05: The Contortionist
“So, you're the jester." Thume said gruffly, not bothering to even attempt at trying to hide his foul mood. Without getting out of his seat, Lyric looked up lazily from his book, carefully studying the ornery goat that was now silhouetted in his tent's doorway. He licked once at his lips, and Thume felt irritation spill across his face.
The circus had been travelling at a more relaxed pace the previous few days, and they were now halfway through the process of setting up on the outskirts of Bantam – the capital city of the Vellem Province. It was dryer down here than in Fulbright, the murky swamps and marshes giving way for flat, dry, open plains. Miss Meridian had situated them at the cusp of an aging yet spacious forest, the city itself a dark blurry blob in the distance. It was barely a half hour ride, yet it seemed much farther than that, perhaps because this particular huddle of trees was located ever-so-slightly lower than the rest of the plains.
“Hello Thume." Lyric said with a sigh, setting his book down open on the fragile little desk he had in front of him. “I suppose it's about time we introduced ourselves then, how are you this morning? I can see you're in a pleasant state of mind." His expressionless voice took Thume a little by surprise, and he was shocked to find his rage sapped by it. He huffed, rubbing at his chin and reconsidering his approach.
“You're the one that talked the crow into giving Fletch a chance, huh?" He said, conveniently remembering. This wasn't going according to plan and he'd barely said anything.
“That's about correct, though Merissa is a raven. What of it?" Lyric leaned back in his seat, appearing bored with the conversation.
“The others are all setting up or practicing. You don't got nothin' to do but read?" Thume asked, gesturing to the worn paperback. Lyric shrugged, looking past the old goat.
“Oh, like you said though, I'm just the jester." He replied eventually. “I ain't got much to do besides juggle and fall over some. Just about to distract people really." He held the book's cover up for Thume to see; the illustration featured some variation of canine skull with glowing red eyes. “I've read it before, it's interesting."
“You good at that, huh? Distractin' folk?" Thume cocked his head, folding his arms. Lyric watched him for an extended moment.
“Something like that yeah."
“So how come all'a them lot keep you in such high regard? Why, I find it kinda funny, strollin' about the place and all I can hear is Lyric this and Lyric that comin' outta folks mouths." He turned on the spot, scratching his chin emphatically. “If you're just the clown, boy, then how come they always chattin' 'bout you?"
“I'm a nice guy." Thume snorted at that.
“Right."
Lyric shrugged. He was irritatingly casual. “Sometimes I help people out, usually they appreciate it. Like I helped your kid out, something wrong with that?" He asked. Thume stared at the young man, narrowing his eyes. There was something about the jackal he didn't care for, something that whispered secrets. His mind could almost grasp it, but every time he approached the realisation it darted away.
“And you just help people out huh? No cost or anythin' like that, surely?" He said slowly. Lyric sighed, his head lolling back.
“What do you want Thume? I got better things to do than have this tedious-ass conversation with you."
“I just wanna know when you're gonna come knockin' on Fletch's door, asking him to pay up for that nice favour you pulled. And I want his rifle back too."
“Fuck off." Lyric said with a groan, looking back to the book. Thume stepped forward and grabbed it, tearing it from the jackal's paws and flinging it out behind him. It soared, before landing a few feet away with a slight 'whuff', a small cloud of dust kicked up from the impact.
“Don't talk to me like that boy." Lyric's head slid to the side and he met Thume's eyes, unflinching.
“Or what?"
“Whaddya ya want from Fletcher?" Thume demanded, leaning over the jackal. Lyric seemed totally nonplussed by the action, simply aggravated that his book was now several metres away and dirty.
“Nothing." He said earnestly. Thume sneered at that.
“Your bullshit don't work on me jackal. I get it, I do, South's a rough place, an' you probably had a hard lot in life. You got shy eyes, but there's a quickness there I see it. I understand some people probably hurt you son, but keep Fletch out of it, okay? He's a good boy, and he don't want to hurt none. He's had enough." Thume blinked. He could feel the borders moving again, his consciousness's event horizon tilting listlessly.
