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Claws and Walls

By Cherilyn Ohlau

Cat R Waul is owned by Universal Pictures and Amblin Entertainment
The Great Mouse Detective is owned by Eve Titus/Disney
Inspired by Helix Waltz
Bellamy Blackwood is owned by gmd-in-221b
David Thornton is owned by JohnEther
Fane cel Reu is owned by ALS123

Part One
Se Révolter

It was an upheaval of rodents in Belina Square, they had outnumbered their feline masters,and set out a flame wave of Molotov's made from beer bottles and the crackling of bullets echoed throughout the square. No innocent civilians were hurt, and officers and patrols that tried to keep the mice from rebelling were met with roars until their last breath.This moment ended when the statue of the cat lord, Lord Wallus was wrapped in rope and pushed and shattered upon the ground in stone chunks and pieces. Revolution had come, and the rodents left their mark. But, the message did not stay for long, they gained some rights after that memorable revolt; the cats made sure they would gain nothing else. It was tit for tat in their eyes, they had the claws, the rodents were still cowering prey. Their slaves and servants, nothing else but low scum.

Ten years had passed since the revolt, and since Basil Ing Rathbark was part of it back then, he agreed to work under a servant cat agent to help gather intelligence under the neatly made feline parties of the aristocratic and politicians. Just listen, ask politely, nod and write down your findings in your notebook. Those were the rules of intel collecting as rebels often continued their jobs for money and shelter, but to also carry a thread of intelligence cloaked in bows to their masters.

“You're...not going to be a servant?” Bastial asked, “Being a barman at the counter of a shady aristocratic club isn't exactly safe. Besides, they'll laugh you out due to your...height.”

“I was one of the fiercest revolutionaries in the Belina Square revolt!” Basil snapped, “What I lack in height,I make for being clever.”

Bastial sighed softly, “Rath...we're cousins, right? I know this sounds odd coming from me but, don't pull anything reckless. The cat servant whose been helping us, pulled us out of that debris caused by a grenade ten years ago. I know another revolution is being planned among us...uh, so…”

Basil pulled out a cigarette from a pack, lighting it briefly before opening the window of their bedroom. He gently blew out a puff of smoke as civilian protesters marched on the street, lower cats and rodents alike, their voices ringing as a distant symphony of rebellion.

“ Voilà pour la révolution! Que nos voix soient entendues! Vers le bas avec l'oppression!”

Basil blew out smoke again. Bastial leaned over and noticed the March, “Reminds you of old times?” he asked.

“They used to try and shoot warning shots or hose us down with water when we used to do walks,” Basil scoffed snuffing out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the metal ashtray. Their ears perked when they heard shuffling upstairs and the door swung open and a grey American Curl in messy overalls walked in.

“Rathbark, follow me I got a job for you...just remember to put on your uniform and keep your notebook with your order book so you can interchange them,” the cat said following Rathbark to a small dining room. Rathbark sat down and cupping his cheek.

“Brice, I've practiced before, I know what to do. Just who is our target?” He asked.

“A haute cat lord named John R. Waul, he's not high up the tier to be a Duke yet; but he has connections.”

“So, fluff him up and get info,” Basil yawned.

“You're not worried about anything going wrong?”

“What's there to be worried about? He's just a damn chuffy feline,” Basil reclined, “I can handle him easily by lacing his drink a bit, and a drunk man can tell all his secrets. Did you get tea going?”

Brice sighed softly, “You're too cocky about this,” he said sliding over a cup of black tea. Basil slowly drank it,”Let me warn you about Lord Waul, he might come off as a theatrical ham but he can be calculating. You get too cocky, you walk away with bleeding scratches..”

“From him?”

“His men, but if you piss him off enough, I'm sure he'll claw you.”
Basil just continued to assure Brice that he would be okay, and the conversation ended with that. Basil got dressed in his barmen shirt, fixing his collar and cuffs in front of the mirror. He made sure to attach a knife on a strap against his sock as insurance, along with keeping a bag of smoke powder. These accessories were last resorts hibut they made him feel safe regardless. He readied his bag when his carriage came with Bastial looking on from the top window.

