Rude Awakening

[Skipper]

Most beasts preferred to sleep during the wee hours of the morning. Outside, even the sun was still sleeping. Roark, on the other paw, seemed to content himself by knocking rather loudly on the door of one of the new arrivals at the Lighthouse -- Trojan Duncan Wavedog. Mr. Crestpaw had told Roark everything that there was to hear about the wanderer, but Crestpaw did have a tendency to exaggerate a bit. So, Roark decided to check on this otter himself.

Now, it should be mentioned that Roark was not knocking on Trojan's door as most do -- with their paws. No, Roark was an archer; he hung from the rafters, shooting Trojan's door with bluntly-tipped arrows. Of course, a few of his real arrows had somehow managed to find themselves embedded in the door as well. (Funny, how similar arrows were to ostriches in that respect.) Roark wondered what Trojan's initial reaction would be -- certainly, the otter wouldn't think to look up.

[historybug]

Arthritis. The one thing that Trojan detested most about growing old, and the one thing that he could do practically nothing about. His joints ached, cracked, and creaked so much that it hurt to move. The best thing that Trojan could do was dip his paw wrappings in warm water and re-wrap his paws. The warmness soothed his aching joints, but it didn't totally take the pain away.

So, Trojan lay upon the floor of his room in front of the fire upon a blanket, his paws wrapped in the warm cloth. Trojan stared up at the ceiling, recalling all that had happened in the past day.

After following Mr. Crestpaw back to his home, Trojan and Treafelt, the squirrel, were shown the map of the Eastern Shore, they were treated to a splendid dinner and given a room for the night.

The dinner was grand compared to what Trojan had experienced the last few years. All of the warm food was piping hot, and all of the cold drinks, frigged. Only the best of the best food went to this table. The succulent flavors of the food put the little cookie that Trojan had upon entering to shame. It took all of Trojan's self control to to eat politely and not gobble everything down. He did eat an incredibly large portion however, but only to be polite. Yes of course, only to be polite.

Likewise, the room was lovely. It was warm, the bed was very soft, and the accommodations were very lovely. Everything that could be was color coordinated, the fire was well stocked and the little window had a tremendous view of the sea. It was obvious to Trojan that the Crestpaws were extremely wealthy and loved to flaunt it off, in an inconspicuous manor of course.

However, Trojan couldn't stand all of the generosity. His guilt was plaguing him again along with his arthritis. He couldn't sleep in the bed. He didn't deserve it. So taking the blanket off the bed, Trojan lay on the floor. Sure, the floor was cold and rough, but it made Trojan feel better sleeping down there. He also took the water that was put out for him to wash with and warmed it over the fire. Dipping his wrappings in it, he soothed his aching paws.


But of course, Sleep never came to Trojan. It rarely did these days. he could only lightly doze, but then be awoken a few minutes later. So, less to say, Trojan wasn't in the best mood in the world. His body ached, his guilt was running rampant, and he had gotten very little sleep. So when he heard a light THUNK, THUNK, THUNK on his door before dawn, Trojan was not a happy camper.

Who was knocking at the door at this time in the morning!?!
Wait! Trojan listened carefully, his ears twitching lightly. The Knocking, it sounded...Hollow. More of a strike then a knock. It was short brief, and there was about a five second, if not more, lag to the knocks. And he also heard this light clattering noise.

Arrows? Sling shoots? Was somebeast shooting at the door?

With a groan, Trojan pushed himself off the floor and walked quietly to the door. Putting a paw up against the door, he felt the distinct thud of an arrow hit the wood work. He recalled that feeling, of arrows hitting wood, after holding many a shield and crouching behind many a barrier during a fight. Someone was defiantly shooting at his door, but not with an angry intent. The shots seemed, laxed. They weren't hard like piercing, but enough to make a noise.

Trojan walked over and picked up his javelin. He had no idea who was behind the door, and it wouldn't hurt to be prepared for the worst. Putting the javelin beside to door, so as he would not appear as a threat, but if need be it was in close reach to his paw, Trojan was about to open the door which swung inward when he thought of his cloak.

Should he put his cloak on? Just so the beast would not be put off by his burn? Trojan shook his head. Not like it would do much good. The creature is in close enough proximity that if they couldn't see the burn scar right off, it wouldn't be long before they did. Why not get the shock over with and done?