Circulate. He thought, the old word coming unbidden, burned into his reticent memory. Where did his dreams (memories?) end? How many of his (nightmares) memories were real and how many fabrications? How long did he have left? I've done this too many times, gotta get off this closed circle. It's all the same, damn blank walls. I never really got out of that fucking machine.
He swayed slightly, inhaling through his nose and exhaling out his mouth. He could feel the earth's rotation beneath himself, could feel the weight of the moon pressurised on the atmosphere, it was all spinning - a rubber duck in a bath.
“I don't want anything from Fletcher." Lyric said. “And believe it or don't, but I don't care much what you think." And he pushed his chair back, standing to make for his book. Thume was in front of him then, a hand on his chest. Lyric looked down slowly, slight bemusement on his face. Thume was impressed – for someone so young he was remarkably calm, no sign of intimidation at all. Between his sideways eyes and horns, most people were at least a little bit thrown when he made the effort. He was either for real, or an idiot.
What have you seen kid? Thume found himself wondering. Had they met before? In the past maybe, during a different groove? He cracked his jaw, the internal binary moving and shifting, that's all this was; an impossible two existing in a sea of ones and zeroes. A metabolic code is what his manuals had called it, using words he didn't even understand the context of, talking about dead machines to explain the parallel sliding that addled his brain. Real? Fantasy? A parallax. He shook his head, getting out of himself. Damn borders, always shifting. He quickly rebound his mind, securing the leash straps and nailing it down. He kept a tight grip, any wandering and the collar snapped taught, it was the only way to coexist with the thing.
“And what about his rifle then? He said you took it, wouldn't tell me for days – got any plans to give it back?" Lyric stared at him and sighed.
“Can't you just let me read in peace old man? Did he tell ya what he was doin' when I took it?" He asked slowly. Thume nodded.
“The boy was a damn fool I ain't denying it, but he was just tryin' to fit in. His father ain't never let him have much in the way'a friends, always…scared people off. He feels something terrible, he deserves it back I think." He cleared his throat. “'Sides, he can't practice for your big show without it, right? Kid's learned his lesson." Lyric blinked, unmoving.
“You're a crazy old thing ain't you?" He asked, smirking slightly. Thume shook his head.
“Don't get smart with me kid."
“I ain't that smart a fella Thume, don't right know what you mean." Lyric chuckled, looking away.
“You prolly just wanted him to come wandering over to ask fer it back, huh? Then you'd have a little favour to request? I met your kind before, just stop."
“Damn it, how many times I gotta say it?" Lyric exclaimed, exasperated. “I don't want anything!"
“Then where's the rifle?" Thume asked, raising his eyebrows.
“S'over there." Lyric said, gesturing behind himself. Thume glanced back, and sure enough there was Fletcher's sandalwood and steel bolt-action. “Ya welcome to it, if you think you can take it." The jackal added, a teasing smile on his muzzle.
Thume growled, deciding then that he hated this man. “Fletch needs it, enough games."
“If he needs it so badly, then where is he huh? Did he send you then? Too scared to own up to his foul?" He shook his head in mock disapproval, the smug bastard. “He can have it when he gets it 'imself."
“He's off with your raven. She said everyone else's busy – as I can see -, and she needed him in Bantam with her. He don't know I'm here, figured I'd help him out, he's had a rough time like I said." Thume said, softening slightly. “If you knew his father…well, he was a bastard if I ever met one, ya don't know the half." Now it was Lyric's turn to narrow his eyes.
“I've known my fair share of bastards; I can imagine." Thume held his hands up in a 'surrender' motion.
“So how 'bout it? Let me take the rifle back." He said gently.
“No." Lyric said curtly, pushing past him and walking to the book. Thume briefly considered going in and just getting it, as the jackal had suggested he try, but he quickly reconsidered. Getting in a punch up with this one would just isolate them even more from the rest of the crew; the last thing he wanted for Fletcher. He half-reckoned he could take the jackal in a brawl, but he'd end up walking away with baggage much worse than when he'd come over – win or lose it was zero sum.
“You're just an asshole thinks he's clever." Thume spat, turning on his heel. “I've seen plenty like you before, and I'll see plenty again." He called over a shoulder.