The Gold Magpie club was a popular area for feline aristocrats, and John Waul frequented it as a local, with his own member card and brooch to seal his official stay. The club had the best chefs on hold, and now had a new barman to pour from what ambrosia came from the wine cellars and aging barrels. John Waul was among the frequent drinkers, but during work nights he drank little as to crunch numbers and report them on schedules. Basil eyed Waul on the counter as he cleaned the liquor glasses while keeping an eye for any word of gossip or intelligence from the drunk tongue of lords. All that mostly came were vulgar jokes and betting coins on card games; his expression soured feeling as though his work was now clutching straws. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he was caught off guard when he heard bell on the counter ring and was met face to face with John Waul. Basil's thoughts went blank as they locked gazes before realizing his silence would be rude to one of his status.

“A...a drink, my lord?” He stammered.

“That accent, rural, are you?” John inquired. Basil felt heat rush to his cheeks.

“From Yorkshire.”

“And your height?”

Basil had to pause and take a deep breath, “The runt of my litter.”

John chuckled, “Good, otherwise I would have had the manager canned for child labor.” Basil felt his ears start to steam, while he gripped the wine bottle with a look as though he would break it over the feline's head. He held himself back, but the thought of it was tempting, “Don't give me such a look, I merely love teasing the new bartenders.” Basil silently poured him his wine, he felt it was best to let such aristocrats just talk.

John eyed him as he carried on his bar duties, feeling amused that the small adult rodent didn't even try to hide the look on his face. Basil handed another aristocrat on the counter a bottle and glass before his ears perked when John pounded on the service bell. He sighed, looking up at the cat with his shoulders crossed to give a cold shoulder as if to keep the boundaries between him and Mister Waul.

“Anything you need me for?” Basil replied, sounding irked.

“It's just my first time seeing such a rodent like you working here. You put on a tough face but never release out steam, but...I noticed the sweat pouring down your head. Nervous?”

Bewildered, Basil scoffed, “About what?”

John pulled him close by his collar that caused Basil to struggle to stay on the stool that was helping him up. The feline had him nearly leaning over the counter, his heart was beating quickly in a panic of his cover being blown and heat rose to his cheeks and ears about how this would look to other patrons of the club. Basil waited for a strike or a scratch. He was so close to John that he could hear the soft hot breaths; instead he felt a cold sandpaper like lick on his ear tip and a hot blow into his ear. He held back the urge to groan and covered his mouth, but his legs buckled and limped. “Nervous a cat like me...will eat you?” John chuckled. Basil felt himself shrinking as he felt flustered. The heat of the ear blow made his body hot…

“You sure do have a nasty habit to flirt with b-barmen,” Basil breathed, trying to regain composure as his head steamed like a kettle. A black furred mouse aristocrat watched from the couch and seemed to squirm at the display, his face curling like he was ready to berate and scold Waul; but out of politeness kept his mouth shut.

“You just caught my eye is all, with all the pouty faces you make, I am rather surprised the other cats aren't jumping on you.”

Basil only responded with a silent glare, and signaled for the other bartender to take his place while he took a break. He desperately needed a smoke break, “Give me 5 minutes...” he said. He headed to the back room and pulled out a small black pipe before he lit and puffed. He felt so livid and fuming over John's flirting gestured, while his heart uncontrollably fluttered as he remembered the heat. He nearly choked on his smoke when he was startled by the door to the employee quarters and a black fur mouse in decorated with gems, gold and a mink black coat with a emerald green velvet walked in. Basil hastily stood up, putting his pipe on the table.

The mouse examined him, his eyes digging into Basil's soul as he silently judged his physical exterior. “Strange, you don't look...like one of the red light district,” the mouse said raising an eyebrow, “But it's strange of you to wear such flowery perfume, I suggest something more musky so cats can stay away from your catnip smell.” Basil glared. He had heard of rodent aristocrats, they were rare but it wasn't like they never existed.

“I am here for work and pay, I have no ulterior motives...my lord,” Basil replied.

“Lord Marquess Bellamy Blackwood,” The mouse said in return as if he was expecting an introduction, “Do...me a blasted favor as a mouse yourself, don't--” he cleared his throat, “--fall for felines.” Basil felt the heat rise to his cheeks again; his stomach did flips at the accusation.

“I'm not...I was merely flustered…” Basil stammered, Bellamy clicked his tongue.

