Fox Hunt

Fox Hunt

Postby Treadwell » Tue Aug 21, 2007 1:38 pm

From RP in channel dated August 21, 2007; edit outs of nicknames and connections of posts for readability. Note: Some language on occasion, like some nights in the BD! :)
P. P.
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Two nights ago; the Deck; Myrken Wood. A lone man kneels on the wooden platform in the heart of town, back to the stocks there on, furred cloak raised over his face. His nose is pointed downward; his eyes, unseen, scrutinize the wood below and a faint green gleam that they catch here and there through the cracks. A huffed, "Bastard" hisses into the night.

"There are fairies down there, you know, Fox. Only fae folk glow like that. *He's* not one of them, folks say. *He* works his fat ass into a sweat getting bigger and softer." He tilts his head up a little; eyes gleam with moonlight as he turns his body with a shuffle of feet and knees to look at the toy shop opposite the square. "So why is it you've not gone in there and done a *damn* thing?"

Tanith Lazyshadow dashes around the corner at the very end of Weaver's Row, someone else's bag tucked under her arm; the dark mouth of a cloak's hood crowds the face with shadow, except for a jovial, sideways grin. All legs, her elders had often tsked; she'd never had a problem with them. Long legs and mischief are very dear friends. Things were a lot easier before the Constabulary, that was for sure. There is a slum area of Myrken Wood, though many people like to pretend that it does not exist; for a while, in the chaos, they'd sat on the lids of rain-rotten crates and danced with their spoils like Kings and Queens. She bounds onto the wooden platform of the stocks, and with a swiftness, perhaps Volpone will feel the edge of her cloak as she crosses behind, she drops down to sit beside him, promptly tucking the bag between them, tugging down the lip of her hood. "Good day," she murmurs, and there are fast-approaching steps and long shadows on a wall, coming around the corner too.

Feet scurrying into the darkness, and a bag 'neath an arm! A great grin spreads across the rogue's face, and with not a thought more for a man he has plenty of time to deal with, he chuckles with voice gruff and low. "Ha! Find yourself some fun tonight, did you? Are you bringing friends?"

"A li'l too friendly, sparky. I needed some space," she grins in reply, some straggles of hair hanging out of her hood. She lightly covers the bag with her cloak, and the two guards rush into view -- hurrying down the street with their batons in the light of the walk-way, pebbles scattering from their hurried steps.

"Good girl! Smart!" He nods. A pause. . . a glance down. . . and a hissed, "Gullible!" as a dagger flicks out of his silken sleeve through cloak and bag. A flick upward gives a flash of steel in the moon's gleam and a toss of bag under waiting arm; legs spring the fur-cloaked scoundrel forward from the deck, and he hits the ground at a sprint.

Tanith Lazyshadow lifts the sharp of her chin with a widening of the eyes and, planting her hand down, springs off the deck; she moves at more of a scramble, pebbles scattering, before she manages to sprint after him. Her cloak flags wildly behind her. "Hey!" She hisses loudly, waving her arms in a cross manner, not wanting the guards to notice them -- although they've passed. "Better run fast, old man!"

"Old *Fox*, wench!" Around a corner, and with a secure, sudden plant on a overturned rain barrel's side and another on a stack of three bales of hay, his dagger cracks into the crumbling masonry of a chandler's shop--and around and up he swings a leg, feet thunking onto the rooftop's edge with an escaping huff of breath. The dagger, of course, is left, soundly stuck--perhaps permanently so!--as the dash resumes along the shop's rooftop edge. He's making, it seems, for the roof of the nearby butcher's.

"Fox is right!" She hollars at the sight of him springing off of rain-barrels and hackstacks. She bounds after him -- and at sight of the still-protruding dagger, she uses it in a motion that mimics his own, tumbling onto the rooftop with the momentum. Her hood sags halfway off when she drives to her feet, sharp face looking across the apex of the roof. Heart hammering wildly in the cage of her ribs, she gives chase along the narrow roof, but is slowed down severely by it; her balance is not quite so great, arms wobbling out at her sides. Her young, scarred face is screwed up with determination, a gleam of shining sweat on it. He's getting away. "C'mon, sparky! I stole it first, fair and square!"

