[ P ] between the devil and the deep blue sea

Before long, Bastien’s voice caught Savard’s attention in the crowded establishment. His voice was unmistakeable, a low, slurred voice, no doubt a mixture of booze and beating fueling his words. As he limped to his spot next to his equally rough-shodden companion, Savard couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Out of all the jokes and quips that could have flown through Bastien’s head, all the time he had to prepare something witty to say to Savard, and he went for yet another remark about his age! Bastien may have been a good looking fellow, he may have been good at what he did, but perhaps when it came to intelligence, that mind of his perhaps shown more as a candle than as a sun. It made no difference to Savard, for having known the wolf for as long as he had, he knew he made good company regardless. This would not be the first time that they’d spent quality time together in a place like that, nor would it hopefully be the last.

“Don’t lie,” Savard replied as the bartender brought his beverage to him, “you love to bring attention to my age every chance you get.” Being jovial was a rare experience that few wolves got to enjoy. And to the untrained observer, for the two of them to be in the same straits, it would seem almost mad. But the two Guilders had a code, did they not? They each knew the principles upon which their trade required, and even in retirement, those things don’t get left behind. It was only business, and despite what business entails, the two wolves had their own accomplishments, their own aspirations, their own lives, and as long as they had mutual respect, not even friendship, then they could tolerate one another’s company in the way that they did. Of course… Savard could not help but wonder that in bringing up Savard’s age again, that it was a manner of Bas expressing his embarrassment for the outcome of their tussle.

But, they did not need to talk business on a night like this, did they now? Grabbing his drink in both paws, the wolf brought his closer to his companion’s, to offer a toast. “To Ewan Baird,” Savard said, “I don’t envy him.” The Sando syndicate, as they were known, were brutal by nature, and wealthy too. Savard hadn’t taken a job with them for over 3 years, namely because of their reputation. If a wolf screwed them over, even for the smallest of things, to could be disastrous. Of course, that was the risk in their pay, something most in the Guild understood. Still… to have taken their Renown, even if Savard had a thousand justifications for it all, it never sat right with him. Taking a drink, the wolf hoped to forget his conflict, if but for a moment. ”Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” Savard then said, ”but I thought you were doing some work for our friend in the high castle, Bastien. What were you doing here?”

Age… Was it concern over his that made him needle at Savard’s? Fear was difficult to suppress and often was concealed in anger, humor, and apathy. Bastien was prone to all three in regards to his age – more accurately, that the effects of aging skipped him. Some wolves would delight in this eternal youth he was granted, but for him it was a curse, a daily reminder that the world was leaving him behind. Trees would shed their leaves, snakes their skin, while he’s trapped in the same skin as tomorrow, as yesterday. His daughter would turn two, then four, then five… and he wouldn’t. He would stay four… fourever.

Troubled thoughts overshadowed this encounter, but Bast’s demeanor was all easy-going smirks and hooded eyes. ”I just like to remind you how much better looking I am these days.” Another joke, another disguise. At least with Savard there was an established banter to call upon. It would take a discerning eye to catch the way the end of Bastien’s tail mimicked a feline twitch or the slight grit of his back teeth indicating there was something lurking beneath his words that he didn’t express.

Savard received his drink and toasted to Ewan, may he rest in pieces. Bast clinked his glass as well and downed it, tapping his claw on the side when he caught their server’s attention. In the interim before his refill, he mused over the fate of their fallen friend and Savard’s interest in him. Rarely, if ever before, he’d seen that type of desperation from his old friend, and it made him curious about what he stood to lose. ”I haven’t seen you fight like that in a long time, Sav. Not since… well, you know.” Often these days the two giants were on opposing sides, working separate contracts with the same goal, and the only time he could remember when they’d been on the same team was in the days following Malachi’s death. Only then had their interests aligned to bring them together on a mission of justice and vengeance alike. ”Who was the contract for?”

