Bombalurina Part One

Bombalurina - Part One

Pawprin was the grandest city in all of Felinera.

It wasn't a point to argue over servings of drink beside a fireplace as the weather outside grew cold with autumn; it was well-known fact. No other city in the kingdom had accumulated such wealth, such prosperity over its years of reign. The center of all activity and commerce, the trade routes flowed through it like streams, exchanging goods and services for money, introducing new items from the far away exotic lands while taking items to those same places. A beehive of business, merchants knew where to take their goods for decent competition and an unending market as Pawprin continued to grow in population ever year, expanding its city borders beyond the Dewdrop River. From a bird's eye it was a flower of gold continually spreading with each bloom, covering more and more of the emerald green forests, broken only by the swirling streams of sapphire that wound through it: the most beautiful of jewelry ever created....it was a mixture of nature's splendor and the efforts of the dominant people: the Jellicles.

Pawprin had survived hardships over its time that had left lesser cities mere ghost towns: famine, disease, drought, war, and disaster. Nothing could decimate its magnificence. As though symbolizing this unending reserve of strength and sturdiness, Castle Jukard itself stood tall and uncompromising over the city spread before it. Like a cathedral, its towers reached for Heaviside, their bright red flags streaming in the breeze with their kingdom's renowned crest displayed proudly upon them: a musical note, in which the round base was not a solid black dot, but a cat' slitted eye. Three of these notes dancing across a scale on a background of scarlet red depicted the rule of Jukard and its Jellicles, strong and unbending. The city spread out before the mighty castle was a welcome sight to any weary traveler. Friendly to all range of species that chanced to pass through it, regardless of social status or religious belief, Pawprin was a colorful blend of shops and taverns of all ranges, a comfortable home for any who chanced to settle there.

But even the best of cities have their dark sides. Pawprin was no exception.

No population, even the aggressive, passionate Jellicle people and culture, is untainted by the evils and sin committed by those of mere flesh: beings without divinity who are susceptible to temptations and subject to character faults, such as greed, pride, and prejudice. Despite Pawprin's angelic beauty and heroic deeds in wartime, the city itself had a dark secret known to only those of intelligence and those who walked the streets at night. Children were oblivious, gentle housewives and farmers who visited from the countryside to sell their crops knew nothing of the dark section of Pawprin. Separated from the rest of the city by invisible shadows and darkness, this section was filthy, perverse, throbbing with the evils committed everyday by otherwise normal beings and pulsing with the vitality of those who relished the feeling of sin. No one who wandered into this darkness escaped from it unmarred. Even the royal guards, who patrolled the city on a regular basis and kept order, dared not set foot into those rat-ridden streets and shoddy taverns.

It was a dark part of the city that came to life after the sun fell, and night ruled. Its occupants emerged then, wretched creatures twisted in will and ways, willing to sell anything and everything to satisfy their unending greed and lust, stooping to levels of deception and betrayal that some may never fathom. It was a living dark Heaviside to some who occupied it; to others it was a twisted way to get the money they wanted and the control they desired. It was a suburb of treacherous trickery, never heard of morals, and of girls who walked the night.

Bombalurina was one of those girls.

Beautiful and attractive in the most genuine ways, it was entirely a shame for her to put these things to use for such a vile purpose. But such was her life. Clad in a courtesan's definitive attire, she wore only a thin, ragged black skirt that reached her knees and a tight equally-ragged purple top that left her shoulders and chest generously bare. Along her lithe wrists and forearms were tight black leather guards, matching the material of her skirt and her shin-high black boots. Overall it was a poor excuse for protection against the cold nights as autumn began to draw its close, having already cleared the path of leaves and crops for winter to set in as it pleased. Bombalurina's fur was a fiery red that matched her temperament, her female shape emphasized by numerous black markings and highlighting her figure. Across her feline muzzle, throat, and chest was fur of the purest white, remarkably clean in such filthy surroundings. And in her profession, there was none better.

But it wasn't in the case that Bombalurina liked what she did. No, far from it. In truth, she despised the way she lived. Dressing up every evening in rags that were her best outfits, she walked the streets when the night was still young, flaunting herself, gathering customers for later when she would lead them into a dark room designated as hers, give them what they paid for, and then with a few light drugs dissolved in wine put them to sleep and gather what money she could find. Half of what she earned she kept. The rest went to her employer. It was a lonely, disgusting way of life. And a dangerous one.

