The Rise of the Booze Gods
Characters:
Aden, a former circus performer
Magramba, a warrior
Setting:
A forest off the path to Marshank
Their day, dedicated to foraging, still has not reached its conclusion, and Aden has finally found the energy to make herself useful after her mild exhaustion-coma. The acrobat picks her way through the frost with a small rucksack, a scattering of winter-scrounge bouncing limply against her back. She's had some luck, but the winter is rough. Even now that it is starting to relinquish its icy hold, the landscape hasn't quite gotten that memo, yet. The squirrelmaid pauses in her search to tilt her weight, gently, back against a tree in a nice, sunny spot; closing her eyes against the welcome glare and lets the warmth blanket her face.
Here closer to the coast, the party may have hoped to be warmed by an ocean breeze, but unfortunately this far north this early in the year in this particular place, the wind is as cold as the frosty earth, chilling the air despite the beams of the sun forcing their way through to do battle. Back at camp, Magramba has grown listless, unhappy with waiting around for Aden to return, especially given their proximity to a giant horde of screaming vermin (apparently). And so the warrior has wandered off after her, tracking her path relatively easily. He watches her from a short distance away, lingering out of sight and mind for a moment, eyes studying her peaceful expression.
Wow, stalker. Aden is oblivious to him, at first, and she is only awarded a short moment of basking before an icy breeze nips at her, urging that cloak tugged tighter and spurring her back into motion. "Brr." She mumbles, cheerily, as she stamps some feeling back into her feet and casts her gaze about her, just in case she missed some store of mushrooms and nuts. She's just getting real sick of acorns. However, she was never the /most/ perceptive beast, and is oblivious to the squirrel lurking nearby - she can, however, feel that familiar twinge of discomfort associated with a feeling of being watched, and turns back to look the way she came - a paw at one of her knives. "Flick?"
"Aden?" Why not blow his cover, sure. She knows he's there. Magramba steps out from behind the tree, wandering closer. "It's Magramba. What're you doing out here? Find anything edible?" The odds of her finding something that looks edible but is actually poisonous are not tiny; winter especially can be a trying time to distinguish what's a delicious tea from what's a deadly poison.
The men just kind of pour out of the woodwork around her, don't they? "Anyone ever tell you it was rude to stare?" She teases, heading towards him. If his appearance startled her, she doesn't show it. At his inquiry, she swings the sack into one paw - an easy motion, given its lackluster weight. "Er, I think? Let's see... Some nuts, /two/ mushrooms... This green thing that may just be moss? And... Oh, that's a rock." She tosses the latter-most item into the snow.
"A rock." Okay, that makes sense. Magramba stares at the stone for a second where it lies in the earth, its gray weight punched through the crust of snow before shrugging it off. "Well, that's something, anyway. I'm not expecting as much from Flick, unfortunately." That's just the reality of traveling with a former slaver turned do-gooder dibbun-daddy with no survival skills. "And to answer your question, I've heard as much but I never believed it was true."
"Fair enough." She shrugs. "Though... I suppose it can't be helped. It was only a matter of time before you were driven mad by my sheer charm." She smirks, pulling the bag back over her shoulder. There really isn't much warning for what happens next; a small tremor, the slightest of vibrations beneath their feet - some instinct raises Aden's fur with the inkling that /something/ is amiss, but not in time to react. "Mag -!" She reaches out towards him, but, all at once, there is a deafening 'CRACK' as the ground splits underneath them. Her shout dies in her throat, her paw left grasping at thin air, as the two are suddenly swallowed by the Earth, and pitched into a dark enigma.
If he had been driven to the brink of sanity by her feminine whiles, Magramba misses his chance to say so as the earth abruptly decides to give way beneath them, unceremoniously dropping them through space and time - no just space. The squirrel lunges forward as the ground gives way, clutching for her paw, her arm, any part of her, but his footing is spirited away, and there is no purchase left for his questing feet to find. Some natural twist of instinct, coiled tight for just such occasions, saves him from landing directly on his face, managing to impact butt-first instead, perhaps the best possible situation given the circumstances. Clumps and clods of dirt, and even Aden's rock, shower down around them, the darkness strangely at odds with the bright, yawning gap above them where they fell. "Aden?" The warrior coughs and spits the debris from his mouth, blowing it from his nose. "Aden, are you alright?" He stays seated, trying to grope around in the dark for her.
Tossed among a tangle of debris, Aden coughs and slowly picks herself up. "Y-Yeah, I'm here." She presses a paw to her head as things come back into focus, lifting her gaze to the jagged line of sunlight and scenery above, but they are deep enough, and the conditions unfavorable enough, for very limited visibility. They have fallen a good distance - probably only spared severe injury by the debris they fell with, ironically. Either way, it doesn't seem that they'll be climbing out anytime soon. "Are /you/ okay?" His voice sounded muffled, and as her eyes do their best to adjust to the lack of light, she starts to make out the lumpy, jagged shapes around her - none of which are Magramba. "Keep talking, I'm going to come to you." She starts to stumble up and over the fallen chunks of Earth that separate them.
"Okay, I'll keep talking," Magramba says, talking and wiping the dirt from his face with the back of one paw. "Just keep coming, you can do it. I believe in you." Motivational trash. "There's no one I'd rather be stuck in a dark hole with no escape with. Come over here to where I am patiently waiting." The voice starts out sincere, trends cynical, and then turns sincere again. "...Are you sure you're alright? You're not bleeding, nothing's broken?"
"The truth comes out." She jokes, managing to remain light-hearted as she tumbles over the top of the barrier and tumbles down. "I think I'm bleeding, but nothing ser -" She loses her footing (which is rare for her) and finds herself pitched forward off the mound of dirt, snow, and rock. Aden lands, ungainful and sprawling, near the other squirrel. "...Serious. Ow." She scrambles upright, still following his grump before her paw closes around his arm? Leg? No, that's an arm. "Hi! How's your shoulder?" Now it's /her/ turn to be concerned. She isn't as aloof with it, though, and takes it upon herself to prod and feel for injuries - something that he doesn't have much of a say in. Though, really, has he ever with her?
He never really has. Magramba squints at the other squirrel's outline in the darkness, wincing and drawing in a sharp breath as she flails around and pokes him in various places, including his bad shoulder. "Aden, I'm fine, just /relax/. My shoulder is fine, just stop /poking/ /it./" The pokes! The pokes. "Are you sure you're alright? Where are you bleeding?"
Aden places a paw against his forehead, because fever is /totally/ a thing after a fall from this height. Even though it isn't. "My cheek." She lies, but only because saying 'my head' sounds too scary, and she isn't going to deal with Worried-Mag until they're in better lighting (even though she forces worried-Aden on him on the daily. BUT IT'S DIFFERENT [it's not different]). In reality, it's only a minor cut that runs across her temple - but head injuries always seem worse than they are when blood is involved. She isn't going to deal with that right now. "Okay, so...You're fine, I'm fine - we're all fine. So let's get out of here." She stands, one paw seeking the wall while the other lingers on top of Mag's head, to keep track of him. "Why is this the /second/ time that we've been thrust into a dark and spooky place, now? Martin really needs to be more creative with his 'tests of character' or...whatever this is." She knows, full well, that this - more than likely - has nothing to do with the dead mouse. She just finds that it's easier to blame things on him.
When he's constantly appearing with words of mystery and wisdom, it's hard not to blame the old apparition. Carefully, Magramba clambers up onto his feet, using the sloping earthen wall behind him for support, Aden's paw moving down to his shoulder and then his chest where she no doubt buries her fingers in a handful of his shirt. "Some light would be just /super,/" the warrior notes, blinking as his eyes begin to adjust, making out shadowy shapes fraught with feathered floaters dancing across his vision. "We need something we can burn other than our clothes."