“You know half'a me believes ya, and the other half severely doubts it." Lyric called. “Fletcher can have his rifle back when he earns it back! You tell him that."
“Well you're awfully quiet." Miss Meridian said, glancing across to Fletcher. He shrugged, his feral horse's reins held loosely in paw, gently steering the docile beast. “Something got you down? I won't force you to talk Fletcher, but you're always welcome to." He smiled at the raven, sighing.
“How come you asked me out here today?" He wondered aloud. It wasn't what was really on his mind, but it suited her probing just fine. It had been days since Lyric scolded him and the twins, and he had yet to retrieve his rifle. He knew that he needed to go apologise, but he felt so stupid that his face flushed every time he even began to consider it.
“I told you already! Everyone else was busy, setting up for a show proper is a big deal – and I needed a helper." Meridian answered, chastising even with her sing-song voice. It had been decided that while they were in Bantam, Fletcher would not participate in the show – at least to start. Miss Meridian had claimed she wanted him to see what it was like in person first, so he'd have a better idea of the overall aesthetic.
She had taken his measurements before they left that morning however.
“Howdy there!" A cheerful wolf called as the two passed him by, each returning the greeting in kind. They were on the edges of Bantam and headed towards the centre. Fletcher had never been, but so far it seemed like a nice enough town – everyone was in a good mood, and the streets were relatively clean as far as he could tell. It was about two thirds the size of Gallentry, but it didn't feel crowded the way that city did, it felt almost sleepy, casual, and welcoming even.
“Besides, I thought you and this girl might bond a little. Since you're both so new." Meridian said, pausing. “And…if I'm being honest, I don't want you to be scared of going out. I wanted you to see that it's okay to head out of camp. We're in Vellem proper now, these are good people. Your father's reach can only go so far." Fletcher nodded.
“Yeah, I s'pose." He said, unconvinced. They were headed towards a theatre close to the city centre, in search of a young girl the old raven was hoping to 'acquire' for the circus. “So how come you're so trigger happy on this girl you ain't never met?" Fletcher continued, a little indignation in his tone. “You weren't even gonna let me try, but he we are chasing after her." Meridian smirked, chuckling to herself.
“True." She said merrily. “But…and not to be rude Fletcher, but this girl is already working. She has proven return, a track record. She's not some kid just asking to hop aboard out of nowhere, promising he can do one thing that'll impress me – and a thing he's got absolutely no bloody experience in to boot! I don't mean to offend you dear, but that's just how it is." Fletcher inhaled, coughing awkwardly.
That makes sense. He thought. I guess. He figured some people would find Meridian abrupt, but he found her straightforwardness refreshing. She was blunt, but not rude or cruel – a distinction many failed to make. His father would always brag about how he didn't 'spout any bullshit' and 'told it like it was', but in reality, he was just an asshole.
The two turned off the main city road, heading down a narrow side-street lined with double and triple-storey buildings, their wooden exteriors echoing a sense of structural tiredness. Bantam may be twice as merry as Gallentry, but it was half as wealthy. Fletcher studied the shops going by; a surgeons practice with one cracked window, the others dusted by mould and city-grime. He saw a place advertising itself as an 'adult hotel', a small gaggle of working women hanging out the front, smoking and yoo-hooing at potential customers that passed them by. The most interesting building he saw was a long, slender thing built out of a darker, more vermilion wood than the rest of the towns vaguely greenish-grey lumber. A neon sign out the front read; 'ALPHONSO'S PROTOLIPHIC ART' in yellow and pink lettering. Through the musty windows (did anyone in this town wash their glass?), Fletcher saw figures moving about, gesturing wildly at grotesquely bizarre figures and statues.
“There was another reason." Meridian said suddenly, startling Fletcher enough that he flinched.
“Another reason…what, sorry?" He asked, following her around the corner to a kind of open courtyard; a concrete fountain sat in the middle, and by the look of things it hadn't seen any water running through the pipes in years.
