Requiem for a Rumpus
✧ ✧ Reavers ✧ ✧
- Vannon, Bafaloukos, Rioko
- Halyard Fishery
The fishery is the last place a beast would have expected a surgeon to reside.
But it was the place to go when a beast needed help and didn't want to answer a lot of questions. Stepping out of a small unassuming hut a grey fox takes to the street, pausing outside the door to stand and take in the air, wavering on his feet Vannon looks very forelorn and lost. His eyes are hollow and he wavers back and forth. The fox steps forward with a limp, cringing each and every time his right foot touches ground. The smell of fish easily drowns out the smell of his own blood. The market is crowded today with customers haggling with merchants. There is also the occasional sea faring beast wondering through the market either looking for a tavern to blow off some steam or stumbling out of one. The majority of the crowd are honest halyard citezens, for as much as that counts, and very part for Vannon as he tries to keep from being ran over in the crowded fish market.
As the fox exits the hut in a postoperative daze, Bafaloukos stands to meet him. The older tod has been loitering out front on a fish crate, idly pulling at the mouth of a flask, while his chum underwent the procedure. Steadying Vannon with a hand, he asks, "Y' all right, champ?" He gives the other a once over, then throws a look behind them to the ominous little shack. "Didn't take any extra parts out, did 'e?" An apprehensive grin plays Bafaloukos' lips, but it soon vanishes. Maybe this is not the best time for jokes. Instead, he snaps his fingers in front of Vannon's nose. "Oi! Van. You in there?"
The fox seems to stop in the middle of traffic, glancing about both directions before turning around and nearly falling flat on his face in the process. "Fish." The fox whines softly, "I want fish. And beer. Enough beer to turn a hare on his head." The fox leans against the nearest stall, giving Bafal a wide eyed, pathetic look, "Why do bad things happen to me?" Tears are welling up at his eyes, "Do you think...maybe...maybe I'm being punished? I mean, this is the second time I got shot, ya know? And it hurts, and ...and...now I used up all my monies to patch myself up using a quack of a doctor and...and...and now I'm worried he patched the wrong hole because he really is a quack who moonlights doctorin in the night and works as a fish butcher in the day an...an..." The fox let's out a loud wail, casting his head backward as he does, "Bafaloukus, why do bad things keep happenin to me?" He cries.
That is a lot of blunt honesty for so early in the day. Pondering his lament for several sluggish beats, Bafaloukos responds first by removing his hand from the sad sack's slumped shoulder. It dips into an inside pocket of his vest, then reappears with a flask, which he offers to Vannon. "Well," the fox starts, bringing a free palm to rub at the back of his own neck, clearly awkward. "Th' shop'll be able t' compensate ye' for the surgeon. Coins are no longer our chiefest worry." Then he cocks his head to suggest they walk. In light of recent events, dawdling in one spot seems like an invitation to trouble.
As summer moves into autumn, the port has become distinctly less balmy, but fog continues to afflict the docks; especially on an overcast afternoon like this. Bafaloukos throws the hood of a wool cloak over his head, and gestures for Vannon to do the same. "An' proper leathers and mail may 'elp some o' y'r woes." Pragmatism aside, he continues: "Beyond tha', mate... eh. Fate ain't kind, but who are we t' question its whims?"
"Fate, bah!" Vannon scowls as he takes the offered drink, taking a long swig and shivers. "Blazes Baf, what did you fill this with? Moon shine?" The fox, not having a cloak wraps himself tightly in angery, frustration and pain to keep himself warm. "You know, sometimes it feels like I am in a story, like a book ya know? Or one of those old tales people re-tell in taverns, right? But not as the hero, I...I feel like the plucky comic relief doom to dance about like a puppet, fufilling the sick and twisted humor of some unseen cosmic force."
The fox takes another swig with less shivering this time. "I never was one for armor. It just invites trouble. It's like a big target painted onto yer back, telling beasts yer the biggest baddest beast around and inviting them to come take a shot at you!" Rubbing his sore behind the fox takes yet a third drink of his ale. "Then again, given recent circomstances I am starting to see that less and less as a bad idea..."
"Somethin' like that," Bafaloukos admits on the matter of moonshine. Though he slinks through the crowd with artificial nonchalance, the cloaked fox has an arsenal of wary glances for those around them. "Can't fathom 'ow proper armor'll make ye' any more of a target, Van. It don't gotta' be flashy."
Their path is abruptly obstructed by a train of rats rolling several barrels down the dock in a rhythmic thunk thump thunk. The industrious rodents appear to have zero regard for anything in their path--might makes right, after all--so Bafaloukos hops back a step to avoid being crushed. There is no obvious alternative but to wait for the cavalcade of cargo to pass. "So what'd that ol' witchdoctor do t' ye' in there?" he asks, killing time. "Let 'alf y'r blood an' replace it with truth serum? You're writin' requiems like some sappy lil' mousemaid over 'ere." A playful elbow jabs at Vannon's ribs. "Maybe ye' should invest in a lute instead of leathers, after all."
Vannon barely manages to hop out of the way of the rats. "Oi! I'm hobblin here your crazy mook!" He yells before turning back to the older fox. Trying not to look like the jab to the ribs hurt the fox offers a pained smile, "Hey, let's shoot an arrow into YOUR flank, see how much requimels you speel out of that fat head of yours." The fox takes a deep swig of the flask, looking up into it to and shaking the flask to see if anything is left before tossing it back to Bafal. "Nah, it's just, well...the last few seasons have been hard. Really hard. I've been shot...twice now. I mean I was living in the woods like a crazy person before I joined up with you lot and now, no offense, but my only friends are bandits and a canibal lizard, who is suprisingly good company considering that most of my family have been eaten by canibal lizards. I don't know, I just...just need a break! Before I break, ya know? I mean what else can life toss at me these-"
The grey fox pauses, as if struck by another arrow.