"Not it." Aden places a finger against her nose, even though he can't see it. They have 'not it' in this universe, right? Let's go with that. "This would be easier if I still smoked." She laments, for the second time this trip. And then she freezes, running her paw over the wall, squinting through the darkness. "Mag - this isn't natural; I think this was dug out." She pulls herself back over to the other squirrel, and starts to pat through the debris at their paws. It doesn't take her long to acquire a piece of earth much too rectangular and deliberate to be natural. The dirt, rock, and melting snow are interspersed with brick. "This might be a tunnel." Which means that there is a way out.
"A tunnel? Well, that's better than a sinkhole," Magramba replies, floundering about as he tries to follow her progress. "There's got to be an exit somewhere, then, assuming we didn't, you know. Destroy it when we fell." Because that's exactly the kind of luck they have. "Unless this is just a cellar or something, in which case... wow."
"Well, as long as it is a booze cellar then we can, at least, die happy." She pauses, looking back up towards the yellow crack of sunlight above them; a move which she will come to resent when her eyes have to readjust to the darkness. "We can either wait here, and hope that Flicktail comes looking for us - and can /find/ us - or we can pick a direction and see what happens." There's another pause as the acrobat squints down the passageway, willing her retinas to cooperate with the dark space. "Our chances are, probably, going to be better if we just...start hikin'." She is never one to turn down a chance for exploration, especially in dark and spooky places, no matter the unceremonious delivery.
"I don't smell any," Magramba complains, leaning against the wall still, paw falling habitually to the pommel of his sword, which, thankfully, is still attached. "We... should not wait on Flick." Down that path lies death. "Let's get moving, then," he agrees, pushing off of the wall and leading the way down the dark, creepy tunnel to nowhere. "Keep an eye out for something to burn."
"I have hope." Aden persists in the name of booze, following him. She keeps one paw against the wall, working it over the cold, packed earth in search of some unseen, conveniently located stairway. This, she does not find, but she /does/ ram her paw into something distinctly metallic. "There's a sconce, here." She realizes, with a painful start, feeling over it as her fingers throb from the impact. "No torch. But that means that there /are/ torches, down here! Or, you know. There were." Why would anyone put a tunnel in the middle of the wilderness? Her imagination, as always, runs wild. Now that they're clear of the debris, the space has narrowed - giving them just enough room to stand and walk two - maybe three - slim beasts side by side. Their footfalls bounce ghostly echoes off the walls, though they have - as of yet - to stumble across anything truly sinister. Or flammable, unfortunately.
"I just want a nice cup of tea," Magramba grumbles, pausing as she finds the sconce. "Of course /that/ sconce doesn't have a torch." Of course! Talking fills the empty space, so the warrior continues despite his generally quiet nature, his tone a low, conversational pitch that has always seemed a bit off for someone of his physicality. You would expect something louder, more gruff. "So after all this you're probably eager to get back to Redwall, get hitched, and start baking bread and babies, huh? That's the plan, right?"
"I'll see what I can do when we get out of here." Is the reply. "We've got...leaves. I'm sure we can make something very tea-ish? Maybe Flick has some tea stuff stashed away in his pack." Her own tone never really changes, does it? Aden's voice always toes the line of sounding sing-song, a soft lilt lending cheer. She smirks at his inquiry, her paw running over (not into, this time) another empty sconce. Where did all the torches go? [And where are all the flames?] "It sounds so boring when you put it like that. I'll start by moving in for real, this time. Learning how to bake babies and bread is the next step. I still have the option of living the cushy life as our Champion's mistress, don't forget that." She pauses to feel an indentation in the wall, but can't make out what it is without light, so she keeps going. "I suppose you're planning on returning triumphantly and grumping into the sunset?"
"Assuming we all make it back, I suppose that's probably what I'll do. I might take some time off, though, to be honest." Magramba's fingers are questing over the surface of the wall on the other side as they traipse along, doing his level best to find something they can set ablaze. Since that went well last time. "I usually take the winter off and go ranging in the summer, but obviously that's not what happened this go 'round."
"Obviously." Aden smirks. "You should take a rest; hang around for all the fun, Abbey stuff that happens in the Summer. Help me make some bread and babies." She teases, playfully tracing designs along the wall as they walk. If she is aware of how awkward her statement just was, or of the ways in which it could most certainly be misconstrued, she doesn't let on. Instead, she lets out a victorious squeak of excitement. "Torch!" She pulls it from the sconce - much too easy a process. One would assume that this is a disused tunnel, rusted and clogged by decades of misuse and grime, however the torch is pulled free with ease. This is a detail that completely escapes Aden.
The torch distracts Magramba from the awkwardness, thankfully, moving quickly to her side in the darkness, a process that causes him to bump into her. "Sorry. Torch?" His grabby paw grabs for the object, fumbling in his pockets for flint and steel, because this is the wilderness and he's not about to die because he walked away from his pack. "Actually, just hold it there, I need both paws for this."
"Watch where you're going, jeez." She smirks, obediently holding the torch out to him, and then pulling it back to her own chest once he retracts his statement. She now holds it out /for/ him. So helpful. "You got it, boss." She is grateful for the impending promise of a lighted path, and doesn't even bother worrying that he'll see that she lied about where the blood was coming from. Now that her head has cleared, she knows that the jagged cut across the side of her head is the result of a sharp edge, not impact.
Because blood loss alone never killed anyone. Magramba strikes steel to flint, sending a meager offering of sparks down onto the end of the torch, which... catches. Easily. "That... should not have been that easy," the warrior remarks, as the light and flame flare up into life. And then he sees the curtain of blood running down the side of her head. "Aden. That's not 'fine.'”
As the tunnel is thrown into hazy light, Aden blinks at how...neat it is. Minus the mess they made behind them, the place looks well-traveled, and some effort appears to have been made to keep it maintained. Or, at least, not falling into disarray. "This is weird." She mumbles, flashing him an apologetic grin as he notices her head. "It's /fine/. I'm the queen of minor injuries." She pats her own shoulder injury, where a bandit had split the flesh open sometime before. In fact, the most serious damage ever really done to the acrobat came in the form of a trident in her back - and Mag was there for that one, too. Holding the torch aloft, she casts the orange glow further down the path, where it lights the way until it curves out of sight. "Shall we?" She gives a wicked grin, offering her arm out to him like they're about to skip merrily to Oz, not down a mysterious tunnel of death.
Eh, whatever. If you're going to walk down a mysterious tunnel of death, you might as well have company. Magramba doesn't loop his arm in hers (too entangling if they run into trouble) but he does latch onto her paw, with a grip much lighter than the word latch would imply. "This place is... tidy. It's bothering me." And so is the blood on her face. "Maybe we should clean that up first," he questions, nodding towards her.
"It makes me look rugged." Aden whines in protest, falling into step with the other squirrel and giving his paw a little tug. "I have to work really /really/ hard to look intimidating, so let me have this." It's all dried and caked into her fur, anyway. It will be a pain to pick out, once that time comes - and she plans on delaying that until she's gotten some use out of her scary, new face. "Wonder what this was - IS - used for...You don't think this has anything to do with Marshank?" Though it would be incredibly useful if they had just stumbled upon - into, rather - a convenient, hidden way in.
"I'm not sure. I thought we still had some ways to go... But I've never been here before." Magramba appears to have relented and will let her enjoy her new tough look, Aden with Battle Damage! "It'd be /convenient/, that's for sure. I still haven't figured out how we can get in without fighting the whole horde, something only Flick is equipped to do." Jokes. "One thing is for sure, and that's that this is being used, and often. We need to be alert."
Nodding, Aden continues along with a short lapse into silence. "You're always alert, I'm not worried." She breaks the silence, as she usually does. "As far as getting in goes, there is always the option of posing as a circus troupe. Or taking out some supply beasts, hiding in barrels - the whole shebang. We can use Flicktail's foxy charms to our advantage." She shrugs, giving her eyebrows a waggle at the word 'foxy'. As they round the corner, there is the smallest glimpse of light - she jolts them to a stop, pulling him back with her to hide around the corner. Someone has either left a torch burning, or is standing further down the tunnel.