“Yet your body language spoke differently; but if you're not looking to even be with Lord Waul, I may have misunderstood,” Bellamy explained before opening the door, “There is a line between our species, I expect you to respect that, bartender,” Basil didn't reply, feeling a swirl in his stomach, and his chest tightening, “Oh, and just what is your name?”

“Basil Ing Rathbark, my lord.”

“Then heed my advice, Rathbark, if you want to get through this club alive,” Bellamy huffed before closing the door. Basil slumped to his chair, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He gently pushed his pipe aside. He had lost his mood to smoke. When Basil decided to walk back into the club, he was amazed to see Waul talking to two other rodent aristocrats at a game table. One was discussing business while the other was absorbed in drink. He silently overheard the names Fane and David pop up before he was nudged by the manager to head back to his counter bar. A dark grey mouse with piercing eyes and silk like black hair smirked at the new bartender. The other noble, was a light brown with a finely combed mustache; and wearing an elegant dark blue suit with a brooch in a family crest.The light brown older mouse was in between Bellamy and the dark grey rodent, as the two dark furred rodents seemed to exchange glares. Bellamy let out a huff and turned his head away.

“Wouldn't want to spoil my breath on you either, Lord Bellbag.”

“Viscount Fane, watch your manners,” The middle mouse scolded.

The viscount wrinkled his nose and flipped his hair, fuming. Basil rolled his eyes, what a circus, seeing Fane and Bellamy scoff and huff at each other made him briefly forget they were nobles. Waul sighed, looking bored at Fane's huffy remarks before the grey rodent gestured to Basil to come over. Basil looked a bit hesitant but obliged.

“Anything you need, lord?” He asked.

“Lean closer...I'll whisper it to you…”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and drank from his glass. Basil slowly leaned in, and yelped when his butt was squeezed by Fane's grip.

“I can pay you better, make you feel better, if you work for me--”

It was quick, like a lightning strike, Fane felt a sharp swift slap. He at first thought it was from Basil and glared at the smaller rodent but his eyes widened as he noticed John was staring at him with disgust. Bellamy looked baffled.

“What the bloody--Lord Waul...this is a mere rodent servant, besides, this isn't the first time Lord cel Reu became handsy with staff. Just, let him...try to woo these spit shiners,” Bellamy explained. Fane rose an eyebrow.

“Are you defending me?”

“No, just explaining you're the local perverse viscount.”

Fane looked livid. David examined the two nobles with equal disgust.

“I know that look, Lord Thornton, don't lump me with this...sexually deprived...fur cushion,” Bellamy yawned. That did it.

“Oh, is that it? If I'm a cushion, you're a mangy yank pelt!” Fane snapped.

John rolled his eyes and gestured Basil to sit next to him which surprised David as bar servants were not allowed on the guest couches unless it was for handling money or having a dealer for card games. Basil looked embarrassed, his mind was blank after he was touched in such a way. Basil's expressions must have been easily readable because John Waul tenderly held his cheek.

“Rathbark, you look troubled. A sad face doesn't suit you,” John said.

Basil noticed he had briefly locked eyes with the feline and the moment he felt heat rush to his cheeks. He turned away, his heart beating rapidly in a steady rhythm. “Why...must you lords be so bold, I'm just a mere bartender who has just started work today,” Basil huffed, “S-surely you must have consorts.” Bellamy gave a dry chuckle.

“Viscount Fane has one too many, though, consorts they are not...he sleeps but never tells the other women. He sleeps with even his male servants. Viscount is nothing but a horny rabbit,” Bellamy laughed softly. Fane's left eye twitched.

“Ignore them. Here, let's speak somewhere private. I have a proposition for you,” John said. Basil looked nervous and followed the cat upstairs to a meeting room. Bellamy rose an eyebrow and let out a scoff at the scene.

Basil sat on the meetings table chair and looked over paperwork that was at least four papers with five red Xs for signatures and simple information such as name, address and age. “You really expect to be happy working at the Golden Magpie?” John asked, placing his hands on Basil's shoulders as the smaller rodent read through each printed paragraphs and policies, “I only have a single servant working me, and you'd have a place to stay with a fair salary--”
Basil shoved the papers into John's chest, fuming.

“I see how it is, you're trying to own me,” Basil snapped, “I'm not in the mood to have a leash on me. Are you trying the pull the same thing Lord Fane has-?!”

