lechatcameback

[lechatcameback]

Another night on the... well, what passed for the town, around here. A one-time village swallowed up by the crawl of New York City. Still a village, really, in so many ways. Hard not to know everybody, when you had a few hundred years and only a couple blocks to share. Made for a peculiar sort of atmosphere. Especially when you were one of those Fables who had to fight and pay for a place here, knowing that most of your neighbors took it for granted. But, that was hardly a productive thought. Or a pleasant one, especially given recent... tremors, in his relationship with the most reliable name in illegal glamours. Of all the stupid, boorish, idiot things...Théo polished off the last of his brandy at the thought, the damn thought. The damn fearful thought. What if he was forgetting? Losing what magic he’d had? He lifted that glass again, thoughtlessly. Empty. Right. The bartender had started to wind her way closer, watching. He draped a smile over his frayed nerves, prepared to charm his way to a second round on the house - or, at least, to a distracting conversation. At least.

 Before he could settle into that, though, company arrived. Not unwelcome, but a surprise. The offer, too. “By all means,” Théo’s head tilted, more than a little bemusement there. No need to point out that this wasn’t one of Marie’s usual haunts; they were both well aware. What on earth had brought her by Trip Trap, of all places? And on such a mission, too. The fresh shots hit the bar between them, followed, almost begrudgingly, by a couple slices of lime and a tarnished shaker of salt. His dark eyes flicked from the tequila to Marie, a slow, curious smile slinking across his face. “Are we drinking to anything in particular, then?”

@lechatcameback

Like a black bird flying through the skies, walking through the doors of the Trip Trap feels like sending a message, feels like she is made of feathers and bone and she has flown so far from herself that she can’t recognize who she is anymore. There are so many other bars she favors, so many other places in Fabletown that don’t make her feel so much… well, like a fable. There are places where she goes to forget herself, places where she goes to feel free, and places where she goes to embrace this new life of hers, but here in the Trip Trap there’s nowhere to hide. Here she is surrounded by Fables commiserating and drinking and it feels like something dangerous, like a place where who she is and who she is not is going to be made public, and that’s not something she’ll ever be ready for. 

But Théo is here, sipping at a nearly empty drink and talking to the woman behind the bar, and it is Théo that she wants to talk to, Theo that she needs to talk to. If Wolf won’t find out what happened to Goldi, then she’ll do it herself. "Tequila, please,” she says, sliding onto the empty stool next to him. She makes no hesitations, no play acting at just noticing him there, and turns to him immediately. “Can I buy you another?”

[lechatcameback]

Cats do not have to be shown how to have a good time, for they are unfailing ingenious in that respect.

James Mason

[lechatcameback]

queencfheart‌:

It was the wrong title to use and her jaw clenched as it rang almost sharp in her ears. Technically she had no title anymore but if someone was going to use one, they were going to use the right one. It wasn’t necessary by any means but she wouldn’t let it slide. She rarely let anything slide. Her eyes flickered down to the roses before she accepted them, leaning in a little to inhale the lovely smell that would be pleasant in her office. She did adore flowers after all, but not even the special roses could  “Am I a princess, Théo?” She looked up at him over the flowers, no smile in sight. She had no intention to elaborate because she wanted him to retrace to find his own mistake. It was ridiculous of her, to let ‘your highness’ irk her but it did. Scarlet had always been a dramatic woman after all.

If he had a tail to tuck, that would have done it. The bow lowered, nervously, quickly, a sudden cold crawling down his spine. Merde. And then some. He’d gotten cocky with his technicalities, as if this wasn’t languages and worlds away from what he knew best. Not so wise, after all. Cats didn’t land on their feet every time. “Ah, your majesty,” he corrected, more than a note of desperation to it. Suavity wasn’t the thing, for apologizing to a royal. Neither was dignity. So he ate it, for now. “My apologies. We had rather different names for all these things, you understand, in my Homeland. A very provincial place. Rustic dialects, to say the least...” Théo cleared his throat, swallowed, cursed the tumbledown barn he’d grown up in. Didn’t dare look up without her leave to do so, too terribly aware of what was at stake. “I beg your pardon. Please. It’s simply been too long, I - I find myself forgetful, around these times.” 