Waiting, so that he open the door in the slight pause before the next arrow hit his door, Trojan opened the door, his cold gray eyes flashing about. No one was there?

No, the arrows at his footpaws had their fletches facing opposite of him, and the only way that they could be doing that, is if...

...the creature was right above him....

Trojan looked, up, his cold, tired stare matching with the brown-green eyes of a young gray squirrel who sat in the rafters above the hallway right outside his door. "Yes?" He asked bluntly to the squirrel, unafraid of the bow, burn mark in full view, waiting for a reply.

((COMPLETE! ))

[Skipper]

The young squirrel scowled. That wasn't the reaction he was hoping for -- not even a little! He'd expected something more than slight irritation, which he could only assume was what the old otter at the door was feeling. There was nothing funny or even remotely interesting in the reaction. This simply would not do!

Roark dropped down, landing on all four paws. It stung his left forepaw a bit, but no injury. Good job he was so light. The young squirrel approached Trojan, staring the old otter in the eyes as he retrieved his arrows by flicking them up with his tail. His eyes removed themselves only once, to glance at the one arrow that hung, shallowly lodged in the wooden door.

Then, obnoxiously, Roark blurted. "What's 'appened to yore face?"


((Good heavens, I hate him already. lol))

[historybug]

Trojan watched as the young squirrel jumped down from the rafters. He was a small, limber thing, not very strong in appearance, but Trojan guessed that he was built for more agility and speed than power. Most squirrels weren't built with much muscle to begin with anyways.

The gray furred squirrel locked eyes with Trojan and didn't break it's stare even when it picked up it's arrows with it's tail. Trojan almost found this amusing. Being taller than the youth, the squirrel had to look up into Trojan's eyes which wasn't very intimidating. His eyes were a brown with bright green flecks, which Trojan found maybe a tad bit odd, but not scary by any means.

Trojan was slightly curious as to why the young squirrel was shooting arrows at his door, but more irritated than curious. He became even more so when the squirrel, after breaking his glare for a second to look at the arrow still stuck in the door, gave his rather rude reply.

Then, obnoxiously, Roark blurted. "What's 'appened to yore face?"

Trojan gave the young squirrel a very annoyed, cold look with his stone gray eyes. "Dutiful insubordination. What happened to your manors?" Trojan replied with a gruff growl. Trojan was starting to get rather annoyed at this squirrel rather rapidly. It didn't help his arthritis was starting to act up again and the squirrel started off on a touchy subject....

((chuckles))

[Skipper]

((Heh, manors are mansions -- while Roark lacks those too, you're probably thinking of "manners." ))

Whatever Trojan had just said was lost on Roark sometime during the fourth syllable of the word "insubordination." That said, he did catch something about mannners, and it was less than difficult to piece the clues together. Manners were what old beasts used to suck the fun out of life, so Roark's first response was to cross his arms indignantly. "My manors are fine!" And with that, he stuck out his tongue.

(( ;D))

[historybug]

((Oupes....My bad! ))

The young squirrel crossed his arms in front of Trojan and cocked a very rude attitude.

"My manors are fine!" And with that, he stuck out his tongue.

Trojan's eye's flared and turned stone hard. Why that little..!His paw flinched, but he kept it from razing. No, Trojan thought to himself. You aren't in the Guard anymore...You deserve this....

Leaning against the side of the door, yet still on his guard, Trojan glared at the squirrel. "Well, if your manors are fine, than I'm sure you would more than happy to tell me your name and why you were shooting arrows at my door at this time in the morn'?"

[Skipper]

Roark shrugged. "I dunno. Jus' wanned to." He held out his left paw, which he knew to be disrespectful in some parts of the southeast. "Roark Braerson. Who are you s'pposed t--"

Just then, a loud crash sounded from the front door. The squirrel glanced to his right in time to see Mr. Crestpaw bounding rather hurriedly toward the two new acquaintances. Shordann's left paw dripped with blood, and his eyes were wide with fear.

He stopped for a moment and looked at both creatures. "Oh good, you two 'ave met," Shordann said pleasantly as he gestured behind himself casually. "Would ye mind 'elpin' me out? I've a small problem at the door." And with that, he was dashing through the halls again.

Roark raised an eyebrow. What was all that about? The squirrel exchanged glances with Trojan. He didn't know or much care, for that matter, what was going on. All he knew was Mrs. Crestpaw apparently had a difficult time running anywhere with such a large, frilly skirt, as she chased her husband.

