural lariat, and drag him to safety. Luckily, physics wins over witchcraft in this round; the dragon can breath again, and uses the futile hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow. "Watchit, mate," he pipes, affecting composure. With a hop, the lizard joins Stubb on the other side of the gap, but not without a shaken glance below.
Deathwatch eases himself onto the walltops, glancing over to the lizard and the weasel. The wildcat calmly strides over to them, "I had to break zhe fight your comrade vas having vith zhe skvurrel. Zhe skvurrel is currently being restrained."
Stubb pulls himself back onto the walltop. He grimaces. "Eh?" The strange wildcat has appeared by his side. "Good, good," he says. He disguises his panting with a show of bluster. "Best we teach 'im 'is place early. Sooner 'e learns that, tha better off 'e'll be." The weasel peers slyly at Deathwatch. "An' you. Who are you, an whoi are you helpin us?"
Deathwatch glances at the weasel with his yellow eyes, "Indeed. I had to use my scourge." He taps the coiled scourge at his hip, "Been a long time since I've gotten to use it." He then answers the weasel's questions, "I am Deathvatch, the Cat of Ten Tails. Und I'm helping you simply because zhis is my home. Not to mention, I vould hope zhat zhe valls be filled once again, und become a force to be reckoned once more."
Angus pivots to appraise the wildcat, clenching the a nearby protrusion of stone for solidarity. "Ten tails?" the lizard inquires, and cranes, a bit rudely, to scrutinize the claim. "Eh, well. Nice pad, either way, mate. My pally and I," he stops to rap a bit of dust from Stubb's vest, then continues, "Were hopin' ye'd be keen t' let us linger, if only t' catch our breaths."
"We've got quoite a few tales av our own, ma'e," Stubb says exasperatedly. "Can' say oi'm impressed boi anuvver ten or twen'y." He taps the wall. "You fink our sorry lot is a force ta be reckoned wif? Wish oi fel' tha same way."
Deathwatch tilts his head a bit before lightly tapping his scourge, a "cat-o-nine-tails", in response to the lizard's inquistive appearance towards Deathwatch's nickname. The wildcat looks between the weasel and the lizard before replying, "I offered vhen you all vere on zhe beach. I am not a beast to reject an offer I myself have given." He turns to Stubb, "Maybe you're not a force to be reckoned with yet. In time, vith more beasts and experience under zhe belt, zhen it'll be in no time zhat beasts vill tremble at zhe name of Marshank again."
Angus's tongue flits, his brow ridge lifts a notch; he nods slowly, in subtle respect for the scourge. "Ahem. Tails, indeed," he grunts, and sinks against the stone. "Yer hospitality is much appreciated, sir," the lizard confides. "But, aye. Can't promise ye' we'll constitute much of a defense. We're rather good at runnin', though." He smiles.
"Runnin', lootin'. Ge'tin' ourse'ves into trouble," the weasel eagerly verifies. "An usually gettin' ourse'ves back out of it again, long enough ta get a drink and a nap in, anyway." He shrugs. "Guess oi'm good enough wif a knoife, if i' comes ta tha', but oi troi not ta let it." He flashes his sharp yellowy-whites.
Stubb gestures to his skinny frame. "Don' many beasts do much tremblin' at tha soight a me, neivah. Maybe at 'gus."
Deathwatch hmms, listening to the testimonies of the two beasts before him before replying, "Und you've recieved zhe attention of, apparently, a hostile lot of voodlanders. Not bad for a group dedicating zhemselves to running avay and looting vears." He leans against the haft of his enormous hammer, "With training, anyzhing is possible. Even for your scrawny frame."
Montage of Stubb doing reps with the war hammer and grunting loudly.
Angus shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, remaining slumped, and his head droops. "I got nothin', I won't lie. Except fer--" Stubb beats him to the gigantic bit. "Aye, that," he sheepishly concurs. His dark eyes dart from Deathwatch to the weasel, clearly wary of wildcat's proposal; unfortunately, the disheveled has no real choice, at this point. "If ye' say so, mate."
Stubb gulps at the sight of the hammer. "Ay," he echoes. "If you say so."
Deathwatch nods a little, glancing between the two creatures, "Just somezhing to consider, yah? Do know zhis: even if you leave, my proposal still stands." He hefts his hammer up to his broad shoulder, "Guten nacht. Good night."
Angus salutes the exiting wildcat. "Evenin', sir." He plucks at his collar, murmuring to Stubb, "Er. Odd.. fellow."