Truer than he’d like it to be, that. Or, maybe, it was just in his head, how distractible and blunted his thoughts became the longer he went without another flicker of glamour, of magic. But the Queen understood, didn’t she? Why he was so driven to keep what she’d given, why he was so frantically afraid of the Farm. She knew what kind of power she had over him. And there, bent low in her plush office, pleading, Théo could only hope the Queen could see that he knew, too. Painfully well. 

[lechatcameback]

sherffwolf‌:

Wolf knew he had brought up a topic that neither of them enjoyed. Much to anyone’s disbelief if anything about it came up about it, Wolf didn’t actually enjoy sending other Fables to the Farm. They had come to Fabletown to escape the damnation that their Homelands had met and it was beyond their control if they looked like a human or not; Wolf had been lucky enough to have a witch, working for King Cole, give him a special something. Others? They didn’t have that luck. Wolf couldn’t do much about it other than enforcing the law and turn a blind eye a couple of times, as long as no Fable without a glamour for a few days didn’t threaten to expose this safe haven of theirs to mundanes that would never understand. Wolf nodded, “Good,” was all that he said, knowing that both of them wanting that topic to be over and done with. 

“I don’t.” Wolf agreed, nodding his head —- he was there about something far more important. Running a hand on his beard, a habit of his that stemmed from who knows, the Fable took a few steps more and stood in front of Théo. “I’m here to talk about Goldilocks. The missing girl.” Wolf started, he knows there was no point in dancing around the subject when it was all that ran through his head and he knew many other Fable’s minds. 

If he could avoid talking as if everything was lost —- Wolf didn’t like the sound of even saying her name —-, he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe he was too late. That she was lost and her friends would never find the closure that came with knowing what the hell happened. “She used to come here, right? What can you tell me about her?”

I don’t. Comforting. Though Théo had no reason to worry, absolutely not. Mollified, he settled in for whatever else the Sheriff could possibly be here for. He wasn’t terribly concerned; most, most, of his work was entirely legitimate. The rest? Easy enough to hide. Or distance himself from. Lacing his fingers, he took a comfortable lean, readying a believable jolt of shock or confusion at whatever allegations or queries might be coming up. 

The sentiment wound up being rather more real than he’d expected. Goldilocks? Missing? They were still pretending that she was missing? Holding back the news of her obviously hideous murder was some kind of sensible. Didn’t want a panic. But, how stupid did the Mayor think they all were? Théo blinked, the surprise at least a little genuine. He nodded, seriously, as Wolf continued. As if he hadn’t been whispering around what he’d seen that morning, the sensational horror of it. A head in a bowl of porridge, blood in the oats and cream. Théo wasn’t fool enough to attach himself to a rumor; he always shared his gossip around as something I heard. Somebody told me. That’s just what they said. Seemed to have served him well, again. 

“She did. Often.” Théo shrugged, making nothing of it. “Every other week, maybe.” What could he say about her, the poor missing/dead girl? “She never sold. Only bought. Not cheaply, either, she’s always been choosy. Kept an eye on the stock, tended to pick from the newest items on display.” The ones other Fables simply couldn’t buy back before the deadline. The freshly lost, in other words. Sore spots. “Seemed especially fond of jewelry, bags, shoes... even if they didn’t suit her, really. More about the show than style, I think. Being seen. Provocative might be the best word.” That was, indeed, a word for it. A very civil one. 

“I imagine,” he mused, “that she might have made a few enemies, strutting around, wearing their things. But we've always been on fine terms - she's excellent business. I can’t say I know her at all beyond that, though.” Théo unlaced his fingers, tapped a couple on the countertop. “I could certainly let you take a look at my records, and my predecessor’s. If those would be of any assistance. That would be a great deal of reading, though, and I’d have to do some digging about...” he trailed off, not wanting to look suspiciously unhelpful. Not wanting the Sheriff to stick around any longer than he absolutely had to, either.  

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

[lechatcameback]

cpt-jameshook‌:

Sometimes it was just too easy to needle people. Spend centuries around the same people, and it was impossible not to learn what made them tick, what was most like to bother them before anything else. He bore no ill-will to the cat, but that didn’t mean he got no enjoyment out of a few jabs here and there, just to be sure he still had it. Besides that, it was the nature of their relationship. “Self-pity doesn’t look good on you, really now.” Hook was fairly certain that the only thing worse than insulting what Theo brought, was insulting the way he looked. Again though, it fell into the familiar routine, and James so appreciated routines. 

