Disclaimer: Not mine, Tamora Pierce's ideas. But enjoy!

Tuesday, November 2, 247
Noon

Things are different. I don't know if it is me or Corus itself, but the way the two of us are interacting is not the same. Word of Pearl Skinner's fall has spread, and all the Rats hate me even more for it. Apparently, I think I'm all high and mighty because I brought down the Rogue. Please, I don't even want to think of that time. My heart always aches.

Dale.

Don't think about it, Pounce nuzzled against my throat purring loudly. I grabbed him suddenly and pulled him closer. He had left me more than a month ago, but I still was wary to let him wonder. Stupid constellation cat, you're more trouble than you're worth. Ha, he chuckled at that. Now stop reading, Pounce.

It's not as if I'm a stupid, silly mot. Why am I still heartbroken? Dale is just like all the other coves. All fun and games until dedication is in order. What a spintry.

Rosto has been really distant with me. He hasn't even tried to kiss me since I've been back. Not like I care or anything. He is the Rogue after all. I'm just lonely and miss the attention, I suppose. He's never there for our breakfasts anymore either. I wonder why? What business takes him from tradition? I better not catch him breaking the law...

Oh, and another thing! The mots he goes with! I hear them running around when I get back from shift. Last week he even had the gall to canoodle under my window! It's fine, though. I doused their passions with my chamber pot. Take that Rosto the Piper.

But that's not why I started my journal again. It wasn't to complain, I promise. I hate to say it, but Goodwin's right. My work has been slacking since our return. I'm always distracted, and I really do need to get my thoughts rearranged.

Oh, Achoo needs to go. I'll be back.

After Shift

What is his problem! If there was one cove who could consistently annoy me, it would be him, I swear! Even Tunstall guffawed! I for one did not find it funny. This night's work had to be one of the worst.

Thank Mithros the "Fishpuppy" nickname has faded, but I fear a new one may be emerging -- one not so nice. Everywhere I walked, I heard the utterance of "Dead Dog" whispered amongst the shadows. Swiftly I would turn, clutching my baton, but I could never spot the speaker. Tunstall's eyebrows would raise as my cheeks turned crimson. I wonder why he never hears them. These have been occurring for about a week and a half now. Just thinking about the whispers causes a reaction in my tripes. I need to calm down, gather my wits about me.

The night started out normal. We all congregated at the kennel, and Goodwin barked at us to move out. Tunstall and I have still not been assigned an actual routine. I think all three of us enjoy roaming. We were wandering the Nightmarket, when we heard the echoing of a Dog whistle a few alleys over. Tunstall and I took off, dodging in and out of wooden stands. The rhythm of the tune was not one familiar to me; I feared the Dog in trouble was so terrified, he could not remember what to play. Or worse, maybe a passing cove found a dead Dog. My footsteps grew quicker as this thought occurred. We turned left into a shadowy passage, and then back right down a bustling side street. However, it seemed we would never reach the haunting melody. Was it moving?

And then it stopped. The noise ceased to reverberate in my ear drums. Tunstall and I exchanged questioning glances, but neither of us seemed to understand. I know I didn't. Perhaps the Dog was alright now. We hesitated a few moments before turning back to our original path. After a labyrinth of twist and turns, Nightmarket was before us again. However, everything was in chaos. A stand was on fire, a cove sprawled across the filthy ground, a dagger shoved in his back. When did all this happen? It must have been when we were chasing the whistle... A diversion? I looked back at Tunstall who seemed to be pondering the same thing as me. "But where would he have gotten it from?" he questioned. Dog whistles were special, a brand only used by us patrols.

I shrugged angrily, not liking where this was going. Needless to say, I don't like not knowing. Who would though? "Should we ask Rosto?" I hated to bring him into this, hating to have to actually interact with the pale shadow that seems to be disappearing from my life. I admit, I missed him. But, he was the one running from me; I had no business coming to him. Tunstall seemed to like the idea, though. We decided to go visit the Dancing Dove after shift to call upon the Rogue.

The rest of the night was quiet, so to speak. I few thieves, all minor, and a few drunken coves fighting. I was still exhausted when our shift ended, though. I always seemed to be nowadays. Where did all my energy go? Did I leave it in Port Caynn? Curse that sarden cove.

The Rogue's court was still active. I began to wonder if it ever actually quieted down. It seemed something was always going on here. There were no guards out front, so Tunstall and I entered without being harassed. Not that there were no guards period. I don't doubt there is someone always watching. This first thing that hit us when we entered was heat, action, and noise. Things were really lively tonight. I forgot to ask Kora or Aniki the reason, come to think about it. Coves and mots were dancing around, skirts flying, laughter soaring. It was deafening. Everyone was having such a good time, it seemed.

