A Solution to a Small Problem

[Sly Speakeasy]

Sly was asleep when they came.

While he was spending some much needed time in his bed, his ratty hovel was broken into by two burly otters burst through his door and yanked the vole from his slumber. Instinctively Sly cried out, but he was immediately gagged, with his own headband no less. As he kicked viciously and screamed silently, the vole was dragged down the halls and deeper into the Crater?s tunnels.

Minutes had passed, and Sly had basically surrendered himself to his new captives. He stopped struggling and simply allowed himself to be taken. Mercifully, the otters reached a door. It lead to what Sly assumed was one of the many empty rooms built for holding any overflow of slaves. A room perfect for a secret meeting.

Here it is, Sly thought. I wonder who finally found me.

They opened the door?

?and Sly found himself staring at the damn beaver once again.

?Mrffff,? Sly complained, rolling his eyes.

?The feeling is mutual,? Blasio replied. Missing was his usual handful of snacks. Missing was his toothy smile. Missing was his usual humor. Sly?s heart pounded in his chest.

?Boys, if you would kindly remove our little captive?s gag,? Blasio said. One of the otters ripped the headband out of Sly?s mouth. Before the vole could catch his breath, his headband was used now to bind his paws together. He was flung into the opposite corner of the room, where a few barrels were standing. He crashed into one, snout-first. Sly coughed and spluttered, and he felt blood leak from his nose. Despite it all, he found the strength to turn towards his captor, and smile.

?I must say, I?m flattered by your infatuation with me, Buck.?


?Oh, your being here is only slightly due to personal vendetta, Mr. Speaky,? Blasio replied. ?In fact, I must admit, I was somewhat impressed with the bounty on your head. It is small, to be sure, but still, quite impressive you even have one.?

?I do take pride in my fans,? Sly said.

?You should,? Blasio said. ?Quite a few of them are rather powerful. A few rivals of my own, in fact. And it?s all thanks to a certain beast who saw your little act with that volemaid. He recognized you, apparently.?

?Of course he did,? Sly grumbled. ?You try to help out, and that?s what you get.?

There was a pause. The two otters were silently standing to either side of the beaver. Blasio did not speak, but merely pulled out a flask. The beaver walked across the room to the barrel beside the vole, and placed the flask beneath the spout on the barrel, and pulled the lever. To Sly?s delight, out poured an amber liquid, albeit all to briefly. Releasing the lever, Blasio turned to the vole and brandished the flask.

?Drink?? Blasio asked.

?That?s a stupid question, Buck,? Sly answered. He didn?t care who was offering the drink, he just wanted it in his system. Luckily for him, Blasio obliged, and poured the drink into the vole?s eager maw. With a sigh of relief, Sly finished what surprisingly little was in the flask.

?What was that for, might I ask??

?To celebrate,? Blasio answered. ?I paid off your debts.?

?You?what? I?m?free??

?In a sense you are.? the beaver replied. ?You?re free from your former pursuers. Nobeast is looking for you anymore, and nobeast will ever think to find what happened to Mr. Sly Speakeasy. But, my dear little friend, you now belong to me.?

?Ah,? the vole muttered. ?So I suppose you want me to, what then? Brush your teeth? Feed you grapes from a vine? Or perhaps you would like me to tell you bedtime stories? I?d imagine you are very lonely at night.?

Blasio said nothing. He merely motioned to one of the otters. The beast walked over to the barrel and rolled it towards the vole.

?Another round? So soon?? Sly grinned. ?I should have started working for you weeks ago??

The otter smashed open the spigot. Liquid came spurting out of the barrel, spraying the vole and quickly drenching him. In a shock Sly tried to move out of the way, losing his balance and slipping on the alcohol and landing hard on his arm.

?What in the ?Gates are you doing, trying to drown me?!?

?Not exactly,? Blasio replied. ?But you won?t be seeing morning, Mr. Speaky.?

Sly?s heart stopped.

?You?ve become more than a nuisance, Mr. Speaky, you?ve become a threat.? Blasio continued. ?At first I figured it was just luck, but no, you insufferable wretch, you?re right. You have some skill, and I can?t have that working against me. I thought of buying you over to my side, but after speaking with the many, many beasts you?ve wronged in the past, I knew that was simply not an option. Everyone?s tried buying you off, and you?ve managed to take the pay and run. You are the worst kind of threat, Sly Speakeasy. You?re an unpredictable one. And what do you do to a beast you can?t control??

?You put him down,? Sly answered. The beaver nodded.

?So you understand.?

?Sure I do, Buck. But obviously, I don?t care,? the vole replied. ?So you?re gonna kill me? Fine. Do it. I?m tired of life kicking my tail every day anyway.?

?Clearly you must understand that you did this to yourself, hm??

?No Buck, I don?t think that?s it,? Sly said. ??Cause you see, the one bit of advice you gave me is true. Life is unfair. Because you?ve done just as bad as me, hell, worse than me, and look at us. You?re up there, and I?m down here, on the ground, soaking in the only thing that ever made me happy. It?s a shoddy existence, life. A joke. A big, stupid joke that we never get it on. Except for a very lucky few.? The vole sighed. ?I don?t normally get philosophical, Buck, forgive me. Marinating in alcohol and looking death in the face must be what gets to me.?

?Indeed,? Blasio replied, and that familiar, evil sneer creeped into his face. ?Allow me one final, stupid question, Mr. Speaky. Any last words??

Sly smiled.

?Talking?s all I?ve ever known how to do, and all I?m good at. But you know what? I don?t have anything to share. Because I don?t care anymore. Nobeast cared what words I had to say, and that isn?t going to change now that they?re my last ones. So go ahead, Buck. Finish me. Do your worst.?

Blasio nodded, and snapped his finger. The otter to his left reached into his vest pocket, and procured a match. Sly?s eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.

Fates above.

The otter lit the match, and tossed it onto the alcohol drenched vole.