Jerked back abruptly, Magramba finds himself pinned to the wall by the other squirrel, something he didn't expect when he got out of bed that morning. "Well," he whispers, "This is a dramatic turn of events." The light around the corner was not noticed by the warrior despite his preaching about alertness.
Her voice is hushed, and even in this situation doesn't hold a note of seriousness. "Calm down, Romeo." She can't help but smirk at him, even with the looming possibility of dangerous villains lurking around every corner - and, maybe, this was just her plan all along. "There's a light." She explains, finally relinquishing that important bit of information as she releases her grip on the 'alert' warrior.
'Oh' Magramba mouths wordlessly, pulling away from the wall as she releases him, the darkness covering what might be a blush. He creeps silently forward, making use of all that 'agility' and 'skill', to peer around the corner. "It's just a torch," he whispers back, "but it's lit. That's a problem." This whole place is a problem.
Following him, Aden slinks around the curve of the tunnel, not catching any of what may or may not be going on in Mag's head and face. "Maybe it's just the entrance to the booze cellar." She mutters, hopefully. Because that torch isn't the only thing that needs to get lit down here. She presses forward, carefully poking around the subtle curves of the tunnel before she grabs Magramba's paw again, tugging him back with less intensity the second time around. "Hear that?" It is soft, and muffled - but there is no mistaking the sound of voices. "It's th'third collapse dis month, we ain't no mason-beasts. We ain't cut out f'dis work." Her grip tightens subconsciously - is this disembodied harbinger discussing the section of tunnel which the two squirrels so politely dropped in on?
Unless there's been other collapses, which is entirely possible if one section of the tunnel caved in from the weight of two squirrels. Magramba feels her fingers clutching his, interpreting the anxiety they convey, and puts one finger over his lips. Quiet. Then he reaches out slowly, takes the torch from her, and shoves it between his jerkin and duster, using his elbow to clamp down on it swiftly, then just as quickly jerking it back out before anything catches fire or gets too charred. The flame is extinguished, and the pair return to the darkness as the voices grow steadily nearer. "Ain't like we know how ta fix this mess neither. Sends us out ta clean up some blame moles' blame shoddy work. I ain't got the blame /time/ for this, mate."
Heeding the silence, Aden blinks as they are suddenly thrust into darkness once more, the torch, left by the owners, glimmering distantly behind them. "Deez holes ain't deep enough t'be /widened/, I dun care what d'boss says." The silver squirrel's eyes narrow in the darkness, and she pulls away from Mag to creep further along the wall. There's a glimmer of orange, hidden in an offshoot of the tunnel where the beasts are, apparently, gathered.
"'E don't understand basic engineerin'!" comes the rejoinder from someone who doesn't sound much more knowledgeable on the subject. Magramba follows closely behind Aden, not willing to let her slip too far ahead. His sword is slowly inching its way free of its scabbard, just slowly so as not to make too much noise.
Aden stops, holding a paw out behind her so that Mag, and his sword, know to as well. She isn't being run through today, thank you very much. Exaggerated shadows, visible pacing back and forth across the visible wall of the room can be seen, and Aden narrows her eyes. From the visual cue alone, she counts 3. "Shift change t'morra, though." One of the three grumbles - a rat, if the shadow is to be trusted. "Best get /somethin'/ done, or we get t'find out where dey carted ol' Skeet off'ta." The following tone is somber, interspersed with quiet mutters and mumbles of agreement - and then movement. "Back t'work, den." Aden doesn't waste time - a paw groping behind her for Mag, she scurries to the opposite wall of the tunnel, sticking to the shadows, to slink past the doorway. They have no way of knowing which direction these cronies will stumble off in - but she banks on it being behind them, back towards the known cave-in.
"Blast," Magramba whispers, wishing now that they had pressed ahead to pass the door before these charmers decided to disperse. There's nothing for it at this point, though, and so the squirrel follows quickly after Aden, footfalls light as he tries to keep quiet.
The three beasts - a rat and two ferrets - file out of, bringing the torch with them. Aden backs further away from the glow, trying to do so as quietly as possible, her breath caught in her throat. If she wasn't trying to be quiet, she would breathe a sigh of relief as the beasts turn left - moving /away/ from the squirrels. And the ferret in the rear stops. "Wait...Why dun' we jus' keep diggin' th'new bit - an' let tomorra's group deal with d'cave in?" "Yeah..." The rat agrees with an ugly sneer, thrown into even harsher relief by the light. "Say it happened after we'z left. Works f'me." And then they turn around...and head towards the squirrels. "Of course." Aden breaths, her breath a shallow, quiet hiss.
"Blast," Magramba repeats quietly to himself as the rootin' tootin' straight-shootin' band of vermin about-face and head their way. His sword isn't gleaming brightly, but if that torch gets too close it will. He does his best to keep it behind his cloak, not wanting to risk the noise of putting it away fully, urging Aden along at the same time. "Just move. We've got to move," he hisses softly.
She doesn't question his orders - just takes off. Crouching low, the acrobat pads, hurriedly up the dark hallway. Keeping one paw against the wall, they are thankfully at a safe distance by the time they have to pass through the light of another torch. But the torch isn't just for random lighting - it's hanging next to a wooden door. "Here!" She whispers, pushing her ear against it. "It's quiet." And then she risks it - the door isn't locked and swings open easily as the sounds of voices grows louder behind them, a bobbing orange light accompanying it. She doesn't wait to hear Mag's opinion on the matter, just jumps inside.
"Well if that doesn't just take the cake," Magramba breathes as he follows her inside and looks around, the door shut behind him. It's the booze closet. They've totally found the booze closet, after all the joking about doing just that. "This. Maybe the greatest thing we have /ever/ done."
"This is the greatest hole that we have ever fallen into." The problem is that she has to specify. "Well. Might as well get comfortable." She gives a savage grin, pushing an ear to the door, listening to the voices grow louder and louder. "Wanna drink f'the job?" "Ye', grab a bottle." Aden turns, eyes wide, and without even bothering to explain - starts to bodily shove Mag back towards, what the dark shapes signify to be, a clutch of barrels in the back. "Get /down/!" She whispers, frantically, stuffing herself behind them after him.
"They've really got us over a barrel here," Magramba whispers, unable to help himself as the voices grow steadily closer, managing to get it out before the door actually opens. Quarters are very tight in their hiding spot, but he's had the good grace to wrap an arm around Aden and pull her close, hopefully tucking her tightly enough against himself that none of either of them is poking out. "Rum 'r grog... rum... or grog..." It's the age-old question, still relevant as a weaselly head weaves back and forth between the two options.
Her milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard - maybe she should make Mag and Flick fight for it. Though, if she were to be in a position of picking between the two there wouldn't be much of a question. She hopes Mag wouldn't take it too hard. The squirrel tugs her tail to herself, tucking herself in as tight as she can as the alcohol-beast picks his way closer to them. "Jus' get both!" Comes the shout from the door, amid peals of agreeable laughter. Bottles in hand, the ferret holds them, triumphantly, aloft as they make their exit. The door slams shut, dropping the two into dark quiet once more. "So, we have two options." Aden whispers. "Follow them and find out what's happenin' and get out of here.../Or/..." She smirks, waving at the room around them.
"Well, I mean. The obvious choice is to go after them and find out what's going on." Magramba is so weird. Definitely not the first picked for kickball. Dark syrupy eyes wander the dark, shadowy room. "But... you do make a good case," he admits, tapping on a case of wine. "Can I cask you a question?" Oh please stop. "I didn't mean to /barrel/ you over but I weight a /tun./"
If there were lights, he would see the absolute LOATHING which pours out of Aden. "If you don't stop, I am going to rum away." She disentangles herself from the warrior and his terrible puns - because, really, they're not grape. "Let's get drunk. Martin would have wanted it, and I'm not taking [pi]not for an answer." She offers a paw down to help him up.
