uden descended below deck, passing many of his crew who greeted him much like any commoner who saw him, with a simple nod. They weren't the object of his attention, however, nor were they ever unless involved with some mishap about the 'Lucid Dreamer.' Still, he managed to return the gesture as they passed, almost all Ursians and, if they weren't, they were lower class Crewmen. In one paw he managed to balance a small platter of gruel, fit for no living thing... save for... him. He stepped onto the lowest deck, save for the bilge, and gave a passive jerk towards the door, intended to signal the single guard to leave, which he did, accustomed to the routine every two days. That which was nestled in the small compartment below the working decks and even the brig itself was a small space mostly dedicated to cage which reached along the length of the space with ebony iron bars. The the door was a wriggling curve of wrought-iron, curved into a rather light-hearted design, yet, nevertheless, a prison was a prison, no matter it's glamour. Along the floor was settled a rather posh rug, disgraced by the paw-woven designs of the gypsy culture, embedded in hues of gold, emerald, and a royal purple, long since crestfallen due to its use by the muddled people, blue its more fitting replacement among royals. A small, twin bed was settled on Gouden's left, pushed as far into the corner as the ship's curved hull would allow. The blanket was a similar design as the rug, soft in appearance but Gouden liked to fancy that it kindled the fur of pure-bloods like hell-fire did flesh. Monstrosities such as its owner, however, thrived in the unholy. Gypsies themselves were not all in horrible liking to the people. Most were honestly good at their respective trades, but he was not only of a crude minority, but an even cruder still... A disgrace to the Duivel bloodline...
His fur was once a similar shine, so easily akin to Gouden's and justly so. Anyone could easily see a resemblance, yet... None ever did. Hardly anyone even knew of his existence. Wandelen Verlopen had the body of a gypsy peasant, a female rather beautiful, lovely at best, yet nothing in comparison to Gouden's mother, Gezegend; and, still, his father strayed, a horrible sin to one so much less than what he already possessed. Thus, Wandelen was born, a curse upon the Duivel family to be expunged, one which Gouden would much rather rid himself of excruciatingly... However... He felt some small, insignificant pull towards the disgraced muzzle of his partial kin. He had the blessed hide of the family, of course... Thus, it must be slowly taken away before removed completely and Wandelen killed, speared like a proper beast. So, Gouden stowed his 'brother' away, somewhere which he'd never be seen by any who's dare slander his father's name, or his, if rumor did spread in such ways.
Gouden's process was a lengthy one, but working thus far. He kept Wandelen alive, of course, but barely so. As the Ursian approached the cell, the long ears of the spawn turned hind towards the sound of his kin, twitching with each heavy boot that clacked against the wooden deck. "Fáilte ar ais, deartháir," he gargled in the Lenan tongue, though he was not of such blood-line. Gouden could play that game, too.
"Beannachtaí, Beast. Fós beo, féach mé. Ná fret. Beidh a a shocrú luath go leor."
The Gypsy's head lowly twisted back and forth, shaking his stiff, mangy fur loose. "You cannot fix that which is not broken. If you need something to occupy yourself with, however, need you only look in the mirror." Gouden scoffed, kicking the platter under the cell gate.
"I hardly call that entertainment. You shouldn't be so course, though. Don't bite the paw that feeds you, lest I extend the period to three days between meals. I could also reduce your water. I'm sure my crew would much appreciate a little extra in their ration. Anyway, I come today with a little story for you. I've been approved by the council to expunge these waters of any who I deem guilty of piracy or acts against the crown. Would be a true shame if my own kin were among the lot, wouldn't you say, Wandelen? Though, there would need to be someone among my blood who's do something so disciple, wouldn't there? Do you know of any?" The hare spat once across his cell and lifted a small shard from his rug. It had once been a full-length mirror, yet was broken in one of their more destructive bouts. He held it to Gouden's eye level and merely glared, allowing the response to sink it. At it, Gouden's paw was through the bars at tossing the gypsy to the deck, the glass sent flying out of reach in the Ursian's area beyond the cell. "Mr. Dixen!" A white-furred Ursian marched down to the deck, looking Gouden up and down with a respectful nod.
"Yes, Captain Duivel?"
"Did you or did you not hear Mr. Verlopen confess to Piracy?"
"Yes,Sir."
"And did you or did you not hear him confess to conspiracy against the crown, Ursius, and the Subprime Commander of Ursius' Naval power?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What is the penalty for such?"
"Death, Sir. Death by lynching." Gouden's pit-less orbs stared down at Wandelen, meeting his cent-doubloon silver.
"So be it," He mumbled, giving no effort to hide his grin. "It is with a heavy heart that I do sentence Mr. Verlopen to hanging once we return to Ursius." With those words, Gouden turned heel and left, walking up the stairs with a new vigor in his stride. Wandelen could care less. He knew, some day, his brother would take away the last thing he had left to value.