Rocky Retreat
Oilrag, Punch, Viddick, Cirith, Notch
Location: Rocky Island, near the Isle of the Unforgiven
In the rush made by the slaves to reach the Kestrel, Oilrag laid low, waiting...After they departed, he quietly raised the sail of his blockade runner, /Pragmatic Polecat/, and the small, agile ship, with the Advisor and Builder on board, drifted along the southern coast to a small rocky isle...A short time later, Oilrag clambers out of the boat onto the shore, gesturing for Punch to join him. "Come, we must hurry."
The little skiff bucks beneath Punch's paws and tugs at its rope mooring as the rat makes calculations for his escape to dry land--if the slippery volcanic rock of the little island can be so labeled. During a lull in the breaking waves, he leaps ably from the boat and, clutching a paw to his injured head, follows behind the polecat.
"Come on, help me get this thing under cover," Oilrag mutters to Punch as he seizes a bow rope. Giving several fruitless tugs on the rope, he determines that, however small and nimble the ship may be, getting it ashore is really no job for two beasts, one of whom was more of an acrobat than a heavy-lifter, and the other having spent his entire existence standing statue-like in throne rooms until several days ago. He decides to at least conceal it somewhat, searching the area for brush and debris to cover the vessel, another attempt which mostly proves useless.
Punch is still wobbly on his feet, and his quiet compliance reflects that something is amiss with him. But his body, as ever, remembers its dexterity, despite the clouding influence of a battered head. He slips easily to the side of the boat, one paw planted on a slope, the other in the shallows, and assists Oilrag in at least getting the beak of the tiny craft onto land. But the main form of vegetation on the unwelcoming island is a coarse green-gray grass that clings like a pelt to its hillocks. "T-taking down the sail might h-help," the rat offers woozily.
"What difference will that make, you idiot?" Oilrag snaps, then a moment later sees the logic of this. Without acknowleding the rat's verbal victory, he wordlessly clambers onto the deck and furls the sail, stowing it in a small hollow beneath one of the deck planks.
Punch nods blankly. Whatever ego he had has abandoned him for now, and he takes the epithet unflinchingly--a subordinate attitude, born, perhaps, of an earlier stage of his life. Whenever he looks around, whenever he takes in his surroundings, his manner is that of waking from a deep dream, again and again with each new action. "What n-now?" he says quietly, unhurried and bordering on indifferent.
As he replaces the deck plank, Oilrag considers this. This situation really didn't go along with his long-standing escape plan, but what choice does he have? He decides to just wing it. "We make some semblance of a temporary camp here. We're falling back to re-assess," he says smoothly, in the deferential, yet commanding voice that wheedled Darkfur into doing the polecat's bidding for so many seasons. "Whatever we do, we must rest and grow strong first. And fix that up," he adds, eyeing the rat's head wound.
Viddick, meanwhile, is disembarked with Cirith and the others, and he leans over to her, "You know, I had a good talk with the queen over there... she didn't really know we were comin' here, but I bet I can get her to ask for us where they're planning on goin'. You know?" He looks over at her, hidden from Punch and Oilrag behind several of the other slaves onlooking the operation to beach the ship and cover it.
Cirith nods, but does not say anything.
Punch's paw rises again to the site of Toggs' earlier attack. The wound has ceased to bleed, but it has grown uglier with age, for all his attempts to rinse it. "We could use the s-s-sail as a tent."
"What...was that?" Oilrag asks, a bit distantly, hearing the voices from the other side of the island. His slimy-looking black robe flutters in the salty night air as he shrugs. "Must've been the wind." He wanders off and sets about rigging a shelter out of the sail after he retrieves it from its storage spot.
Some time later…
"I'm hungry, " Notch says again, not that he hasn't made this point rather clear to all who are in hearing distance. His belly rumbles and he glares at nobody in particular. At least he's a bit less loud about it now, weakening due to exhaustion and a lack of nutrition. He sits by the fire, staring in it blankly as his head sags. He tries not to think of the bountiful feasts he was having not very long ago, his belly rumbling louder.
Another rat sits not so far away on a rock; he leans his weight against a wooden stick, a roasting spit from the galley of their ship. Shooting a contemptuous glare in the direction of the snotty prince, Viddick eyes his accomplice for a moment, noting that she still hasn't done very much since disembarking, keeping to herself for the most part. He gets up and walks over to one of the slaves, whispering something.
Despite the relative smallness of the island, Punch and Oilrag have managed to spend the better part of an hour without encountering the others. It was time well spent, though: Punch has, in the mean time, taken in some fluids and generally recovered a bit from his earlier battle with Toggs. The rat now crests the hill, fur still matted and bloody against his head but catchlights restored to their former sharpness. His pace slackens when he spots the grousing prince.
