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Post by Carrow on Dec 14, 2010 11:41:08 GMT -5
Carrow shook his head, his pallour still clearly visible. Spender didn't realise that the mouse had actually been trying to get an opportunity to settle things with Spender for quite some time now, it was just that he'd never been able to find the time. This was admittedly partly due to the fact that he much preferred the company of Caden, Elliot and Selvis, so spent more time with them that he would otherwise have with Spender.
The other part of it had been that the rodent had been rather nervous about approaching the ferret. He knew very well that Spender was good at bearing grudges, and the one thing that had worried the mouse the most had been that maybe, just maybe, the antagonistic mustelid might not have been as ready to apologise and forgive as he was. Carrow had wanted to settle things for ages, simply because he couldn't bear not to be on good terms with everybeast he was in close proximity to.
He had no problem doing this with Caden, Selvis and Elliot, because they genuinely liked him and were true, loyal companions that would never let him down. Combined, his trio of friends had become his anchor. It was their friendship that stopped him from sinking into hopelessness. He still saw himself as being weak, both physically and emotionally - something he didn't think he'd ever quite be able to shake - but knew he could rely on his friends for support. In fact, he didn't even need this at times; he was grateful for them simply being there. It meant more to him than they could ever know.
"Nothing 'happened', Spender," he replied softly. "Not as such, anyway. It was mainly me realising that I should try to get along with as many of my fellow crewbeasts as was possible. I didn't want to continue to resent you - I must admit I did after you injured Caden - because by doing so I was hurting both of us. I didn't want to create a rift that might never have healed. I've been meaning to say this for so long now."
He sighed. Carrow wasn't all that sure his motives for wanting to become Spender's friend would fully get through to the ferret, but he had to try his best. "It's the way I've always been. I didn't want us to hate each other anymore, because I knew if we let things remain the way they were it wouldn't end well for either of us. I just couldn't stand it, you know? I had to see if there was another way. I've never properly hated another creature in my life. Hate is a useless emotion for me, and I'm uncomfortable ever thinking such thoughts with another creature in mind. I never really hated you."
There. He'd said it. He didn't want to hate another creature... but then he hoped he would never be hated again. "There's no point in changing if you don't want to change for yourself. I've never seen the point in changing simply to please another. Yes, you are mean, Spender, and I think you know it, but if you don't want to change, there's no point to it."
His head lowered, and the mouse's chin sank onto his paws. He had to say what was on his mind. If Spender still resented him - as Carrow was convinced he did, even though he'd never really done anything to be resented - he needed to know, because he realised there was also no point in remaining in the same room as a beast who might hate him... no matter how much he needed to get things off his chest. "I can't help but wonder, though. Spender, did you ever hate me? Or do you now, even? I'm sorry, but I just have to ask. There's nothing worse in the world than being hated..." He was thrown back against the back of the chair by the spasm that shot through him, tearing him from his earlier position as dark recollections flashed through his mind. He groaned, before adding in a soft voice (even if he was unsure Spender would hear), "I should know..." Yes, because it was creatures like you who destroyed the life I had and changed me forever... far worse ones, I'll admit... but you're a bully all the same.
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Post by spender on Dec 17, 2010 19:32:13 GMT -5
Spender groaned; it began low, a moan as if of pain or tiredness, but then rose in his throat into a light growl. Nothing had changed?! Then why, why, why! Why did Carrow want to be his friend now, if nothing had changed? Why not earlier? He still couldn't figure it out. Again, the world failed to make sense. It was infuriating. He just wanted to reach out and... and strangle the stupidness out of the air. If just one thing... just one thing in his life could make itself predictable, or show proof of a pure equation of act begetting act, then he would be...
Well, he would still be angry. But at least he would have hope.
The ferret buried his nose in his pillow, suffocating himself for a few seconds, until the growl went away and he gave in to the chaos. When it was over, he lifted his head again, breathing in and out in quiet, calming gulps.
"I don't know," he replied, pronouncing, for once, his 'don't' with a full T. "I... hate...d mice. Mouses? Mices?" His eyewhiskers scrunched up. "...Meeces?"