"I couldn't beer not to," Magramba replies, taking her paw with a grin. Luckily it's his left paw and she doesn't send white-hot bolts of pain down his shoulder when she pulls it. "Speaking of, wine or beer? I don't trust whatever liquor they might have here, so let's stick with those."
Aden groans, hauling him upright. "Always beer." Like there was even a question? "You know, when we tumbled blindly into the pit of despair - I thought that this was going to be a bad day. But, really, there was never anything to wine about." She clinks blindly through the bottles on the shelf, tapping kegs and barrels with no way of telling what is what. "Think we can risk putting the light back on?"
"I mean, unless someone is going to see it under the door and come looking." Magramba pauses. "That's exactly what would happen. Let's not do that." Okay, the dark it is. "I think I want wine." The squirrel runs his fingers over the casks as he works his way down the line, looking for one that's already been tapped. Finding none, he casts about for a tap. "This could have gone a lot worse, that's for sure."
"Yeah... Okay - booze." She uncorks a few bottles, sniffing at the contents. Grog, grog, grog, /ale/, grog, grog, rum, and one that she just cannot place. "We still need to get /out/ but knowing that there /is/ an exit is good enough for me." It's a refreshing sight to see Mag relaxing - especially given the circumstances. "Okay, none of these are beer. These vermin go /way/ too hard, that's probably why their handiwork is so -" She makes a raspberry sound against her palm.
Another raspberry sound comes from Magramba's mouth. Palm-noises are for losers. "Are there really no taps? What kind of wine cellar has no taps for the casks?" This is getting frustrating. The warrior kicks at a box, which rustles in just such a way... "Could it be... Taps!"
"You're my /hero/." Aden hums, softly, as she crosses to help him wrestle a tap free of the box. "Remember that time that we fell into a hole and wound up hiding in a booze closet? Because I do." She ruffles through the other boxes and barrels, trying to find cups for them - this, at least, is a little easier than the taps.
"Oh, yeah, that one time," Magramba answers, nodding and grinning. "Those were good times. We should do that again sometime." Time, time, time. The warrior selects a cask for tapping through a highly scientific procedure of sloshing them back and forth until he finds one he likes. "This is it..." A tap gets shoved out towards Aden. "Here. Hold it right.... there." A finger indicates the spot.
"I can't see where you're pointing." She laughs, clumsily feeling around for the tap. She figures it out, even without the visual cue - this isn't the first time that she's tapped a cask in the pitch black, believe it or not. No, really!
Really? No... Really? Okay, well, experience is always a plus. "Right /there,/" Magramba clarifies, tapping on the spot for the tap. Once the tap is in position, he gives it a sharp... tap. Hah. "Okay, cups."
"As you wish, boss." Aden grins, fumbling the cups into position. They click together with a soft, wooden 'tunk' as they find their position beneath the tap.
With the cups in position, Magramba eases the tap open, letting each fill until the sound indicates that they might be getting close to full. The subtle change in pitch is enough, and he plays it on the safe side just in case.
"Cheers, sir." She gently pushes the mug against his paw, before offering it up for - what will most likely be - a rather awkward 'cheers'. She tilts her mug back against her muzzle with a savage grin. Alcohol always tastes better when it isn't yours.
Stolen alcohol, consumed in the dark, with the threat of death a few feet away. It's basically the best drink Magramba has ever had. "Cheers," he agrees, tipping the mug back for a nice swig, letting the wine linger on his palate before gulping it down.
"Probably the best drink I've ever had." Aden whispers with a laugh, not letting her own hang about too long. It is only a matter of moments before she has drained it completely and is bumping around in the dark to relocate the tap.
"Probably the best friend I've ever had," Magramba whispers back, with a chuckle. Did he just say that? Is he drunk already? Maybe it's just the stakes of their situation. "Pour me some too," and he's pushing his cup up against hers.
Aden pauses, and has to stifle the bark of laughter in her palm. "Maaaaag. Are you a lightweight?" She opens the tap and lets Mag's cup fill before pushing it aside to acquire her own liquid bliss, before closing the tap again. She lets herself fall back to the stone floor, crossing her legs as she settles into a comfortable sitting position.
"I don't drink much," Magramba admits grudgingly, plopping himself down onto the floor next to her in a similar posture, gathering his tail into his lap. "Usually just tea or water. Got to stay sharp on the road and all." It's a hard life, not dying. "Besides, it's true."
"I know." Aden's grin sticks around with the gentle reply. Her head drops to his shoulder, and she continues to work at the mug from the, now sideways, angle. "I could give a fat rat's hoot about all this Martin business - I only tagged along to make sure you don't get yourself killed." She's like a half-useful bodyguard.
"Really." Because, you know, he's mostly almost been killed when he was trying to make sure that she wasn't. There are a few exceptions, but. Seriously, Aden is not the best bodyguard. Magramba grins nonetheless, burying his face in his mug again for another long swig. "I am glad you came along. I'm not sure I could have taken all this way with just Flick for company."
But was he ever /actually/ killed? No? See? SEE? "Well I couldn't miss out on all that male bonding without just butting myself right in there." She's finishing her second mug - she has to drink overtime in order to keep up with Mr. Lightweight. Shifting forward, she crawls back to the tap and fills it from a crouch. But then she's back! Aden pulls her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them as she casts a sidelong grin to the other squirrel - one that is probably missed out on in the dark. She drinks, deep, from the mug. "You're my best friend in the world, though. Y'know that?" Theeeeeere it is. "We're gonna run into these vermin once we're drunk." She giggles.
Aw, that's sweet. Magramba just... sticks his face back into that mug. "There are those, you know, who prefer to fight drunk." He laughs softly at the statement, and just the whole ridiculousness of the situation. Here they are, talking about their feelings, half-drunk in a tunnel filled (probably) with a vermin horde. "I am not one of them, though."
"Luckily for you, I /do/ happen to be one of them." Aden laughs, her voice still low. The acrobat throws an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him sideways to, forcibly, plant a smooch on his cheek. "I gotchu, Magpie don't you worry that pretty head of yours. Jus' enjoy the hand that fortune has played thee." Oh, yeah, there's the alcohol.
Oh, okay, we're... we're Magpie-ing and using thee's. It's real. "I'm not worried about /me/, 'm worried about /you,/" Magramba clarifies obstinately, refusing to 'just' enjoy the situation. If anyone knows how to fight a good time, it's Mag.
"Why worry about /me/? I've yet to get myself into a situation that I can't get myself outta." False. Kind of? She has definitely gotten herself into situations that she has required help to get free of, but she has also gone into her bad decisions /knowing/ that the help would be there. Does that count? "What do I have t'do to make you have fun?" She teases.
"Because I care about you," Magramba reiterates, fairly certain he's already made that clear, but in the fog of the wine he's completely fine with clarification. "An' I don't know, use your imagination." He takes another sip of the wine, which is "Quite good," as he states aloud.
"D'aw." Another sip of wine. "You know I have a /very/ over-active imagination, don't give me free reign with that one." Aden's idea of fun, this many drinks in, usually consists of an elaborate rope swing, broken glass, and strip poker. Not necessarily in that order.
"Well. Here we are." Oh Mag. You're so much fun. The life of the party, ladies and gentlemen. "You think they'll come back, or do you think we'll go out there?"
"I vote we sneaky-spy." Aden nods, though she doubts he can see this. "I just nodded." She informs him, helpfully. "Let's clean off what we 'ave and then follow those vermin, see what they're up to - all sneaky like - and then sneak out. Could be important, could be nothin' but some beasts looking for winter storage." Her grin widens. "Only one way to find ooo-oout."
