Viddick Walks into a Bar...

Notch, Viddick, Dangeon, Anselm [Saxifrage], Saxifrage, Punch

Notch has found himself holed up in one of Knothill's finer establishment, grinning and chatting with one of the regulars as mention of him comes up, "Aye, I heard about that rat bastard of a prince and the hare queen, imposters the lot of them but lets talk about maybe ya buying me a drink instead eh?" Notch has done his best to seem more common, wearing a rediculously large green cloak that he found tossed somewhere. By the smell it was with good reason.

The evening is young, but it is already shaping up to be an eventful one. News of the king's latest orders, to apprehend the fugitive slaves impersonating the prince, the queen, and Oilrag, have spread like a tremor through the island's population. The air is electric. Strange, then, that the weather should be so calm.

Viddick enters the tavern, not at all afraid of looking like himself, well... yet, anyway. Who knows what beast the emperor might next announce as doppelganger. The rat guard enters, keeping his halberd at ease in the crook of his shoulder. Virtually all of the bar turns to see the guard enter, some turning back to their fare immediately as the royal emissary conducts his business. He approaches the bar, whispering to the keep.

The hulking mound of hair perched atop the stool neighboring Notch's rotates to reveal the long, almost equine face of a deformed weasel, huge for his species and with a visage that seems cast from the very essence of surliness. "Ain' you a bi' young? Whoi don' yew scram 'fore oi aler' da bluddy proprie'ers a dis establishmen', eh, kiddo?" Interestingly for someone so uncouth, the weasel seems to be rather well dressed. His head is capped with a flouncy purple cap, and the cap with a feather. Though he wears no shirt (a concession to the heat?), a long, elaborately embroidered stole hangs across his shoulders.

A slender rat is posted behind the bar this evening. He is dressed to the nines, set with a false smile as he polishes tumblers and adjusts crocks so that each is perfectly faced. "Good evening, sir," he says to Viddick, turning to the mumble. "I didn't quite catch that. Years of loud functions have not been kind to my hearing." Wary blue eyes lock the fellow.

Dangeon, of course, has no idea, yet, of what has transpired and is here, enjoying what has seem to become her favourite place on the island. The palace is home, of course, but the Queen seems to venture out more often than is, perhaps, decent to come and spend days at a time here, drinking and enjoying a somewhat leisurely existance. Though, as today too, she's often dressed in clothes that would be more fitting to a minor Lady or extremely affluent peasant than to royalty. Right now she's tossing back an ale at the bar, a jaunty smile revealing her buckteeth, clad in another green dress of fine cloth but a peasant cut and adorned with a simple necklace and bracelet; no jewels.

Viddick huffs impatiently and tips his halberd forward against the edge of the bar as his own center of gravity is shifted forward to maintain a safe distance of speaking. "I /said/... has there been a rat of some likeness to the late Prince?" The rat pauses, "Or a hare, of the queen's description?" Just then he sees something in the reflection of a large polished jar, and turns around. Dangeon.

"Ya mistaken bub, Is just short for my age and I ain't going anywhere until ya buy me that drink, " Notch ducks his head a bit, pulling the cloak so that it conceals his features a bit more as he keeps a watchful eye out on the new arrivals. He turns back to the weasel grinning, "Besides, I ain't held ya ugly mug of yours against ya... so why don't'cha buy me that drink aod forget that I'm so youthful looking eh?"

The weasel's sole response is a rumbling growl. He turns back to his drink.

One corner of the bartender's smile falters. He might be half-deaf, but this creature has to be blind. The slender rat, Anselm, rights his smile, but does not speak, as Viddick has already reeled to face his query. He lifts a hand to smooth the hair at his temple, and resumes his polishing detail.

Dinner service long finished, the dining room candles have been extinguished for the night, and this provides optimal cover for Saxifrage. She looms like a vulture, surveilling the bar from a seat at one of the refectory tables. From there, the jill has a clear, if angled, view of the adjoining room. The only evidence of her vigil is the intermittent orange glow of a pipe bowl, though she is cautious to interrupt the smoke cloud with a bat from her hand.

