Beast with the Gift of Gab

[Zevka]

Character Name: Sly Speakeasy
Category: The Beast With the Gift of Gab
Age: 24
Species: Vole
Gender: Male


It was a full moon tonight, but also very cloudy, keeping the road dark. Very dark. Sly liked it dark, to an extent. It?s hard to be followed in the dark, but unfortunately, also difficult to see Sly?s favorite sight: the looks on other beast?s faces. Tonight, however, that was a good thing. That meant other beasts wouldn?t see his face. Particularly, the two otters ahead.

Alright, Sly. Just slip on by...

?Hey, you! Where are you creeping off to??

Or be spotted immediately, that?s fine as well. The vole put on his best smile, and strode straight towards the brutes.

?Nowhere in particular, kind sirs, any suggestions??

The slightly bigger brute, the one who shouted, grunted. ?Don?t get smart, I need an answer.?

?Don?t worry, I?ll keep it dumb. I?m simply on my nightly stroll, stretchin? the ol? legs a bit, you know how it is.?

The smaller otter shook his head. ?I haven?t seen you around here.?

?Well I didn?t say I strolled here, specifically, on a nightly basis,? Sly said, waving his paws in a circle around himself. ?That?d get boring quick. Need to change the scenery, you know? Besides, what?s so wrong with my being here??

Bigger Brute growled. ?There?s been a troublemaker in the taverns lately. Stealing, drinking too much, an?, recently, getting into fights.?

?Oh my!? Sly gasped. ?I hope you nab that rapscallion, I should say. Nobody likes a troublemaker, least of all the drunks. They?ve already got so much to worry about, they don?t need that sort of thing.?

Bigger Brute growled again. ?What?s interesting to me is those ?drunks? are saying it?s a vole. And here you are.?

?Oh my! Again!? Sly gasped, again. ?How... presumptuous of you! I never expected this sort of profiling, least of all from you respectable gentlebeasts! I?m offended! I?m appalled! I?m leaving, right this very moment!?

Sly turned to run, but Smaller Otter snatched him up before he got too far. Sly hung his head as he was turned to face the brutes.

?I?m sorry I ran.?

?I?m not,? Bigger Brute replied. ?Just proves you?re guilty.?

?See, that?s not true at all,? Sly said. ?I?m not guilty, just ... frightened. You frighten me.?

?Because you?re guilty,? said Bigger Brute.

?No, because I look guilty, Sir.? Sly said. ?Nothing is scarier than looking guilty.?

?Prove to me you?re not.? Bigger Brute motioned for Smaller Otter to put the vole down. Smaller Otter obliged. Sly rubbed the back of his neck, and took a deep breath before continuing.

?You see ... I didn?t want to admit it, but ...truth is, the troublemaker is my brother. Laddie. Well, his real name is Leonard, but we knew he?d never have fun with a stuffy name like that so we changed it. Anyways, I?ve been telling Laddie to lay off the drinking, but he won?t listen! There?s a fire in his belly that he just can?t quench, no matter how much he drinks, so he?s been dragging me from tavern to tavern for days now. It?s been so long, I?ve almost forgotten how to speak to sober beasts! So, tonight, after just a few rounds, I knew I couldn?t take it anymore. I grabbed Laddie by the shoulders, looked him in the face and I told him. I said ?Laddie, it?s done. I can?t drink with you anymore. You?ve become a monster.? To which he replied: ?Who are you???

?I?m confused,? Smaller Otter interrupted.

?As was I!? Sly cried, his voice cracking. ?Who am I? He couldn?t recognize me? My own brother? So I scream ?I don?t know anymore!?, and I punch him. In the nose. I don?t know what happened after that, it was all a confused blur of shattering glass and shrieking mousewives. But next thing I know, I?m out on the street where, moments later, I run into you fellows. And now, here we are.?

The otters stood in silence, presumably deep in thought. Maybe. Sly couldn?t be sure.
?I believe my soul-baring confession should suffice, yes?? he asked.

?They never said anything about two voles.? Bigger Brute growled.

?We?re voles, sir. We?re small. Anybeast could confuse us for one.?

Bigger Brute only frowned. ?I?m not convinced.?

?That?s fine, it wasn?t a very convincing story,? Sly agreed. ?But what?s important ... is you didn?t notice me creeping towards these very dense bushes.?

Before the Brutes could react, Sly gave them a smarmy little salute, briefly savoring their shared stupid look, and dashed into the underbrush.