Yet at a mere glance one could tell Bombalurina wasn't like the other girls of her profession. It was in the way she carried herself, tall and proud, her eyes fierce with challenge at any who dared to give her the least amount of trouble. The small but lethal dagger hidden in the top of her right boot, sheathed and almost invisible against her fur, had been put to use several times in the past, and its owner would never hesitate in calling upon it again if the need came. Bombalurina had a strength inside her that alone carried her through each night of work, allowing her to bear the brunt of it with a forced smile. It was this strength that kept her alive when most other girls had failed in this kind of life. This strength kept her hopes and dreams alive, her fantasies about another life in another place. This strength was all that kept her flame of personality alive despite the way her life had thus turned out, preventing her from turning into another one of the mindless, expressionless faces that haunted the streets around her.

It hadn't always been like this. Bombalurina had once been a child: a happy, free-spirited daughter of a gentle couple who worked a small farm a good distance from Pawprin. Raised with an older sister and brother, she had never felt content in the daily routine of farm life. Her chores were countless, yet she carried them out with sufficiency. After a long day's work, Bombalurina found her only escape in the fields. Not the cultivated ones, which stood in square patches and were naught but rows upon rows of crops, but the wild fields that were untouched by planters' tools: that grew with waist-high wildflowers and wheat that was never harvested, save for by nature. Here among the singing of birds, the sweet smells of the flowers, the swirling warmth of the wind, Bombalurina could dance and sing as her heart desired, away from the prying eyes of her skeptical family, who viewed the welfare of the farm as their entire lives and had no time for such pleasures. The red-furred female knew better. She knew she never belonged there. In her veins the blood burned, yearning for a different life where she could perform as she longed to. Sometimes sitting on the wooden fences at the edge of her family's property she could watch and wave as the troubadour troupes rumbled by in their brightly-colored carts and costumes, on their way to or from Pawprin to perform as was their profession. Bombalurina yearned to join them with all her soul, and barely at ten years into her life she ran away to do just that.

She got as far as Pawprin's borders, then was found and brought back to her home, where she was scolded mercilessly. Yet the things she had seen even on that one short adventure: the strange new people, the wonders and sights lining the roads as they neared the capital, were all so new and exciting she could think of nothing else. Twice she ran away again, and each time was brought back. For eighteen years she lived on that farm, the rest of her family having full knowledge of her discomfort, until the day of her nineteenth year when her father took her aside in confidence, and handed her a black pouch filled to the brim with valuable gold pieces.

"Go where you may," he told her with a smile. "And find your happiness."

The thought of being handed those coins and the keys to freedom must have been what made Bombalurina pause, staring at the handful of gold pieces in her palm. No, those coins hadn't led to freedom. They'd led her here, to this dark section of the city. Like the naive youth she had been, she plunged headlong into the thrill and excitement of a new world that opened up before her, seeing, hearing, tasting everything within her reach as though she'd just been born into her senses. It was gorgeous, those few precious weeks, but flew by in such a blur she could barely remember them now. Now she could only stand, holding the coins and staring at them as the memories flew by.

"I said, did ye `ear me?"

Brought back to her senses by the gruff voice before her, Bombalurina looked up. The man standing to face her was old enough to be her father, a foul-smelling male Jellicle with ratty gray fur and rotting teeth. His clothes depicted active life as some sort of sailor, and his speech indicating the same. His disgusting breath washed over Bombalurina's muzzle, and concealing her grimace she turned her face away. Another customer...and, as usual, it was a member of the lowest dregs of society. Pirates, thieves, gypsies, they were all the same.

"I heard you, Grumbuskin," she replied coolly, slipping the coins with barely a sound into a black animal-skin pouch that hung at her hip. "Yes, midnight, at the Full Moon."

The old sailor nodded, adjusting his ragged trousers as a vile grin appeared under his bent and crooked whiskers, his chipped, yellow fangs hanging crooked and rotting. "I'll be there, mizzie, an' ye better make ye sure it's worth me while. That's me `ard-earned money there."

