The Stowaway

[Airan]

Character Name: Ghost
Species: Leaf-tailed Gecko
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Category: Stowaway

Only at first cricket, did the silent, still figure dare move. His pink tongue flashed out, over his eye, dislodging a pesky badger hair that had been there for the last two hours. Salamandastron was not the most ideal environment. It was cold, far too dry, and there was an annoying abundance of stone walls. Ghost preferred wood. There was a comforting warmth to wood. That, and he blended seamlessly into most wooden surfaces.

?The Wooden Wonder? he had been clumsily dubbed in his early life. Peddled around from town to town, exhibited along with other ?freaks of nature,? as they were called, Ghost had nurtured a fear and resentment toward all other beasts as they continuously prodded him to prove to one another that he was not, in fact, a carving. Woodlander or vermin, they were all the same ? gawking, pointing, jabbing, and joking. Ghost?s gut instinct was to hide, and the years of forced exposure had taken their toll. He had become half-crazed when HE finally came, hardly caring whether he lived or died. Ghost had all but lost himself, snapping and hissing to keep his tormenters at a distance, throwing himself at the iron bars of his cage, raging gibberish. Only HE had seen Ghost?s true potential. And only HE had the kind of influence and power to convince Ghost?s callous-hearted masters to sell him. Once released into HIS custody, Ghost had finally been allowed to vanish. In fact, he had been encouraged to do so. It was all Ghost had ever wanted, and his gratitude transformed into the deepest loyalty.

And then, Atlas Stormstripe came and destroyed everything.

Ghost cocked his head at the dark, open room after a chorus of distant crickets indicated true night had fallen. A breeze caressed his mottled body, touching the insides of his nostrils with the scent of saltwater. The badgerlord had left the window open tonight. Few, if any, could scale such a height, and though the badger had become abnormally suspicious of his own followers, he had yet to lock his quarters against the possibility of outside assassins. This evening, he had gone to bed early, complaining of an upset stomach, though Ghost knew the truth. Such information could turn into power, given the right circumstance, and Ghost had become an expert at gathering intelligence. The rumbling snores of the great badger resonated powerfully against the wall such that Ghost could feel the vibrations through his flat toes. This reassured him to continue in cautious, darting movements toward the window.

In a moment he was outside the fortress, defying gravity as he descended its vertical face. This was the easy part. Ghost was made for such climbs. The difficulty would come when he reached the ground and had to walk to the harbor in plain sight. Once his sensitive feet touched the dust, Ghost stood in a hunched posture and made for his secret cache ? a small satchel hung discretely in a tree. He donned a black hooded cloak and curled his wide, leaf-like tail close, so as not to draw attention. With luck, he would be thought a small mammal and nothing more.

As he approached the Port of Hearth, Ghost slipped down onto a loading pier and into deep shadow. Leaving the cloak behind, he slithered quietly under the damp wooden structure, creeping along the underside so that the reflective, lapping water was as sky above. Previous experience and investigation guided his movements through the sprawling maze of docks until he reached his destination: the Zephyr.

HE may have fallen, but Ghost was resolved to return torment on his tormentors.

[Airan]

The Character's name: Ciera
Character's species: Weasel
Character's gender: Female
Character's age: 19-21 in human terms
The category you're applying to: Stowaway

The bars were spaced just far enough to slip two claws through. Ciera clung desperately to them, pressing her face against the iron. The cool metal, combined with the crisp midnight air, soothed the bruises.

?Do you remember,? asked Mykel, to whom the claws belonged, ?the first time we came here?? His voice was muffled, since he too was pressing against the bars. Their cheeks could almost touch, but not quite.

A lifetime ago, two spry young weasels had hidden behind a rocky outcrop, trading rumors of the squat little port fortress and how the stuffy hares would clap you in irons and ship you off to Southsward if they caught you.

?I remember,? she said. ?We dared each other to see who could get closest.? They?d been playmates then, and were simply ?mates? now. They had been prosperous, once. Happy. They had made a world for themselves in a little orchard just outside the shadows of Salamandastron, and welcomed three young into it. But in the blink of an eye the seasons passed, the soil grew sparse, and the orchard withered. The days of ?play? were long gone.

Ciera glanced around the confines of her cell. ?I rather think I?ve won that game,? she observed wryly.

?Aye,? Mykel whispered faintly. ?You always were better than me.?

An eternity of silence later, he asked plaintively, ?Why did you do it??

It had been Mykel who?d burst through the door with a sack of purloined vegetables, not her. The young hadn?t eaten in days, so he?d committed the ultimate sin: stealing from the Badger Lord himself. But when the Long Patrol?s torches appeared in the forest, it was Ciera who snatched Mykel?s cloak and fled away as noisily as possible to draw their attention. They?d caught her within minutes, and done substantially more arresting than the circumstances warranted.

Why had she done it?