It took considerable effort not to roll his eyes as Theo’s act went on. There was no point in trying to stop it, that would only make it more dramatic, in Hook’s experience. So he waited, as the cat hemmed and hawed back and forth, drawing out the conclusion of a price that he must have had in mind before he ever stepped in the door of the Crusty Lemon. 

“Eight hundred.” James repeated, rolling the number over his tongue like he was testing it. As if there was any chance that he would refuse it. He knew perfectly well what the tooth was worth, it wasn’t the first one that he had run across, and it was a fairer price than one might expect from anyone that acted as sly as this cat with his purring and slinking about. Besides that, James made it a point not to haggle with certain people, and Theo happened to fall into that slot. It wasn’t as though he had any shortage of money, either. “Cash?” He questioned, merely because he couldn’t agree so easily, even if he didn’t haggle. 

Self-pity. Really? A huff - he had to indulge the Captain that much, at least - and Théo sat back, petting his hair into place. As if it had strayed. Self-pity. Hardly. He sniffed, sipped his rum. “So very right. What was I thinking?” Much more your color, he didn’t add. Théo could keep his claws to himself. “We must allow each other the odd unfashionable mistake. Strangers in a strange land, and all that...” a sigh, half-sincere. Maybe less. Maybe more. Hard to say. But, back to the business at hand. Or hook, as the case may be.

“Perfect. And yes, cash, wonderful.” With a wide grin, Théo raised his glass to the deal. Quite pleased. A little something more to squirrel away for the next glamour. Never could know what the Queen would charge. He tossed the rest of his drink down, pondered the glass. Did he relish the thought of turning home, with a cold walk and a long night ahead? Not terribly. He wasn’t lonely. Of course not. Just - bored. Yes. Bored and bothered, what with all the goings on. The sight of that head, dripping oats. Would have raised his hackles, if he had any. Théo slid his tumbler toward the barkeep. "I don’t suppose you’d... join me for a round?” He asked, slowly. “Regale me with one of your sea stories, perhaps.”

Flotsam + Jetsam

[lechatcameback]

Books & Covers

@thcbeautywithin​

A cat could get very nearly anywhere; a cat in a human glamour, not so much. Théo could still remember settling into glamoured life, all gangling and graceless, so much bizarre body to arrange. Nearly so helpless as the runt kitten he’d been. He’d had centuries to work on it since then, to regain at least some degree of the feline elegance he was used to. Really, the whole charade was a necessary evil. But - well, he had to admit, it had its perks. Hands, proper hands, those were wondrous things. A little... disarmed, perhaps, from what he was used to. Better for opening his own wine. And turning pages. Even with that scrap of magic on his side, though, making thorough sense of letters had taken time and work. Beauty had made it easier. His first and only teacher in the subject, she’d been patient, considerate. Kind. Awfully kind. 

Now, years of lessons later, Puss was still stuck in Fabletown - but with a good book, he could slip away to just about anyplace he could imagine. Metaphorically, but. It would have to do. Stepping up to the untended library desk, Théo stacked a few new picks, a couple returns, and... a lovely, delicate glass bird, plumed in rich violets and flecked with gold. A present, perched next to the ledger. Satisfied, he rang the bell; that bright little jangle had hardly faded when Beauty strode into view, his very favorite librarian. (The only one in town, perhaps, but still. Even in the Homelands, he’d met more brooms than welcomes around these sorts of places.) Théo simply beamed. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he offered a smiling, sweeping bow, charms ever at the ready. “And how has the new year been treating you? So far. As lovely as you look, I can only hope.” 