---

((Your call. ))

[historybug]

Roark shrugged. "I dunno. Jus' wanned to."

Trojan rolled his eyes. Just wanted too? Just wanted to play around with arrows that if he didn't open the door the way he did he could have been shot!

He held out his left paw, which he knew to be disrespectful in some parts of the southeast. "Roark Braerson. Who are you s'pposed t--"

Trojan's ears flicked back and he growled. Left paw! Trojan knew that he had ruined his honor along time ago, but a left paw! Who did this squirrel think he was! "Now that's--"

Before Trojan could finish his outburst, a loud crash was herd down the hall. Instinctively, Trojan grabbed his javelin from behind the door, ready to strike.

However, he didn't expect what he saw in the hall.

Shordann Crestpaw was dashing up the stairs in panic and blood on his paw.

"Oh good, you two 'ave met," Shordann said pleasantly as he gestured behind himself casually. "Would ye mind 'elpin' me out? I've a small problem at the door."

He then raced up the stairs with his wife struggling to follow. Trojan saw the look that Roark gave him, but Trojan ignored the squirrel. Digging his javelin into the door frame, Trojan ignored the pain in his paws and vaulted over the young squirrel.

Hurrying down the stairs, Trojan looked back at the squirrel only once. "If you ever want me to look at you with any decency, show me that you know how to use that bow." And with that Trojan lept down the stairs two to three at a time, ready to face what ever was down there.

[Skipper]

Roark shrugged, dislodged the arrow from the door, and followed casually after Trojan. He didn't much care the level of decency with which the old otter chose to look at him; the chances that the two would ever meet again were slim, at best. Even so, this was a chance to show off.

The door burst open just as Trojan reached the bottom of the stairs. Roark landed behind him a second later. His eyes focused intently on the six intruders. Three were rats, one of which was almost ridiculously big. Two were weasels, and the last a stoat. Standard vermin, all with malicious intent -- how else would they explain all the drawn blades? Wicked-looking things too, they were. One had an already-bloodied knife, probably the one Mr. Crestpaw met a moment ago.

Roark drew a second arrow from his quiver and loaded both in a split second. Trojan needed about five seconds to reach the intruders. Roark needed two seconds to turn his bow sideways and one to aim.

In the next instant, two arrows flew past either side of Trojan, striking a third of Shordann's guests. Roark smiled. Maybe the move was rash, maybe he should have stopped to find out why the vermin were here, but then, this was payback.

The squirrel darted up the nearest wall and perched on a tall bookshelf, where he proceeded to send an arrow through a weasel's throat. Two rats, one stoat to go. No. Wait. Roark cursed. Three rats. His first two arrows had landed, but the rat on the right suffered only an injured leg.

Roark began to load a fourth arrow, but something jolted the bookshelf, and he hit the floor. All the air was forced from his lungs, and he gasped breathlessly as he reached for another arrow. But before he had a solid grip on it, a boot slammed into his side, and he doubled over in pain. He glanced upward in time to see the stoat standing over him, grinning wickedly. Roark furrowed his brow.

Dang it.

[historybug]

Vaulting down the stairs, javelin in paw, Trojan reached the bottom of the stairs when the door burst open. Instantly his eyes analyzed the situation to a point. There were six intruders, all heavily armed. There were three rats, two weasels, and one stoat. One rat was large, and there was one blade with blood, the rest, clean. They were staggered about the room, all facing the door.

Hoisting his javelin, Trojan flicked his wrist quickly and his javelin landed in one rat. One down, no wait...Two down. Trojan was racing forward to pick up his javelin as two arrows whizzed by him and hit a weasel, but only maimed a rat in the leg.

Trojan grunted as he grabbed his javelin out of it's victim and spun it in the air above his head taking on two rats at the same time. That squirrel could have killed him shooting like that without telling him! Sure it helped a bit, but still!

The two rats that were uninjured came at Trojan with deadly sharp cutlasses. One went for Trojan's left and low, the other right and high. With precise accuracy, Trojan spun his javelin going from high to low, left to right, taking down both rats in one swoop.

