The Purple Rose
Location: The Lucky Clover Tavern
Participants: Inigo, Snavitch, Wallace, Rusila
Inigo's ears adjust to the noise as he enters the tavern, which is already somewhat packed for the evening. Various beasts, from stoats, ferrets, squirrels and mice are gathered in the tavern. Though Inigo seems to be the only cat so far this evening, but rather than approach the bar or one of the many bar wenches he scans the room for various faces.
Snavitch is slouched at the far end of the bar, his arms sheltering a beer long gone stale. He is dressed like an aristocrat fallen on hard times. His waistcoat hangs in tatters at his sides, too large by a size. Or else he is too small by a size. His slacks are broad-waled corduroy, worn thin at the knees. The stoats big toenail toys at the front of the bar, the scratch scratch keeping tempo with his thoughts. He is withdrawn, to the point that he is almost indistinguishable from the furniture. He eyes the swelling crowd sullenly.
Wallace sits at the corner of the bar in a similar situation - it's hard to tell whether he's had too much, or hasn't had enough. The old shrew doesn't pay much attention to the crowd, nor has he for the past twenty minutes.
The cat sets down on a stool next to Snavitch, pulling out some coin he orders and ale. He looks over his shoulder at the crowd, seemingly scanning it as if to see a familar face, or maybe he's just beast watching. Hard to tell. Either way he turns to look at the stoat more closely. Somehow this stoat seems familar, but for the life of him he can't seem to recall where he would of met him. He can't say he knew many stoats. He shrugged and focused his eyes on his drink as it was placed in front of him, grabbing the mug and sipping it down.
The bartender snaps up the coin from Inigo and deposits a foam-capped ale in front of the cat, nodding. He pivots to face Snavitch. "You gonna order or what?" he growls, planting his bulky arms on the countertop and leaning in close. "Can't just bloody sit here all night." The stoat takes a moment to notice, despite the heat of the big barkeep's breath. When he does, his thin, pallid face curdles into a sneer. "An' drink more a dis filf you cawl ale?" he says, rising. "You can keep yore change." He turns the remainder of his drink out onto the bar and turns to go.
The verbal exchange prompts the shrew down the bar to lift his head, blinking, and focus on Snavitch with a vague, unmeasureable amount of interest. His paw, meanwhile, remembers the tankard in front of him and pulls it closer.
Putting down his mug, the cat turns to look at the stoat once more as he watches the exchange between him and the bartender. He's struck again how familar the stoat is, but still can't find in his mind why this should be so. He hesitates for a moment, but ahems, "Pardon, ya kind of familar. Surely we haven't met before eh mate?"
The door to the tavern creaks to admit a somewhat wild looking creature. Indeed Rusila looks tribal compared to some. She carries herself with a confidence ignorant to any comments her appearance might have drawn, heading for the bar as any beast might. The barkeep seems to hassling a stoat, so she waits her turn, ordering the common, cheapest, ale; perhaps telling of a lack of funds on her part. She casts her eyes over the other patrons with lazy interest.
Inigo's question stops Snavitch for just a moment. He opens his mouth to make a retort (not a nice one, judging by his expression), but the delay leaves the bartender, Radge, just enough time to lunge a paw across the bar and grab the stoat by his collar. "I oughta do your mother a favor and snap your neck." Snavitch wrinkles his nose and hisses, evidently not intimidated by his much larger rival. "I' 'd be yore funeral. Oi'm still 'er favorite, tha daft ol' bat."
After a moment, Radge, defeated, apparently, by the truth of the stoat's words, throws Snavitch to the floor. He tosses a rag onto the bar to clean up the spill and lopes over to serve Rusila.
Somewhat taken aback by the scene, and Snavitch's expression the cat stares after the stoat and laughs at him as he's defeated by the bartender. Many of the other patrons of the bar also laugh and Inigo turns his attention to Rusila.
Rusila sips at her drink once she has it. She catches the cat looking, gives a nod, and a questioning rise of her eyebrows, before settling down on a stool. Her ears keep tabs on the rest of the bar, the rat having decided there's not so much to watch.