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Character Name: Hoober Blackfoot
Category: Beast with the Gift of Gab
Species: Vole
Age: 30 seasons
Gender: Male

Hoober tripped along the path as he whistled to himself. He paused every now and then to spit out the dust that he stirred. A hump in the path caused him to stumble, and he staggered a little, trying to keep upright. His pack clanked on his back, and he smiled, pleased at his earlier trade. Who knew that blacksmith badgers could make decorative hangings and candle holders? He had thought they kept to hero?s swords and berserker?s armor.

?The Crab Horde snapped their claws,
Their eye-stalks all a-swivel!
I bopped their king right in the eye,
And shocked them with my drivel!?

He tottered to a stop, catching his breath and trying to ensure he would not topple over. He chuckled. ?Drivel? An? wouldn?t me mum be glad to know I?m still spoutin? it! NOT.?

?Is that so?? came a voice from behind him. Embarrassed at possible witnesses to his clumsiness, he turned, his overfull pack threatening his balance still. He faced several beasts who blocked the path behind him, and he was disconcerted to note that most were vermin, though one scarred hare smirked mockingly at him.

Hoober pasted a silly grin on his face, keeping his paws behind his back, sliding one towards the knife hidden there. ?Oh, aye, ?twas the bane of her existence, so she told me. ?Hubert,? she?d beller, ?quit yore yappin?, and get the pears picked, or ye?ll feel the back of me paw!? He chuckled forcefully, straining. ?Like as not, I?d feel the back of ?er paw, spoon, footpaw on me tail, ?er apron?? His grin widened. ?I weren?t one t? keep mum, iffen ye catch m?meanin?!?

"Oh, aye,? a rat snarled, and Hoober recognized the initial speaker.

Hoober?s pack clanked, and he flinched, cursing the fit that had caused him to trade perfectly good cloth for metal decorations.

?Here now, what have we got?? a bass growl sounded, and a heavy paw clamped the back of Hoober?s neck. A second paw twisted his, wrenching it from under the pack, and the knife he had finally clasped thumped to the path.

?Now that jest ain?t friendly,? sneered the deep voice, and the otter shook Hoober loose from his pack and dropped him to the path.

Hoober tried for a wheezing laugh. ?Oh, o? course, y?see, I?m a merchant, gotta protect meself from?robbers?? He trailed off as he finally noticed the matching blue uniform worn by all, and swallowed hard. These were no mere brigands.

?We?ve got?? the rat paused, ?a proposition.? The rest chuckled. ?There?s opportunity for more money than a?? merchant, such as yerself, could make, and entertainment aplenty, to boot.?

Hoober rose, trying to dust himself off. ?Oh, well then, if it?s entertainment ye want, I?m sure I could turn a tale or two for ye!?

Raucous laughter rang out. ?Oh, aye, you?ll turn alright, only it won?t be tale?s you?ll be bearin?? sneered the otter. Hoober?s avenue of escape shrank before his eyes.

?Well,? he tried once more, ?Much as the sound of this? oppertoonity, is temptin?, I?m a merchant, y?see??

A shove in the back sent him sprawling, and he was yanked to his footpaws amidst jeers. The spear that had knocked him down now hovered before his snout, and he knew he would be given no choice. The blue-bedecked crew fell in around him as the rat lifted the spear. In a tramping march, they ushered him along the path, and Hoober fumbled along, trying to hide his panic.

?So, Hubert,? somebeast beside him muttered. Hoober quickly glanced over to see the hare, who was also surreptitiously glancing around. ?What happened with the crab horde?? Looking young for the first time, he flicked his eyes to Hoober?s and away.

?Oh, I?m called Hoober. Me mum named me Hubert.? Hoober squashed the memory of the young hedgehog who had renamed him, seasons back. ?Well, the ruddy beasts were so confused by my blabbin?, them havin? no talk o? their own, y?see, that they started dancin? round one another. I took a rope, tied it t? a crab leg, and just let ?em tangle themselves up. It were th? easiest thing to find their trove of pearls, after, and??

?Stow the gab!? snapped the otter, glaring at them both.

Both Hoober and the hare started, and the hare straightened, ears slicking against his head. Hoober had caught a gleam of curiosity in the young thing?s eye, however,?

He smiled inwardly. Perhaps all was not lost, after all?


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Name: Bechtel
Species: Vesper Bat
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Category: Beast with the Gift of Gab

---

?I personally guarantee it! One sniff and your sniffles?ll sniff their last breath!?