Not too far down the market another grey fox can be seen. A vixen with a straw hat, clothing herself in V shaped vest and sash that leaves much of her midriff exposed, for better or for worse...leaning much to 'worse'. The Pudgy fox uses the glave in her paw as a walking stick, pausing here and there to examine a fish for sell before moving onto the next vendor. [Rioko]
With little warning Vannon leaps and tries to hide behind the Bafal, crouching low and half whispering, half shouting, "Oh blazes! No! Not now! She can't be here! Don't let her see me!"
Bafaloukos furnishes a sage nod for his comrade, but when his chin raises and gold eyes find Vannon, all severity is lost to a lopsided grin. "Aye, well... my requiems might leak from a big 'ead, but yours appear t' come from your bottom," he taunts, indicting the area of Vannon's most recent misfortune. When the flask is unexpectedly returned to him, the old fox fumbles, almost loses it, but salvages the catch by pinning the thing to his chest. Recovering his poise, Bafaloukos disappears the flask among his clothes, and begins to warble:
"Oh, his name is Van, an' his life is rough,"
"Chief pays 'im well but it ain't enough."
"Went to th' tavern t' get 'im an ale,"
"Left th' tavern wif' an arrow in 'is tail..."
He finishes the verse with flare, arms extended and fingers visibly wiggling beneath the threadbare cuffs of his cloak. But Vannon isn't looking. "Van! Vannon. I poured m' 'eart into a song f'r ye' and you're more interested in th' swagger of some vixen," he wails, feigning abject devastation. Having only met the vixen in question once, Bafaloukos fails to recognize her among the fog and bedlam of the fish market. "What is it? Owe 'er money? Got 'er in a family way?" Instead of offering Vannon concealment, the older fox hops behind him to mimic the crouch, craning to see around his chum's shoulder. "Vannon, ye' got an ugly sister!"
The younger fox let's out a nervous yip, as he is tossed to the metephorical wolves. Or in this case Vixen's. "She ain't ugly and I don't ow her no money! She this vixen see! And she's well...she..." the fox blushes under his fur. "The point is that she can't see me like, like this! Not when I'm all shot to peices and look like I've been dragged through a fish market! Ya gotta hide me Bafal! Come on! Yer my friend! Freind Bafal! Ya gotta hide me from-"
"From what?"
Vannon stands rigid. If he doesn't turn around the vixen won't be there. If he doesn't turn around the vixen won't be there. Alas though foxy logic does not hold up against the laws of physics. Rioko stands with a basket in paw while leaning heavily onto her glave. She would be called fluffy, had she not been so obviously pear shaped.
"So asked the vixen out of curriosity...or boredom." Rioko continues to quip. "I don't suppose you lot can move aside before what ever great horror takes your friend? I kind of want to get to the fish merchant behind ya..."
"Oh!" Bafaloukos hoots, becoming cognizant of the vixen's identity. "Shush, mate... th' ladies love a fixer-upper. It chomps at their motherly wiles." By the time Rioko squarely faces the pair, he musters the reticence to play it cool--for his own sake if not that of his panicked chum. Regarding her with a pleasant smile, Bafaloukos chimes, "Miz Rioko!" He hooks a thumb at his hood, drawing it away from his face. "Fancy runnin' into ye', love. Eh... apologies f'r roughhousin' in your tavern th' other day. It was truly jus' a misunderstandin'. Ye' know as well as any of us how things go when business gets mingled with booze." His smile stays intact, but morphs from one of surprised hello to one which begs her dispensation. "We're 'appy t' cover any damages, of course..."
For a grey fox Vannon's muzzle is suddenly very, very red. Not only did Bafal NOT hide him from Rioko, he went on to tell her that Vannon and himself were the ones who started a fight in the tavern! Wait, she works in a tavern? ...and her name is Rioko? HOW DOES BAFAL ALREADY KNOW THIS? Poor Vannon is quit for a change as his mind goes barroling over a cliff.
"That was /you/?" The vixen's eyes narrow. "Oh gee, thanks a lot ya jackwagon. I was ten minutes late to my shift and BAM! The room was over turned, blood everywhere and some durn hare skeward a beast. How do you think that makes me look?" Basket still in her paw Rioko crosses her arms, "Don't give me no buisness nonsense. What in the blazes did you think you were doin? Ya could have been killed."
"Yes, yes, so sorry, won't happen again." Vannon pips up finally. "And don't pay Bafal here too much mind, he's crazy in the head. Utters pure nonsense!" THe fox tries to grasp Bafal's muzzle shut and pull him away from the vixen. "We won't take up any more of yer time. We were just /leaving/ ourselves!"
Rumors take flight in port towns like jaunty seabirds; knowing this, Bafaloukos felt it prudent to own up to his role in the skirmish. "To be fair, love, by th' time I walked into the debate, m' compatriot 'ad already been feathered. And, aye, th' meatheads from the mountain woulda' done the same t' the rest of us, if my cleverest of colleagues hadn't bartered peace with 'is knif--" The rest of his tragic tale is smothered by Vannon's palm, reduced to a guttural mewling. He allows Vannon to wrench him away from the conversation, but turns to add, "Mind your back around th' hares, Miz Rioko. They got nothin' but contempt f'r our kind; always lookin' f'r a good place t' put an arrow. Don't you forget it." With that, he whirls of his own volition and, once again concealing his face with the hood, starts to slink away.
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