Sagebrush Inn - 09 04 2004
A plot is hatched by Asriel (Ajax) and Rogue (Riverdale)
Rogue knocks upon [AC] Asriel's Cubbyhole.
Asriel unlocks the door to the Asriel's Cubbyhole from within.
Rogue enters Asriel's Cubbyhole.
Asriel's Cubbyhole
This room seems little more than an extension of the wine cellar, separated as it is by a thin, wooden partition. Still, its resident seems to have made the best of a meager condition, padding the walls with old hay mattresses, worn out from use in the inn's luxurious rooms. Though the stuffing is largely gone, they seem to suit Asriel's needs. The other furnishings in this room are similarly austere, largely utilitarian. A cot sits in the corner, worn from considerable use. A small lamp, candle aglow, rests on a small stand beside it, proffering a dim light for the benefit of those present.
The air smells faintly of elderberry wine and raspberry cordial.
Asriel looks up, "Yes?"
Rogue drifts slowly into the room, his countenance solemn, stern . "Azzy, mate. We go way back..."
Asriel blinks, and tilts his head, "We do, refresh my memory?"
Rogue smirks, "We've both bin workin' this joint fer awhile now, mate."
Asriel nods his head, putting his book away, "That's true, but I don't think I know your name."
Rogue laughs. "Quit yer gamin', Az. Az--" He gestures to the cot, "Er, could I sit?"
Asriel motions with his paw for the otter to sit, smirking, "Ah..I remember now, you're the cook, Rogue.."
Rogue laughs, "You were al'ays one fer antics, Az. But," he starts, sitting down. "But, I've bin thinkin'..." He interrupts himself. "Well, what d'ya think a the new guy. What d'ya think a Mr., Mr. Wytethorn?" He doesn't make eye contact, looking instead at his paws, working quickly, anxiously as they are.
"Well he's the boss for one thing, and so far the most I've seen of him was last night when he was dancing on the bar with that doe, " He shrugs, and reaches behind him, taking a sip of a flask before tossing it to the otter, "I take it this isn't just a friendly visit?"
Rogue catches the bottle, eying it for a moment with slight disdain, then throws his head back deftly, gulping down a bit of the substance. "Agh!" he cries, spitting a bit of it up. He looks at the bottle more carefully, then shoots a half-glare at the fox. "What /is/ this?"
Asriel throws his head back and gives a laugh, and soon he just can't help himself and is bending over grasping his stomach as his lungs begin to let him know that he's laughing a little too much to breathe, he sighs, stopping himself as he stares at the otter with a smirk, "Oh..not much...just my own little recipe...good isn't it?"
With a cold, reproachful glare, the otter thrusts the bottle back at the spirited winekeeper. "Fer healin' wounds maybe, mate. Fer drinkin', I prefer some taste, some flavor. An', yanno, ta feel m'mouth aft'wards." He waves a paw, summarily dismissing the subject. "Az, I'll be frank wit ya. Mr. Wytethorn seems too stodgy, too..." He paws at the air, searching for the right word.
Asriel tosses the flask behind him, and strokes his beard thoughtfully as he listens to the otter, "A bit what exactly?" Not a bit enlightened by the otter has to say yet, waiting for the old feller to explain things.
Rogue leans forward and puts a conspiratorial arm around his old colleague. "A bit..." He waves his paw again, "Ah, hell. 'E's just... not the squirrel 'is uncle was. Maybe it's jes' me gettin' ol, gettin' cranky, but... I long fer somethin' more! Maybe I missed m'chance, mate, but I think there's still somethin' out there fer me! A wife, maybe, a pretty otteress as can take care'f 'erself!"
Rogue stands up and starts pacing the room, his mind racing.
This is about the point where the rough looking Asriel get's a bit uneasy; sword-play, drinking, and stories he can handle but things a little close to the heart just creep him out. He groans slightly, but not loud enough to be heard, simply nodding to Rogue now and then as he veers off topic, "Er...right, can't say I knew his uncle that well...oh he always made sure ta visit me and complement me on a job done well..but I can't say what Mr. Wytethorn has to do with your missed chances?"
Rogue turns and stares levelly at his companion, "Az, yer gonna think I'm crazy, mate, but... I want t'start fresh! I want t'be someone, see th'world, mate!" He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes betraying the dream that dwells within them. "Az, 't's time I shook m'self an' sought a place for m'self in this great... glorious world!" His face drifts into a smile as he turns slowly back to the winekeeper. "Lad... matey, all I need's a bit a money, a bit o' bread t'lift me up an' get me outta this place." He pauses, perhaps for effect, perhaps allowing time for Asriel's cogs to work. "D'ya know where we c'n fin' money, ol' pal?"
A groan can be heard as the fox leans back against a wall, arms behind his head and he smirks, "Ah, money, so that's what it's all about, how much do you think ya need?" He closes his eyes, and sighs, "You know, I distinctly remember you kicking me out of your kitchen a few times but none of the others would give yah a loan huh?" He shakes his head and shrugs, "Or not so much a loan, but a donation I would guess?"
Laughter, indeed a chortle, erupts from the lips of the aging otter. "A loan!" he barks. "A loan, mate? Nay, how naive y'are. I wudn't want t'cut inta yer... meager paycheck." He smiles sympathetically. "I think, friend, that ya misunderstand yer pal here. I'll make it blunt, then, lad, though..." he pauses, casting a wary eye over at the door, "y'might want t'close th'door."