“Another reason I'm so eager to get this girl." Meridian said, stopping at a feral-hitch and sliding down gracefully from her saddle. “The telegraph I first received in Gallentry about her; she was the one who sent it, not a manager. Her name is Ursula Tawny, and she claimed the man she currently worked for was an utter brute. Informed me that he wouldn't even let her outside, and even hit her…she could quit, sure, but who else is going to employ a talented contortionist besides a whorehouse?"
“Oh." Fletcher said, dropping down and securing his own beast's reins to the post. “That's kind of you."
“It's our lot in life Fletcher. We're her only hope, and when I hear something like that it's only a matter of deciding who deals with the problem; me or Lyric." Fletcher nodded.
I should have been more open about my father then. He thought, scoffing internally.
“So why didn't you ask him to come with you then? He didn't seem all that busy." He asked. Meridian let out a short 'ha'.
“His way is a little less delicate than ours, sometimes an open claw is better than a fist. We work well together and I appreciate what he does, but I'd rather not be run out of a city again anytime soon." Fletcher frowned, watching the tall raven as she walked off, wondering what the jackal could have possibly done to have the whole circus chased off. He seemed abrupt and a little rough-edged, but surely he couldn't kick up that much of a fuss?
I must be misinterpreting her. He thought, hurrying to keep up.
“Here we go." Meridian said, her semi-reptilian claws on her hips as she stared up at the aging theatre. “A real beaut, huh?" She snorted.
The theatre itself was a very cubic building, boasting little in the way of creative architecture. The whole thing was covered in a fine coat of dirt, and the front porch looked as if it hadn't been washed…maybe ever. The sign up high was rusting and decrepit, and Fletcher could only compare the structure to a dying animal.
~ FILOTIMO SPECTACLE THEATRE ~
That was likely what the sign meant to say, however both the A's and the S were missing, with nothing but a faint outline to prove they were ever there in the first place.
“Shall we go see a show darling?" Miss Meridian said theatrically, bowing at the waist. Fletcher giggled, following her up the steps. He expected her to knock on the aged doors, but instead the raven simply pushed inside, crying out dramatically as she did so. Fletcher scurried in after, looking around the tacky, red-velvet lined room, not missing the plethora of old stains left upon it. A ticket booth sat to their left, with a small bar for serving drinks to the right; directly in front of them was a bifurcated staircase, the railing painted in a cheap gold covering, the dark wood beneath exposed as it flaked away. At the first landing stood a pudgy badger in a worn suit, his glasses far too small for his bulbous head.
“Good…morning there." The badger said stuffily. “You are Miss Meridian I take it? Did the road treat you well m'lady?" Instead of answering the raven stepped forward, spinning slightly as she took in the room.
“Oh I lahv it, such a rustic charm!" She declared loudly to herself, accent dropping three times thicker. Fletcher just watched, unable to decide how he should act. “To see this place in the prime of it's life I would positively die, the prodigious crowd, affluent atmosphere, aaaaah the stench of the masses and their unadulterated adoration! I can picture it now!"
“Ahem." Said the badger intrusively, coming partway down his stairs. “I received your telegraph in good standing m'lady, pleasure to meet--" Meridian spun towards him then, cocking her head flamboyantly and touching a finger to her beak.
“Oh, you must be Franklin Beguile! Pleasure, pleasure!" She cawed, instantly cutting him off as she took a single step forward, one claw outstretched. The badger, still several metres away and halfway up the stairs, stared at her as she made no further moves.
“Er, yes…I am." He said, finally relenting and waddling down the steps, hurrying over to meet her handshake. He was a head-and-a-half shorter than her, his body a kind of sad, sagging sphere.
“Oh, I adore your spot." Meridian said, her voice several octaves higher than Fletcher had ever heard it go. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice – the nomad life, always moving about. I mean, why do that much work when I could sit back with a chilled Bordeaux and just wait for the audience to come to me?! Oh, Franklin, this must have been so charming when it was going…if only I could travel time." The badger sputtered, bright enough to know he was being insulted, but not witty enough to make a diplomatic retort.
“Yes, very well." He stammered. Meridian spun to Fletcher, gesturing furiously at him.