"Don't worry," she said again, her tone not changing from that low, smooth purr that could entice snakes from their burrows. The red beauty kept her gaze tuned away, across the dark and lonely street at whose side she stood beneath the moonlight. The scurry of a rat's claws brought her ears forward attentively, the dim shadows as wispy phantoms danced across the moon's face with teasing quickness that provided the haunting light for the scene Bombalurina's only light. She imagined the darkness as one of her eternal best friends: it concealed things. Concealed her true thoughts behind that lewd expression; concealed her horrendous deeds to the rest of the world; concealed the ugliness of her customers... "It will. It always is."

A few more series of words and phrases passed between them, most of it the kind of talk Bombalurina had trained herself to carry on without conscious thought. It was a routine: telling the clients what it was they wanted to hear, making promises, then departing their separate ways until the time for the appointment came. This meeting would be no different. Grumbuskin left Bombalurina alone in the dark night with a departing belch reeking of alcohol, his dingy gray form dissolving into the shadows like them all. All the people she'd met in her profession, of which there were many, never stayed longer than a night. On the rare occasion she might encounter the same man twice, but never did she allow herself to feel for any of them the way she wanted to. The night was cold with late autumn as Bombalurina made her slow way back to the only place in Pawprin she could call home, her pace slow and careless, her eyes lowered but keeping aware of any more potential customers. All around her was quiet, broken by the odd scream of a brawl or laughter of a drunk. Dangerous a place as it was, Bombalurina's employer was constantly reminding the rest of them to never be alone, to travel in groups for their own safety. But the red beauty preferred solitude. What use had she for the useless blabbermouths that were her associates? No, she belonged to the night, and it as with the night alone that she found the slightest amount of peace.

A cold breeze ruffled a ridge of fiery red fur alone Bombalurina's shoulder. It brought a small smile to her lips, the kind of smile she could only manage anymore when she was withdrawn into her head, into her own world of dreams where everything was perfect. Her world. The life she wanted. She imagined that brush coming from a tom, a man with whom she could share herself intimately and have the feelings returned. Not like her clients. But that dream was so far, so distant, she had long since lost her undying desire to search for it. Now she knew that's all it ever would be: a dream. She had to be content with that.

She had wanted so much to be in love when she was young and a fresh occupant in Pawprin. The idea of it: of finding a tall, handsome tom who she could be happy with and who would protect her was all she was ready for. Perhaps too ready. Too eager. She had thought she'd found it. Here...with him. It had been wonderful at first, being at his side, eternally ready to face whatever challenges life would throw at them. She had thought it would always be like that: him being loyal to her, protecting her, loving her, and she had been an absolute fool to believe such a storybook ending. That dream had gone, and now she had to life the only way she knew. Knowing no trade or skilled art, she could not find her own work. Knowing no other names or faces in Pawprin beyond this shadowy section, she had been afraid to leave him. It seemed that he knew everything, everybody. Knowing not what else to do: she stayed, with him, like this.

The Full Moon Tavern was his, an epicenter of harlots and criminals seeking shelter and company night after night. There was a never-ending supply of them streaming through the Tavern as commerce did through Pawprin. Bombalurina had encountered them all: fugitives, pirates, exiles, thieves, murderers, spies of all nationalities and backgrounds. He was all of them, a contact to each and every one with a mind so crafty and a will so twisted he could on a whim pitch these dregs of society at war against each other. A politician of evil, he was master of them all...all, including her.

The Full Moon Tavern may as well have been the only marginally habitable building in the entire quarter. Financed by its steady income of courtesans and drinks, it remained relatively clean despite the filthiness surrounding it. The rooms inside were well-furnished, the drinks and meals served on clean plates and goblets in the main hall. The first room that made up the majority of the lower floor was the one Bombalurina stepped into as she made the transition from the cold night into her place of residence. The main hall was nothing more than a large center room, warmed by a stone fireplace in the corner that flickered dull orange light up into the rafters and to the shadowy recesses of the place. Strewn with tables and chairs, the shabby, ragged patrons who frequented the place would fill them when not sitting at the bar: a long counter lining the wall furthest from the fireplace, behind which a double-swinging door led to and from the kitchen. Bombalurina paused as the rickety main door closed with a creak behind her, gazing over the sparse occupants of tha main hall that night. The majority of them were more than likely upstairs by now with the numerous girls the Full Moon Tavern employed. Occupied. Bombalurina ruffled her fur to let the warmth penetrate her coat and strode proudly through the hall, striding by the drunks passed out over their tables and the few sober patrons bent over their meals, whispering quiet conspiracies and plots. There wasn't much Bombalurina could do now but wait...wait for her clients to arrive for their appointments. Taking up a seat at a round, wobbling table far from the fireplace so that she might hide in shadow with only her thoughts, the red-furred woman set her chin in her hand and leaned back onto two legs of the chair, waiting.

