It was the way of a good father to worry. Leopold was far from a good father, but he'd, at least, worry. He'd liked to say that his worry was in spite of having a little faith. He did have faith in Foxy. The kit was a talented sailor, but Leopold was worrisome in the thought that his morals may not have been heavily instilled in his son. Sitting at his desk within his study, surrounded by walls of a deep, earthy red and book-cases widdled with grand, swooping designs that reached the ceiling, the Lenan wondered and worried in silence, only broken by the tapping of his claws against a glass bottle of mead.
There was a window before the desk that acted as a gate-way into the garden of his estate, which was looking rather dead as of late. The only flowers that seemed to be defying that year's curse were the Igue Lilies. That was a bad omen. The red of the flowers represented the shed blood of the innocent and the black of the thorns did the touch of Bas, the demon of pain. The flowers were mentioned many times in ancient texts and images of them had been considered cursed since the days of anarchy, yet most with gardens grew them out of superstition. They considered them the best means of predicting tragedies. As Leopold could remember, they bloomed in spite of poor growing conditions months before the War of Starvation broke out thirty years prior.
Pirates were an odd sort when it came to superstitions. Many of them weren't taken to heart such as stepping onto a ship with one's right paw first or the long abandoned practice of keeping females off of the ships due to the idea that they were bad luck, but many others that most took seriously didn't seem to faze the creatures. Leopold saw them all as oddities, superstition just being a window to paranoia that would put one in their grave from stress. Leopold didn't need superstition for stress. He simply needed children. True, Foxy and Vaha were no longer children, but they were still his offspring and worried the Lenan to no end, even when they weren't undergoing questionable ventures. Now, both of his young were pirates, left in charge of one of the most valuable items ever owned in their bloodline. This was stress at its most lethal. This was stress from worry. Perhaps he wasn't as bad a father as he thought.
The Lenan stood from his chair, letting the squeal of the legs break the silence rudely before he broke from the solitary comfort of his study into the parlor. His wife was sat upon the sofa, book in paw and posture dictating her attempt at seeming calm a failure. The vixen was a soft, off-white, stomach, and muzzle a pretty blush. That day's dress was a simple, silver sun-gown that tied about her waist with a large bow in the rear. It was a simple thing, comfortable and lovely on her figure. As aged as they both were, she wore the years better. Vevina would be beautiful until the day she died, inside and out. She was worth the trouble it took to impress her and then some by miles. She could be overbearing, loud, a little naive, but she was quick-witted, considerate, strong both mentally and physically, and stubborn in the best way. She needed to be to deal with him. Sometimes a kick in the rump was all he needed to get a demon out of him on his worst mornings.
Leopold slowly shambled over to her, sitting himself down to her right and pressing a soft paw between her shoulder-blades. "The lilies are blooming, love," he said quietly. Gradually, Vevina lowered the book, closing it slowly and setting it down on the table. Leopold recognized the cover. 'The Voyages of the Trident Bloom' by a Lenan named Ricardo Falstar. It was a novel written on the endeavors of a fictional pirate and his ship, The Trident Bloom. Leopold owned it out of humor. Not a more misleading and over romanticized representation of pirates ever existed, but it was romance and tender hearts that won the minds of any reader, even one who knew better. Vevina was the ladder.
"Aye... Me noticed... N' th'roses have died, n' th'grapes have died, n' th'trees be dyin', too. Me noticed." Her voice was so grim and distant.
"Yes, I was sure you'd notice." He moved to wrap his arms around the female and embraced her tenderly, rocking her slowly to and fro. "You shouldn't hold so tightly to those myths, my dear. They ruin your nerves. Our kits are fine, love. They're strong. No 'ill-omen' from the gods is going to harm them. I promise." Vevina shook her head. Her ears fell to the sides of her head.
"Ye shouldn't dismiss th'Gods so bluntly, love. They move people in th'greatest 'a ways 'n the worst'a ways. They'll curse our chil'en on ye."
"I do not dismiss them, Vevina. I simply say that this omen could be anything, if a message from the Gods at all. Ursius is plunging the world into debt, people are in unrest everywhere, another war could break out, but our children are the least of the world's worries. It's minuscule compared to the bigger chaos brewing around us. This island is one of the purest examples."
"Have ye forgotten who ye gave yer ship to, Leopold? That be yer son, out thar n' who is yer son most like? I ain't seen ye if that ain't the closest any being ever gonna come to bein' you 'cept you. Me remembers yer early days, Leopold, when ye'd bring me flowers and plundered jewels bef'er goin' out fer more flowers and plundered jewels. Yer youth was reckless as a hurricane n' ye hurt so many people. Yer youth is what filled you wit' all that regret n' stuck ye so well to those morals. Foxy ain't had that yet. He'll make them same mistakes."
"Vevina, I have taught that kit well. I lectured him near to death on those old stories and I'm sure they scared him out of doing half the things I did."