"Mice."
"I don't like mice," Spender affirmed, after a moment's silence. It was taking him a while to form the necessary thoughts and sentences. "But... I... never... really met a mice... a mouse... before. Wot I mean is... not like... you? The mou—mice my pa talked about... they were mean an', an' tried t'kill 'im... An' th'mice at school... they teased me an'... called me things an', when you said that... thing that you said... I think I 'ated you, but... You're dif'rent, still. I'unno..." The ferret stared at Carrow's ears. "You've been nice t'me ever since. I guess... I'd be okay, if we were friends."
Spender tried to smile a little. As he did so, one paw snaked under his pillow, looking to stroke his fox doll for reassurance. His smile faded as he found nothing. He sat up, pushing against the hammock, until he was resting on the back of his legs, kneeling and swaying. He gripped the edges and peered over the sides. A-ha! The Last Number! There he was...
Before Carrow could offer to retrieve it, Spender reached down for the doll, He over-balanced, of course, tipping himself up and landing face-first onto the deck. For one comical second, the ferret's body stood up straight, his tail hanging like a wind-sock, and then slowly tipped over.
"Oof."
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Post by Carrow on Dec 17, 2010 20:15:51 GMT -5
Carrow simply nodded after listening to Spender explain his hatred of mice. He was pleased at least that it wasn't completely irrational. There were still some woodlanders who wouldn't deal with certain kinds of creatures, referring to them as 'vermin' but giving little explanation for their dislike of them. Weasels, stoats, ferrets, polecats, pine martens... all sorts. Rats, too.
Now, if there was any species of creature the mouse was slightly apprehensive about, it was rats. He certainly had good reason to be, though: the only rat Carrow had ever been in close contact with had been the ringleader of the group of bullies that had singled him out for abuse at school. He wasn't as prejudiced as to tar them all with the same brush, however. If he had a reason to dislike a creature, it was always a good one.
The so-called 'vermin' had a few in their number who professed similar irrational hatred of woodlanders... but Spender's hatred of mice seemed entirely justified. "Well, that makes sense at least. If creatures tried to kill your father and then gave you a hard time at school -" Carrow could only relate to that second thing, but he could relate to it so well it pained him to even think of it at times. "- then of course you would hate them.
"I completely understand where you're coming from. As for those things that went on between us... well, looking back I shouldn't have said that. I was so frustrated at the time that I just said the first thing that came to my head. I've long since taken it back, though. I'd be fine with us being friends too. I don't want to bear any sort of grudge against you. I could never do such a thing. 's not really in my nature."
It was an awkward-looking smile that Spender had on his face, but the wood mouse could tell he was at least trying to be friendly. He studied the mustelid's movements for a second. Wait, he was looking for something? Didn't seem to be there, so now he was sitting on the side of the hammock, trying to reach down and catch it. The aformenetioned hammock was swaying precariously too. The rodent winced; he could see what was coming.
This wince was quickly replaced by a grimace when Spender's face met the deck-timbers, replaced in its turn by a concerned look. That had to hurt... and he was injured as it was. Oh dear. Rushing over, he crouched, offering Spender his paw. "Here, d'you want me to help you back up?," he asked kindly. The ferret seemed to be winded, and his condition was all Carrow was concerned about at that moment. He didn't notice the presence of Spender's fox doll just inches away from him. Even if he'd seen it, he would have said nothing; he already knew of its existence anyway.
He felt an odd prickling sensation in his lower back. Realising it was from the length of time he was spending in this crouched position, but unable to do anything until he received a response from Spender, he simply shrugged it off, compassionate brown eyes regarding the mustelid gently. To those same eyes, Spender seemed to be static, not moving for anything just yet. He hoped he hadn't been knocked out by the impact.
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Post by spender on Dec 19, 2010 4:26:29 GMT -5
Spender studied Carrow for a few seconds. Slowly, he shook his head. "Nnnnooo," he drawled. "I can sit up m'self..."