Her answer draws a snicker from Magramba, a distinctly uncharacteristic reaction. "Sneaky sneak," he agrees, completely unconcerned by his modification of Aden's recommendation. "Did I mention you're my best friend?" Yes, he did. "Cause you are."
"Magramba, you beautiful, sullen creature - you are my very center." Is Aden's overly-dramatic response. "Without you, I would be but a hapless drifter, pulling cheap tricks and juggling my lonely way through the alleyways of despair." A paw rises to rest against her forehead - the more she drinks, the more her performer's roots come out. Or, maybe, she's just ridiculous.
"You're ridiculous," Magramba replies with a snort, knocking back another swig of the fruit of the vine. "I love it." But she probably already guessed that, what with how often he's asked her to accompany him on his various travels.
'Asked' is a loose term. To be fair, she would have wound up tagging along regardless of his wishes. "I love your /face/." Is her eloquent reply before she tilts back and downs what remains of her drink - a jug about half-way full. Empty, now. "Okay. We've established that we're jus' two peas in a love-pod. Now let's go stab somethin'." She means sneak quietly and cause no trouble, of course.
Stabbing stuff is their love language. "Yeah, let's do it." Magramba drains the rest of his cup and throws it down on the ground, the clay shattering from the impact. Ha! The warrior wobbles a bit as he clambers to his feet, but it's nothing too major, at least until he wobbles into the wall. "I'm good," he assures the room, flailing around towards Aden. "Where are you? Let me help you up."
Drunk Mag is best Mag. Aden hauls herself upright - the shelves behind her play a crucial role in this maneuver - and takes a moment to steady and center herself. "Oh, I'm up already." There's a pause, and then a snort of laughter. "Where are /you/? Don't step on your cup. May it rest in peace." And then, because WHY NOT, another chorus of smashed pottery echoes through the cellar. "May it, also, rest in peace." Okay, now she just has to locate Mag and - "Thaaaaaat's my bum." His blind groping certainly paid off. "Okay, follow my butt - we're going towards the door. Careful where you steeeeeep."
"May it rest in /pieces,/ you mean," Magramba retorts, snickering to himself again. Oh with the puns. Drunk Mag, what have you done? "Oh, sorry," the warrior apologizes as she points out where his seeking has landed. His paw reluctantly moves upward to rest on her hip, keeping her close in front of him in the dark chamber. "Lead on, Gray One."
"If you keep up with these jokes, /you're/ going to be resting in pieces." Aden threatens, though she can only deny her love of puns for so long before she is uncovered. "Gray makes me sound old. I'm still young enough to get felt up in the dark, apparently, so my adjectives can be, like...Dusky. Silver. Iron-plated." Gray is old, okay, we get it. In her distraction, Aden walks into the door. "Okay, here's the door." She confirms, fumbling about for the handle. Slowly, she pulls the door towards them - awkwardly shuffling out of the way, while drunkenly trying not to bump Mag back into the broken drinkware - and peeks out. "Okay, we're good, for now."
"The Iron Arse," Magramba decides, nodding to himself sagely. The warrior steps gingerly over the warned-of shards, almost overly slow and cautious as he passes through the threshold. "Just keep an eye out for those... rapscallions." It takes him a beat to conjure up the appropriate noun, but when he does, the proud smile of approval fairly glows in the darkness.
"I'll take it." Iron Arse...She's certainly been called worse. "Flick could probably benefit from an iron arse." Get it? Because he got shot. In the butt. "Oooooh rap/scallions/ I /like/ it. Didn't know I just had to get you drunk for you to turn into such a wordsmith." Aden grins, another ghostly apparition of mirth, glinting in the dark. "Drunk Mag is fun." She confirms, at least with the sense to lower her voice to a whisper. "If I had known how easy it was to get you to this state, I would have been slipping you shots for weeks." She hasn't ruled it out for future use, yet, either.
"Don't... Don't do that." Magramba is too drunk to be legitimately upset by the suggestion, but he's still present enough to know he doesn't like the idea. "If y' do it too much it'll lose its magic." He grins at that thought, that it's magic, and then he's back on the new nickname. "Cause it's surprisin'ly hard. I was not expecting /tha',/" finger tapping at her waist to indicate just what it is he's talking about.
"I mean, I /won't/. But...stay on your toes." She has to stifle a bark of laughter behind her paw and turns to give him an incredulous look - which he, no doubt, cannot see. "You know, I have been telling your for /weeks/ that my arse is the stuff of legends. Us dancer-circus-acrobat-whatever I am-types are known for that." She turns about, once again, to continue leading them down the tunnel. It is, for now, a dark expanse, but it hooks left up ahead (a detail they have no way of seeing). "Don't tell Flick you got to touch it and not him, I can't break anymore hearts in this lifetime."
"He won't care unless I kiss it first," Magramba stage-whispers back, barely able to contain the snerk at the end. Drunk Mag should not be allowed to play during serious situations like this. "And... for once you weren't exagger.. rating. Ser'sly, s'nice." Okay, we've established that. The warrior is content to be lead along in the dark, for some reason believing that Aden either sees better or has a better sense of direction.
Tempting. "Don't make promises you can't keep." The squirrelmaid quips, trying to keep her voice to a whisper - which is...You know. Drunk. Aden stops suddenly, having the inebriated sense to brace for Mag-impact. "Go...uh, left. Wall." She pats the wall, which has decided to curve 'unexpectedly' on them. "This way." Now, however, they have the promise of light, up ahead - a dim, orange glow casts a welcome relief at the end of this stretch of tunnel. The torch's glow is visible, but their friends are not - they are tucked around the corner, and Aden's ears perk with snatches of conversation. She stops and half turns to grapple onto drunk-Mag, clumsily pulling at him to make her whisper quieter and more effective (allegedly). "Let's get closer, yeah?" She tries to nudge him towards the nearest wall. "Time to sneaky-spy-sneak."
"That's /my/ bum," Magramba hisses in protest, shoving her paws away before letting her find him again and steer him towards the wall. "Sneaky-sneaky-spy time," the warrior agrees, pressing his form against the earthen curve and pulling Aden into position next to him. He starts to creep towards the light, the wall keeping him in a straight trajectory, but then he holds up. "Kiss? For luck." The explanation is short and simple. It's for luck, see? Meaningless, see?
"I know." Aden grins an evil, mischievous smirk before lowering to the ground. She is content to follow for a moment before he stops short - and his request leaves her blinking, bemused, a moment. Still keeping her voice to a quiet hiss, she lets out a soft laugh. "Not you too!" It's not a 'no'! Swaying, she throws her arms around his neck. "Drunk Mag /is/ the best." While probably not what he was going for, the warrior does earn a heartily miscontrued smooch to the cheek. "Okay, let's go."
Magramba will take it, even if it's not exactly what his intoxicated little brain had in mind. "'Not you too!'" he mimics, because, well, he's not much for wit at the moment. Then after the subtle blush has begun its hidden creep up his ears, he turns to stealthily move towards the light, staying low and only weaving out from the wall and back against it a little bit as he moves.
"They say mimicry is the highest form of flattery - or something." She slurs, stifling her voice and giggle beneath her paw before padding towards the turn. From the raucous sounds coming from the hallway, it would appear that their vermin-friends have been serving themselves generously from the liquor, too. "Y'know...I'm startin' t'think th'boss jus' puts us on this project 'cause 'e don't want us around. I mean...lookit who /else/ works down 'ere...Y'got Snark, Hemmy, tha'...ol', snaggletooth feller (I don't remember /his/ name), an' his only /livin'/ ex gelfriend." Aden pauses as the wall curves away, settling back into a more comfortable eaves-dropping position. "Mebbe he's jus' hopin' we'll get caught in a collapse an' save 'im th'trouble of endin' us hisself."
In their sneaky little hidey-spot around the bend, Magramba leeeeans over to whisper in Aden's ear. "Either they join us against 'im.... or it's a drunk team deadmatch, you 'n me vicious them." The warrior jerks his thumb in the direction of the voices, because Aden probably doesn't know who he's talking about.