"Aye, but he ain't yer son if he ain't do one'a those things. Ye best pray it ain't one'a the worst." The amount of truth in those words nearly hurt, cut his flesh like a new saber. Foxy was... Foxy... Leopold's son and surely as headstrong and full of himself as Leopold had been. One couldn't lecture youth out of a youth. Foxy would make mistakes and do things he'd long regret, and Leopold did pray that those regrets wouldn't walk the lines of murder or worse crimes that even Leopold never committed, but what all did praying and hoping bring but more stress? What all did superstition and worry bring but more hoping and praying?
The mind was a cycle and having children began it a new. Leopold was sure his own father would've done the same had he given a greater heart for his many children, but it was Ferdinand that put Leopold in his position to begin with. At least he set the example bad enough to steer Leopold onto a better road when the time came... That and... That Ursian ship twenty years ago.
He'd forgotten the name of the ship entirely, but he'd never forget Gerard. The grizzly was no more a better father than he was, but that was quite the blessing. They had helped one another for a good long while after parting. One's problems helped another learn, though Leopold doubted that Gerard's son was a pirate. The cub was probably a fisherman, like his father.
"We tried, Vevina. We have to let them go at some point. Parents are good teachers, but life is a better one. We are only to prepare them for the more advanced lessons."
Vevina picked up her book once more, but she didn't open it. She only stroked the cover with her right paw. When she spoke, her voice was almost inaudible. "I ain't no teacher, Leopold. I dun wanna be their teacher. I wanna be their mother."
"I know, my love, but we must do as life demands of us." There was no further response, the vixen only continuing to run her paw-pads over the leather binds of her novel, nearly half complete. With that, the Lenan stood from the sofa and gently stroked his wife's ears as he walked around towards the foyer, aiming to make a trip to the market for some more paper and drink. "Breathe in this moment, my dear. Breathe in the quiet. Find you a moment to pray. Our children will be alright."
The streets of his city were no better then than they ever had been. Worse, in fact. They were filth-ridden and in shambles from either the laziness or poorness of their care-takers. He was used to it. He didn't like it, nor did he accept it, but he was used to it. If it were in his power, he'd give all he could to restore his island, but even he had found himself in the rough, the pasture being a land so far distant from his reach. Leopold strode along said streets, paws buried in his coat pockets as he watched the citizens saunter passed, half in drunken stupors. Again, he was used to it.
After some time, Leopold turned into a small shop, left on its own after the little, wooden buildings around it were left to waste away. The inside was moderately well kept. The paint on the walls was still a decent shade of sand and the brick floors remained polished, though a bit dirty as he felt particles under his bare paws. Three small shelves were settled in the middle of the floor before the counter where the shop keep, a brightly colored cardinal in rags, sat boredly. Upon Leopold's entering, however, he sat up stiff as a mast. "G'd evenin' m'Lord. Be thar somethin' ye require?" The Fox stood in silence for but a moment, almost forgetting why he'd come to the shop to begin with. The things that slipped his mind in those times irritated him to no end. At least it wasn't anything important.
"I... I need paper. Yes, that was it. Paper and some drink. I ran out. I can find the paper on my own, but what have you in terms of alcohol?"
The Cardinal scratched his chin momentarily before ducking and grabbing a book out from a shelf below the counter. He flipped through it swiftly before landing on that which he sought and pressed a feather to the page. "We have some Ursian whisky, a few bottles of Lenan rum and brandy, many variations of whine, and a couple of bottles of Fatheranise champagne."
It didn't take him a second. "A bottle of Lenan Rum and three of Ursian whisky." As the keeper retreated to grab the drinks, Leopold grabbed a reasonable stack of parchment and laid it upon the counter. While he waited, a couple of citizens walked in from the street and stood behind him. One of them was a red fox, coat more a ginger than actual red, and the other was a black-bear. They were both dressed in miserable shrouds. They were locked in conversation as deep as the smell of cheap drink on their breath. He tried not to pay much heed, but curse him as a pirate if he wasn't a little nosy.
"Ursius' havin' a rough time dealin' wit' them pirate types," said the fox, a slur tearing his voice apart.
"Lotta 'em popin' up. ny' one'd have trouble wit' 'em. They jus' target them rich blokes 'n thar little poppets."
"Poppets? Ain't ye sayin' they'd grab them too, are ye?"
"Fer ransom, aye. Them pirates r' as ruthless as savages." The urge to pop the bear in the snout was hard to quell in Leopold. The only thing that staved it were the creature's next sentences. "Me heard that'a lil' merchant sloop was seen sunk by a Man-a-War not too far from th' Fairland outpost. She was as red as th' sea is salty and carved like one'a them Ursian ones. Must'a been stolen. They say she sunk th' lil' dingy wit'out a second thought. Killed e'ryone."
Leopold hid the sinking in his heart through expression, but could not stop his paw from balling into a fist. Suddenly, he had lost his taste for alcohol.