It wasn't that he was too scared of accepting help from a mouse, or from such a new friend—but with the way Carrow seemed to be spinning around the walls, Spender wasn't sure he would really be that useful. Crazy mouse had to stop whirling, first.
The ferret managed to right himself up on his rump, legs crossed. He clutched at his head; his bandage was unraveling. A ferret's head doesn't have much in the way of being easily bandaged. It was looped once or twice beneath his chin to keep it in place, but his fall had so disrupted the entire delicate structure that it came apart in loops, a single bloodied spot seen here and there. Spender tugged it off the rest of the way and placed a paw on the wound. Still a little wet.
He wiped his pawpads off on the bandage and tried to stand. He wobbled, and Carrow was there to support him. With help, he was able to crawl back into his hammock, his fox foll safely tucked under his arm.
"Bwaahhh," he moaned, shifting himself back up with his pillow behind him—but not willing to lay back and get it all bloodied. At that point, an assistant surgeon appeared, tsking impatiently.
"Second time today, Cielciosk. Do keep still! Oh dear, it's come loose now. Now you've done it... hold still... stop fidgeting! Oh, for pete's sake, move your paw... don't lick my wrist! ... there!"
Glaring, the surgeon stepped back to admire his work. Spender licked his lips, waggling his jaw back and forth a bit to loosen the bandage under his chin, which was tight enough to make him uncomfortable. The surgeon patted Carrow on the head.
"Now here's a patient who'll keep still. How's your back, lad? Needing another compress, then?" Something clattered across the room. The surgeon snapped his head up, glaring. "Ahh, hold on, I'll get back to you..."
He shuffled off, leaving the striplings alone once again—but not for very long. A steward came by, carrying trays. It was lunchtime, and the sick berth patients were being delivered their orders.
Spender received his without much fanfare, and immediately began dooking to himself as he broke his cheese apart to spread on the rest of his food.
"Y'gonna go eat?" he asked, waving a chunk of cheese at Carrow (which he then ate; sharing was still a long ways off.) "I got a pork chop. Homnomnom." The pork chop, magicked to life by Spender's paw, began dancing across the plate on his lap. "Dwaaah, pork chop's gonna stomp on th'peas, sploosh!"
Peas littered the air. One of them fell on Carrow's head. Spender cackled; he had some in his ear.
"Now th'peas are orphans an' they're gonna become a gang o' thieves an' steal th'pork chop's wife, Mrs. Cheese Slice, an' put her in their secret cave." He opened his mouth and dropped another piece of cheese in. "Little do they know, th'cave swallows everyone... even th'peas...!"
The steward came around again, this time giving out mugs of hot tea. Spender belched by way of thanks, as he accepted his mug.
"Ooh, now we got lava t'put mean Mr. Pork Chop in... whoops!"
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Post by Carrow on Dec 19, 2010 8:48:16 GMT -5
"Well, if you think you can, you get up whenever you can manage, okay?," Carrow responded good-naturedly. He wasn't completely aware Spender's vision had been hit for six by his collision with the deck timbers, though he could indeed see that the mustelid's eyes were rolling about in his head, so it stood to reason he'd be having trouble focusing at that moment.
The ferret did eventually manage to sit up, and Carrow smiled a little at him. "There we go," he murmured encouragingly. "Don't rush to get back up now, you hear? We don't want you fainting again," he said mischievously, watching as Spender's bandage began to come apart. Carrow was being as helpful as he could, but if there was one thing he wasn't good at, it was pawdling bandages in any way, shape, or form, much less actually tying them.
At that point, the assistant surgeon started to make his way over to the pair. Luckily he had a bit of a way to go (relatively speaking of course) and Spender was able to be helped back into his hammock by Carrow. The rodent had spotted that the ferret still seemed a little dazed, and fervently hoped he could find his paws. The mouse wasn't too fond of being collapsed onto, to say the least - as would certainly happen if Spender lost his pawing and went down.