He grimaced when the question of his lifestyle change was noted. Thankfully, the waitress came with another round just in time for him to eliminate the contents of the mug straight into his stomach once again. By now the alcohol was making him feel real tingly and an order of elk hearts marinated in fermented honey paired nicely with his rapidly intensifying buzz. It made him a little more forthcoming, at least. ”’pparently the king doesn’t like when his prisoners are murdered,” he guffawed between chews. ”‘Sssspecially by one’a his soldiers.” Of course, there was more to the story. How had he escaped with his life? Why was he a free man? What emboldened him to take contracts so close to Yorkshire, the heart of military territory?

It's not for shits and giggles, that’s for fucking sure.

Art by Wisper

Again with the commentary out of Bastien. As Savard kicked back his drink, he couldn’t help but recognize the obvious self-loathing that resided in Bastien’s heart. He was so confident, sure of himself, only to lose to a wolf he had written off and dismissed, warned even to stay away. He had called Savard old, and then had called him the worse looking one of the two. Well, Savard didn’t consider himself to have ever been a looker anyhow. He never saw himself as one of those pretty-boys who would do anything for attention, braiding their fur, preening their nails, wearing exotic and expensive perfumes, and do whatever it took to hide the scars. Savard came as he was. Now, if the roles were reversed, Savard would probably have acted no better, for the code of forgiveness and remembering the nature of business is only a suggestion.

But then Bastien took it further, as like the fighter he was, he scoped out every unfair advantage that he held. To Savard, that would be one of the many times Bastien had bested him, and the more devastating. Was it Bastien’s intent to remind Savard of it? That once upon a time, they stood oceans apart, to the point where at the time forgiveness seemed an impossibility? The mere mention of it earned Bastien a critical glare from the older wolf, putting his cup harshly onto the table. But just like that, the flame of wrath and rage went out, and Savard’s irritated glance softened. He had let it go, he had to. To cling onto the past in the way that he sometimes did, it never ended well. It was always important, moreover, for a Guilder to keep his weaknesses minimal, no matter who it was.

But, onto the question at hand. “The Sandos,” Savard replied, “Twenty Renown for him alive. You know how dramatic they can be with wolves that cross them. And as for how I beat you… maybe I just need the Renown more than you do.” Perhaps Bastien had heard of the Sandos, not that they were as well-known a syndicate as others. Of course, they had their reputation for being unforgiving, ruthless, bloody. Hell, considering the wolves Savard had recently run in, he was surprised that so many weren’t associated with them. But then again, King Adamh probably pays better. But speaking of, Savard couldn’t help but wonder who had contracted Bastien? If there were a list of all the wolves that wanted Ewan dead, and not get the chance to do it themselves, that list was perhaps the shortest list in all of Rionnach. But, whoever it was, what did it matter, to know who it was?

Perhaps, what did matter, was what the two discussed as the night wore on. Savard continued to drink his fill, stealing one of Bastien’s elk hearts greedily. Bastien was well ahead of the wolf, who preferred to take his time with his drinks, his older gut and all. Of course, Bastien was fully intending to have as much as it took to forget. As Savard listened, Bastien continued his words, explaining how he ended up to be as he was now. Working under some royalist’s thumb, killing prisoners in their cells, and now, being on the run, just like it used to be. Wasn’t that the beauty of the business? That regardless of your skills, your intellect, your accomplishments, the moment that a wolf becomes a problem, that’s all that they are. Savard couldn’t help but pity the wolf, and yet, perhaps Bastien reveled in it. Not knowing peace or solace, a different place every day, a different wolf every night.

Of course, like Bastien, as Savard drank, he couldn’t help but be more honest as well. He may have been the better fighter and thinker, but Bastien could outdrink him any day. “I’m surprised he found out,” Savard replied, “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting several of your former colleagues recently. All ex-Guilders looking to get good pay and protection, but none of the risk. But then again… what might you expect from a barrel of rats?” It had bothered Savard quite a bit about how many soldiers were these days. It wasn’t so much that they were smarter now, but more so that they were going after their own kind. A former Guilder, all decked out in his fancy rank, going after a dead-drop he knew was there? Trying to hire a wolf to do a job, only to try and rip him off? Perhaps Savard and Bastien both might agree that the imperial army, these days, was the biggest criminal syndicate out there.