Wallace drains the last of... whatever it is in front of him and signals for another. The brief skirmish seems to have drawn him out of his torpor, and he finds himself reluctantly paying more attention to the noise of the bar.
Once the laughing dies down, everyone goes back to drinking and chattering among themselves. Inigo watches Rusila intently, looking her over before he moves himself and his drink closer to where she is sitting, "You wouldn't happen to be the rat I'm looking for eh? Or did you bother by here for just a drink, either way ya wouldn't mind the company eh?"
Snavitch peels himself off the floor, throwing a dark look at Radge's retreating back. The blow apparently knocked the talk out of him, because although he seems to be grasping for an insult, he says nothing. After a moment, seeing that the bartender has gone back to work, the stoat fixes his eyes at Inigo. He approaches the cat and his newfound companion but hangs back at a short distance, observing. His dark eyes flicker.
Rusila casts a wary eye over the cat. "Tha' depends upon tha' rat ye be lookin' fah... Eitha way, A'm not ganna move ye 'long; 's not mah bar." She looks past the cat to fix the stoat with a stare. "Ye friend be joinin' us?"
Inigo turns to look at the stoat at the mention of his "friend", "Well, that depends. What'cha want stoat? Ya already made it clear ya didn't want to talk to me didn't'cha?" Inigo shrugs, and turns back to Rusila, "Well, let me put it this way miss. Did'cha perhaps come to this bar in seek of something, or someone?" He hints more strongly.
Snavitch catches the rat's eyes and quickly turns away to duck behind a group of vermin clustered around a table. He seems not to hear Inigo call to him but circles back around to watch the curious pair. And to listen.
Rusila watches the stoat vanish, apparently ignoring the cat's call and shrugs, then considers that cat's question. "Ah cannae deny ah'm outta mah more usual haunts. A beast'd 'ave a reason f'r such an event..."
Inigo doesn't seem to notice that Snavitch has left, focused on the rat he digs into a pocket and pulls out a wooden chip with a purple rose in the middle, "Ya ever seen this?" He puts it on the bar between them.
"Aye. Tha's tha sign o' Cap'n Splitpaw. Reck'n' yeh are who 'm 'ere fah." The ratmaid replies, casually, though her eyes take a more interested light, as she raises her drink to her lips again.
For a moment there, Inigo wasn't sure if this ratmaid was the beast he was looking for, he had worried slightly when he walked in if he was late or if she'd come at all but here she was. He smiled, and retrieved the chip. Pulling it off the bar, and pocketing it, "Aye, I reckon you are." As if he's suddenly parched, he reaches for his drink and takes a long gulp before pulling down his mug feeling much better. He turns to look around the tavern, making sure there is nobody taking too much interest in the two of them, "So how did'cha want to do this, I wasn't told much about you. Nor do I know exactly what this meeting is about, but I was told you'd fill me in on the particulars."
"Ah was sent tah yeh on b'half o' m'employah. Yeh're rep' struck a chord wid 'im." Rusila drums her fingers on the bar. "Yeh a sea-goin' beast, mistah..?"
Inigo asks, "Aye, somethin' like dat, " The cat flashes Rusila a toothy grin, raising an eyebrowl, "Oh? Ya heard good things right?" "
"Tha's nae an answer tah inspire mah confidence... Aye. Well. Nae tah bad, 't least..." The rat twitches her tail with a little annoyance, then continues with a low voice. "Fine. 'Nuff beat'n' round yon bushes. Yeh can get a ship an' a crew? D'screet, shortly, cheap? Aye or nae, mistah."
"Aye, you'll get your ship and a crew. Ain't no worries luv, " The cat finishes off his mug of ale, and orders another. Pulling another few coins out and depositing them on the bar, "You'll have to tell me more about where we'd be going eh? Though, I guess we can work all that out over the next couple days perhaps."
Rusila gives a nod. "Ah just need teh know ye can. E'en sa far inland 's we are. Ah'll be 'eading fa tha coast soon. Meet here 'gin on tha morrow, same time an' we can hash yeh finer points." She gets up, having drained her own drink, to leave.
Inigo gives a nod, and watches the rat leave before he turns back to focus on his drink once more.