He watched the surgeon exchange words with Spender, eyebrows rising as he listened to the creature speak. SECOND time today? Good grief. It seemed the ferret was unable to keep himself out of trouble even when he was supposed to be resting. He smiled a little as he received a pat on the head from the friendly surgeon. He was about to reply to his queries when the attendant was distracted. Shrugging slightly, he watched as he moved off to deal with whatever it was that had caught his attention.
In point of fact, Carrow hadn't been given another compress from Elliot. He'd reckoned he could do without it for a while, but as his earlier discomfort had shown he was still not quite alright with crouching, bending or pretty much anything that involved the use of his lower back. It wasn't 'injured' as such, but it had been weakened and so was much more prone to incidents than anywhere else on the rodent's body. His legs weren't quite up to scratch either: he'd never been sure why this was. Archie knew, however, and had refrained from telling him simply because she'd known, in her heart, that if he found out what else was wrong with him he'd be destroyed.
He shook his head in response to Spender's question. "I don't really have much of an appetite at the moment, so I think I'll pass. At least for now." The mouse's appetite came and went. Some days he ate everything he was served down in the mess hall; others, he wouldn't touch any of it. It had nothing to do with the food itself, which was about as good as it could possibly be under these circumstances, but Carrow's appetite was notoriously unpredictable.
He watched the mustelid playing with his food, a small smile playing about his lips. The sheer delight Spender took in things like this was almost incredible. Indeed, he'd have had trouble believing such fun could come from playing with one's food if he hadn't been sitting there watching the display. When a pea landed on his head, he chuckled slightly, reaching up and removing it. When the steward visited the pair again and pawed Spender his mug of tea, he inwardly hoped that Spender would calm down, as accidents could so easily happen with a mug as full as that one...
Spender's "whoops!" was because he had just found this out - to Carrow's cost. It was very fortunate that the mouse had had his shirt on at that particular moment, otherwise he would have been scalded, there was little doubt about that from the way his breath was swiftly taken from him. The tea was hot, yes, searingly so in fact, and he would have been in absolute agony had he not been protected, but even so he didn't escape unharmed. Shocked into silence for a few seconds by the pain he felt, he gasped hoarsely once he had recovered the ability to do such a thing.
Shaking his head fitfully, he reached up and removed his flat cap, placing it on the bed beside Spender, before tugging at his shirt as he tried to remove it. He got a good enough grip after a while, once his paws had stopped trembling, and managed to take it off, placing the soaking garment on the floor. He shook himself, sighing a little. It was the ferret's fault, sure, but Carrow had always been perplexed about why exactly mugs were filled almost to the brim such as that one had been. Accidents waiting to happen. He wasn't going to blame him.
The mouse was going to speak, but a thought struck him then, as he remembered the bruising and the scar on his back. He suddenly felt terribly self-conscious - not in a visible manner, of course, as when he had to keep his emotions hidden, left with no other choice as he was now, Carrow was rather good at it - but he realised that the chances of Spender seeing what had happened to him had just increased considerably. It wasn't this he was concerned about, though: should he have to tell the ferret HOW all that had occurred, THEN he'd be worried. He was quite unsure just how a creature of Spender's disposition would take it.
One thing he was quite uncomfortable with was the sitting down itself. For some reason it felt as though his lower back was tingling. The rodent was particularly sensitive to things like that. He didn't want to risk making it grow and become worse - there had been incidents where he was getting brief lightning flashes of pain in the injured area, ones that caused him to jerk spasmodically and lose his balance on at least one occasion - so he had to try and make it go away. Carrow stood up and began stretching, bending down to touch his footpaws before straightening again. All this was done gently, but he mentally cursed his luck once again, that such physical misfortune should have been visited upon him. He did all this facing Spender, unaware he'd opened himself up...
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Post by spender on Dec 22, 2010 6:39:47 GMT -5
Spender chewed his porkchop with intense concentration. Incisors not being the best for this, he had to hold it in the side of his mouth, head tilted a little, as he worked through it. He wasn't going to try using cutlery again, not after the incident that morning. His tongue snaked in and out, getting all the taste off the bone.
Gnack, gnack, gnack, gnack...