[lechatcameback]

[lechatcameback]

sherffwolf‌:

Wolf could feel things slip through his fingers and he had no one to blame but himself. For his lack of control, for his anger, for his choices. He’d tried his best and it still hadn’t been enough, not when it came to earning the trust of those around him. So, instead of keeping part of his focus on that factor, he chose to all-in in the case of the missing Fable, Goldilocks. No one had heard of her going anywhere near The Lucky Pawn but, seeing as everything else seemed to be a dead end, he might as well try asking a few questions to someone that always seemed to know something. Whether it was just the way he spoke or the way he carried himself, Théo always seemed too knowledgeable for Wolf’s liking —- and that was the only reason for his distrust, not buying into the whole… canine and feline rivalry mundanes seem to use to justify everything. They didn’t have the best track record but most of their encounters were Wolf enforcing the laws that had been created for Fabletown, nothing less and nothing more. He was the Sheriff, after all, no matter how confusing his selection had been. 

“Théo,” the Sheriff greeted, looking around the shop. Although his healing abilities, just like any Fable’s, were far better than a mundane’s, there was still some evidence of a fight —- none that the Sheriff would acknowledge, “the shop seems to be holding up.” And that, in itself, was a mystery. Wolf had never been to the shop when there were any costumers around. Then again, he didn’t go there often enough to notice it.

Stopping in front of Théo, Wolf wanted to leave as soon as he had walked in. “Got the glamour situation handled?” The Sheriff asked, knowing that, of all the Fables, Théo was the less problematic one when it comes to keeping himself up to date with the whole glamour situation. That wasn’t the question Wolf wanted to ask but, with how his days had been going, the last thing he wanted was to have another antagonistic interaction to his long collection.

As far as Théo was concerned, one of the wonders of Fabletown was this: how so many of those who’d come to call this place home could manage to recall hundreds of years, and more, of history, life learning, and even arcane understanding, and yet, so few of them had any sense of how to hold a civil conversation. Seems to be holding up. Perhaps the Pawn was somewhat cramped, yes, a bit worn around the edges. But he’d acquired it that way, and done his best. It was... well-aged, all things considered. And business was - there was business. Enough business. Holding up. Rude. Still, as small talk with the Big Bad Wolf went, this could be worse. So Théo simply nodded, and let it pass. “Oh, yes. As ever,” he replied, carefully. There. Well and good. 

Oh, but the Sheriff just had to stick his snout in the glamour issue, didn’t he? The same blasted thing that had brought about their many more unfortunate meetings in the past. That smirk stayed put - like all cats, Théo had a masterful poker face. “Thoroughly.” The answer had some teeth to it. Sharp ones. 

Théo cocked his head, raised a brow. “You’re welcome to inspect it, if you have any reason to suspect otherwise. Though, given that you don’t...” A flat statement. There’d have been no reports to the Sheriff’s office. There was no reason, none - he couldn’t recall the last time he’d so much as stepped outside his apartment without his glamour perfectly in place. And there’d been no mishaps. Had there? Théo ran a hand through his hair again, calm. Very calm. “So. To what, in fact, do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

[lechatcameback]

There - ready to go. One more down. Théo set aside another package, to be delivered out in the morning with the rest. Sitting back, he picked at what was left of a very late dinner of thyme-roasted rabbit. Most of Fabletown wasn’t so nocturnal in nature, though the cat certainly wasn’t the only one around who kept a peculiar schedule. Those who did, they knew there was a chance The Lucky Pawn’s door would be open even after the hours posted on the wall. Just a chance, though. Théo did have his own affairs to attend to. Not tonight, though; just an evening of packing orders. A quiet one.

Or perhaps not. There was that jingle, at the door. Théo swiveled, ears pricked. Who could it be? Ah - Peter. Fast fingered, that one. Full of trouble. And lucrative business opportunities. “Did you, now? How thoughtful.” He licked his fingers clean, washed up in the workshop sink, and circled around to meet the other Fable. Trouble, yes. But only if anyone got caught. They’d both spent a few lifetimes avoiding that sort of thing, and fairly neatly, hadn’t they? Perching his elbows on his side of the counter, Théo wove his fingers together, sat his chin there, and let those dark eyes slide from Peter to the bag. “Consider my curiosity piqued.” 

 ~ It was that time of night again, lurking around Fabletown wearing all black and his hood covering his face. Uncertain where the boys had gotten too but they were not at the Lost Boys hang out -he hoped they weren’t being lazy and were trying to make some money but he doubted it very much. Instead, he’ll end up in a cell for breaking in and entering and stealing high-value ornaments which he knows wouldn’t be missed by the house occupants but again no deputy could catch him. 

