The discussion -- if that is even a fitting name for it -- takes place in the alleyway just behind their tavern, late in the afternoon, with the scene bathed in a thin sunlight that cannot properly warm anyone. The chill seems to set into them despite their warm clothes: First rubs his arms, over and over again, and Last stands with his arms tightly crossed against his chest. But neither complains nor suggests a different venue; here out in the open there is nowhere for an eavesdropper to hide, and at the front of the alley is a pair of Guardians, ready to drum their hooves in warning of anyone's approach.
(Supposedly -- in actuality, Dapplegrim is half on top of Unwanted, licking his head with a determined expression and narrowed eyes. Unwanted does not particularly appreciate this treatment but has not yet been able to squirm free; the older doe's disapproval is so great as to possess physical weight, crushing him being its force.)
" .. do ye e'en unnerstan what 'tis about? Y'cain't jest pull a man unner and say 'oh, 'tis all's well, lads!' A whole crate, ye rotten timbered gut aches!" Ghastly's voice is a sharp hiss, and accompanied with a physical expression of his displeasure: by the end of the sentence he has taken the pair of them by their shirt fronts, shaking them hard enough that when he pushes them against the wall behind them it is with matching little oofs of breath being pushed out of their lungs. "Y'cain't jest sell stuff aside and think Jay ain't gonna check the books fer it! You knowed we knowed how much it were supposed t'be, b'ain't noways that no fancy sums can hide what ain't there.!"
" .. sorry," mutters First, looking sidelong at the ground, as if sorely wishing he could burrow into it.
"No ye ain't!" snaps the older Grimm, releasing the pair of them to run a hand through his liberally salted hair, a deep scowl cut across his face. "A whole crate gone missin', lads, with naught but a pittance to show fer it," he repeats again, now more frustrated then enraged. "Hell. And neither've ye meetin' me peekin' eyes. Damn yer worm riddled bilge filled heads, lads, ye cudn't've chose no better time? Be it one lass or two, then? Aye, out wit' ye, let's have it."
This abrupt turn in the conversation -- from being scolded for selling a shipment on their own instead of for the family's coffers to being asked how many women are involved -- takes the twins by surprise. Shock lifts their heads as if they have been pulled up by string, rounding their eyes and their mouths, and it is a moment before they are able to suck in a sharp breath and attempt to answer the accusation.
" .. one," says Last, flushed, perhaps thinking it a better lie to agree to the crime, rather then make plain the whole of the truth, but now the pair of them are again avoiding their elder brother's glare.
"Oh, aye?" demands Ghastly with a snort. "And what be their names, then, hm?"
"But there's only -- "
"I know what ye said, ye little gut ache, and ol' Ghastly, he won't ask ye a third time: what. Be. Their. Names?" The pirate's voice has become a low growl, each word causing the younger men to flinch; they draw instinctively towards each other, while on the roof's edge above them Unwelcome nervously flaps her wings and makes a thin noise of displeasure.
" .. it's Rosalie," mutters Last, "she's a blacksmith, and Jay alreddy knows about her, so there ain't no cause to fuss."
" .. it don't matter who she is," answers First, once Ghastly has nodded agreeably at Last and looked to him for his confession, "she don't care none anyway."
There is a moment's silence: above them Unwelcome makes her sound again, an uncanny whine accompanied by the rustling of feathers. The hearty thump of flesh to flesh is hardly audible, unaccompanied even by a sound of pain.
" .. Rajani," First breathes finally, when he's caught his breath again, and the name comes out as a thin wheeze. "She's a gypsy. Gotta deer, a big 'un."
Nodding, Ghastly stands back. "Now, that weren't so hard, now were it? Yer lucky, me buckos, as Jay, he knowed ye would get suckered sooner or late, what with all this fine city livin'. Only trouble is this ain't no time t'be courtin', aye? Helluva lot've coin t'be made offer wars, but them as pick sides are fools. And we won't have no Grimms as are fools, aye?"
The last word is another growl: the pair of them flinch, and this seems to be the last straw for Unwelcome. In a flutter of cream and rust-reds she comes diving down to land on the shoulder of her wincing hedge witch, her feathers all fluffed up in anger and her eyes flashing. "Gerroff!" The rook's growl is deeper then her normal playful banter, a sound which seems to come from a deeper, broader chest, a sound which in and of itself should have teeth. There is anger in the sound, and warning, and even Ghastly takes a step back from it, looking at First in a new light.
"Gyp ain't only gel y'bin courtin', is she?" The pirate almost sounds admiring as he watches Unwelcome hiss, turning her head from one side to the other to watch him: perhaps he is thinking of her wickedly sharp beak, or perhaps he has seen enough proofs of her cleverness to realize that she would be a formidable foe.
"Ain't been courtin' Raj," First explains, a bit hoarsely. "She don't wanna be courted."
"And we'll make up for the crate, Ghas'," Last chimes in, his voice a whisper. "Promise. Ain't no need for none've Jay's plans. You know how them are."
"Please, Ghas'," First's voice has dropped to an equal whisper, and there is some desperation there.
With a shake of his head, the pirate shoves both hands into his pockets with an air of finality: he has put the matter away, and there will be no more protesting it. "Aye, and suppose th'next plan be fer ol'Ghastly hisself? Nay, laddies, 'tis yer ship ye've scuppered, now 'tis yers t'make all repairs ye can. Jest be on yer best foot fer a bit, 'twill settle soon enough."
Turning away from the pair, he heads to the entrance of the alleyway, where Dapplegrimm complacently backs away from her own victim: Unwelcome is now almost fatally clean, with his fur wet enough to show the long, sweeping swirls of Dapplegrimm's tongue. Shaking his head with displeasure, he escapes their watchful gazes to totter unsteadily towards the back of the alley where his Chosen awaits.
One hand on her shoulder, Ghastly will amble out of the alley at Dapplegrimm's side, a thoughtful look on his face. The first thing he has to do is send a letter to his brother, who -- with this new information in hand -- will be able to offer Ghastly remedies of some kind to keep the twins under control. Then there will be all sorts of interesting people to contact, with whom he will hold quiet and meaningful conversations that both parties will later declare never took place. Hopefully the twins will listen: no tellin' what Jay'd have planned for the possibility that they'd go rogue, all over a gel with morals.