Trojan spun around quickly, catching the sword of the third rat, who had and arrow in his thigh and had to take a minute to retaliate. As he struggled against the rat's young strength and power, Trojan was able to see a bit of what Roark was doing. Somehow, the squirrel had managed to get himself cornered on top of a bookshelf by a stoat. No wait...now he wasn't on the shelf..he was on the floor.

Rolling his eyes, Trojan released the pressure that he was applying, spun to the right and let the rat stumble forward. A quick thrust ended that fight, and Trojan threw his javelin with a hefty toss. The javelin flew true. Not quite hitting it's target, but pinning Roark's assailant to the wall by the back of it's shirt.

Pounding across the floor, Trojan focused all of his energy on the struggling stoat. From what Trojan could see of Roark, he was going to be fine. Besides, he could use a good kick.

Trojan gripped the stoat by the shoulders with powerful paws, ignoring the shooting pain, he growled into the stoat's face. "Talk. Now. No lies. Who, what, where, why, you know the drill."

((Ugh))

[Skipper]

What should have been a sigh of relief left Roark's lungs as a huff of frustration. He didn't like being rescued; he'd rather be rescuer, though he cared so little about others that he seldom took that opportunity. The worst part of it all was that the stoat had sneaked up on him, which only highlighted Roark's infinite inability to pay attention. He most certainly couldn't have himself admitting that to other beasts, because that would mean that he was, heaven forbid, wrong.

The squirrel rose to his footpaws in time to catch the end of the stoat's explanation.

". . . an' if yer Mr. Cressaw, 'r whatever doesn' pay up 'fore tomorrer evening, we gonna have t'burn the whole place down," he said contemptuously, "Direc' orders fr'Marshank."

"Pay how much?" asked Roark.

The stoat stuck out his tongue at the young squirrel before answering. "The light'ouse."

Roark laughed aloud. "Hahaha, that's not tax -- that's a ultomato," he said, not quite on the nail in his attempt at using a big word, "So if'n he doesn't give you 'is lighthouse, yore gonna burn it?"

[historybug]

((Ooc: Hope you don't mind, I took a little bit of control of the stoat, added a wine cellar and a hedgehog attendant.))

Trojan held on tight to the stoat as he explained the reason for the attack, sure it hurt his joints so, so bad. The arthritis was going rampant in his joints, but Trojan wouldn't let himself show anything. Not now. Once he was back in his room or alone. Then he can relax. But right now, he was holding an assailant. He needed to focus, and stay strong.

". . . an' if yer Mr. Cressaw, 'r whatever doesn' pay up 'fore tomorrer evening, we gonna have t'burn the whole place down," he said contemptuously, "Direc' orders fr'Marshank."

His eyes never leaving his intense glare he had with the stoat, Trojan's mind was racing. Marshank, debt, payment, burning, tomorrow evening. This was interesting. Shorrdann had never mentioned any of this before, but then again, it wasn't Trojan's business. It' was Mr. Crestpaw's. Taking a mental note of all what the stoat, Trojan mental told himself to have a small chat with Mr. Crestpaw so that he knew why he was being attacked.

"Pay how much?" asked Roark.

The stoat stuck out his tongue at the young squirrel before answering. "The light'ouse."

Roark laughed aloud. "Hahaha, that's not tax -- that's a ultomato,... So if'n he doesn't give you 'is lighthouse, yore gonna burn it?"

Trojan rolled his eyes. "Alright, that's enough." With a quick release of the stoat that cause him to fall forward a bit, Trojan knocked the stoat unconscious with a swift blow to the back of the neck. Not hard enough to kill the stoat, but enough to knock him out for a good while.

Sighing a bit, Trojan walked over to some of the rubagge the vermin had been throwing about. He just need a bit of string, or rope or something. Quickly, Trojan's eyes found what he was searching for. On the back of one of the paintings that was strewn on the floor was a piece of strong on which it would hang from the wall. With a swift jerk, he took the string off the painting and walked back over to the fallen stoat.

Bending down, Trojan began binding the stoat's paws behind his back. He looked up at Roark while he was bent over the stoat. "Your help was appreciated. If you could now retrieve Mr. Crestpaw from upstairs and inform him politely that the threat has been removed and I wish to speak with him promptly, that also would be much appreciated."

Once the stoat was bound, Trojan stood up. He dug his javelin out of the wall, picked up the stoat and dragged the unconscious vermin to a door next to the dinning room. During dinner, Trojan had watched beasts come from this door ladened with many drinks and presumed it to be the wine cellar. The wine cellar would be a good place to keep the stoat for now while it is decided what is going to be done.