He suddenly felt pressure on his chest as John pressed himself against him and almost pinned him completely to the meeting desk, the clanging of silverware scattering as Basil struggled.

“Don't...misunderstand…” The cat hissed. Basil felt his head spin and his cheeks rose with rage; in all of his years as growing up as a revolutionary this treatment from both Fane and Waul was humiliating. Work for them. Work for them? The thought only made the runt's mind spin into a blur. He was about ready to kick John in the chest in retaliation but he felt the burning slowly faded as he felt a gentle stroke to his cheek, “I won't hurt you.”

Basil panted, his chest heaving gently as he looked into the cat's eyes.

“Forgive me if I worried you, err...scared you...I guess I should blame the viscount for being inappropriate.”

“And..you aren't?” Basil breathed, finding himself melting to the soft touch. The musk of a bold cologne making him dizzy, and warm, “Pinning me...like this?”

“With your size, it's quite easy to overcome you. Unless you don't pounce first,” John chuckled dryly, but Basil just glared, “But let's continue our....meeting about my proposition.”

How I want to spit into that smug face of yours, Basil thought as he grimaced, “In this position?” he asked.

“Well, if it makes you behave and not have you flail,” John sighed, “But, let me get straight to the point. How much are you being paid for bar duties?”

Basil never did ask. It slipped his mind when discussing the inside job with Brice. He was in a corner now, but couldn't risk blowing his cover at this point. He was relieved that the aristocrats just saw him as a first timer who just had a fire up his ass. “Um...I suppose a small wage at best,” Basil replied, awkwardly.

“You...supposed?” John rose an eyebrow, “You took it without even looking your worth.”

“Work rodents are not met with the best of wages.”

“Shooting your foot either way, eh?”

“More like working with no legs at all. Now, get off me.”

Basil felt the pressure on his chest lessen. He slowly slid out from underneath John and let out a soft sigh. “I'm sorry I was physical with you-” John started but was cut off by the sound of Basil lighting his pipe.

“I don't need your pity,” Basil huffed, having a leg on the chair as he smoked. He looked to be livid but John shook his head, chuckling as he started to leave but slid the papers over to Basil.

“Keep it, so you can think on it,” John replied, “But I am looking forward to seeing you often,” he added before closing the door. Basil felt a spur of rage and threw the metal pot filled with water against the door as if to show defiance. Bloody rich cats…

Basil returned home at eight at night, carrying the contract papers in his bag. His expression was still somewhat soured, with the tip of his ears reddened from a wash of embarrassment. Bastial noticed and chuckled, “How was your first day at work for the Golden Magpie?” he asked. Basil huffed, placing his bag onto the love seat.

“Horrible,” He said and sat down, his cheeks puffing.

“Oh...I know that look,” Bastial teased, “Someone at that aristocratic club got your heart all a flutter, right?” Basil retorted by throwing a pillow at him, his cheeks noticeably hot. This made Bastial laugh as he shielded himself, “I'm right, aren't I?”

“Sh-shut up! It's not like that!” Basil protested.

Bastial ignored him, “So who's the lucky guy?” his cousin said nothing in reply, his head turning away with his cheeks flaring a bright red blush, “O-oh wait...no way, you fell for your target?!” he chuckled, “That Waul puss, seriously?”

“Q-quiet, it's not like that...besides, he's more infatuated with me,” Basil stammered.

Bastial rose an eyebrow, “And you didn't think to have him wrapped around your finger to squeeze any Intel out of him?” Basil felt his face flush in embarrassment, “That doesn't sound like you, Rathy. I mean, you once made a rodent guard fall for you so hard, he gave away information who would attend the meeting of Tréfle à Quatre Feuilles at the Blanc building. You remember, right? Our protests made headlines.”

Basil sighed again, “That was...years ago.”

“And this Waul guy made you clam up?”

His cheeks flared up again, “Y-you wouldn't understand Bastial! You weren't there. If you were in my position--”

“If I were in your position, I would use my whims to shake information out of the guy,” Bastial interrupted. Basil fell silent feeling himself be placed in a corner, “If you're this emotional over it, wanna trade jobs? Playing gardener sucks.”

Basil just gave a heaving sigh before a blunt “no.”

