August 30, 2014

On the Streets of Dogs, part 4

In a second's time, the dog charged, Warwick reaching up to grab its shoulders and direct it away from him. Every blow was either taken with a grin or cleverly dodged, not leaving a trace of sweat in evidence. Warwick felt it again; The wind blew at his hair and ears, whistling past the sails and muting the orders of four different people clamboring about the deck and thrown-down gangway.

"Alright, alright!" Cohen pleaded, "Ye've won." Warwick smiled at his handiwork – hats dropped and weapons left from fleeing dogs. "Ye've won me, t'least, but ye haven't won it all, mate." Warwick furrowed his brow, a new look overcoming him.

"And that is?" he challenged. Cohen looked nervously to the sides.

"The dogs. No, no – the real dogs! Them coppers, they're out lookin' for ye! B-but ye didn't 'ear it from me, ye didn't!" With that, Cohen leaped away at a brilliant, graceful pace, leaving Warwick near his bag of wares. Finding no food, he took a portion of the coins and continued on his way, once more walking towards the port. 

The stay was short-lived, however. "Oy! Aren't you the bloke from yesterday?" 

Warwick turned briefly to see an engineer running his way, a heavy wrench behind him. Gasping, he took off in the other direction, pushing aside anyone that got in his way. The streets soon became abuzz with two populations; Those who were hurrying inside, and those who were chasing him down.

"It's a full moon tonight, I heard!" Warwick barely paid attention to the conversation behind him, but that particular impromptu tidbit piqued his attention.

"There's an eclipse next month!"

"Bevver not fin' out what 'appens then!" After more similar remarks, Warwick focused his attention on finding places to go. The sewer would take too long to run into and the houses were definitely a no-go. He sped towards an incline in the cobblestone, expertly scrambling up the rocks and throwing the gate open. Inhabitants watching screamed as he passed, clearing the way for him to rush towards the Admiralty Foyer.

"Bones!" Warwick cried out, slamming and barring the door behind him, the dull roar of a crowd growing louder, "What is all this madness!?" Looking up, Warwick scowled. "Smiley, where is -"

"He's off searching his case, Warwick," Mr. Smiley said with his trademark grin. "I see you've generated quite...er, quite the following." Stacking manuscripts, Smiley sat down on a sofa, pouring tea for Warwick. Even among the riot and ruckus, Warwick blissfully reminded himself, There is always room for tea. Sipping the hot, unsugared bitterness gratefully, Warwick found himself in the serenity that he had so longed for. "Had you expected this, Smiley?" he asked, chewing on his cheek.

"With all the mess in the city lately, I'm only sure that it could have -"

"You knew!?" Warwick restricted himself from snapping and instead sat further back in his chair. "Why hadn't you told, then?"

"Don't look at me with such a glare," Smiley retorted accusingly, "You look like one of those sea lads, the type who'd much rather brawl for their answers. Some civilized means, young man. No, with all the chaos surrounding the-" Mid-sentence, the deadlock broke, letting in a swarm of angry protesters.

"Were-man!" they chanted, pointing to Warwick with their clubs and torches, "The Were-man!" Glaring back in resent at Smiley, Warwick rolled his eyes. He found his stay in Marleybone to perhaps have been...a little too sweet. Putting his hat down on the table near the tea, Warwick revealed a bandana atop his head, the insignia heralding that of a life that wouldn't leave him.

"My best regards to Bones," he called back, "I've decided to take some time off. Travel around some, maybe make a profit." Warwick charged.

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