The prince forgets his hunger for a moment as he spots Punch, a familiar face is enough to have him off his rear and moving to greet the other rat excitedly, "You're alive, ol' dad hasn't chopped ya head off yet eh?" Notch grins and moves to embrace Punch.
The slave and Viddick can be heard chuckling, but not in a way that would arouse suspicion. The rat captain claps him on the back, showing off the stick and the incredible sharpness of the one end, the balance of it, and holding it up roughly at the height it might be if mounted right there at the beach. He whispers again, and smiles. The slave heads off, stopping to talk to a few others on his way, pointing back to the spit. They then go off toward the center of the island.
Punch freezes when Notch approaches and accepts the uncharacteristic show of affection with a stony face. He glances at the passing slaves, his expression barely thawing, then down at the top of the juvenile rat's head. "We m-managed to escape, Oilrag and I," he says flatly, "Your highn-ness." It's a few moments more before his gaze lights on--no, it can't be. He squints at the distant captain, with ice creeping through his veins.
"I'm glad you aren't dead, " Notch mutters lowly, pulling away from Punch and looking ab it sheepish, "Ya old fool, can't have ya losing your neck and excellent work escaping! Now you can help us." Notch seems oblivious to whatever concerns there might be with Viddick, still just happy to see a familiar face other than the unreliable hare queen.
Punch's attention is jerked back to the kid. He even manages a cockeyed smile. "How did the heir apparent find h-himself among s-sl-slaves?"
Viddick sits idly down on the rock again, twirling the spit idly in his paws, eyeing the conversation going on between Punch and Notch. He sees Punch looking past at him, but the distance is too far to make out any sign of recognition there might be. Surely Notch wouldn't have recognized him; the brat barely paid any attention to the guard as a spoiled child...
The prince fills Punch in on the details of what transpired after Punch and the others were captured, "Then ya showed up, late, " Notch mutters, and his belly groans, "Am hungry, ya got any food?" Notch has other concerns and Viddick certainly isn't familiar, to him the other rat is just another worthless slave.
"We l-left in a hurry," Punch says uncertainly, as if explaining things to himself as much as to Notch. "I... I couldn't s-say what Oilrag packed. But I have n-no food on me, Master Notch." He rubs his head and breathes sharply. His antsy manner betrays a deeper unease. They are still well within sight of the main island, and even the furthest, gull-encrusted end of this bloody rock leaves them exposed. "Who's leading you?" The builder asks suddenly.
The guard captain continues to watch them, taking note of a general unease in the body language of the builder. He keeps twirling the spit, wondering what could be happening back at the fortress, if the emperor is still in a state to be able to keep his power, if it may just be worth it to find out this information for himself and leverage it for greater status and wealth...
"Well you'll just have to get something somewhere wont you, " Referring to the food sitution, noticably treating the builder much kinder than the past as Notch sighs and looks around their surroundings, "I don't know, that captain feller and some slave who's name I forget were in the lead but not sure where they've got to. Guess nobody at the moment, just sort of hudling together with the other slaves and all of us trying to save our necks." Notch rubs his head tiredly.
The older rat unleashes a mirthless laugh. "And you c-came /here/ to do that? Look around you, k-kiddo," Punch briefly forgets his station. "You lot didn't make it f-far, did you? And h-half of those gulls, like as n-n-not, are in your father's pay!" He sighs. "M-maybe we could manage a beast or two without getting noticed. As it happens, I d-doubt we have long before we're r-rounded up again." A flicker of the eyes toward Viddick.
Giving the spit one final, impatient swipe, the rat shoves it into the sand and makes for the ship again.
Notch clinches his fist as Punch laughs at him, "Well I don't know any better do I? I know ya think am just a spoiled prince, aye not even that anymore but I don't remember ya doing much better!" He snarls, "Ya back here too, either way we best make the best of things and try our luck, " He turns to look at Viddick, only now a glimmer filling his mind that something isn't quite right.
Punch nods, again with that faraway look, then starts for the rock. "Well, best we d-discover who's in charge here. You said Captain G-gage is about?"
Notch shakes his head up and down tiredly, plopping down on the ground and waving a paw around, "Aye, somewhere around here, " He mutters, shrugging, "He don't like me, nor that other feller... Though I did sort of do things to him when he was ma fathers slave."
Punch snorts. "Perhaps there's a l-lesson there," he says rather quietly. "What do you think, M-master Notch?"
"I think I'm tired and hungry, " The rat prince closes his eyes and thinks of a nice yummy meal.