Because I couldn?t provide for them, Mykel. I couldn?t do it with you, so how could I possibly have done it without you?

Ciera was no seer, but she had seen the future. With Mykel gone, she would work herself to the grave, pouring her sweat and tears into the thirsty earth to try and drown out the rumble of empty stomachs, knowing all the while that her efforts would be every bit as fruitless as the dying orchards. It would have killed her, body and spirit.

Now Mykel would be the one to watch the children wither away, and scratch out graves for them beneath the miserly trees. Their blood would be on his claws, not hers.

Mykel was wrong. She was never better than him. She?d been too weak to carry the burden of a starving family, and forced the load onto him instead. And the poor sod was actually thanking her for it.

She clung to his claws through the night. They were her lifeline, keeping from being swept up in a maelstrom of emotions. Guilt, fear, loneliness, dread? Each feeling was a current unto itself, roiling and churning amidst the others.

At first light, the bolts were thrust back. ?Don?t let them catch you, you fool! Run!? she hissed.

?I?ll always love you!? Mykel choked out. The two claws squeezed her paw, then were gone.

As the first sliver of sun bathed the whole world in scarlet, a chubby hare escorted her to the jetty, where a prison ship bristled against the crimson sky. She loathed that anybeast could be so fat, while her young grew so thin.

When his back was turned, she gave an experimental tug at the shackles, which hung rather loosely around her emaciated paws.

??Scuse me,? she said politely.

The hare turned, and stumbled backwards off the jetty as she shoved the heavy chains into his arms.

By the time anybeast thought to investigate the splash, there was nothing left to see but a few bubbles and a row of silent, and seemingly empty, ships.

[Airan]

Character Name: Plink
Character Species: Rat
Character Gender: Female
Character Age: 13 seasons
Category: Stowaway

The market was busy today, crowded with happy goodbeasts with their fat purses, and Plink was working the busiest part. She coasted through the bustle dipping her paws into loose sacks, sampling a coin here and there, a spool of thread, a lump of cheese from somebeast's lunch. They never saw it coming, either, not while she wore this disguise. They never saw a slick little searat, just a large, homely mousewife out to buy sweets for her ickle babies. She'd even snitched a woven-grass basket and everything.

Something felt off today, though. Plink smiled her best smile and said her 'pardon me's but still she felt anxious. Someone was watching her.

She slipped out of the crowd and down an alley, scurrying to get through the narrow stretch to the cross street, but a big figure dropped from the roof and landed lithely in front of her. Plink saw the bushy tail and the winking silver badge, and immediately whirled around to bolt back toward the crowd. A towering hare already blocked her way. She skidded to a stop before him.

"Just remembered you left the kettle on, wot?" the marshal asked.

"Um, yes," Plink squeaked. "Hubby's probably wondering where I've been!"

"Right," said the squirrel behind her, and then snatched off the shawl that Plink used to conceal her small rattish ears. Startled, she dropped her basket. Coins and treasures scattered across the cobblestones.

The hare looked down his nose at her. "Now. You're too jolly grown up for this trick and you'll be lucky if we don't arrest you for posing a public menace. Come to think of it?" He narrowed his eyes and tugged at his whiskers. "I've seen you skulking about down by the docks, haven't I? Stealing fish scraps, were you?"

"Ain't stealin' if they're throwin' it out anyways," Plink mumbled.

"What's that?" The hare twisted his big ears at her, frowning harder.

Plink screwed up her mouth into a scowl. He'd heard her just fine. Big bully marshals, they didn't know who they were messing with. Plink wasn't just any gutter-licking whelp. She was the daughter of a mighty corsair, a true terror of the high seas, and one day she would be feared and renowned, too.

"I said I could've taken all their dirty fish if I'd've wanted to," she said as she drew the knife out of the pocket hidden in her mousewife skirt, "but I was fine with just the heads!"

In a sudden burst, Plink slashed at the hare's belly. He jerked back and her knife nipped into his navy coat and snagged on one of the brass buttons, but Plink didn't stay to see if she'd drawn blood. She dodged around him and tried to run but something held her back. Then, there was an enormous rip and Plink was free. She sprinted back toward the street, shouts and pursuit loud in her ears.

Plink ducked low and sped through the crowd. There were squeaks and cries, but no one grabbed her and she managed to squeeze into the narrow gap between one shop and the next. She barely fit anymore but managed to wriggle out into the empty alley beyond. With one breathless glance toward the roofline where the squirrel might appear at any second, Plink scurried down the alley toward the docks.

It was only when she was certain she wasn't being followed that Plink paused to look at her disguise. The pretty floral skirt was torn right down the back, revealing the seat of her grubby trousers and her long tail. She took the dress off carefully, and folded it like Ma had taught her after they stole it off a clothesline seasons back. And then she left it on a broken barrel in the alley.

No point saving it. Still, Plink rested a paw on the cloth a moment longer before she turned and headed for the docks.