“You must have heard of dear Mathias, Franklin? He's the best around, I am the absolute envy of the travelling showmen to have him under my employ." The badger frowned, studying Fletcher carefully as Meridian went on. “Yes, he is of course tragically expensive and embarrassingly shy, but his artwork is truly – truly, the best in the South I swear by it. There's a reason people say what they do." Franklin looked from Meridian to Fletcher, but then something seemed to click with the badger, and he began nodding.
“Yes of course, Mister Mathias…I believe I've seen his artwork before, er, who hasn't? I didn't expect you to be so young, good man. A talent to die for, you're a lucky woman Merissa." He laughed nervously, adjusting his glasses.
“Miss Meridian, please." The raven said with a slight chuckle. Fletcher wondered just what the hell was going on, and if Mathias was even a real person. “But you called me a lucky woman Franklin, and frankly I've nought been so insulted! I'm a businesswoman first and foremost you know it as do I, no luck about it. And here I am…" She folded her fingers before herself, eyeing the badger. “…to do business."
“Ah yes…the matter of--"
“Of the girl, of course you have received my telegraph of offer. The little darling, oh, come now what was her name…" She clicked her fingers twice. Fletcher raised an eyebrow.
“Ursula, Ursula Tawny, finest contortionist I've ever seen m'lady. She can be…a tad emotional if I say so myself, but she does right by me and I by her." The badger said, gripping the front of his vest and blushing slightly. “Now, I wanted to say this via telegraph before – but you'd already departed Gallentry and I wasn't sure how best to contact you…you expressed an interest in employing Miss Tawny for the Midnight Meridian show, am I co--"
“Correct? Absolutely, Franklin. Are we friends? I feel I consider us friends good man, we understand one another as only colleagues can." Meridian babbled over him, turning and walking about the theatre lobby. “And I can tell you – as a fellow member in the business - that I shan't be leaving today without the young lady in tow. I will not have it!" She declared with a screech, thrusting one arm high into the air and pointing at the roof for some reason. Fletcher continued to blink.
“Well, see, that's the thing." Franklin stuttered and stammered. “I, I do wish you'd given me a chance, you see, to try and…that is, reply so--" Again he was interrupted.
“Franklin understand that I met a wandering lady on my last day in Gallentry, good friend of mine perhaps you know her – Shadiana, charming vixen but a terrible liar, thank the Old Gods she's a looker. But Shadiana, she comes, she comes to me and she claims 'Merissa - Merissa she says - you simply must have, oh…what was her…Urla join the Meridian show, it would truly seal the cherry on top that is your delightful city sundae. Shadiana has never given me bad advice Franklin I don't think she'd start now, do you? That's right."
Fletcher rubbed at his neck, suddenly wondering if he'd gone completely insane.
“I'm so sorry Madam, I can't…part with her." Franklin said apologetically, also looking somewhat bewildered by the raven's torrent of words. Meridian laughed, semi-maniacally.
“But of course you can!" She said shrilly. “Don't be daft."
“I…I truly can't! I'd love to introduce you, perhaps we can…er, perhaps work something out whilst you're around Bantam? But I must remain firm that Ursula belongs solely to me." His voice hardened at the end of the sentence, and Miss Meridian went still.
“Well, she doesn't belong to anyone now does she? We gainfully employ her." She said in a low tone. In a second her bubbly, ditzy demeanour had returned, and she sauntered over to the fat badger. “Franklin, I'm going to be frank – going to be franklin, ha – with you. You see, the art of the show is dying, it's in terrible disrepair I'm certain you've felt it. More and more each day, I see fewer and fewer bright faces in my tent, their dreams flaring as they imagine just how the Raiji twins manage to do-what-they-do. You follow, yes? Don't deny it's been rough!"
“I've certainly seen better days." Franklin agreed. “But…to be honest with you Miss, without Ursula I don't have much of a show to peddle, we're not such a large ensemble piece like your dear Meridian."
