Missed Chance
Notch, the heir-apparent, makes his first appearance.
Punch, Saxifrage, Notch
Location: Fortress Forgotten: Outer Gate
Evening finds Punch returning to the gates of the fortress, his slow, even steps carrying him smoothly forward, his head inclined to meditation. The torches on the outer wall catch in his pale fur so that he almost seems iridescent against the falling gloom.
Quiet words lilt from two figures, just barely visible by torchlight. The taller of the pair is a rat, a gatekeeper from by the looks of his uniform, but his conversation partner is decidedly no castle grunt. Even with her cloak drawn, the moneyed cadence of Saxifrage's voice is unmistakable.
"Evening Punchy, ya ain't have anything for me by chance?" Notch is cleaning his teeth with a tooth pick, and tosses it as he grins at the other rat.
Surprise is evident in the white rat's manner, if not his visage. His head jerks up, and his paws, linked together out of habit behind his back, come unclasped as if to fend off an attack. "M-master Notch," he says in his high voice, taut with alarm. "I-I," he eases himself into a bow. "W-were you expecting something?"
Saxifrage maintains her taught smile and polite little nods for the guard, but her attention is drawn away from their conversation by the arrival of the other pair. Her distraction manifests as a short glance, but she is quick to turn back to the guard. "Oh, a gull? My word. What a shame--that poor young soul."
"Hmph, ain't got no gifts eh? Typical, " The young rat shrugs, and turns to eye Saxifrage, "Don't'cha worry about it Punchy."
Punch bows again, tentatively. "Er, just so, M-master Notch." He follows the young heir's gaze. "Y-you've met Saxifrage, have you, Master N-notch?" His jaw clenches in self-flagellation. This damnable stutter.
Saxifrage's prying eyes catch a glint of torchlight, just as they connect with Notch's gaze. She quickly looks away. "Good evening, sirs." The polecat turns to face them, and offers a brief curtsey.
"Ya bloody fool, of course I ain't. Nice to meet'cha missy, I'm sure I'd remembered if we met, " Notch strolls about looking somewhat bored, "So this ya girly friend eh Punchy? Or ya just making sure she gets the grand tour or what not, " he shrugs, "Speak quickly!" Notch grins, reveling in being a perfect little brat.
The older, and considerably wiser, rat clenches his jaw, wrenching it into a smile. "No, Master Notch," Punch says stiffly, his eyes busily seeking shelter as far from Sax's as geography permits. "Th-th-this is the f-first I've s-seen her today." A tip of his head and a look at the polecat's feet: "Good evening."
Saxifrage visibly balks at the suggestion; a spontaneous flicker of emotion, uncharacteristic of the jill. She lets Punch put the matter to rest, however, as she smooths an undetectable wrinkle in her gown. "Yes. A fine evening it is. Quite an unexpected pleasure running into you.. two." Another cautious glance seeks Notch.
Notch laughs at the apparent discomfort of the two, grinning, "Aye, not a bad one at that eh? Ya wouldn't happen to have seen my father today would ya ol' Punchy-poo?" Notch gives a little smile and wave at Saxy, "Ya could do better anyway! Ol' stuttering fool!"
Punch's mouth, always inept, fumbles longer than usual for words. "N-no, sir," he manages at last, amid a spray of spittle that is directed mercifully earthward. "I-I only s-saw Oilrag." His lips assay several times to proceed, but his voice is obstinate. The advisor at last gives up on further explanation, dipping into a sycophantic bow.
A resentful pang taps at Saxifrage's sternum, precipitated by the stuttering fool remark. She parts her lips to speak, but swallows the impending verbal bile with ladylike precision. Instead, her mouth comes together in a tight smile, and her olive eyes slip to Punch, intense, as if to subliminally transmit words unto him. He could put them to better use than she, if given the chance.
Notch gives a yawn, stifling it and burping suddenly, "Pardon, well if ya see him let me know. I's got some entertainment to get to, so I'll leave ya and the lady to it, " He shrugs, turning a back and padding off to who knows what terrible entertainment.
Punch watches the young royal's figure go trotting down the boardwalk. An armed figure shadows him at a distance. "He's got a b-bodyguard," the rat mumbles, faintly amused at the idea. He looks at Saxifrage and opens his mouth partway. He sighs and shrugs, giving a deflated smile.
"Probably wise," the jill says, observing the departure of the young heir until he, and his guard, are out of long sight; she lingers on the point at which they vanish. "Such a charming lad could find bad favor with some of the more lowlife townsfolk." Saxifrage finally turns to face Punch. "Perhaps I should have asked if it would please him to escort me home." A wry smile cracks her features.
"P-perhaps." Punch watches the sky, then the guard dozing off by the gate.
The smile plummets from jill's face. "Well, perhaps you should remind me next time."
Punch nods hurriedly. "Well," he says in a voice frosty from self-defense. "G-good night, then." He hangs there awkwardly.
Saxifrage balls her fists at her sides. In their frustration, they find the fabric of her gown, and lift it just enough to ease her stormy exit. "Good night, ..Punch." She pivots, lifts her chin to give him a final glare, and departs.
Saxifrage leaves Punch's group and wanders off on her own.