But then, Savard, perhaps fueled by his anger towards a certain wolf in particular, as well as his increasing drunkenness, asked a question that he would surely later regret asking. “So… how much would you charge me if I asked you to deal with one of these rats? An officer who’s been making it hard on Guilders lately, and has a tough time keeping his paws to himself.” He never would admit it out to anyone else, but Savard was not through with Lieutenant Valentine. That much was clear.

The Sandos. Bastien's pleasantly relaxed visage did not give way to surprise. He suspected that, after they failed to negotiate a contract with him, they would seek help elsewhere. "Buncha losers. Powerful as they pretend t' be, an' can't even do their own dirty work," he snarked, shaking his head. The motion made him dizzy, and he didn't notice that Savard used the opportunity to snatch a few elk hearts, his cherry red eyes puzzling over the few that remained.

His attention was drawn back as his old friend claimed to need the money more than he did. His expression darkened, but he didn't contest it. Savard might have been one of few that he tolerated beyond the scope of a job, but in their world, it was foolish to trust anyone, even (and sometimes especially) those you call friends. Old habits were stronger than alcohol.

But his thoughts were churning slower than usual. Savard was prattling on about soldiers paying rats for protection. It was the following question that created a deep furrow in his forehead, creased in thought. how much would you charge me if I asked you to deal with one of these rats? "Didn't you jus'say ya need th' Renown?" Because he was stuck two conversations ago, Bastien remembered the ex-Guilder's words from before despite his failing mental facilities. A crimson gaze appraised Savard, seeming suddenly lucid. "Howse about we make a deal?"

Art by Wisper

Despite his drink-induced state of relaxation, there was a certain venom in the air at Bastien’s mere thought of the Sandos. As he heard those honest words, Savard couldn’t help but wonder what his associate’s reason might be for feeling the way he did about them. Did they puff their chests larger than they did? No doubt, for after all, they did outsource Ewan’s capture to wolves that knew a thing or two. But their brutality, at least to Savard’s knowledge, did warrant a bit of caution. They were perhaps loose cannons in that regard, at least as far as his knowledge of their reputation went. It had been some time since he had taken a job with them, and for good reason. But then again, only now was it out of desperation. Maybe if Savard were to drink a little more, that tongue of his would loosen just a bit, for any tighter than it was and it just might choke him. “Maybe…” Savard said, finishing his drink, before waving a paw to signal for another, “but it gives wolves like us some work.”

But as the duo dined and chatted, their discussions inevitably turned to the business Savard had brought up. Even with the drinks starting to hit him, there was surely a disconnect between the more sober (and perhaps stouter) Savard compared to Bastien, whose slurring words and heated breath indicated where his mind was. Still, it appeared that even through the cloudiness of drink, Savard’s asking of if he were to take a job for him seemed to have caught his attention. Of course, he was still sharp enough to ask why the apparently broke Savard would be willing to part with his pay if he needed it so badly. But then again, wolvs didn’t gain Renown for the sake of just gaining Renown, but rather for the sake of other things they needed in their lives… or rather out of their lives. “I did,” Savard said, as his drink was brought over, “I just didn’t tell you what for.”

Regardless, there was the strong, yet subtle sign of Bastien’s interest in dealing with a rat, an Imperial one no less. Perhaps there would be some sense of vengeance in it for him, considering his previous associations, Savard thought to himself. Or maybe he would be happy to have an exclusive contract. Of course, what Savard hadn’t expected was that Bastien wasn’t willing to just take the money, but seemed to have something else in mind. Curious, Savard thought, trying to consider Bastien’s angle.If it wasn’t Renown, what was it that he would be willing to trade for? “Oh yeah,” the male inquired, “and what might that be?”

His disdain further revealed itself in a derisive sneer. "Wolves like us," Bastien repeated bitterly. The words stirred something in him that had been not dormant but restrained. Only now, he was just sloshed enough to admit them. "I don' need renown, Sav. I need there t' be less 'wolves like us,' so I get rid of 'em. I've got... you can call it personal stakes." Vela's face flashed in his mind, so innocent and full of trust. She was too young to realize that the father she loved so dearly was a bad man just trying to eradicate worse men.