It was a routine, this practice that she carried out every night. She'd order a quick meal and perhaps drink from one of the tavern girls not working, who in their off-time doubled as waitresses, and wait: listening to the crackle of the fireplace; the scratch-like whisperings rise up to the dark rafters above from which hung filthy flags, pennants, or moth-eaten hunting trophies; the wind whistling through the gaps in the boarded or shuttered windows. It seemed to the beauty queen that waiting was all she ever did anymore. Wait for her customers to arrive so she could get to work. Wait for the new day that would wash away the sins she committed each night and the feeling of dirt left hanging over her. Wait for life to brighten, to show her some glimmer of hope that would keep her looking forward to that distant, golden sunrise. Wait for the day when she would fly away from all of this. Wait for something better. Always waiting...none of those things which seemed likely to happen.

Bombalurina let exhale from her lips a small sigh, her eyes lifting to the renowned insignia of the Full Moon Tavern that hung carved and painted over the fireplace: a full, round moon covered by sparse, diagonal clouds as though drifting. A lonely eye that watched all that went on in the tavern's main hall, could hear what went on upstairs. Waiting. Like her. Nowhere to go. Hardly acknowledged in the day-to-day passing of the tavern occupants.

It was during this period of waiting, of thought, that Bombalurina's cool, collective eyes moved to watch the door to the tavern open and shut with a creak, a blast of cold air sweeping over the room that lingered a moment before being eaten up by the fire's warmth. She saw the two figures enter in that moment the only door opened its connection between the warm tavern and the cold outside world. Two dark figures draped in ragged, torn cloaks that concealed their forms and faces entered the tavern, moving together hurriedly for one of the low tables nearer the fireplace. One of them, the taller of the pair, had his arm around the other's smaller shoulders, obviously helping him along until they slipped into seats beside each other, facing the orange glow. Bombalurina drew one claw over her whiskers, seeing the new arrivals as nothing but potential customers. Two of them, as well. As long as they weren't into anything depraving, she didn't see much wrong with it. She watched them for a moment longer, deciding by their actions what her approach would be.

The two had their backs to her, leaning towards each other in what seemed deep conversation after they ordered some drinks. Their hoods lowered, Bombalurina could see the outlines of their manes against the firelight but not their faces. The taller one had a full mane, thick and curly as it tumbled over his cloak when he shook it out with masculine shape. The smaller one was not so well endowed, with a mane short and thin compared to the other, and that along with the continuous way the taller would rub the other's shoulders suggested that the other might be a woman. Seemed feminine enough from this angle... Bombalurina mentally cursed. If that notion be true then her chances were shot. Still, it was difficult to tell, and after a moment of watching the two dark silhouettes a moment longer she stood, grabbing the tray from a passing fellow tavern girl and sauntered her way over.

It was a game Bombalurina constantly played. Her steps long and measured, hips and tail swaying in definite eye-catching movements, she came up behind the two, the heat from the fire growing to an almost unbearable level when she circled round, putting the tray down on the table to unload the ordered mugs of beer. Leaning over the table as she did so, she gazed up through the strands of red and black mane that fell over her face, from this angle able to see both their faces clearly.

The taller one struck her immediately as handsome, the kind of tom every girl wished she could meet, though in her line of work Bombalurina had learned not to take such things into consideration. His eyes were bright and lively, dark with a naturally turned up, almost smirking mouth. His facial fur was smooth and evenly brushed back without any apparent need for cosmetics, colored a light tan with a hint of black and yellow stripes, lightening around his eyes and muzzle. His mane was just as thick as she'd guessed it to be, colored the same with the forelocks naturally curled in a child-like cuteness. Anything beyond that below his neck was covered in that dark cloak...save for his hands, which were--oddly enough--spotted like the pattern she'd seen on the drawings of wildcats, fading into a stark black as it reached his wrists. It was his eyes that she met as she deposited the drinks down.

"How are things with you?" she drawled, taking the other drink to set it before his companion.