Aden leeeans back to whisper her reply, smirk hidden in the shadows. "Drunk-team deadmatch or nothin'. C'mon, like that's even a-" "Are you gonna sit there /gripin'/ or are you goin' t'be of /any/ 'elp? Y'like a useless sack of rotten potatoes. Everyone wants 'em gone, but ain't nobeast goin' near 'em." There is a wet clatter, which Aden assumes to be the auditory companion to the sight of one beast chucking their mug at another. The silence hangs, tense, in the air for a split second before the fighting breaks out. She leans back to Mag, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention. "Or we...may not have to do anyting at all."
At Aden's words, Magramba, dumbfounded, stops to listen as the fighting breaks out and escalates, with one vermin-y voice yelling something about the mother of the other and the other shouting back to leave her out of it. "It was th' /kiss,/" the warrior breathes, shocked that it actually worked. "It worked."
"Who knew that was the secret all along? Maybe we should try that at Marshank." Aden grins, allowing a low hiss laughter, breathy and wispy from the strain of keeping it quiet. And then, as it always has: their luck runs out. The rat - a fat, nasty, brute of a beast - is suddenly knocked backwards and tumbles dramatically to land in a crumpled, drunken heap - directly in front of them. As he comes to his senses, there is a moment of prolonged, uncomfortable eye contact before he takes the most dignified and professional of actions: the rodent opens his maw and screams like a little girl. "So much for sneaking." Aden sighs. "And luck." And smooching. Let the fun begin!
As the scream is unleashed upon them, Magramba calmly puts out his paw towards the rat in a calming gesture, his voice unencumbered by the stress and disappointment in Aden's. "There there, little guy," he fairly coos, "we are your spirit friends, here to guide you through life's ob-stack-uls." It's unlikely the rat caught any of that; he's still screaming.
Her voice full of quiet awe, the squirrelmaid whispers: "Drunk Mag." Aden can only stare at him a moment, her eyes wide with wonder at this magical apparition. He's like a unicorn. A beautiful, drunken unicorn. But this screaming? /That/ she doesn't like. "Conciousness is an obstacle." She decides, and yanks her sword free. His cries end, abruptly, when she smacks him, hard, over the head with the hilt of it. "I am a merciful spirit, indeed. Come, my brother, we shall unleash a -" But, really, with all this talking and screaming, it was only a matter of time before the other two came crashing around the corner. "Wait, guys, hold up - we're jus' spirits -" She has to duck a sudden swipe as the ferret swings a club at her head. "THOU HAST ANGERED THE BOOZE GODS."
Maybe alcohol brought Magramba enlightenment; he spends a few seconds in quiet consideration of the two lackeys that come charging around the corner, gazing at them steadfastly with his syrupy brown eyes, and as the stoat attacks with his shovel, the warrior skips back unsteadily, dodging the blow, ducks the next, wobbling on his feet, and wobbles out of the way of the third. about this time, Aden's 'BOOZE GODS' shout catches his attention and he remembers the spirit bit, and draws his sword with the signature rasp of steel on steel. "Lo, for I have brought thee to this hour, mine children;" The stoat stops swinging his shovel for a second, blinking at the squirrel as he monologues. "For it wash told looooong ages past that I should dance th' dance of dancing, an' so begin..." The tip of his sword dips down to the tunnel floor while he mulls it over, and the stoat readies his shovel, just as the warrior announces: "DOOM!" And with that he chops the shovel's handle in half.
"/Get it/, Mag!" Aden is shocked. Drunk Mag is best Mag, and she will sing of his splendor until the end of all times. As Mag parties with stoat, she is dancing a very different dance with the ferret - which is to say that she is actually dancing; and it the most elegant fighting that she has ever done. The squirrel spins to the ground and pulls herself in tight, brushing soundlessly along the floor, to slip under the crushing blow of the club before she straightens up and pivots with its motion, following it full circle. Now behind the ferret, she slaps him lightly, along the back of the head. This process repeats /twice/ before he catches on and changes his point of attack. She leaps, pirouettes, and then drops to a roll before springing, lightly, to the tips of her toes. Swinging her arms above her head, she swoops downwards and snakes a paw out to deck him in the stomach - always moving with him, a ghostly shadow of his blind strikes. He doubles over, she steals the club, and then raises it above her head with a flourish. At this point, it becomes clear that she was humming a chipper tune during the whole of the interaction, creating a drunken rhythm for the physical exchange and setting the stage for her own flashy display. "Take a bow!" She swings the club, purposely slow, at his head - and the ferret bows forward to avoid it. "You're a natural. Lookit, Mag - he's a natural!"
"YOU DONE MESSED UP, A. A. DEN!" Magramba's sword comes whistling over like a streak of booze-empowered lightning, smacking her bowing ferret across the side of the head with the flat of his blade at about the speed of drunk. The hob crumples to the floor, and the warrior gives a crow of victory as he climbs atop the fallen form. All that remains conscious of the vermin working party is the lone stoat, clutching half a shovel and waving it back and forth between Mag and Aden. "Y' wanna go to war, stoatface?" The question is rhetorical, but it gives him pause, as the poor fellow is clearly not sure he /does/ want to go to war with the drunken duo. "War ish upon you whether you'd risk it 'r not!" And then the squirrel leaps haphazardly from the ferret's body, half-stumbling into the hallway on the stoat's opposite side, cutting off his escape.
At least, now, they have light. The orange glow from the vermin's torch - down the hall a bit - allows them visibility, which is exaggerated by their time spent crawling through the pitch black tunnels. Drunk as she is, even Aden recognizes this advantage - and it helps that their quarry aren't exactly on the sober side, either. The ferret goes down, and the stoat tries to make a run for it, which elicits a 'tut, tut, tut' from Aden. She waggles a finger at him, admonishingly. "That's not the way, willywhiskers - we jus' have a feeeeeew questions." She nods, twirling the fallen ferret's club with skillful flourish. "I ain't talkin' t'the likes of ye! Y'lily-livered cod-smackers, sneakin' up on 'ard workin' beasts in th'dark like th' filthy -" He can't concentrate on insulting them /and/ dodging their blows at once, so Aden rushes forward. He swings the shovel handle at her, and she drops to the ground, letting her momentum slide her /right between his legs/ and out the other side. Now she's behind him, and light a tightly coiled spring she kicks off the ground and leaps at him - wrangling her arms about the stoats waist as she kicks at the backs of his knees, bringing him down beneath her. "Tie 'im up!" Do they even have rope? "Do we even have rope?" She asks, giggling, as she struggles to keep the stoat's arms pinned at his sides. "We just wanna /talk/!" The acrobat whines, as the stoat continues to flail.
"There's prob'ly somethin' somewhere," Magramba reasons, thinking it over with a paw cupped under his chin. In the meantime, though, he sees no good reason why not to step forward and smack the stoat on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword, hard. And so that's what he does, and the stoat ceases his squirming. "There y'go, no more wriggly-jiggly." Yes, that's right. "Now let's fin' some rope." With that torch, it should be easy.
Aden giggles, hauling herself off the unconscious stoat and casting a look at the drunken carnage they have caused. "No more wriggly-jiggly." She agrees, bracing a paw against the wall as she heads towards the torch. The tunnel ends in a dead-end; rubble, rock, and dirt clogging it up where it could have continued, though there are two rooms that branch off of the main path. "I wonder if these'r gonna be better than the booze room." The squirrelmaid ponders, heading into the room to the right. She is there less than a second before she backs up and pulls the torch, clumsily, from it's sconce. "No light in /theeeeere/. Mkay. Le'ggo."
"Led th' way," Magramba agrees, with a bow and a wave towards the way she's already heading. "You are th' light of my life, y'know." He snickers at the pun, oh he's so freaking funny when he's drunk. Is this what it's like in his head all the time, under that grumpy exterior? We may never know.