My eyes were roaming when I saw them. Just thinking about it makes my tripes cringe. First off, I have never seen this mot before. Tiny, petite, and yet not frail, she was about four foot two, with silky black hair twirled up in an assortment of bows and flowers. No face paint hid her face, but she didn't need it. I've never seen a more beautiful gixie in my entire life. Her eyes were the color of lilies with dark lashes to shade them; her lips, an intoxicating cherry-red, curved into a faultless smile that showed perfect, white teeth. She was giggling, her cheeks turning a pretty crimson. My vision took a step back and noticed she was sitting in Rosto's lap. Well, she might as well have been for how close the two were. Rosto was whispering something in her ear. As I watched, he snapped at it, sending her into another wave of quiet laughter.

Disgusted, I looked away, searching for my partner. I discovered him off at a neighboring table flirting with Lady Sabine. The Knight was here! What kind of festivity was this? I admit, my ignorance did sting a bit. Determined to make my presence known, I headed straight for the Rogue. I stood there for quite a bit, and yet neither seemed to notice me. Who was this mot? I cleared my throat, and nothing happened. I coughed louder -- his arm slid down her thigh. "Rosto," I growled.

He jumped then, seemingly surprised to find others in the room. "Oh, Beka. Sorry, what can I do you for?"
I raised my eyebrow, seething inside. Why was he treating me like this? Quickly my gaze switched to his companion. Rosto noticed my appraisal and answered promptly, "Love, may I introduce Rebekah Cooper, the fiercest Bloodhound in all of Corus. And, Beka, this beautiful mot is Sistine Panabaker."

The mot smiled down at me. "The Beka Cooper? What an honor! I've heard you captured Pearl Skinner single handed. Well done for a junior Dog!" I could have punched her. I really could have.

"I wasn't by myself," I mumbled. It grew quiet then, or at least amongst the three of us. Rosto gazed at me questionably, waiting for some sort of statement.

"Oh, umm.." For a moment, I forgot what I came to ask.

"Beka! Hey, Beka! How was duty?" Phelan came scurrying over through the tossing crowd, a long scratch across the top of his left brow. I smiled at him, missing his companionship amongst the Dogs.

"Fine, thank you." I didn't want to question his work; I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

He laughed, a loud guffaw of sorts. Truly, he was happy. I don't believe I've seen him this jubilant since before Verene's funeral. "Let's dance, yes?" He reached for my hand, but I ducked at the last minute.

"No, it's okay. It was a hard night."

"Nonsense!" He tried again.

"No, really."

Rosto laughed, an evil glint in his devilish eyes. "Phelan, dearest Beka doesn't dance. Especially not with a Rat. I don't believe she's ever let her hair down."

When I think back, I don't know why this statement angered me so. Sistine giggled and playfully slapped Rosto across the shoulder. Perhaps that was what did it, in all honesty. Furiously, I grabbed Phelan's arm and pulled him into the thickening jig. The last thing I saw was Rosto's surprised look before people clouded my vision. I smirked, triumphant.

The song was fast; I could barely think while I danced. Phelan was good, not as great as Dale, though. I really should stop thinking about him. It was so much fun dancing with him. I think I actually laughed a couple of times. For the first time since Port Caynn, I was enjoying myself.

The dancing faded as the music declined. I was giggling and catching my breath when I notice Phelan was glancing past my shoulder. Turning, I faced Rosto off his dais and only a few feet away. He bowed mockingly, extending his arm out, "May I have the next one?" I must have looked like a fool. He ignores me for weeks, and then this? Almost as if in a dream, I nodded and stuck my hand in his. Not like I dream of him or anything.

He pulled me close to him as the melody started back up. It was an enchanting, sexual tune, one I wasn't entirely comfortable dancing with Rosto too. But as it continued and people joined, I forgot my embarrassment. Rosto was such an amazing dancer. I wonder how I never realized this before. I was the clumsy one, he the elegant angel flying above the floor. I know I looked ridiculous. Then I noticed his hand at my waist; my back burned beneath his touch. Was it that hot in here? Glancing around, my eyes found his. He really was beautiful, I admitted. His blonde hair was pulled back, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and fierce eyes. Did they always have that yearning glint in them?

The music faded once again, and I swiftly pulled from him. A little too quickly, for I bumped into the person behind me, who in turn grabbed me by instinct and pulled me down with him. Into the food table we fell. Pastries and my hair are not a good combination. Everyone was hysterically laughing, even Rosto couldn't calm down. I glared, infuriated with him. I stormed out and across the street to my own home. I don't care if it was childish.

I am here now in bed, my hair wet, nursing a deep wound. Sleep is hopeless now, just rewriting this brings dark red to my cheeks.

And who was that Sistine Panabaker?

a/n: Reviews? :D