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Claws and Walls

By Cherilyn Ohlau

Cat R Waul is owned by Universal Pictures and Amblin Entertainment
The Great Mouse Detective is owned by Eve Titus/Disney
Inspired by Helix Waltz
Bellamy Blackwood is owned by gmd-in-221b
David Thornton is owned by JohnEther
Fane cel Reu is owned by ALS123

Part One
Se Révolter

It was an upheaval of rodents in Belina Square, they had outnumbered their feline masters,and set out a flame wave of Molotov's made from beer bottles and the crackling of bullets echoed throughout the square. No innocent civilians were hurt, and officers and patrols that tried to keep the mice from rebelling were met with roars until their last breath.This moment ended when the statue of the cat lord, Lord Wallus was wrapped in rope and pushed and shattered upon the ground in stone chunks and pieces. Revolution had come, and the rodents left their mark. But, the message did not stay for long, they gained some rights after that memorable revolt; the cats made sure they would gain nothing else. It was tit for tat in their eyes, they had the claws, the rodents were still cowering prey. Their slaves and servants, nothing else but low scum.

Ten years had passed since the revolt, and since Basil Ing Rathbark was part of it back then, he agreed to work under a servant cat agent to help gather intelligence under the neatly made feline parties of the aristocratic and politicians. Just listen, ask politely, nod and write down your findings in your notebook. Those were the rules of intel collecting as rebels often continued their jobs for money and shelter, but to also carry a thread of intelligence cloaked in bows to their masters.

“You're...not going to be a servant?” Bastial asked, “Being a barman at the counter of a shady aristocratic club isn't exactly safe. Besides, they'll laugh you out due to your...height.”

“I was one of the fiercest revolutionaries in the Belina Square revolt!” Basil snapped, “What I lack in height,I make for being clever.”

Bastial sighed softly, “Rath...we're cousins, right? I know this sounds odd coming from me but, don't pull anything reckless. The cat servant whose been helping us, pulled us out of that debris caused by a grenade ten years ago. I know another revolution is being planned among us...uh, so…”

Basil pulled out a cigarette from a pack, lighting it briefly before opening the window of their bedroom. He gently blew out a puff of smoke as civilian protesters marched on the street, lower cats and rodents alike, their voices ringing as a distant symphony of rebellion.

“ Voilà pour la révolution! Que nos voix soient entendues! Vers le bas avec l'oppression!”

Basil blew out smoke again. Bastial leaned over and noticed the March, “Reminds you of old times?” he asked.

“They used to try and shoot warning shots or hose us down with water when we used to do walks,” Basil scoffed snuffing out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the metal ashtray. Their ears perked when they heard shuffling upstairs and the door swung open and a grey American Curl in messy overalls walked in.

“Rathbark, follow me I got a job for you...just remember to put on your uniform and keep your notebook with your order book so you can interchange them,” the cat said following Rathbark to a small dining room. Rathbark sat down and cupping his cheek.

“Brice, I've practiced before, I know what to do. Just who is our target?” He asked.

“A haute cat lord named John R. Waul, he's not high up the tier to be a Duke yet; but he has connections.”

“So, fluff him up and get info,” Basil yawned.

“You're not worried about anything going wrong?”

“What's there to be worried about? He's just a damn chuffy feline,” Basil reclined, “I can handle him easily by lacing his drink a bit, and a drunk man can tell all his secrets. Did you get tea going?”

Brice sighed softly, “You're too cocky about this,” he said sliding over a cup of black tea. Basil slowly drank it,”Let me warn you about Lord Waul, he might come off as a theatrical ham but he can be calculating. You get too cocky, you walk away with bleeding scratches..”

“From him?”

“His men, but if you piss him off enough, I'm sure he'll claw you.”
Basil just continued to assure Brice that he would be okay, and the conversation ended with that. Basil got dressed in his barmen shirt, fixing his collar and cuffs in front of the mirror. He made sure to attach a knife on a strap against his sock as insurance, along with keeping a bag of smoke powder. These accessories were last resorts hibut they made him feel safe regardless. He readied his bag when his carriage came with Bastial looking on from the top window.