The door lightly ajar, his slammed shut when the lazy tod picks up a boot and throws it hard against the door, "There, it locks by it self, " He turns to look back at the otter, raising a brow, "Just what are you suggesting, if it's something quite shady you can simply count me out as despite popular believe that I'm some kinda bad-boy tod I've got a bit of a heart."
A frown darkens Rogue's face, "Now, c'mon, mate. Is it wrong to rise up when yer bein' held down, lad?" He reaches out to take hold of the grizzled winekeeper's shoulders, "Is it? An', is wrong t'take hol' a yer dreams, mate, when they're, they're... there! Waitin' a be picked!" He mimes picking apples off a tree demonstratively. "When, y'can just sink yer teeth in an', an' taste th'juice?" He rises to his feet, biting the imaginary apple. "Lad, you an' I know this inn better 'n' anyone." He gestures widely at their surroundings. "We two shud rightfully own it! Not this... mollycoddled mama's boy from th'city! Mate, this is an injustice. Mate, we gotta stan' up an' fight back, mate!"
Another sigh, and the tod closes his eyes, turning himself as he searches for his flask, another swig of his mystery formula and he gives the otter the benefit of the doubt, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm listening...make it good otter or I'll throw you out on your ears, ya hear me?" Asriel's face is stern, which is unusual for him as he's usually not very serious about anything but his work, "Now what injustice has been done to us?"
Paws outstretched, the conspirator surveys the room around him, noting the dimness, the solitude. He inhales loudly, then snorts, coughing at the mildew heavy in the air. "Do ya, do ya like this, mate? For yer years of faithful service, is this a jus' repayment?" He holds up a paw to preclude any response. "Is it right that we, who've toiled long an' hard, hours 'n' hours, shud go unrewarded, an' tha' scallywag of a nephew shud inherit everythin'?"
Closing his eyes, arms behind his head again the fox still isn't convinced, "I can't complain, every job has it's share of faults, beast don't always get along and that's the way things are, " He opens his eyes, and narrows his eyes, flashing his teeth in a less then friendly grin, "Keep talking otter, maybe you've got something to say yet..."
Rogue sits down on the cot again. "Eh, c'n I 'ave another swig a that crud a yers, mate?"
Rogue grins, "Maybe 'snot so bad after all."
Asriel tosses the flask after capping it once more, "Help yourself."
Rogue catches the bottle and downs another gulp in one alacritous movement, handing the bottle back again. "Terrific, lad." He grins, then his face relapses into its former scowl as he picks up where he stopped. "Mate, have ya ever wondered if there's somethin' out there for ya, somethin' ta fin'?"
"Well let me tell you something, my father died when I was young, and my mother as well as my sister most likely think me dead at the moment, " He narrows his eyes, snorting, "I'm perfectly content with staying here and rotting for all I care as long as those two stay safe, " He shrugs his shoulders and smiles, "I've been here seasons and seasons, you longer then me, but I can't possibly understand why you would want to go against our new boss for nothing..."
Ay, there's the rub. "Fer nothin', mate? Oh, lad, again y'misunderstan' me! I don' mean no 'arm to Mr. Wytethorn, yellow-bellied poltroon tho'ee be. Nay, lad. Mate, I mean ta take our share an' leave!" He stands up again, evidently unable to harness the pathos that overwhelms his meandering mind. "I mean... ta... t'go an' fin' what I was meant t'do, lad!" He turns to Asriel sharply, a fire burning through the tears in his eyes. "I've spent m'life away, sittin' there in m'kitchen. I can' stomach it when this... spoon-fed invertebrate comes 'n'... snaps up what shud've been ares! Have an' imagination, mate! Wake up! Join me, an' fight back!"
"What should of been ours?" The fox sits up, interested by that much, and nods to the otter, "Well continue my good beast, continue, tell me about this grand plan of yours, " He smiles a bit, still not sold, but hey at least he can hear the poor feller out. He leans forward, looking attentive.
Oh, the years he's spent here, the time frittered away... beyond redemption, now. The cook sweeps his gaze over the darkened room again slowly. "I... can't begrudge Mr. Wytethorn everythin'. 'E did fix up this place nice. Even down 'ere, true enough." He fixes Asriel with a gaze. "But, lad, I say we take some a them heirlooms 'e's got layin' about. I'd bet m'paw 'e'd never notice 'em gone!" So simple?
"So say the boss doesn't miss them, don't know their worth or whatever the reason he just lets them disappear, what then a even split?" Seems the otter finally has him, and so he throws caution to the wind with a bit of what he'll do with his share on his mind already. Though the fox is always been a reasonable man at least, "Oh and what about when you go missing too, just gonna pass that off as your retirement?"
Rogue rubs his bleary eyes with a shaggy arm, then flashes a grin. "I'm glad yer with me, mate. Glad I don't gotta go it alone. Jes'... let me plan out the brass tacks, an' it shud all be smooth sailin'. Now... one more swig a that crud ya got there!"
Asriel tosses the liquid once more, and yawns a bit, "Alright, make it quick, I think I'm due for a bit of shut-eye and you could use a bit yourself partner.." He rubs at the back of his neck, closing his eyes. Yet his ears are alert even as images more suited for bed dance in his head.
Rogue drains the rest of the bottle, and places the empty bottle next to Asriel's cot. Pointedly, he says, "Now, don' back out on meh, pal. I coun' this as a pact atween mates, *pause* mate." He turns to leave, opening the thin door out to the wine cellar, then looks back, warmly, "Night, lad." He ducks out of the cramped room and turns his mind back on his weary post, closing the door softly behind him.