Shuffling through the crates and shelves of - what is SUPER conveniently - some sort of store room, Mag's pun gives her pause and a snort. Aden turns to look back at the other squirrel. "Aw, Mag. That was really...torching." There is a beat while she simply stares at him, expression-less, before the grin slowly - SLOWLY - starts to spread across her muzzle. Torching? Seriously? Girl. C'mon.
"Wow." That's all that Magramba can muster in the shimmery glow of her magnificence. "...did you find rope?" Somehow he's stayed on task, probably an important insight into the way his brain is wired. "Orrr was there none in there?" It could go either way, is what he's thinking, not waiting for an answer. He starts to shuffle forward to check for himself.
Rope? Oh, yeah, she forgot to keep searching for that. "Since we're making so many puns...And we're in a tunnel..." You can see where this is going. "Does that mean we're in a punnel?" Aden drunkenly giggles into her paw. "Whatever it is, IIII'm having fun...nel." She laughs in earnest, stumbling back against a table, behind her. "Oops!" She /almost/ drops the torch, but manages to keep a hold on it - resigning to follow Mag around with its light to help him search. "I checked those...that crate looks promising?" She points with her free paw.
"THE CRATE." Magramba stumbles abruptly forward, landing on the edges of the crate with his outstretched arms, peering down into its cavernous expanse. "Oh, there's rope." The squirrel straightens up victoriously, the length of rope held aloft. It's not too thick, not too thin... perfect for binding captives, which, given that this is a vermin area, apparently, makes perfect sense. "Come on, let's wind 'em up."
"Yessir!" Aden salutes, slapping herself in the face. Just a little. The silver squirrel, and the torch, head back out into the tunnel - though she sticks her head into the other offshoot. "It's another tunnel." She blinks. They can deal with that later - but, for now - they have bigger fish to bind. "We can /interrogate/ whichever one wakes up first!" She sounds way too gleeful for this, as she replaces the torch in its sconce and sets about to dragging the unconscious beasts into a neat line. "Ge'some answers." Nod, nod, nod. "Think Flick is worryin'bout us?"
"Prob'ly," Magramba agrees, coming back into the hallway with an off-kilter stumble as he makes his way towards her row-o-vermin and starts looping his rope around the first, tying it off snugly after about four separate attempts. "He always was th' type t' fret. Fret-tail."
"/Fret-tail/." Aden repeats with a laugh. She'll have to remember that one. With the ferret bound, she starts dragging him towards the store room that they just vacated. It will be more dramatic that way! As she struggles her way towards the entrance, he starts to twitch and groan in his sleep. Either they got lucky with their tying - and - dragging order, or the act of bumping him, roughly, along a hallway is rousing him into consciousness. "Tie-em-up, tie-em-up, bindin' all the baaad guys. Tie-em-up, tie-em-up, so they can't tell bad lies." She sings, improvising (poorly) as she goes.
"Fret-tail frets his tail on all the fretties," Magramba mutters to himself as he cinches down the ropes on the next prisoner, then moves to the last. "Y' had t' go an' knock 'im uncon- knock 'im out, didn' you," he grumbles, fastening a few knots after pulling the mostly unconscious frame somewhat upright. "Y' knock one out, y' gotta knock 'em all out or it's not fair when y' off one." Makes sense, right? Then he's slinging the stoat over his shoulder and carrying him to the supply room, tossing him down roughly in the corner so that his head smacks (again) against something hard.
"Gotta say - I love drunk Mag." Aden laughs. "But, yes. Because we need to know /what/ these dirty rotters are up to. An'... what if they're jus' digging a tunnel 'cause they own the land?" Then /they/ would be in trouble. "An'...Killing beasts gives me nightmares sometimes." She admits, clumsily lifting the ferret into a chair. He groans, head rolling as he struggles into the waking world. "You wanna do this'un?"
"Do this'un /what?" Magramba glances over, wiping the filth from the stoat off onto his trousers. "Oh, you mean th' questions. An' course you love me." Not exactly what she said, but hey. Semantics. The warrior shuffles over to the chair, putting his paws on the arms and leaning into the ferret's face, with a "Hey." A few light slaps to the cheek follow. "'ey, wakey wakey."
"Always, honeybum." Aden grins, leaning back against the wall. Her arms are crossed at her chest, and she discerns the scene with a smirk. As he is clapped about the face, the ferret groans, his eyes fluttering open. "Huh? Whassa- mum..." His eyes snap open and he jerks at the binds. "Wha - you /crazy/ - lemme /go/!" He snarls.
"Not mum, honey/bum,/" Magramba corrects the ferret, with one finger extended in a lecturial posture. "Get it righ' an' we'll get you righ'." Yes. The warrior straightens up from the chair, potentially to avoid the ferret's nasty breath. "So as y' c'n clearly see, my friend an' I, th' Amazing A. A. Wolf-den, are callin' th' shots here, so jus' settle down an' lets talk like civilization folks." A lazy grin is offered out to the snarling captive.
"You're /insane/." The ferret snarls in response, his eyebrows raised in bemusement. "Are...Are y'/drunk/?! Y'bloody drunk off y'arse!" "HOI!" Aden slaps the table, suddenly, instilling a brief hush. She points at Mag. "He's askin' the questions, 'ere." And she slinks back to the wall, opening her palm to Mag in a 'please, continue' motion. Desperate, wild eyes shift from squirrel to squirrel.
"Thank you, A." Magramba nods calmly, apparently content to play the good cop in this strange reversal of roles. "Now. Y' mind tellin' us why you're down in this here horrific hole o' horror?" It's really not that bad, but the alliteration was irresistible. "Who you workin' for, where y' come from, that sort-a thing."
She liked Wolf-Den better. Aden gives a savage grin from the sidelines - this is just like acting, is it not? She can be mean. She can /totally/ be mean. "I ain't tellin' you /nothin'/!" The ferret spits back. "I ain't snitchin' to two drunk, snivelin' woodlanders."
"Now now, Ferdie," Magramba replies, inventing a name for their new friend as well. "Don't get too, y' know, /raucous/ /on-us/ or nothin'." Oh the rhyme. "We jus' wanna know what's what, see?" And just like that, Good Cop is gone and the warrior lunges forward, to deliver a harrowing- pat to the cheek. There there. "It's not much, really."
"M'names not /Ferdie/, bush tail. Iz Liggins." The ferret growls, though it turns into a whimper as he is struck. "Don' tell 'im y'/name/, idjit!" Ah, the rat is waking up, now. "Shuttup, you!" Aden barks, crossing to him and gathering a fist full of shirt in her paw. "You're /next/ tick-breath." She growls. "So be a good boy an' keep your snout shut until it's your turn." She releases the hold on the shirt. The ferret whimpers again, beginning to lose his resolve. "You're all crazy - I -I'll kill ye, I will."
"I'll kill y'- with kindness," Magramba returns sharply, still oddly jovial about his role as Chief Interrogator. "Don't make me summon th' Love Bug." There's really no telling what he's rambling about at this point. His disjointed 'threats' are confusing even to someone who hasn't been hit hard on the head recently, but they just keep pouring out. "So tell me what I want t' know!"
Aden is trying not to lose it. The love-bug? Oh, /please/ say that that is her. Oh please. "Lissen, whack job, I can' say nothin'. You think y'worse than the boss? You ain't got anythin'. Go 'head. Try y'worst." He does, however, sound unsure.
"Love Bug! Come forth in this mine hour of need!" Magramba throws his paws high into the air, his head tossed back as he gazes skyward. "Destroy thou my enemies with thy furious affection!" When nothing happens, he glances over his shoulder at Aden, nodding towards the ferret.
"Love Bug! Come forth in this mine hour of need!" Magramba throws his paws high into the air, his head tossed back as he gazes skyward. "Destroy thou my enemies with thy furious affection!" When nothing happens, he glances over his shoulder at Aden, nodding towards the ferret.