To prove it, Bechtel held the sap-soaked stick up to his nostrils and inhaled deeply. The fragrance of pine, the richness of cured honey, the buzzing of something growing very lou?

Bechtel dropped the stick and doubled over, snorting violently and smacking at the vandal pillaging the soft innards of his nostrils. After a second that lasted far too long, the foe absconded back into the sky, issuing forth a mocking buzz.

?Away with you, foul winged daemon!? Bechtel shouted at the fly, watching the stupid little creature meander its way deeper into the village to torment some other poor soul.

Bechtel paid no mind to the stares of the surrounding woodlanders as he tucked his winged-arms to his side, bent down, and squinted at the blurry floor.

"Now, now, where did you go???

Past the blur that still clouded his eyes, Bechtel saw the thousands of cobblestone pebbles, the watermelon seeds a flutter?s distance away trailing deeper into town, the inchworms whose movement echoed just beneath the topsoil, the?

Bechtel frowned, reached into the fog, plucked the incense stick up, and looked at the half that dangled by a fiber.

?The Boss won?t like this?? he muttered, tossing it onto a pile of other broken mishaps.

?Hurr hurr, you?m still troiy?in t? pawn arf yurr idjit beastur?s burbles??

Bechtel?s frown deepened. He rotated his head ninety-degrees to rest his narrowed eyes upon the approaching blur of velvety-furred malevolence.

?Gurry,? he growled, frowning yet deeper as the mole?s particularly poorly-bred features came to his mind. Everywhere Gurry went, trouble followed, and a mile long of false promises and broken trinkets.

?That be moi name,? Gurry said with a proud swagger of his blubberous girth and a tug of his ?brekkist? covered snout.

?I?ll have you know the Boss is a brilliant inventor,? Bechtel said with a swing of an incense stick, ?and also that this is also my spot to sell, so?? Bechtel fluttered the tips of his wings at Gurry.

The mole squinted. Bechtel fluttered his wingtips again, accentuating the ?dip and shove? motion. The mole blinked.

?So go away.?

Gurry, instead of responding in any sensible fashion, set his box of goods down and began to remove them.

?What are you doing?!? Bechtel screamed, horror increasing upon seeing just how many bottles and vials and things the mole brought along.

?Yurr a laowd, arnoyin? liddle mousey burrd, burr aye,? Gurry rumbled as he continued to set out his wares.

?No! I won?t stand for this! You?re a fiend of dubious character, diabolical ways, and devilishly dry pastries!?

Gurry turned to face the crowd. ?Coom one, coom all! Expertrinse th? healin? prop-yurr-tees o? Gurry?s gennur-wine Addurr ?Ol!?

Bechtel snatched two of the sticks and held them up. ?If you would like to lather snake spit over your fur, then I agree, but for more decent beasts, only these will cure those summer sniffles!?

?Sniffen?s furr flowurrs, when a drop o? this?ll fix yurr spoine twingurrs ?un foggy oiysight!"

"Well, these can cure everyday aches and pains!?

?Addurr ?Ol ?can even cure Droiyditch Fevurr!?

Bechtel?s jaw hung loose. Before he could sputter out a reply, a small, strained voice spoke up.

?Is? that true??

Bechtel saw the blurry form of a mousemaid standing near Gurry.

?Sure ?et ees! Jus? a few drops daown th? hatch!?

?Liar,? Bechtel whispered, loud enough to see?the damp handkerchief clutched in the mousemaid?s quivering paw, the puffiness in her eyes, the tenuous hope as she reached to pay for the bottle.

?Liar!? Bechtel screamed, tackling Gurry to the ground.

The two beasts tumbled for several feet before coming to a stop, Bechtel pinning the mole down.

?How dare you! How could you!? he snapped, shoving the mole against the ground several times. ?Not this time! I won?t stand by and let you hurt someone this time!?

For the first time, he noticed how hard Gurry shook in his grip, how tightly he grasped the mole, and how much blood streamed out onto the cobblestone.

Bechtel stumbled back onto his feet. ?I? I didn?t??

He saw all of the stares directed his way, and his gaze stopped when he looked at the mousemaid. Her features blurred as the echoes diminished around him, but he saw her expression clearly. The horror. The fear. The hatred.

Things he had seen before.

Bechtel launched himself upwards, flying into the blurred, featureless, unwatching sky.