Staring down at his shoes, watching the pavement move under his feet to make sure he doesn’t trip on himself. Backpack full of small things he takes from homes without them being noticed as missing. Arriving at Lucky Pawn within the time frame that he always promised to be when in need of money -not for himself but his friends, lately he left like he was being used by them but hey they’re his friends, right? Pushing the door open, the wood hits the little bell above the door to signal someone was entering the storefront. “Théo, I come bearing gifts.” Slowly taking his backpack off his back and waiting for the cat to come out. @lechatcameback

[lechatcameback]

[lechatcameback]

cpt-jameshook‌:

There was much of Hook’s life that had fallen into routine, mostly a result of his own efforts. Most of those inhabiting the town seemed determined to see change in their life, be different from who they were before, but James had always been the type to be happy with a rut. He found them quite comfortable, and he had settled into one in this particular setting as well. The predictability of the exchange was a comforting reminder that not everything had to be a dramatic mess, but that was mostly thanks to Peter. 

“I’m sure I could call up an occasion or two when it was not.” Doubtful, in all honestly. Theo was excellent at finding the sort of pieces Hook would actually be interested in, things with a touch of nostalgia, or bits that would fit in well with the eclectic clutter of the Crusty Lemon. There were a few priceless things hanging on the walls, only going unnoticed because of the presence of so much worthless shite beside it. In any case, he had gotten the idea fairly quickly that Theo enjoyed their exchanges because of more than just selling something. The cat was drawn to ideas, not just people, and Hook had done his best not to let on that he noticed. 

“I’ve heard the story.” He replied, as stingy with his words as Theo was generous. Hook had never been a many of many words, he felt the gave too much away. With more care than one might expect from a man with one hand, Hook gathered the piece up, using the discarded wrapping to hold it. It was a remarkable piece, the equal of which he had never seen. Someone had taken their time to create it, with a healthy helping of skill. He turned it, carefully, taking his time to inspect every crevice and ignoring a call to refill a drink. “Impressive,” he finally said, setting it back on the bar. His hook tapped against the wooden top beside the piece. “I assume you’ll do your best to clean me out when it comes to the price.” 

An occasion or two? Goodness. “Captain,” Théo protested, mock-wounded, sliding one of those too-many fingers around the lip of his glass. “Well, next time I bore you, do let me know.” Not that he believed Hook, for a moment. The man had never failed to snap at the bait Théo brought around, never shown him the door. Still, for the sake of the Captain’s reputation, and the cash value of his good graces, the cat would play along. 

Impressive. The appreciation, in those keen eyes. The delicacy, as he turned and tilted it. There, yes. The snap. Théo tried not to smirk too broadly, and sighed, as if pained at just the thought of charging him. Such a dear friend. “I do have a business to run, I’m afraid...” There were mundys, enthusiasts, who’d pay plenty for this sort of thing. But they were harder to find. You had to fret about shipping, things being lost, or damaged. Or unearthing some sort of magical quirk, hidden in your merchandise. Which would mean vastly more trouble out there, in mundane hands, than it would right here in Fabletown. Théo might be a gambler, but he was no fool; he weighed (and weighted) the odds, studied the tells, counted the cards. He had Hook, line and sinker, as the saying goes; pushing too hard, now? Not a good bet. The Captain had his own business, after all. They understood each other. So their little story went - and it wasn’t a total fiction. They’d had a few centuries, after all. “Eight hundred would be quite the bargain,” he purred, with a sip of that rum. “Don’t you think?” 

Flotsam + Jetsam

[lechatcameback]