"Arrahhhh!" comes the grunt as "Sparky" lurches over the ten feet or so between shops, hitting the butcher's roof at a roll. One hand meets the roof, and as he stands, in mid-crouch and turn to face the chasing lass, his free left hand draws steel, his rapier sheath swinging wide behind as his right arm follows, parcel still squeezed to side.

Tanith Lazyshadow gains some balance and some speed along the first roof-edge; there is some widening of her eyes as she comes to its end -- some breathtaking fearlessness in her wild leap of pursuit. For a moment, it seems that she might actually make it, but all that strikes the butcher's roof's edge is a hand in a sleazy half-glove, gripping; the other flails up to aid her, as she briefly, horrifyingly dangles there, her cloak tangling with her long legs. Her knuckles are white, and she grits her teeth, trying to pull herself up with a snarl of effort.

"What's in this bloody sack, anyway?" comes a growl, a demand, as sword gets slid back into place and the Fox ducks lower, eyes scanning the streets. Orange lanterns glow, bouncing-trotting toward from the northern streets of town. Company. Over he creep-shuffles, jerking his now free hand forward to grab for Tanith's forearm and wrist. "Can't have your damned shouting getting us any more attention! Now get up here and *hush!*"

Tanith Lazyshadow desperately ropes up his grasping arm, curling onto the rooftop; she clings to it for a moment, hair hanging down about her dirty, panting face. Glowering eyes lift to the Fox. "If you don't know what it is, then why d'you take it, anyway? That's a real bunch of stuff," she huffs at him, a bit shaken by her near-fall. She is incredibly skinny, cheeks filled with air due to her annoyance over the matter. She's not used to chasing after people. It's always the other way around. The Fox is good at table-turning. The girl sits up and yanks up her hood, mumbling: "I ain't that loud."

"And your ass is flat! Tell me another one!" A twisted smirk. "Did you start stealing yesterday?" Back he scurries on his heels.

"Hey! You don't know nothin', sparky," her voice is little rough, and even moreso when she's given to offense. She gives the bottom in question a soothing brush of hand, as she slowly presses up to her own, two feet, her shoes full of holes. "I'm a real good thief," she pokes herself in the chest, leaning at him in wide-eyed emphasis -- dirt-circles swept around her gaze, like some raccoon of the forests. She then opens her hand out, wiggling her fingers: "Give it."

"Not a chance, dearie. You're doing me a favor first. There's a fat slob down there with a big mouth and nothing in his head. I'm told he's a toymaker; there's a bit *more* than that, if you know what I mean. You're going to find out *what* more for me."

Tanith Lazyshadow stares up along her nose at Volpone, her eyes narrowed suspicously. "Are you sayin' that you're gonna keep my stuff unless I go spy on some pig?" She's not really slow on the uptake, so much as incredulous. "How do I know it ain't some kinda trap?"

"Because I hauled your butt up on this roof instead of breaking some knuckles and letting the constables have their fun! Eh?" The Fox gets midway to his feet, his back giving a slight creak, a wince coming to his still-concealed face.

Tanith Lazyshadow glares at him, then looks backward over her shoulder toward the toy shop. She's seen the place before, but she hasn't been inside. She twists her lips a bit, then looks back at Volpone with a sniff. "Yeah, yeah. Look out, yer neck might snap with all that sudden weight, sparky. I'll do it, but if I come back and you ain't got my stuff, I'm not tellin' you nothing."

"The name is Fox, my dear--not 'Sparky.' You, though, will have to find *me.* Don't think I'm telling you where I'm staying!" With that, and a swing out, he's off the roof and scurrying off into the night.

Tanith Lazyshadow flops to sit for a moment, watching him scurry off like a shadow; she'd arrived with a grin, but now she can't stop scowling. There's nothing quite like having your fairly-earned goods swiped right out from under you. Well, it looks like she has her work cut out for her; she waits a moment longer, before scrambling down the side of the roof and dropping over the side, from a much lower height, into a very narrow alley between two of the shops. "Oh well, it's just some rich pig. Shouldn't be too hard," she reasons in the dark.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Treadwell
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