nasa peepo

[kamileunaire]

As the sun sank below the horizon and day shifted to evening, the Fox and Hounds was abuzz with activity, as everyone sought a comfortable place to retire. Riders bedded their Stryx down in the stables, while a select few were gearing up for the night's work. The lower story of the inn was a steady drone of voices, the tavern crowded with all manner of folk who were after drinks and company. It was noisy, but not nearly as rowdy as it got on some nights. A certain loud-mouthed, colorfully dressed indivdual sat at one table toward the back, surrounded by a bevy of companions as he spoke and gestured wildly, in the midst of an especially animated (and perhaps a bit drunken) conversation with several older-looking gentlemen.

"He hasn't lost his edge because he still -tests- those skills on me, y'know!" Noah laughed, before taking another swig of his drink.

"You weren't even around to see the best of his fights. Came in too late." One of his friends snorted derisively, nudging the jockey in an attempt to make him spill.

Brilliant pink eyes watched as the men spoke, and Richmond blinked slowly after a moment, perched on the rim of the small group. The topic of their conversation centered around none other than Frank Varrick, the owner and manager of the Fox and Hounds, and while he would usually ignore commonplace gossip, their banter was beginning to turn up juicy new details. How was it the first time he'd ever heard of this? Completely silent, the little purple grem sat transfixed, absorbing as much as he could.

"I didn't know about this."

He finally spoke up after another of Noah's friends rambled through a particularly harrowing fight that Frank had lost in the end, and couldn't help but feel that Frank wouldn't appreciate them bringing up such a negative memory.

"Oh, Richmond. Didn't see you down there." Noah cackled at the glare he received. "Pretty cool though, huh? You should ask him about it sometime. He'd get a kick out of it. Or a punch, I guess."

Their laughter followed as Richmond slipped away, allowing his ears to droop and drown out the noise as he wove his way through the tavern. He hadn't been living at the inn for very long, but in that short time, Frank Varrick, the man who had purchased him, had become nothing short of a role model, almost an idol, to the young grem. The prospect of learning something new about him filled Richmond with excitement. In his eyes, Frank represented safety and warmth, though they both seemed to share the same conniving cleverness that Richmond felt made them such a good team.

It didn't take long for him to make his way upstairs, claws clicking on the hardwood floors as he approached Frank's office. At least, it was the first place Richmond assumed he'd be. Sometimes his human would disappear on certain nights, for 'business', and Richmond was rarely allowed to accompany him on such outings.

"Frank?" Richmond opened the door, nudging half of his face in and lifting one of his large, tattered ears. There he was!  

[Soldier of Song]

The grem's instincts had been correct, not that it was a very difficult thing to pick up. It was here in his office that Frank felt most at home, among his experimental tinctures and hoarded nick-knacks, cigar smoke filling the room with a heady, warm scent that settled deep into the collected furs and pelts piled onto what few chairs he kept here. He didn't usually want company and likewise, it was usually a point of dread to be called into the innkeeper's office. As for being sought out, well...

Frank looked up immediately as the door opened, cigar clamped between his teeth in an irritated scowl to whoever dared intrude without so much as one of the coded knocks demanded on his regulars and servants alike. But -- "Richmond." His face fell into the usual deadpan poker face he presented to the world, thick fingers plucking the even thicker cigar from his mouth as he sat back comfortably into his creaking throne. Of course he was fond of the grem. He was a promising investment, though at times it managed to catch Frank off-guard to think Richmond was now a part of his inn.

So he would allow the grem to enter without having to knock, yes.

After all, he welcomed anything valuable into his office, the grem's royal blue and purple colors standing out handsomely among the drab browns of weathered books and carved woods that made most of Frank's chosen environments. His dark eyes appraised Richmond expectantly; and yet, it was still hard to tell if he was being sweet or sarcastic: "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

rattIe me boners

 

[kamileunaire]

Richmond's nostrils flared for a moment, as the smell of the smokey room assaulted his nose. There was the usual urge to cough, but he swallowed it, not wanting to seem fussy or weak, not infront of his now-glaring human, who he realized he must have disturbed in some way. Remembering that he was supposed to -knock- first, he winced inwardly...but it looked like he would be lucky, and get away with it this time. The man's scowl dissipated, and Richmond could not help but grin at the sound of his name on the man's tongue. Taking that as his invitation, he slipped into the room quietly, and tugged the heavy door shut behind him.