“Please darling, my name is Meridian!" The raven hollered, giggling madly. Fletcher was clueless as to what that was supposed to even mean. “What I'm saying here…Franklin…is that your theatre is basically dead in the water, you can't avoid it. Honestly if I were you, I'd sell what little assets you have hiding away and make for a much cheaper city; I'm told Adderon is lovely. By remaining in or around Bantam, you are only embarrassing yourself further, and I can't see how a man like you could ever truly bounce back from the utter laughing stock that your enterprise has become." She froze, and the badger stumbled back as if shoved.
“Why…why I…ain't never…you…you bitch!" He tried, failing for words. “Get out! Get out right now!" She ignored him, closing in.
“You're a small man, Mister Beguile. With small aspirations, you're lonely and it shows, it seethes off you in waves – in fact I'd even hazard a guess that if you were to neck yourself just this night, few beyond your poor, traumatised mother would really kick up any fuss. You matter to nobody, and you have all the incentive to leave this cursed town. You reek of desperation believe me, we can all smell it. Is this the life you pictured as a showman? Owning girls, your livelihood propped up by two broken crutches and a young lady that can twist herself?" She leaned back, laughing cruelly. Franklin opened and closed his mouth, reeling slightly.
“Now…well…well you listen here Miss Meridian." The badger spat.
“No." The raven said firmly. “You listen. Ringleader to ringleader, you're a despicable tiny man, and I'm trying to do you a favour. Let me buy the girl, I'll pay half as much more than she's really worth, and you can get out of this dead end city and stop making such a wretched fool of yourself." She paused, snapping a finger at Fletcher. “Mathias! The money order!"
He winced, suddenly remembering the two could see him. Franklin seemed stunned, almost winded, his swollen chest heaving just from the effort of catching his breath. Fletcher hurriedly pulled out the creased old paper Miss Meridian had given him earlier that morning, dashing over and passing it to her waiting claw. She accepted it, pushing it into Franklin's paws.
“Take the money, and let this be done." She whispered. Franklin wiped at his eyes, and Fletcher realised he'd teared up for a moment.
“GIRL!" He bellowed suddenly, viciously, his head flicking back. “YOU GET OUT HERE!" In his paws he squeezed the money order, folding it shakily and tucking it into a straining breast pocket. Fletcher watched as a scrawny, yet elongated girl came walking out from a door beneath the staircase.
Ursula Tawny was a blue and grey sergal, her body covered in loose exercise clothing, a small bag over one shoulder. She kept her eyes to the ground as she approached Miss Meridian, the unbelievably long tail curling around her knees.
“It's good to meet you Ursula. How are you dear? Are you alright?" Meridian asked, gently touching her arm.
“Yes, thank you Madam." Ursula all but whispered. The raven then pointed to Fletcher.
“See the handsome young coyote, you go and follow him outside now, y'hear? Fletch, sit young Ursula on my horse, I'll be out in a moment." Ursula just nodded, recoiling slightly as she passed by Franklin. Fletcher met her halfway, taking her bag and leading her to the door.
“That wasn't so hard now was it Franklin?" Meridian asked. The badger suddenly bristled, looking up towards the sergal's back.
“Not even a goodbye!? After all that I did for you?" He growled after her. Fletcher saw her visibly wince, about to turn back when Meridian spoke, her tone calm yet assertive, more like herself.
“She's not yours anymore Beguile. She doesn't have to say a damned thing to you. I'll see you two outside!" And with that, Fletcher pushed open the door and lead the sergal to their horses.
He secured the bag of clothing to Miss Meridian's feral, giving Ursula a paw up. He'd never seen a sergal before, but even as someone who fancied boys, he thought she was beautiful, a quiet ethereal quality surrounding her every movement.
“Are you alright? Miss Meridian said that…that he wasn't nice." Fletcher asked. The sergal's large, wedge-shaped head made a subtle dip. “It's okay, she's very kind…and…not quite that eccentric usually. Was it really that bad?"
“He…he was a bastard." Ursula said, anger bleeding through her words. “Thank you very much for coming to get me." Fletcher blushed, cheeks hot beneath his fur.
“Well, s'all her really." He replied shyly, as the raven appeared once again, striding over to the horses.
“I apologise for the commotion dear girl, but like you said in your telegraph – he wasn't want to let you go easily. I hope you don't mind riding with me, we only brought two mounts I'm afraid."