In the rolling hills and soaring castles of his Homeland, Puss had purred his way into regal company on the regular. The rich and powerful of Fabletown were, ultimately, cut from the same cloth. Well, silk and mink, as it were. He knew them, their types. And so, whenever he visited the Queen of Hearts, he did as he’d always done, when visiting with royalty: brought presents. It seemed to have worked out wonderfully fine, so far. Théo had slipped through Allure’s doors precisely on time, smiling at the sales clerk, a full bouquet in crisp, richly red paper sheltered in the crook of his arm. This was a centuries-old routine, now. The top-up. At the telltale click of her majesty’s heels, he turned, beamed, and bowed. Excellently. He’d had plenty of practice. It would be unwise - which Théo was not - to note that cats, in fact, were dragged nowhere; leave that to things that enjoyed being kept on leashes. But. Didn’t she have his, tightly in hand? A leash as long as her glamours lasted, and remained affordable. So he smiled, graciously. “Your highness, please.” Théo presented those roses with a little flourish. They truly were beautiful - special order, of course. The velvety white petals bled to a rich scarlet at the edges, curling and nodding against starry sprigs of jasmine, warmly sweet to smell. "Drag. As if I don’t look forward to our appointments." Not a lie. Not entirely, purely true, perhaps - but what was, even in fairy tales? 

STARTER FOR: @lechatcameback

She didn’t have to answer the phones nor sit down to discuss a price unless there was an issue but the Queen ran Allure like she had ruled Wonderland, with both hands on the wheel. Her schedule was always full, if it wasn’t new appointments it was those booked weeks ago for the fables who needed a refill. And then there was the desperate, rushed phone calls from the ones who had gotten a faulty glamour. All were things her employees could deal with but she always had to be in control. Besides, she enjoyed the desperate pleads and sob stories from the room next to her office. Her very own fairytales.

Her eyes flickered to the computer screen, waiting for her next customer. It wasn’t a sob story though she was still deciding on how it would end. It was the beauty of power, wasn’t it? To have the choice, to be the one who decides. She slid out of the chair when she saw the man enter the store and made her way out to the front. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she mused while she made herself comfortable leaning on the door frame. “Well, I suppose you dragged yourself in but where’s the fun in that?”

[lechatcameback]

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

@sherffwolf​

It wasn’t as if Théo had ever aspired to owning such an... establishment, as The Lucky Pawn. Oh, no. Hardly. But the opportunity had knocked - in the form of the place’s former owner, an odious Fable who’d enjoyed stopping by the Farm to brag, gamble with whoever could hold cards, and, fortunately, drink himself reckless. What harm could come, the fellow might as well have said; he was only betting with dumb animals, after all. 

As it turned out, some animals were dumber than others, and a few rounds of Papa Bear’s moonshine had done the Pawn’s owner no favors. Puss, though? He was never one to let a favor slip through his paws. And so he’d sunk his claws into his winnings (and the loser’s face, when the man’s whinging started to get a touch too belligerent for Puss’s liking) and made his way to Fabletown. Not for the first time. Not by far. He’d been doing his damnedest to leave the Farm behind since the day they dropped him there - they, the so-called Mayor’s office, those Fables who had the cash-clout and presumptuousness to attempt to run this little pantomime show of a society. Though, of course, he’d never been brought before old Cole and the rest. A straying cat? They had people for that sort of thing, the dirty work, here as in the Homelands. Most of all, they had the wolf. That one. Of legends big and bad. Their sheriff.

His only customer, at present.

The shop’s many benefits included a distinct lack of holiday rush, so Théo’s ears had perked at the jangle of the bell, and he’d peered out of the back room, roused from his dusting, to find Wolf strolling along past the cases. Putain. Thankfully, his glamour had no hackles to raise. So he smoothed his hair - already impeccable, but a gentle pet could be soothing - and drew a pleasant smile on, then slunk forth. “Ah, Sheriff,” he began, so very politely. Keeping the counter between them. “How might I be of assistance, this lovely day?” 

[lechatcameback]

Anyone who believes what a cat tells him deserves all he gets.

Neil Gaiman

[lechatcameback]

cpt-jameshook‌:

It was always both a good and bothersome thing to see the cat leaning against his bar. James knew what to expect, which he liked. Theo usually came bearing gifts from the sea of some sort, which he liked. Theo also usually came bearing a smug slyness, which James did not often care for, though it was still better than many of the inhabitants of Fabletown. At least the cat knew enough about when to keep his mouth shut and not tell stories, which he liked. 

Tonight found him behind the bar in an especially sour mood; he didn’t usually work behind it, but the usual help for the night had bailed out, leaving James as the only option. He knew the work, at least, well enough to do a passable job. It was a quiet night at least, leaving him free to pull his focus over to Theo instead of his work, once he fixed up a regular drink. He slid the glass down the bar, leaning slightly on the opposite side and looking every bit as tall and bulky as the cat did lean and graceful. Hook had never really acquired land legs after retiring from the sea, no matter how many centuries he spent on dirt instead of wood and water. 