The Gold Magpie club was a popular area for feline aristocrats, and John Waul frequented it as a local, with his own member card and brooch to seal his official stay. The club had the best chefs on hold, and now had a new barman to pour from what ambrosia came from the wine cellars and aging barrels. John Waul was among the frequent drinkers, but during work nights he drank little as to crunch numbers and report them on schedules. Basil eyed Waul on the counter as he cleaned the liquor glasses while keeping an eye for any word of gossip or intelligence from the drunk tongue of lords. All that mostly came were vulgar jokes and betting coins on card games; his expression soured feeling as though his work was now clutching straws. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he was caught off guard when he heard bell on the counter ring and was met face to face with John Waul. Basil's thoughts went blank as they locked gazes before realizing his silence would be rude to one of his status.

“A...a drink, my lord?” He stammered.

“That accent, rural, are you?” John inquired. Basil felt heat rush to his cheeks.

“From Yorkshire.”

“And your height?”

Basil had to pause and take a deep breath, “The runt of my litter.”

John chuckled, “Good, otherwise I would have had the manager canned for child labor.” Basil felt his ears start to steam, while he gripped the wine bottle with a look as though he would break it over the feline's head. He held himself back, but the thought of it was tempting, “Don't give me such a look, I merely love teasing the new bartenders.” Basil silently poured him his wine, he felt it was best to let such aristocrats just talk.

John eyed him as he carried on his bar duties, feeling amused that the small adult rodent didn't even try to hide the look on his face. Basil handed another aristocrat on the counter a bottle and glass before his ears perked when John pounded on the service bell. He sighed, looking up at the cat with his shoulders crossed to give a cold shoulder as if to keep the boundaries between him and Mister Waul.

“Anything you need me for?” Basil replied, sounding irked.

“It's just my first time seeing such a rodent like you working here. You put on a tough face but never release out steam, but...I noticed the sweat pouring down your head. Nervous?”

Bewildered, Basil scoffed, “About what?”

John pulled him close by his collar that caused Basil to struggle to stay on the stool that was helping him up. The feline had him nearly leaning over the counter, his heart was beating quickly in a panic of his cover being blown and heat rose to his cheeks and ears about how this would look to other patrons of the club. Basil waited for a strike or a scratch. He was so close to John that he could hear the soft hot breaths; instead he felt a cold sandpaper like lick on his ear tip and a hot blow into his ear. He held back the urge to groan and covered his mouth, but his legs buckled and limped. “Nervous a cat like me...will eat you?” John chuckled. Basil felt himself shrinking as he felt flustered. The heat of the ear blow made his body hot…

“You sure do have a nasty habit to flirt with b-barmen,” Basil breathed, trying to regain composure as his head steamed like a kettle. A black furred mouse aristocrat watched from the couch and seemed to squirm at the display, his face curling like he was ready to berate and scold Waul; but out of politeness kept his mouth shut.

“You just caught my eye is all, with all the pouty faces you make, I am rather surprised the other cats aren't jumping on you.”

Basil only responded with a silent glare, and signaled for the other bartender to take his place while he took a break. He desperately needed a smoke break, “Give me 5 minutes...” he said. He headed to the back room and pulled out a small black pipe before he lit and puffed. He felt so livid and fuming over John's flirting gestured, while his heart uncontrollably fluttered as he remembered the heat. He nearly choked on his smoke when he was startled by the door to the employee quarters and a black fur mouse in decorated with gems, gold and a mink black coat with a emerald green velvet walked in. Basil hastily stood up, putting his pipe on the table.

The mouse examined him, his eyes digging into Basil's soul as he silently judged his physical exterior. “Strange, you don't look...like one of the red light district,” the mouse said raising an eyebrow, “But it's strange of you to wear such flowery perfume, I suggest something more musky so cats can stay away from your catnip smell.” Basil glared. He had heard of rodent aristocrats, they were rare but it wasn't like they never existed.

“I am here for work and pay, I have no ulterior motives...my lord,” Basil replied.

“Lord Marquess Bellamy Blackwood,” The mouse said in return as if he was expecting an introduction, “Do...me a blasted favor as a mouse yourself, don't--” he cleared his throat, “--fall for felines.” Basil felt the heat rise to his cheeks again; his stomach did flips at the accusation.

“I'm not...I was merely flustered…” Basil stammered, Bellamy clicked his tongue.