He kind of wished Carrow would go away now. Spender never liked eating with company, and things had just gotten terribly awkward with all the tea-spilling and shirt-taking off. And he was spilling more peas on the mouse's cap. He hoped no one would notice. It wasn't like he was going to eat the peas; not after they'd been on someone's hat.
Spender knew the right thing to do would be to apologize. He could hear his mother's voice, nagging him to go upstairs and say he was sorry—and the terrible thing was, he did feel sorry. But at the same time, it just... wasn't something he could just go and say like that. An apology took time. Usually an hour or two after a smacking. No doubt that wasn't far off now. What was the penalty for spilling tea on someone? Probably being keelhauled...
It was just sheer luck that no one else immediately noticed the accident. His neighbours were either asleep or busy with their own food, the surgeons were all over on the other side of the room... And, for some reason, Carrow hadn't put up a fuss. He was waiting! Just like how Erinpura had waited two years before announcing that it was Spender who'd broken the window—on his nameday, no less. All his presents taken away for another week! Argghh. The brat!
"Hey," he whispered, leaning over to look at the mouse again, for the first time since the accident. "Umm... don'... don' tell anyone wot 'appened, okay...? I don' wanna get in troub—"
The ferret stared.
"Oh. You're delicate."
He said it in the same way one might say, "Oh, you're a weasel" or "Oh, you're a jill." There was no sense of sneering or leering, as there was when he called Caden "Whiteyface" or Willard a "wagging stiffer" or Ocean "Fuzzbutt P. McStoatspatch."
Spender leaned back again, a calming sort of expression taking over his features. Things were starting to click into place...
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Post by Carrow on Dec 22, 2010 17:32:33 GMT -5
Carrow, having recovered from his induced loss of ability to speak, could still feel his back smarting from the searing heat of the tea. It was a tolerable sensation, however, and he was already starting to feel the benefit of the stretching, gentle though it was. He was a little shaken, however; Spender could see that in the way his features had paled.
The mouse was thinking of how close he'd come to being set up in the Sick Berth himself with a burn injury, and this unnerved him a little. In such a state as that he would be hard-pressed to keep the memories of the months he spent recovering at home out of his mind. There was nothing Carrow feared more than being incapacitated in any way, shape or form.
He couldn't hide his worry from Spender no matter how hard he tried. That had been far too close for comfort, particularly to such an accident-prone rodent as him, and his voice shook audibly as he spoke. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. It was an accident, and they tend to just happen, so you're not to blame for it... mate," he added after slight hesitation.
He was trying to make the first move here and see how Spender reacted to friendly words and gestures. There was no harm in trying, especially not because the mustelid had openly said he wouldn't mind having the wood mouse as a companion. Nevertheless, Carrow flinched a little when he heard the ferret's next words.
It was not because Spender had said them in the first place that the mouse flinched. It was an almost instinctive motion that was the consequence of Carrow finally realising what exactly it was Spender was looking at. He sighed. The sigh was soft, but it was a sigh nonetheless. If anybeast was going to say something about the mouse stripling's scars, it would have to be Spender.
Even despite opening up to Elliot, he hadn't managed to do so without bursting into floods of tears, and it was all he could to stop himself suddenly and uncontrollably weeping here in front of Spender. It wouldn't be embarrassing for him at all (he didn't care where or when he displayed emotion anymore - if he needed to, he did regardless of the consequences), but knew all the same he had to rein himself in.
"Delicate...," he murmured quietly, nodding slightly despite himself. He knew Spender wasn't insulting him, just passing comment on what he saw, but that word was loaded with truth. It defined him. "Delicate...," he repeated. "I suppose I am. I always have been, in some ways... others notice it almost right away... they told me I wasn't to blame for it, though... not... not after what happened..."
He fell silent. He wasn't going to say anymore than that, for both their sakes. One careless, insensitive comment from Spender could shatter everything he was trying to achieve, so he was planning on letting the ferret enquire if he felt he needed to. Something told him he wasn't getting out of this one, though. In a way it was a relief, but at the same time he wondered how he'd pawdle it. Delicate...