“It's fine." Ursula said. “Thank you so much, Miss Meridian, I don't know how I can ever repay you." The raven laughed as if she'd heard a funny joke, hefting herself up and into the saddle.
“Oh, just be your best self and put on a good show. That's all I ask of you." She said. Fletcher smiled, pulling himself onto his own feral. It felt so good to be around decent people, to see someone who – despite being the one in charge, capable of saying whatever she wanted – said and did kind things. He felt a swell of joy build in his chest, one he hadn't felt for a very long time.
The trio began the ride back out of Bantam in silence. It was occurring to Fletcher then how, with hindsight, his father was seeming worse and worse by the day. Scarcely a week out of Gallentry and the man seemed a nightmare in his memories; never letting Fletcher leave the district, selling him off to be married for gold, berating him constantly, never saying anything kind or supportive. His whole childhood had been one mind game after another, with Mason consistently disappointed in him without Fletcher having the first clue even to why.
He couldn't remember a single time his father had said he was proud of him, or that he loved him.
“Here, pull over a second Fletch." Miss Meridian called over a shoulder, leading her mount to a nearby storefront. It was a simple, tall building kept in good condition, with a red plus symbol painted on the window front. The words “BANTAM CITY SURGEON SUPPLIES" were written beneath it, in a lettering style that didn't quite suit. “Aloysius wanted some gauze and antiseptic…I might as well get it if we're here or he'll be on my case all week. That fox is a darling but he knows how to nag almost as much as Lyric does." She continued, hopping off the mount and patting it's flank.
“How long will you be?" Fletcher asked, rolling his shoulders. He was anxious to get back, he wanted to properly apologise to Lyric, get his rifle back, and start practicing – in that order.
“Not long, don't you fret. You two just wait here and I'll be a tic." With a flourish of dusty feathers, she jogged up the steps to the porch and pressed inside. Fletcher stayed in his saddle, rubbing his blue-grey ferals choppy mane, the beast's ears twitching happily as it neighed contently.
“How long have you been with Miss Meridian?" Ursula asked suddenly. Her voice was so small and timid, and Fletcher caught himself wondering if it was that way naturally – or if that old badger had conditioned her that way.
“Not long at all." He said, flushing a little but not knowing why. “Everyone is really nice though, at least the ones I've met. I think the rest are a bit shy."
“Oh. I see." The sergal nodded. Fletcher again watched her tail, hanging loosely off the side of the feral she sat on, the end coiling just under the mount's stomach for balance. He was about to ask if the tail got in her way, when something in the distance caught his eye.
Four wolves chatting near their horses out the front of a saloon. Something about them made Fletcher's stomach wince, and he paused, continuing to watch them as his fur bristled. The tallest of the group seemed to notice him watching, and stared right back.
No…he hadn't started staring back…he'd been watching Fletcher for certain. It's what was so weird.
“Fletch, all alright there darlin'?" Miss Meridian said, exiting the supply store. Something was wrong. Who were those wolves? Why did he get a spark of recognition when he looked at them?
“I…yes…" He said, studying the group. They each wore a tan duster, and were all visibly armed. “I just…I think I recognise one of those fellas down the way." He said it mostly to himself, narrowing his eyes as he studied the man in front, who was now gesturing something to his three companions.
“Boy, those eyes of yours are too good, it's a little scary." Meridian added, but Fletcher ignored her, continuing to look at the tallest of the wolves. He carried a shotgun over one shoulder, some kind of shining piece of metal hanging on his belt. Beneath his wide-brimmed cowboy hat his face was obscured, but as Fletcher noticed the fur at his arms and neck, he finally realised who it was;
The same grey wolf he'd bumped into at Pawel's Bar back in Rusten, the one with the bitten ear.
They followed me here.
In that moment three things happened very quickly; the first was the group of four pulling themselves onto their mounts, steering their ferals towards Fletcher as they broke into a canter and then a gallop.
The second was Fletcher realising that the 'shining piece of metal' on the wolf's belt was - in fact - a bounty hunter badge.
The third was when he kicked his own feral into motion, and started running.
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