“Yet your body language spoke differently; but if you're not looking to even be with Lord Waul, I may have misunderstood,” Bellamy explained before opening the door, “There is a line between our species, I expect you to respect that, bartender,” Basil didn't reply, feeling a swirl in his stomach, and his chest tightening, “Oh, and just what is your name?”

“Basil Ing Rathbark, my lord.”

“Then heed my advice, Rathbark, if you want to get through this club alive,” Bellamy huffed before closing the door. Basil slumped to his chair, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He gently pushed his pipe aside. He had lost his mood to smoke. When Basil decided to walk back into the club, he was amazed to see Waul talking to two other rodent aristocrats at a game table. One was discussing business while the other was absorbed in drink. He silently overheard the names Fane and David pop up before he was nudged by the manager to head back to his counter bar. A dark grey mouse with piercing eyes and silk like black hair smirked at the new bartender. The other noble, was a light brown with a finely combed mustache; and wearing an elegant dark blue suit with a brooch in a family crest.The light brown older mouse was in between Bellamy and the dark grey rodent, as the two dark furred rodents seemed to exchange glares. Bellamy let out a huff and turned his head away.

“Wouldn't want to spoil my breath on you either, Lord Bellbag.”

“Viscount Fane, watch your manners,” The middle mouse scolded.

The viscount wrinkled his nose and flipped his hair, fuming. Basil rolled his eyes, what a circus, seeing Fane and Bellamy scoff and huff at each other made him briefly forget they were nobles. Waul sighed, looking bored at Fane's huffy remarks before the grey rodent gestured to Basil to come over. Basil looked a bit hesitant but obliged.

“Anything you need, lord?” He asked.

“Lean closer...I'll whisper it to you…”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and drank from his glass. Basil slowly leaned in, and yelped when his butt was squeezed by Fane's grip.

“I can pay you better, make you feel better, if you work for me--”

It was quick, like a lightning strike, Fane felt a sharp swift slap. He at first thought it was from Basil and glared at the smaller rodent but his eyes widened as he noticed John was staring at him with disgust. Bellamy looked baffled.

“What the bloody--Lord Waul...this is a mere rodent servant, besides, this isn't the first time Lord cel Reu became handsy with staff. Just, let him...try to woo these spit shiners,” Bellamy explained. Fane rose an eyebrow.

“Are you defending me?”

“No, just explaining you're the local perverse viscount.”

Fane looked livid. David examined the two nobles with equal disgust.

“I know that look, Lord Thornton, don't lump me with this...sexually deprived...fur cushion,” Bellamy yawned. That did it.

“Oh, is that it? If I'm a cushion, you're a mangy yank pelt!” Fane snapped.

John rolled his eyes and gestured Basil to sit next to him which surprised David as bar servants were not allowed on the guest couches unless it was for handling money or having a dealer for card games. Basil looked embarrassed, his mind was blank after he was touched in such a way. Basil's expressions must have been easily readable because John Waul tenderly held his cheek.

“Rathbark, you look troubled. A sad face doesn't suit you,” John said.

Basil noticed he had briefly locked eyes with the feline and the moment he felt heat rush to his cheeks. He turned away, his heart beating rapidly in a steady rhythm. “Why...must you lords be so bold, I'm just a mere bartender who has just started work today,” Basil huffed, “S-surely you must have consorts.” Bellamy gave a dry chuckle.

“Viscount Fane has one too many, though, consorts they are not...he sleeps but never tells the other women. He sleeps with even his male servants. Viscount is nothing but a horny rabbit,” Bellamy laughed softly. Fane's left eye twitched.

“Ignore them. Here, let's speak somewhere private. I have a proposition for you,” John said. Basil looked nervous and followed the cat upstairs to a meeting room. Bellamy rose an eyebrow and let out a scoff at the scene.

Basil sat on the meetings table chair and looked over paperwork that was at least four papers with five red Xs for signatures and simple information such as name, address and age. “You really expect to be happy working at the Golden Magpie?” John asked, placing his hands on Basil's shoulders as the smaller rodent read through each printed paragraphs and policies, “I only have a single servant working me, and you'd have a place to stay with a fair salary--”
Basil shoved the papers into John's chest, fuming.

“I see how it is, you're trying to own me,” Basil snapped, “I'm not in the mood to have a leash on me. Are you trying the pull the same thing Lord Fane has-?!”