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Post by spender on Dec 28, 2010 5:54:22 GMT -5
Gnack-gnack-gnack went Spender on his pork chop.
"That's wot they tol' my sister," he said. "That 's not 'er fault. It didn' help 'er," he added bluntly. He looked over at the mouse again, craning his neck to get another glimpse of the scars.
In the world of humour, there were few subjects off limits. You could get away with all kinds of things—talking about burping and horking and tooting and all the bits they made you wear pants to cover up and if you could work a good cuss into your joke, that was even better. Nobeast was off limits: the lame, the deaf, the dumb, the blind, the mentally challenged, albinos, kings, vagrants, sentient and non-sentient alike were all fair game to be roasted, with one exception: Delicates.
Spender, his world fabricated entirely out of humour, found this out very quickly. You did not talk about anybeast who was delicate. You didn't even joke about joking about them. They were off-limits, to be protected, hidden—because that was how they needed it. Nobeast wanted to be made fun of, but a delicate beast... you couldn't. You couldn't because you shouldn't because you just didn't, and that was that. Anyone else was okay, because they could laugh along, even at themselves. With the deaf you had to write out the joke, of course, and the mentally challenged seldom knew what they were laughing about, but the thing was, they laughed.
And a delicate beast, well... they never laughed, and after what they went through, it was not at all likely they would ever laugh at themselves, of all things.
For years, that had been his goal; to get his sister to laugh. The lengths he went, the pranks he pulled, the stunts he had to fail, and, in doing so, harm himself comically... It was all worth it when she began to smile. And when she didn't, he was lost. Lost and angry and frustrated and helpless, so he'd try again and again, meaner pranks, crazier stunts, ruder jokes, and then he went too far, always too far...
"But you," he said, his voice growing louder as he came to realise something, "—you're delicate, but you're... not. 'Cos, 'cos, look. You're on this ship, an' you go outside an' Selvis an' Caden an' Elliot make you smile an' laugh. H'come?"
Spender put down his food and twisted to look at Carrow straight-on.
"How'd y'get over bein', well... soft? I need t'know. If you've got scars an' things, an' you're normal... I gotta tell my sister how she can get better."
Which would require writing a letter... but that obstacle would have to be tackled later.
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Post by Carrow on Dec 28, 2010 9:13:21 GMT -5
Carrow's looked slightly surprised as he listened to Spender speak. The ferret wanted to know why he hadn't just admitted defeat. He'd struggled through his life because he didn't want to face the alternative. Just giving up and throwing his life away had seemed such a sensible option in the wake of the assault he'd suffered, but thoughts like that had only lingered for a relatively short while.
Granted, there had been times, in his darkest moments, that they had surfaced again. Darkness and light: if he thought of himself as anything, it was this. The darkness was still there, always waiting in the shadows, waiting to sweep him away and force him under as its black tide submerged him. He'd thought his life wasn't worth living back then. He did now, though, and that was because he had things, and more importantly, friends to live for.
They had become the light in his world. He knew, somehow, that as long as he had them, he'd never sink. Certainly not as low as he had back then. If he ever felt he was drowning, thoughts of his three companions would fill him with the strength to push his head above water. He was becoming a stronger swimmer than he had ever known. He had stamina now. He could go the distance now there were creatures like Caden, Selvis and Elliot in his life.
He'd left almost everything he had ever known in a bid to escape what had happened to him. He had called it a sort of drowning of the past. His past, however, would not go down without a fight, but even still he was quite sure he was winning. Swim until you can't see land, he told himself. There's only one thing you've left behind that matters to you, and she's still here; you carry her in your heart. So strike out into unfamiliar waters and see where you end up. It might even work out better for you.
The ferret's words caught him slightly off guard, however, and he blinked curiously. Had he just heard what he thought he had? 'How'd y'get over bein', well... soft?' Get OVER it? Spender didn't see him as soft? Surely there was something wrong with that. He knew he was soft. He was soft, delicate, fragile and all those other things, but they had become part of who he was. He just wasn't sure if he had the strength to change them.
