- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Drabbles
07. Phelan Rapp
During Terrier
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Friday, May 1, 246
Corus
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Festival music. Crowded streets. Beltane fires. Couples jumping hand-in-hand over the embers.

A paradise for Corus's hardest cut-throats and pickpockets. Plenty of work for Dogs.

Exhaustion.

Relief at going back to Jane Street Kennel at last.

Blood. Tears. White cloth.

She's gone.

Phelan splashed cool water onto his face, trying to shake the horrible flashes of memories from the night before. Today he had to be strong. Today they would bury Verene.

A healer pulling a white cloth over her lifeless body.

He didn't remember dragging himself home the night before, but he did remember the half-dried blood that trickled from the corner of Verene's mouth as she lay on the table in the kennel. He had laid down in his sweaty, dirty uniform, letting the hours trickle past. He didn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Verene.

He managed to dress himself. It was automatic. He didn't even think about what he was doing.

Her haunting voice, merry as she sang her favorite fishing tune.

Achoo looked up as his handler left, tail thumping hopefully on the floor. "Tinggal," Phelan told her wearily, shutting the door in her face. He just couldn't bear taking responsibility for anyone but himself today.

Phelan walked over to Beka's for breakfast. He didn't say much, just sat while the others fussed over him until he couldn't bear it anymore. He made some excuse to leave, but was stopped by Rosto the Piper, who exchanged words with Ersken. All Phelan remembered was hearing, "We'll go look at trees or sommat."

"If you're going to give me a pep talk, you can just move on with it," Phelan told him when they were outside.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," Rosto said. "Fresh air truly does make a difference."

They walked in silence for some time, Phelan barely noticing the activity of the bustling city streets. "Otelia was drunk," Phelan said quietly.

"I like a good drink as much as the next cove, but I don't hold well with drunkenness when there's a job to be done," Rosto told him. "My mother died because a drunkard knocked over a lantern and started a fire. It was the middle of the night; no signal went out. Half of the caravan burned before anyone truly knew what was going on."

"I'm sorry," Phelan told him. "Rats are everywhere."

"Verene's death wasn't caused by the rats- not really,"' Rosto said evenly. "It was the negligence of people she should have been able to trust. There are many problems in Corus, both in the Provost's Guards and the Court of the Rogue."

"Tell me about it," Phelan growled. Rosto stopped walking.

"I could use a cove I could trust in Prettybone District," he said quietly. "Someone who wants to help force the world to make a little more sense."

"Me? Work for Ulsa?" Phelan was surprised, but he managed to match Rosto's quiet tone.

Rosto shrugged, continuing to walk. "Just food for thought," he said. "Think about it for a day or two, lad."

"I don't think I need to," Phelan said. "I'm your cove."

The burials happened around Phelan. He barely noticed his surroundings. His mind raced, missing Verene and pondering the ideas that Rosto the Piper had put in his head.

The Puppy's Lullaby.

Pigeons flocking, then rising to the sky.

After the services, Phelan followed the watch sergeant into the kennel.

"Do you need something, Guardsman Rapp?" Ahuda asked him, kindness taking the edge off her voice.

Deftly, Phelan set his leather badge on her desk. Ahuda just stared at it for a time, then she let out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry to see you go," she said at least. "You're a good Dog, Phelan."

"I'm sorry too," Phelan said, turning to leave the kennel.

"You know I'll need you to bring the scent hound back?" Ahuda called after him. Phelan stopped, his guts twisting in knots, both with the idea of losing Achoo too, and from guilt of leaving her alone all day. He turned and nodded to the watch sergeant before continuing out of the kennel.

He knew that many of his friends and colleagues would question his decision to leave the Provost's Guard, especially when word got out that he would be working for Ulsa. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't.

Phelan himself barely understood.

All he knew was that is world had been upended when Verene died. Drunk Otelia and Rollo the Idiot- what a pair to give a Puppy to in the first place. They were supposed to teach and protect Verene. Phelan could forgive under different circumstances, but the drink- why?

He couldn't imagine continuing on when his trust in his fellow Dogs had been so shaken.

He was stupid. She was drunk.

Rosto waited for him where Jane Street met Westberk Street.

"You ready, lad?"

Rosto- there was a trustworthy fellow. He'd swept in from Scanra, listening, learning, observing. He'd be a half decent Rogue, and gain control of the Lower City rats. They'd listen to him- respect him even. Not to mention he'd personally flay any rusher that showed up drunk.

The line between rushers and dogs is a thin one.

Phelan had heard the saying. He knew now that his path would cross this line. With a deep breath, he took a step forward, following Rosto to the Court of the Rogue.

AN: This drabble is an updated/slightly expanded version of a story I wrote in 2012. It is called "A Thin Line" and was originally posted on the Goldenlake discussion board. I believe it was Rogue Week.