Well it didn't hurt to try, not that Notch had much hope of swaying the weasel. Still, best he give the feller a reason to forget him, pass him off as some dumb kid. He moves away and heads for the nearest unoccupied corner as he watches Dangeon arrive. He smirks, considers for a moment whether to approach the hare but hangs back and watches for the moment.

Dangeon seems mostly oblivious and comfortable in a little bit of a drink haze. She likely can't see much beyond the nearest shiny thing or 'fascinating drinking buddy' for the moment. Her ears twitch to snatches of a song (or perhaps it's just someone with a pleasantly rhythmic voice) that she /thinks/ she knows and a handful of 'words' that can't possibly be the lyrics to any song tumble, with no real 'tune' out of her mouth as she 'sings along'; something about a tree and an oven or maybe that was 'bubble'...

The guardrat makes his way over to the hare and bets upon the hare not having already heard about the chaotic turn of events, "Your Highness, my Queen... requesting permission to speak to your royalty, if it is so desired." Inwardly, the rat loathes having to speak in such formalities to a hare, and would be the last to argue the king's maddened intentions.

Punch steps into the bar, his jaw clenched. For a moment, he only stands there, looking rather serious, eyes adjusting. The patina of sweat on the fur of his forehead reflects the moody light of the bar.

Nothing reveals Anselm's interest in Viddick, but his watch is steadfast. That blue gaze only departs from the queen at the guard for fleeting seconds, during which it favors the darkened arch to the dining room, perhaps aware of some undisclosed participant in the developing events--a partner in some coordinated effort. The reality of it is that few creatures enter the Knothill without being noticed. After Dangeon's unexpected entrance a few nights prior, the staff was duly chastised for its failure, and has been extra vigilant since. But for now, Anselm lies in wait, his scrutiny disguised among fastidious, though calm, bar tasks.

Dangeon blinks at the rat that, from her point of view, has materialised right there. "H'yo! Y' bally well may!" She answers (at least it makes sense) with a grin. "But y'need a drink. C'ld we get another jolly old ale f'r... Viddy.. Vibblebricks please?!" She probably has no idea that what she said wasn't his name.

Saxifrage draws a sharp inhale from the pipe stem, which nearly causes her to choke, when Punch strolls into the bar. She stifles the cough with the acuity of a creature who has hidden a noxious habit for years. Word of the recent debacle at the palace reached the hotel earlier that day, but the jill is unsure of which story the perspiring rat has bought. His flustered look catches her off guard.

Viddick rolls his eyes, hardly fearing she might notice this subtle gesture in her most unsubtle state... He continues, "Well, your Majesty... very simply put, His Majesty the Emperor requests your presence at the keep. Er... you wouldn't happen to know where Prince Notch has gotten to?" He doesn't mention Oilrag, but the odds that the emperess would know where the Emperor's own advisor would be are less likely.

"Of course, majesty," Anselm obliges. In what seems like a single, graceful motion, the rat captures a pint of beer and places it before Viddick. "On the house, sir. You have the look of a troubled beast about you. Nothing will cure a buck's ails sooner than an ale, right?" Both palms flatten on the bar. "But, if I may say, her majesty has come to us for relief from courtly matters. Why must you bring such concerns to her here? The king granted her furlough nigh four days ago." He acts oblivious to every word that tumbles from the guard; perhaps his hearing is worse than previously indicated, or just supremely selective.

Punch scans the room with practiced speed, now that he can see clearly, and almost immediately spots Viddick and Dangeon in conference. He approaches, looking quite stern, quite determined.

"Well he should comeand.. come and have a bally drink and, y'know, we could bloomin'... what was it y' wanted, wot?" She peers at Viddick, suddenly confused, then grins as Anselm brings his drink. "There! 'S solved, wot! Yeah! See! I have a blinkin'... furloppery-wotsit! Kingy knows." She nods, firmly, and tips the remainder of her own drink down her throat.