There was sudden, sharp urgency in the way Bastien's words gained fervor and heat. "Before I tell ya anythin' else," When he leaned in, his breath was hot, sour, and sharp enough to shave the hair off Savard’s muzzle. It was no doubt unpleasant for them both, but Bastien had grown used to his own stench over many years of heavy drinking. “—I need yer word, Savard. Swear that nothin' leaves this bar." His eyes did not waver. He was judging Savard's intention and fidelity by studying his face, searching it for things that would betray him, as best as a drunkard could. He only hoped the other man could sense the gravity of the information he was prepared to entrust him with.

Art by Wisper

There was something poetic in the way Bastien spoke as he answered Savard’s call for a job. This world really did need less wolves like them, wolves that did terrible things for selfish reasons. It wasn’t Savard’s responsibility to send them away, the way that his friend seemed to wish to. And by no means was it his desire either to do so for the sake of business needs. After all… Bastien was very much involved in the game still, something that the older male would refuse to admit was the same case for him. He was good at the denial behind his actions, but to hell with it. He got his pay, enough to get by on for his needs, and it would be only a matter of time before he got something more consistent, more legitimate, more honorable. He wondered if Bastien had the same desire as he did… but somehow he doubted it, despite not wanting to.

There was something peculiar to Bastien’s refusal to take his friend’s currency for a job that he needed to be done—a job that, quite frankly, Savard had doubts over the right course of action for. But he didn’t get a chance to probe it any more, for there was something else afoot. Leaning in, Bastien’s rancid breath spat out a request for Savard’s secrecy, something that should have been beyond question. All these years, and Savard had never been one to break the most important of vows to uphold among wolves like them. Don’t talk… it was simple, yet unbreakable, to those that wished to live long and happy lives. At least… usually. Returning a stern gaze of his own, Savard nodded softly. “Yeah,” he said, “you have my word.”

Could there be honor among thieves? Bastien had no choice but to trust that there could.

Savard's oath came with an unflinching stare of his own. Within it were no obvious signs of deceit, though there was something quizzical that rested there instead, curiosity for what was to come. "This is my deal for you. Yer a more likable guy than I. I'll bet you've got more connections 'round 'ere. Most'a mine er dead 'r gonna die, so I need names 'f the ones that 'aven't kicked it yet." There was nothing extraordinary so far other than Bastien's prominent vengeance, which could be understated as a bitter ex-soldier's need for retribution. But he didn't stop there, even though he could have. Should have. "I said personal stakes yeah? I've got a kid now, Sav, someone t' look out fer. Someone who's innocent 'f everythin' I've done. But she’ll never ‘ave a normal life with me as her dad. Not until I can make this fuckin’ shithole better, one name at a time.” The truth unraveled in gnarled, broken words and lay exposed for the first time between them.

When he could be sure that each word made proper impact, Bastien leaned back, but those wild red eyes never left Savard's. He composed himself, the bristled fur along his nape falling flat. "Now... 'bout this rat."

Art by Wisper

Savard did well enough with drink. Back in the day, he hadn’t been the same way. He was sometimes a happy drunk, a lot of times an angry drunk. He was at his best, but a lot of times, at his absolute worst. When he grew older, however, he found that the experience mellowed him out, called him, as if he didn’t have so much to worry about anymore. He didn’t always think clearly, but he found that as long as he minded how much he took in… he thought with less fear in his heart, was bolder, less restrained. That was wont to get him into trouble, or perhaps to get him what he wanted. When he preferred to talk business, he would stay away from drink, perhaps get something that resembled alcohol if it meant to make him blend in. But he didn’t have such restraint around the wolves he knew and felt he could almost trust. He did not nearly have as much to fear from them as he did the rest of Rionnach. At least, or so he thought.

As the two discussed the terms of their exchange, Bastien made it clear what his terms would be, terms that were quite frankly surprising. It seemed that for his services… Bastien asked only for Savard to give him some of his connections. The proposal that the wolf made… it troubled him, though he tried not to show it. What was his angle, Savard thought to himself? If he needed a job done, he’d be specific, so that could not be what it was. If he had plain intentions, especially for a wolf that seemed disheartened with the life he lived… he would have said it. And yet… he merely posed it in a casual way… and there was part of Savard that felt suspicious of his motives. Especially as he went on, to talk about his daughter. He talked about retribution, about cleansing this world of bad wolves, one at a time. Savard might have been tipsy… but he saw a connection between Bastien’s wants and desires that he did not like at all. He smelt something rotten in all of it. Maybe if he was less drunk, he would have been better about hiding his true emotions. But Bastien didn’t seem the type to betray his trust like this. At least… not without good reason.