He suddenly felt pressure on his chest as John pressed himself against him and almost pinned him completely to the meeting desk, the clanging of silverware scattering as Basil struggled.

“Don't...misunderstand…” The cat hissed. Basil felt his head spin and his cheeks rose with rage; in all of his years as growing up as a revolutionary this treatment from both Fane and Waul was humiliating. Work for them. Work for them? The thought only made the runt's mind spin into a blur. He was about ready to kick John in the chest in retaliation but he felt the burning slowly faded as he felt a gentle stroke to his cheek, “I won't hurt you.”

Basil panted, his chest heaving gently as he looked into the cat's eyes.

“Forgive me if I worried you, err...scared you...I guess I should blame the viscount for being inappropriate.”

“And..you aren't?” Basil breathed, finding himself melting to the soft touch. The musk of a bold cologne making him dizzy, and warm, “Pinning me...like this?”

“With your size, it's quite easy to overcome you. Unless you don't pounce first,” John chuckled dryly, but Basil just glared, “But let's continue our....meeting about my proposition.”

How I want to spit into that smug face of yours, Basil thought as he grimaced, “In this position?” he asked.

“Well, if it makes you behave and not have you flail,” John sighed, “But, let me get straight to the point. How much are you being paid for bar duties?”

Basil never did ask. It slipped his mind when discussing the inside job with Brice. He was in a corner now, but couldn't risk blowing his cover at this point. He was relieved that the aristocrats just saw him as a first timer who just had a fire up his ass. “Um...I suppose a small wage at best,” Basil replied, awkwardly.

“You...supposed?” John rose an eyebrow, “You took it without even looking your worth.”

“Work rodents are not met with the best of wages.”

“Shooting your foot either way, eh?”

“More like working with no legs at all. Now, get off me.”

Basil felt the pressure on his chest lessen. He slowly slid out from underneath John and let out a soft sigh. “I'm sorry I was physical with you-” John started but was cut off by the sound of Basil lighting his pipe.

“I don't need your pity,” Basil huffed, having a leg on the chair as he smoked. He looked to be livid but John shook his head, chuckling as he started to leave but slid the papers over to Basil.

“Keep it, so you can think on it,” John replied, “But I am looking forward to seeing you often,” he added before closing the door. Basil felt a spur of rage and threw the metal pot filled with water against the door as if to show defiance. Bloody rich cats…

Basil returned home at eight at night, carrying the contract papers in his bag. His expression was still somewhat soured, with the tip of his ears reddened from a wash of embarrassment. Bastial noticed and chuckled, “How was your first day at work for the Golden Magpie?” he asked. Basil huffed, placing his bag onto the love seat.

“Horrible,” He said and sat down, his cheeks puffing.

“Oh...I know that look,” Bastial teased, “Someone at that aristocratic club got your heart all a flutter, right?” Basil retorted by throwing a pillow at him, his cheeks noticeably hot. This made Bastial laugh as he shielded himself, “I'm right, aren't I?”

“Sh-shut up! It's not like that!” Basil protested.

Bastial ignored him, “So who's the lucky guy?” his cousin said nothing in reply, his head turning away with his cheeks flaring a bright red blush, “O-oh wait...no way, you fell for your target?!” he chuckled, “That Waul puss, seriously?”

“Q-quiet, it's not like that...besides, he's more infatuated with me,” Basil stammered.

Bastial rose an eyebrow, “And you didn't think to have him wrapped around your finger to squeeze any Intel out of him?” Basil felt his face flush in embarrassment, “That doesn't sound like you, Rathy. I mean, you once made a rodent guard fall for you so hard, he gave away information who would attend the meeting of Tréfle à Quatre Feuilles at the Blanc building. You remember, right? Our protests made headlines.”

Basil sighed again, “That was...years ago.”

“And this Waul guy made you clam up?”

His cheeks flared up again, “Y-you wouldn't understand Bastial! You weren't there. If you were in my position--”

“If I were in your position, I would use my whims to shake information out of the guy,” Bastial interrupted. Basil fell silent feeling himself be placed in a corner, “If you're this emotional over it, wanna trade jobs? Playing gardener sucks.”

Basil just gave a heaving sigh before a blunt “no.”