Trojan dragged the stoat down the stairs none to lightly. The door did indeed led to a very fine wine cellar. Surely only the best of the best wine and ale choices could be found down here. Looking around, Trojan found a cellar attendant who had been working quietly down here and was undisturbed by the noise above.

Not wanting to be rude, Trojan coughed politely to get the hedgehog's attention. The poor beast was throughly startled by Trojan's sudden and rather unruly appearance holding a stained javelin and dragging a bound, unconscious stoat. Trying to make the best of the situation, he tried to sound as calm and polite as possible. "Ah, hello there. I was wondering if there was an empty storage space in which this, assailant could be held safely."

The frightened beast, who held the keys to the cellar, tossed them at Trojan as he sprinted up the sitars. Trojan sighed as he caught the keys with ease and looked around. Great first impression mate, he thought to himself as he walked up to a door and used the key to open it.

The room was just what Trojan needed. It was fairly empty. The only thing in the room was a stool and the pieces of some old crates and barrels. Inspecting the door, Trojan found that the only access to the lock was on the outside, along with the access to the hinges. The room had no windows, but it was alright for right now. Dragging the stoat inside, Trojan propped him up against the wall next to the stool. "Sleep tight." He muttered as he locked the door on his way out.

Once he locked the door, Trojan removed the key that he used from the key ring and hung the ring on it's hook by the main door. He didn't want to risk the possibility of forgetting which key he used so Trojan took the key and slid it into the bandages on his right paw. He wouldn't loose it there and he would be contently reminded that he had it.

Trojan groaned as he went back up the stairs. His aching joints were not ready to handle such physical activity and he was paying for it now. His paws screamed in pain, but Trojan would not let it show. He forced his limbs to move and only let an annoyed grimace be shown on his face. He had to go meet with Mr. Shorrdann Crestpaw and see if what all the stoat said was truth or if it was lie.

[Skipper]

Shordann refused to open the door. It was a trap door, built into the ceiling above a set of stairs that appeared to lead to but a wall.

Standing on the stairway, Roark pounded on the ceiling with his fist, loudly calling up, "It's safe now! They're all dead!"

There was a pause, and a shuffle of footpaws. A muffled voice sounded from above.
". . . I don't believe you."

"Why not?!" the squirrel shouted, "I wasn't with them! I didn't invite them here!"

Another pause, another shuffle. ". . . Prove it."

Roark threw up his paws, exasperated. It wasn't until Trojan rounded the corner and saw him that the squirrel thought of a reply. "Mrs. Crestpaw, you know how much I adore yore cookies. If anything happened t'you, I'd never taste your fantastic pastries ever again, an' I don't think I could survive such a tragedy."

A garbled discussion from above ensued. It became apparent that the discussion would last for quite some time, so Roark turned to Trojan. "Did you leave that last one alive?"

[historybug]

With an annoyed and painful grimace plastered on his face, Trojan forced himself up the stairs. His joints hurt sssooo bad, but he couldn't show it. Not now, not until he was alone. While he was a guest, it wouldn't be proper to complain.

As he continued up the stairs, Trojan heard Roark talking loudly to someone. Obviously it was Mr. Crestpaw, but it really sounded like one sided conversation.

Why not?!" the squirrel shouted, "I wasn't with them! I didn't invite them here!"

"Mrs. Crestpaw, you know how much I adore yore cookies. If anything happened t'you, I'd never taste your fantastic pastries ever again, an' I don't think I could survive such a tragedy."

Trojan rolled his eyes. Sweet talking the Mrs.? Oh yeah, that will work. Right now, Trojan was not willing to deal with any stubbornness. He was grumpy, in pain, and testy. Trojan had very, very little patience and was willing to take down that trap door with his bare, aching paws.

"Did you leave that last one alive?"

"Aye.."Trojan grunted. "Locked him in wine cellar. I have no patience for this..." Walking over to the trap door, Trojan used his javelin and rammed the trap door three times.

"Sir," Trojan barked, "the threat is gone. Stop being a coward and get down here, on the double!" When Trojan realized he was shouting out orders like a Captain once more, he shut his mouth. No...not again...

Crossing his arms, Trojan waited. He would wait, but not long.