James eye the package, aware of the type of thing that was likely in it, but unsure of the actual contents. He could be sure that it was something of interest, or it wouldn’t be sitting on his bar, but he would wait and see. Patience had always been one of his greatest strengths; he’d always had all the time in the world. “A few moments, aye, but only that.” It wasn’t that he had much else to do, but his patience did not extend to small talk or drawn out conversations. Besides that, appear to friendly and his reputation might suffer for it. “This had best be something worthwhile.” 

By your leave, Captain. Théo’s smile curled wider as he caught that tumbler and raised his drink. Some things never changed; Hook’s, well, salty facade, and his excellent rum selection. With an appreciative sniff, then a sip, Théo gave his present a loving pet. Worthwhile? “Isn’t it always?” He didn’t wait for an answer; a rhetorical question, of course. Théo could be wonderfully generous with his time, his words - with most things, really. When the situation called for it. Then, and only then. He wasn’t about to waste himself on those people who wouldn’t appreciate it, on projects likely to go nowhere. Hook had proven to be neither. He had a business, money. A name, a feared one. Both served Théo’s interests. So, he wasn’t about to lose the Captain’s. Setting that glass aside he began to unwrap his little gift, rolling out the story as he pulled aside careful layers of paper and cotton.  “Well. This may, or may very well not, have belonged to Il Terribile Pescecane - the Attila of fish and fishermen, so the story goes. At least in his own Homeland, there are so many seas, as you know much better than I... but, I feel a little mystery as to the provenance of the piece does nothing to diminish its charms.” 

Drawing back a last bit of wrapping, Théo revealed... a tooth, mounted on an iron base. The thing was nearly a foot from point to end, richly yellowed with age - and intricately carved, a work of that old art those sailing folk called scrimshaw. “Please, feel free to inspect it. So many details. Masterful work, really,” he nudged the artifact and its neat nest of padding to the Captain’s side of the bar, then took up his rum again, savoring it. “Take as long as you like.”  

Flotsam + Jetsam

[lechatcameback]

[lechatcameback]

Flotsam + Jetsam

@cpt-jameshook​

The terrible Captain Hook, master of the Jolly Roger, scourge of Neverland. Quite a story. Not an unpopular one, either, so far as Théo could see. Had a starring role in that saccharine little film, and a persistent play. Not that either were true to life. (Or whatever it was they had, as Fables.) But that hardly mattered; believing, even with a few details out of place, was believing. And when it came to belief, even the richest Fable was a beggar, not a chooser. It wasn’t as if any of them could walk about making new stories for themselves, not here. There were no giants to slay, no kingdoms to conquer, no dragon hoards to steal. Just Fabletown. In Fabletown, New York, James Hook was the master of The Crusty Lemon and not much more. 

Still, somehow, he’d managed to keep that fearsome reputation sailing. All it took was a glare, the shine of the barlights along that nasty hook. Very intimidating. Only, Théo knew better - than to cause trouble, or believe any story or show so easily. He’d had a glimpse of what was lurking around in the Captain’s depths the first time Hook passed through The Lucky Pawn. James had found his way through all the trinkets and odds to a ship’s bell, all lovely, gleaming brass and salt-soaked wood. There, there, breaking the surface for just a moment: only a man. A lonely, miserable one at that. What was a captain without a crew or a ship to his name? Conveniently for Théo, James was willing to pay, and well, for the privilege of revisiting those days long lost. This little arrangement of theirs - Hook getting first look at any nautical curios abandoned to The Lucky Pawn - had stood for centuries, now. While The Crusty Lemon was far from Théo’s usual cup of tea, or rum as the case might be, he’d become fondly familiar of the place. As close as he’d come to being a cabin cat. Sidling silently up to the bar, Théo took an elegant lean on the counter, reaching into the soft leather satchel at his side. “Evening, Captain. Might I trouble you for my usual, and...” he set a neatly wrapped package on the scarred hardwood, as mysterious as that feline smile. "A few moments of your time?”