As Magramba goes off on his tangent, Aden watches - trying, hard, to stifle the grin. But, as she is summoned, she goes in character - this was her job, and she is nothing if not professional. "Alright you slick of /slime/." She snarls, suddenly leaping across the table and grabbing the ferret's shirt. "You're goin' t'tell us /nice folks/ what we want t'hear, or I drill your head into this table until there's nothin' left but the indent of what y'face /used/ t'look like." She glares into the ferret's eyes - wide with shock. "Woah, woah! Calm down, is'jus' a tunnel! We're jus' diggin' a tunnel! Tha's all we know!" Aden looks at Mag, an eyebrow raised, incredulously. "I don't believe 'im. Do you?" She waves a paw at the ferret and slides off the table to clap the warrior on the shoulder. "Think you can get any more out of this lug or...On to the next?"
"It's either that or start killin' 'em," Magramba reasons slowly, weighing the options carefully, his eyes studying the table as though there's something very interesting carved in the wood. "...I'm for that." The warrior grins across at the other squirrel, apparently not haunted by the same nightmares as she. "But y' know, we could just ask th' next one too."
"Well, let's kill 'em if they don't give us what we want to hear?" Aden, suddenly, shoves the ferret's chair backwards, spilling him out onto the floor with a pained clatter and whimper. "Whose next?" She asks Mag, though she directs it to the two beasts (of varying consciousness) on the floor. Her tolerance is higher than the other squirrel's, and she can feel the edge of the alcohol starting to slip away. Sobriety and sleepiness attempt to slink their way into her brain. "This is fun!" She whispers, gleeful in her savage role.
"Next contestant!" Magramba eagerly rights the chair with Ferdie (who cares what his real name is) squirms on the floor. The warrior's ears lay back as he drags the next one over, seemingly rousing into consciousness, and plops him down on the seat. "Alrigh', bucky," -aren't squirrels bucky, if anyone is?- "Same questions. Where's this tunnel go?"
Rats can be bucky, too! "Lissen, mate, I - I'll tell ye, jus' don't 'urt me!" He whimpers, his resolve much weaker than it had been. "It's an old mining tunnel! W-We're jus' expandin' it!" Aden's ears perk upwards.
"Expan-ing for /who?/" Magramba looks intrigued, his ears laying back at the potential for disaster that follows. If it's just a lowly business enterprise, then they've got some serious explaining to do.
"Rogir!" The rat squeaks, fearfully. "'Is name's Rogir! H - He'll kill me. J-J-Jus' let us go an' we won't say nothin'!" They wouldn't want their boss to know that they had spilled information, after all. "'E wants underground passage that stretches -" The stoat on the ground hisses, half-awake. "Y'goin' t'get us all killed." He wheezes.
It takes a lot of willpower for Magramba not to just kill one of them, since that seems to be what they're all afraid of, but they're the good guys, drunken mistakes or not, and he holds back. He's also starting to feel less chipper about that whole 'drunk' thing, and these vermin with their uncooperativity are really starting to annoy him as the depressant effects of all that alcohol start to go into full effect. "Listen. I'm gonna kill half of each of y' if y' don't just tell us."
"Jus'...Jus' let us go, okay?" The rat whimpers, amid nods of agreement by the other two. "We won't tell 'im you were here -" "Yeah, that'd be worse f'us! We won't tell nobeast! Promise!" "Y-Yeah. Rogir would h-hang us on th'beach an' cover us in fish guts f'the gulls to eat!" Aden sighs. "Okay, okay just...Talk." "O-Okay. We're diggin' tunnels, see? C-Cause the boss 'e wants t'have his own secret passageway t'all of Mossflower - but we're nowhere close! A-An' they keep collapsin'! So y'...y'don't have t'worry an' you cin jus' leave us!" They all nod.
The idea of having secret tunnels all over Mossflower is intriguing for a variety of reasons, most notably its untenability. Drunk Mag would not have been bothered by that, but the current Mag is. "That's jus'- That's really dumb," he comments, shaking his head to dispel the stupidity from his mind. "Well, Love Bug, what'd y' think we should do with 'em?"
"It's dumb." She shrugs, smirking. "Either they're lyin', or this boss-guy is delusional." The rat's eyes roll back and forth, desperately seeking the other two. "I-It's th'truth!" He insists, visibly shaking. "W-We found th'tunnels on a scouting mission!" "Yeah, we was on our way t'that Mapleleaf camp!" "Shuttup!" The other two chorus in. "W-We wasn't on our way there! We was on our way someplace else!" Aden growls, slipping back into character. "What're th'/tunnels/ for?" "W-We jus' found 'em! We fell in through a collapse a-a-an' was told t'keep diggin' em. Maybe jus' f'storage or somethin' - I don'know!" The squirrel sighs. "I really...Don't know which is true?”
Magramba shrugs as well, now that his turn to be noncommittal has come. "Doesn't really matter. We know they're here, and that they know they're here." He means the tunnels, of course. The warrior's arms have settled across his chest, thinking.
"Reconvene outside?" Aden tugs the other squirrel's arm towards the door and the main tunnel, still swaying as she goes. "It doesn't feel right to just...Kill them." She admits, quietly, once they're out of earshot. "Even if this guy /does/ want to use these as some super-secret underground...anything they seem pretty far away. And don't hold up to anything, really." Hence the collapse which landed them here in the /first/ place. She shrugs, looking back towards the store room over her shoulder. "I vote we just leave them tied up - they'll get out eventually, but not so soon as when they get the chance t'slit our throats, take some booze, and high tail it out, hmm?" There's a smirk, there, and she elbows at him, playfully. "/Or/ head back the way we came and spend the night in the wine cellar."
The warrior nods as she lists her reasons and proposals, scratching contemplatively at his chin. A slow grin grows across his face. "Wine cellar it is," he decides, with a definitive nod. "Let's make sure they're good an' tight an' tie 'em down to somethin' so's they don't crawl off." Magramba bangs the door of the smaller chamber back open, only to catch two of them in the act of doing just that, one having wriggled over to the other to work at his bonds. "'ey! I din't say y' could untie each other."
"You spoil me." The squirrelmaid grins, wickedly, though it dissipates as they reenter the store room. "Ugh, we walk away f'just /one minute/ and this is how you behave?" Aden groans, stomping across the store room to where the ferret is trying to work the rat's bonds free. "None of that." And he finds himself knocked cold for the second time this evening. Sheathing her sword, again, she crouches behind him, ignoring the pleas from the other two, and drags the ferret towards the shelf. "I got this one." She clumsily binds him to it, and has the drunken sense to ransack his immediate surroundings for anything helpful. "There's no organization, it's sad, really. Flour next to picks next to...What is this, line for fishing?" She rolls her eyes. "No wonder your tunnel keeps collapsing."
"None of /that,/" Magramba agrees, pulling his to either side of the table and roughly lashing them to one table leg each. It's a sturdy, oaken affair, likely not made by the same beasts who've been digging these tunnels. "Grab that fishing line," the warrior calls over, cinching down the second rapscallion before straightening up to dust off his paws. They're so filthy.
"Got it." Aden sifts through another crate, pushing aside a whole manner of living essentials, mostly useless to the travelers. "Oh, more mugs!" She grabs those because they will /obviously/ be needing them. It all is tucked into her rucksack. The deed done, she claps her paws together and steps back into the hallway, retrieving the torch from the wall. She offers an arm out to Magramba, a skip in her step. The beasts who remain conscious have the good sense to keep quiet, since they still have their heads - and they know that it is more than they would have awarded the two squirrels. "Shall we?"
Yeah, but only because Magramba destroyed his old mug. The warrior makes his way out into the hallway, somewhat more unsteady than the acrobat, but he loops his arm in hers nonetheless. "Lead on, Fearless Gray-One." He grins and starts down the tunnel towards the wine closet.
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