Frank's office was one of his favorite rooms in the inn. He loved the coziness of it, its warmth, and all of the many interesting things to look at. Even the smell of Frank's cigars had become a familiar and comforting scent, though it certainly took a bit of getting used to. Richmond found it difficult not to ask a new barrage of questions every time he came around, and though Frank always seemed happy to teach him about this or that, he was still a busy man, and Richmond tried not to pester him all day. He hadn't seen him since breakfast, however, and trotted up to his desk with his usual confidence, to take a seat in the plush chair positioned before it.

"I heard Noah telling a story about you, while I was downstairs. Did you used to be a boxer, Frank? You used to fight?"

Richmond wasted no time in getting to the point, regarding Frank with his large, magenta-colored eyes, ears fully perked as he leaned with his elbows on the edge of the desk. His expression was full of expectant curiosity, and he only hoped that Frank would appreciate the question, as Noah had said he would.

soldier /of song

 

[Soldier of Song]

Normally, Frank was not a fan of the past being brought up. What use was it to him, when he kept his eyes ever on the future and its prospects? ...It helped that he didn't have much of a choice on being so focused on the future, witch that he was. But in this case, the slightest ghost of a smirk played at his lips as he found one of his favorite topics being brought up. Of course Richmond wouldn't know about it all, not like his staff, business partners, and brother, who all could very likely recite Frank's favorite stories (and wouldn't that be an interesting test to pull on them?).

"A boxer, a prizefighter, a pugilist. Whatever you want to call it," Frank said with an air of almost casual boredom, though his words were grandiose as he continued, "I was all of those, yeah, but more importantly? I was a winner." And then he looked to the grem as if to confirm, perhaps a bit of a threat in his voice as if it were his brother before him, "...Noah's story was about one of my wins, right?"

b*****d better have picked the right fight to share. The losses were not Frank's ideal tavern tales, not even the ones he intentionally took a dive in for better profit -- but that was another lesson entirely. Frank was proud of his record as a champion and actually felt a bit of a thrill to think he had a fresh audience for this. The man sat up a little straighter, cigar set to smolder in the ivory ash tray. "Because I've won a lot, Richie, make no mistake. They used to call me the Fox for how fast I was in the ring."

Ah, the nostalgia was returning in full force. It had always been a point of pride to Frank. He was a heavyweight, no doubt, all coiled muscle and calloused fists ready to barrel into an opponent, and who would expect such a compact brute of a man could be so quick on his feet in turn? Certainly, he expected to see some surprise in Richmond, watching him expectantly as he basked in glorious memories. This was going to be fun.

rattle me boners

 

[kamileunaire]

Richmond rested his chin on folded arms as Frank spoke, gazing up at him attentively. The term -pugilist- was new vocabulary for him, but he already had the gist of it. Loving to learn more about his human, he was absolutely entranced. Frank's confidence had him smirking in turn, but the following question, coupled with the sharp edge in the man's tone, wiped the little grin right off his face. Noah's story definitely hadn't ended with Frank winning...but it had still been a good story.

"Uhhhhhh..." Richmond hesitated, but was relieved when Frank continued anyway, turning the question into a rhetorical one. He would have been hard-pressed to lie, but he hated to cause any disappointment. The worst part was that Frank would have seen right through it anyway, a talent that Richmond still often forgot he was capable of. Frank was right back to his confident boasting, and Richmond grinned again, perking up as something struck him.

"Is that where the inn got it's name?" He scooted back in his chair after a moment to get more comfortable, thinking back on the story Noah had told. It was interesting to him, but also kind of scary. Getting hit didn't feel so good, in his experience, so why did people do it on purpose?

"What sort of things do you win, for fighting? Did you ever get hurt?" Richmond's ears were pinned forward as he questioned Frank carefully, wondering if the man would pick up on what he -really- wanted to ask, which was, why would someone let themselves get hurt like that? It must have been worth it, he figured, as he watched his master expectantly for further explanation.