"It is wise not to position yourself between the Emperor and his Empress." Viddick stares at Anselm, adjusting the halberd propped against his shoulder, as he takes the mug and sips it. "His Majesty requests her presence, and these are his most recent orders; I simply carry them out." The rat keeps a wary eye out for Notch, in the off chance he might be close by.

Without prompting, the bartender--who primarily functions as butler and concierge to the hotel, and confidant to the prorprietor--fixes Dangeon a fresh drink. "You have a gullet like a sea monster, majesty; an astoundingly bottomless appetite for, well, all things wonderful in life," he says with the conventional peculiarity of a rat flattery. "My beloved queen, I do not believe you've introduced me to--" He stops to grant Viddick an animated once-over. "This finely carved specimen of rodenthood. I thought I had met all of his highness' most trusted courtiers, yet this fellow was not among them." He pinches his chin with a thumb and forefinger, perplexed.

Punch marches up. "How d-d-dare you ad-dress th-this--c-c-creature as her m-majesty!" he exclaims, directing his disdain at both Anselm and Viddick. "Do you not kn-know what she is?" He looks at Dangeon. "T-taking us all in. Wh-were did you hide the b-b-body? Of the one y-y-you killed!" It is a good approximation of rage, though his eyes are oddly unaffected. "Yes, my dear. The k-king knows, and you will p-pay for your crime!"

Viddick knocks the chair over in indignation, bolting up out of it and slamming the butt end of his halberd into the floor, "You'll speak to me with the respect owed a royal officer, barkeep! I do not answer to you nor care if we've been introduced; you can plainly see my decoration. Now, where is the prince! If he has been here, I /will/ find out... don't think me so foolish as to believe you've not yet received the decree by His Grace - that this impostor be secured immediately, and her accomplices captured as well! Guards!" Guards don't enter, and Viddick calls impatiently again, "/Guards!/"

"Thwaaanks!" Dangeon leans forward and beams at Anselm; it could be for the drink or the compliment; likely for both. She tips of of the new drink down then blinks at Viddick's actions and Punch's outburst. "... N'more f'r those two; they're cleaarrly drunk!" She decrees, pleasantly bemused and almost unaware of the seriousness of what's happening.

"...Ca-Can't get the staff..." Dangeon mumbles into her drink, sounding amused.

Anselm leans into the gleaming queen, and has enough time to give her a convivial wink, before Viddick lets loose his wrath. In fact, two rats' (the guard and Punch) outbursts occur almost simultaneously, his response to which is to simply lean back, clearing the line of fire. "Master Punch," he greets, ignoring the creatures' disregard for propriety. His icy eyes dart to the corridor for a moment, and a rounded ear flicks. Finding no sign of imperial footfalls, the bartender smiles. "I believe this heat has driven us all little.. mad."

Meanwhile, Saxifrage has abandoned her post in the dining room. The summoned imperial guards are, in all fairness, close--but not yet inside. A dozen burly cooks and groundskeepers, armed with a motley arsenal of cutlery and cast iron cookware and gardening tools, have the trio barred at the front door, as the heiress jill does everything in her power to exercise absolute diplomacy. She, standing on her toes, cranes over the shoulders' of her militia, cooing reason at the stony rats outside. It becomes gradually apparent that her efforts may be in vain.

"The n-n-noose tightens about your neck, and all y-you can th-thi-think about is pouring more d-drink down it!" Punch slices his arm across the bar top, knocking the collected drinks, full and empty, off. They clatter and smash to the floor. The rat grabs the nonchalant monarch's arm firmly, squeezing it meaningfully. "On yo-your p-paws!"

"Pauken! Bratsche! Where in the bloody h-, Floten! You idiots, what on the great Isle is...." Viddick feels all the eyes in the bar on him and his emboldened companion, as he tries to calm Punch down, "Easy, mate... you ain't in a position to do anything without our comrades in arms, and buildin' isn't the same as fightin'." He jabs the point of his halberd to signal Anselm away from the hare..