"My friends make me smile and laugh and feel good about myself because I've realised that having just one thing like that in your life can help you pull through. When I was at home, Archie was my safety net. I knew that as long as I had her, things would turn out alright for me in the end. Even though I haven't seen her in months, she's with me wherever I go. Caden, Selvis and Elliot remind me that my life isn't as bleak as it was back then. I have things to sustain me now. A new life... the first friends I've ever had... hopes and dreams..."
He took Spender's paw, locking eyes with him as he spoke. "You'll need to tell your sister that she needs to hold on to whatever's she got in her life that makes her happy. Cherish it... treasure it... and maybe it'll help her. Everybeast needs things to keep them going, because they're what make life worth living. If she has those - or even just one thing - tell her to do as I have suggested, and maybe she'll feel better for it."
He coughed nervously, unsure whether or not he should carry on. After a moment's pause, he spoke again. "Shall I tell you why I'm still alive, Spender? I'm still alive because I always had hope in my dark times. I always believed everything would be alright eventually. Archie taught me to always hope for the best, no matter how far off it might be in coming. I kept going because I knew I had to... but also that if I didn't..." He trembled, eyes widening in fear. "...then they would have won..."
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Post by spender on Dec 31, 2010 8:05:28 GMT -5
Spender was starting to get a bit creeped out, he had to admit. He thought it might be all Carrow's talk about hopes and dreams which, admittedly, the ferret had never fallen for during bedtime stories, and wasn't really keen on believing right now either; or perhaps it was that ominous they and the widening of the mouse's eyes.
But, no, in the end, he found he felt a lot better just by gently tugging his paw out of Carrow's grip. Something about mouse paws just gave him the willies.* It was those little nobblies on his pads.
A bit dramatic, though, Spender thought nervously. Carrow spoke as if he had been deathly ill and only pulled through just barely. "Still alive"! Nothing had ever really endangered his sister's life... She was just terribly boring and wouldn't go outdoors and got upset and overly emotional and would pout for weeks at a time... Which, Spender decided, would definitely have killed him if he was like that. Staying indoors... at least on the ship he got to climb in the rigging! And fight chickens.
Well, just the one chicken, actually.
The ferret put his pensive face on, which was easy, as it was pretty much the natural state of a mustelid's lips. He just had to ask...
"Who's 'they'?"
While he waited for the answer, he reached behind him—thankfully not spilling any more of his meal anywhere—and produced a bundle of letters. There were only three of them, still in envelopes, still sealed, tied together with string. He'd been hiding them in his pillow, seeing as Peskers had taken it upon herself to rifle through his stuff whenever she felt like borrowing some flea shampoo or throwing his marbles at his head during meals and asking if he'd lost them yet. (She was adorable.)
He'd been too embarrassed about them to ask anyone, even Ocean, to read them to him. He couldn't make out who they were from. But he knew one thing, and that was that the return address was on the envelopes. He just needed to show Carrow, and get the mouse to write to his sister for him.
A plan was forming in the ferret's feeble mind. Step one: get his sister cured. Step two: convince her that being in the navy was the most brilliant thing ever. Step three: figure out how to get her disguised as his twin brother. Step four: tell Elliot he should do the same for Elle, because wouldn't that be fun? Step five: get back to Muggidrear to pick her up, which either involved asking the Captain or hijacking the ship's wheel... and wasn't he now friends with the very beast who was learning to steer?
It was perfect! He just needed to draw some diagrams and things, because you couldn't have a really good plan without some triangles and colourful scribbles to point to when explaining it to someone else. Bonus points for snipping out the faces of primary targets from your parents' wedding portraits.
* Not named after Willard, but might as well have been, considering the least weasel's frequent creeptastic near-nervous breakdowns, constant trembling, greasy sweats and twitching, clenching paws. Spender had tried to befriend the weasel several times, but progress was slow going when during every other conversation it seemed Willard might burst into a messy puddle of weasel musk... possibly taking a good chunk of the ship along with him.
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