“And why’d you want ‘em,” Savard slurred, “you know I started out long before you did, so alla’ my connections are either dead or… senile. Besides… somethin’ about goin’ to the house for a year and a half means I’m out of practice. So you must be really unlikeable if you’re askin’ me… heh.” Savard pounded another drink, the disturbing thought of what Bastien’s thought only growing as he did. Bastien didn’t strike him as the vigilante type, the type of wolf that took trash out because he felt like it. He did what he did for the same reason anyone else did anything, because of the Renown. Maybe he was just a cynical, old, drunk. Maybe he didn’t believe in wolves the way those fuckin’ Jacobites believed in their own simply because of promises and dreams. Maybe Bastien cared about his kid that much, that he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. Savard didn’t envy that one bit.

But… Bastien’s attention couldn’t be swayed from the allure of the rat. But of course. For a moment, Savard hesitated whether to tell him any more than he already had about it. But he was far too drunk to think clearly about that anymore. Besides… maybe if Bastien was truthful about cleaning Rionna’s streets, he could start with Adamh’s pampered Imperials. “Yeah… the rat…” Savard began, “I had a run-in with this ex-Guilder. Smooth-talker, but unfortunately he took Adamh’s renown or whatever. He’s got his eyes on some of my old dead drop locations, almost had me arrested. I got away… but he found my records. He threatened to have me thrown into jail if I didn’t do certain things for him… and I doubt I’m the only ex-Guilder.” Savard leaned in close to him. “What would you do to a wolf like that, Bas?”

His companion's notable neutrality waned, betraying enough of his skepticism that rage rippled across Bastien’s face. Was this the reward for his honesty... or the cost of it? Dark lines cut through the alabaster man's face like desiccated land. The amusement with which Savard mocked him only proved to further agitate the beast that booze made harder to restrain. It was a most unwieldy thing when it first awakes, and it always does so with aching hunger pains. Greedy fangs sank into muscular flesh with little resistance, the elk heart bursting in wash of flavorfully honeyed blood across his tongue, though there was little satisfaction derived from the action.

“Cha bhith cluich balbh a’ dèanamh rèidh riut.” (Playing dumb doesn’t flatter you.) The snap came in a language he wasn’t sure, nor cared, if Savard understood. His mother tongue, far from lyrical, twisted with detectable traces of wrath. ”I told you why I fuckin’ want ‘em.” Up until now, even throughout their pursuit of Ewan Baird up until they toasted to his corpse, Bastien had been nothing less than lazily amused even in defeat, getting his kicks by goading Savard into a game he didn’t want to play anymore. That had changed within one conversation.

Bastien didn't like to be made a fool, after all, and exposing his best kept secret… well, it was starting to feel rather foolish of him.

Any transparency that was offered up just moments before vanished without any trace, secreted back into the folds of a cloak he tightened closer around himself. The reins had exchanged hands, the beast now in control, and it laid in patient wait, listening through Bastien’s ears the account Savard gave of the man he wanted taken down, and smiled a sadistic smile. ”Sssertain things?” a velvet purr, purposefully misconstruing the true meaning, because there was a certain smooth-talking armored rat that implication called to mind. Wasn’t this a sweet twist of fate? ”There’s a buncha things I could do wif a wolf like that. I dun think you’d be pleased by ‘em.” Theirs was a game of give and take, and Savard had not given up anything but a rueful wake-up-call.

Bastien knocked back what was to be his final drink, barely tasting it, then pushed his front paws against the bar, staggering to a stand. His impaired senses made the pain in his limbs tolerable, though one or two of his wounds did reopen. ”Forget I said ‘nything. ” He wouldn’t wait for an objection. This conversation had run its course, and he was no longer feeling charitable. Savard’s suspicion had cut its way through to his core and shredded his disguise, publicly displaying Bastien's battered heart.

- exit bastien unless stopped

Art by Wisper