"Sir, put that blade away this instant!" Anselm barks, fixing Viddick with a glare twice as sharp as the halberd. "As head servant in this establishment, I will not allow the queen to be stolen away by some unknown marauder." His gaze softens, falling to Punch, pleading for some trace of sanity amid this fiasco. "Good sir Punch, is it your wish that I relinquish her majesty to your custody?" He cannot hide his words' pall of uncertainty, so simply clasps his hands in petition.

Viddick looks confused, "But surely, if you hand her over to him, then we will just take her in His Majesty's name - we are both for the same orders. Right? Master builder?" He lays his blade off of the barkeep and redirects it, not yet fully on the other of the king's servants, but at the ready should he answer in the negative...

In the distance, it sounds a lot like somebody's helmet was just dented by a skillet.

Dangeon blinks as her drink leaves the bar along with several others. "Hey!" She's confused and angered by this development, drunk enough to not entirely understand the situation, but with sense enough to know something bad or scary is happening. "Le'go m'arm and give m' bloomin' drink back!" She sounds like a wronged teenager protesting something unfair, though her fist is starting to ball; on some level she's probably considering how it might be 'improper' for a queen to 'brawl'... That level is probably sinking deeper though, too.

"I act on be-behalf of King Darkfur," Punch says to Anselm, crediting Viddick's words. "That is m-my duty, above a-all else. If I t-take her into m-my custody, I t-take her into the king's." He relinquishes Dangeon's arm for the moment and runs his paw down his side. "But, in c-consideration for y-you and your e-establishment, and f-for the tr-treatment this--impostor has g-g-grown u-used to--" he regards the queen distantly "--I will esc-scort her, without f-force, to the k-keep. She will b-be d-d-duly tried."

And her majesty is not the only one on the brink of fisticuffs. The mercury has officially risen; already balmy in the summer heat, the room now feels like a sauna, kindled by heated words and suffocating tension. Anselm collects his rag, and begins to swab the disaster Punch has left on the bar. He rights the toppled tumblers, sopping up the spilled libations in rigid, frenetic gestures. "If such is your wish, sir, so be it," the rat relents. "But I appeal to you, for my own peace of mind, and that of the Knothills, that this spiky creature does not accompany you on your egress. I trust your judgement, and feel that you will treat my queen proper on her journey to the keep." A hand juts to Viddick, clenching the bottom portion of a smashed cup. "I fear the foul acts this fellow might perpetrate--as he has shown little respect to anything thus far."

Dangeon is trying to climb over the bar as soon as her arm is released.

"It's more than she deserves, of course! Don't forget that part!" Viddick glares at her, perhaps taking the opportunity and speaking his mind about Her Majesty in general, though he offers a wary glance to Punch in return, "You stutter a lot, mate.." At the outrageous request of the barkeep, Viddick's own temper explodes again as well, "Absolutely out of the question! You'd have her escorted, under orders for her capture, by an unarmed /builderrat/?! You must be out of your mind; this is a serious matter, and you'll let the arm of the Emperor's law freely exercise its will or you'll be taken prisoner!" Halberd again on the barkeeper.

Viddick is briefly distracted by Dangeon crawling over the bar! "Hey---!"

Punch colors briefly. He isn't used to talking so much in one go. It doesn't help matters that when he does, the Viddicks of the world point out the speech defect. But there's little time to indulge in self-loathing. As Dangeon clambers over the bar, the builder lets out a yelp and makes a jump to grab her. Uncharacteristically for an ex-tumbler, he misses, smashing into her stool and bumping hard into Viddick.

"Bollocks!" Anselm has had enough of this pompous grunt. With the same fluidity he previously served ale, the butler has stolen a clay flagon of wine from beneath the bar. As the guard is preoccupied by the royal inebriate's attempted flight, he drives the heavy jug down at Viddick's head. His rash action coincides with Punch's blunder, so the earthenware-skull connection will either be compounded or deflected.

Viddick goes flying to the side and hits his head hard upon another, upright stool, falling unconscious.

Dangeon slips over the bar and lands behind it clumsily. She then crouches down, as though she believes she's perfectly hidden, once she makes it over the bar. She looks toward the barkeep and, with a drunkenly concerned expression, places a finger to her lips.