"They have been better," the tom answered, his voice as gorgeous as his face, soft and smooth as velvet. The red beauty paid it no mind. Her eyes flickered to his companion, and just the sight of him--it was after all a man--was enough to make even her back away. A tom, perhaps, but it was a difficult thing to discern. First and foremost the tom looked desperately ill, his face kept low and the rest of him drawn in, seeming ready to collapse at any moment. His face was a pale ivory white, fur still short and uneven with obvious youth, framed by a mane of jet black and matching eyes that made him seem all the more deathly white. His hands as well were thin and femininely sleek, one white, one black as they peeked out from under the folds of his cloak, clasping his mug of warm drink as though life itself. In comparison to his companion it seemed little wonder he needed such support.

"Anything I can do?" she purred on, pushing aside the tray to take up a seat opposite the two men, keeping her back to the fire so she could study their faces hopefully without them doing the same.

"You can leave us alone and mind your own matters," the taller half growled, seeming that his handsomness was indeed only fur deep. Bombalurina was not one to give up so easily. She had heard the jingle of coins come from the area of the taller man's belt when he shifted positions to gently rub the shoulders of his companion. It was common knowledge that big money meant big payments, and those payments meant not only more for her but good terms with her employer. Setting her chin in her hands, she smiled, flicking her tail coyly.

"Your friend seems to be a quiet one," she observed, eyeing the smaller half. She could see the mane of the other tom bristle in attention as he glared at her, on his guard by the mere notion she was paying the smaller half any notice at all. His guard over the other seemed a convulsive habit by now. His gaze finally turned away, patting the shoulder of the smaller tom as he gazed into that sickly white face.

"My friend has not been feeling his best recently."

Grinning with vile intentions as Bombalurina saw her chance, she swung her supple legs around on the chair so that she faced the smaller, silent man. "Is that so?" she purred, licking her whiskers, using that same low, enticing voice that so often worked magic over toms. "Allow me a few moments alone with him and I'm certain he will feel much better..." As much as she hated the act, despised it and everything that would eventually follow, Bombalurina knew what toms wanted. What they liked. They were all the same, these brutes driven by only one path of thought at a time. She reached for the smaller tom, but had barely brushed a whisker of that pale facial fur when a sudden deep growl cut the serene atmosphere, and immediately following was the crash of a wooden chair skittering across the floor as the taller half of the pair leaped rapidly to his feet, throwing down his cloak as he grabbed Bombalurina's wrist roughly and hauling her up to face him, away from the other.

Apparently she had been wrong for the first time in a long while about what toms wanted. She should have been grateful but for this show of aggression aimed at her instead flared her own. Yet as much as her instincts screamed for it she did not raise her claws in defense against the taller tom. With the cloak gone she saw his attire: the dusky gray tunic that was his only covering save for a black leather belt and brown trousers. More than that was, attached to his belt that had been previously concealed by the cloak, was a full-length battle sword, hanging loosely in its sheath. This tom was a warrior, apparently belonging to whatever order was signified by the red symbol embroidered on the chest of his gray tunic, a symbol she didn't recognize. The tavern and all its occupants were silenced as her face was drawn close to his, one startled, one dangerous.

"You leave him be," the tom growled, his grip around her slender wrist like iron. The courtesan taken aback by the sudden appearance of a warrior, more by where she was seeing him than by what he was, showed her astonishment openly a split second before her strength and cunning brought back her composure.

"You let me be!" she snapped, trying unsuccessfully to unclench his spotted hand from her wrist. A painful twist in which she bit her tongue to not cry out and the tom tossed her away roughly.

"My companion and I don't need the attentions of wenches like you. Get out of my sight!"

More wounded in pride and scalded with indignation than by any physical means, Bombalurina found herself rendered speechless as the stare she met with the tom was fierce and defiant. Her lips parted in protest, but any sound was halted by those dark eyes. Bombalurina then, to save face, whirled on the heel of her boot, retaining what show of pride she could muster as she swept from the main hall and through the swinging door into the kitchen. Pausing a moment in the free-hanging doorway, she looked back. Talking had resumed among the few lingering patrons, and across the vast room near the fireplace the warrior tom had righted his chair and resumed his rest in it. His hand rested on the shoulder of his companion, their conversation deep. Bombalurina watched, her face flushed with an unknown heat, then turned and let the door swing shut behind her.