A Budding Poppy

The Lunaris Club was one of, if not the oldest gentlebat’s clubs in Little Nightsovania. The members, all nobles with long, proud lineages, often bragged that many of King MoonFang’s most important and influential decisions had been made in the parlours of The Lunaris Club. Whether or not this was true, those days were gone, and most of what went on in the club now, was noble gossip, political discussions, billiards, Welquine bets and the occasional business deal over a glass of blood wine. Things that the members would all most definitely insist were of very high importance.

It was in this club, full of languid, idle chit-chat, that a young bunbat, early in his 20s, was in the middle of a casual meeting with his coven, which was about to take a turn.

"This is the third time this month that some poor soul is kidnapped by the Guillotinetails... How does this keep happening?"

Percival was pacing impatiently back and forth across the floor. This was something he had found himself doing more and more, during the time he was spending with his covenmates. Some of them had begun to make joking remarks that he'd probably end up making a groove, and need to pay for new floorboards for the club, or that he'd need to start wearing hiking boots so he was properly prepared for those long walks he went on. Or other jokes of a similar nature.

Percival didn't find these remarks particularly funny but usually felt obligated to laugh either way, taking them as a sign that he had made the mood too gloomy for his friends' comfort.

There was no reason that today should've been any different. And yet, when Sir Gideon Ffrostfang grinned and asked if he had remembered to stretch before going on his long walk, Percival did not laugh. Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks and shot his friend an icy glare. This look, coming from such an otherwise placid and friendly bunbat, seemed to catch Gideon so off-guard, he nearly choked on the tea he had just taken a sip from.

"Ah, my apologies Percy," Sir Ffrostfang stammered, before quickly clearing his throat and regaining his composure, with a much more serious expression this time. "But... Well, 'tis quite simple why it keeps happening, is it not? It is not like much is being done to stop those Guillotinetail ruffians."

"Exactly!" Percy snapped. "Why is that?!"

"Well... What would you want done? Would you ask the Mahou Patrol to go to New Moon City?"

"Obviously not! Sink me, I would not expect, nor want a gaggle of adolecents to wander right into such a place..."

He shuddered at the thought, before resuming his pacing.

"But SOMETHING must be done! People being snatched away and never being seen again alive... Innocent blood spilt, lives lost in a darkness more bleak and tenebrous than any true night could dare to be, never to see their loved ones again, and with the last sensation they ever experience in this life full of beauty and wonder, being that of cold, unfeeling steel, seperating their head from their shoulders! Does the very thought not rile up storms of wrath in you, so tremendous they threaten to consume you, like it does in me?! You, my dearest of friends! I respect you more than anyone, and I would not be so insulting as to suggest that you care not for an injustice as cruel and deplorable as this one! Zounds, but does it not make YOUR blood boil in your very veins!? AND YET WE DO NOTHING!" Each of his own words added fuel to his simmering anger, turning it into an inferno of rage, so intense he felt like his chest might burst. Percy's voice had grown louder and louder until it ultimately reached its crescendo. He slammed his fists against a nearby table, with such force that the delicate teacups and saucers placed atop it rattled, threatening to topple over, and let out a final shout of: "DAMMIT!" his voice echoing against the walls of the room.

Percy kept his hands on the table, now using it to keep himself steady. His passionate outburst had left him lightheaded. His breathing was ragged and his vision was blurry. He needed a moment to wrestle his temper back under control again before he’d even consider continuing to speak. Being a bastion of self-discipline under normal circumstances, to claim that he did not feel the slightest bit of shame at having lost himself to his emotions like that, would not be entirely truthful. Having done so, not in front of anyone deserving of his rage, but in front of his coven, his dearest friends, certainly did not lessen that shame. He could not recall having lost his grip on his temper like that since he was a boy. Perhaps that was why it had been so intense. Perhaps in his efforts to keep up appearances and dim the flames of his more passionate emotions, he had merely let them smolder, until they became too much for even him to contain.

Nobody had dared to utter a word since Percy had finished his tirade, and all was quiet, except for his still unsteady breathing, and the muffled sounds of pleasant conversations had between other bunbats in different rooms of the club. There was no doubt that they would have heard that final swear he had shouted, and there was no doubt had they would have assumed that the foppish, dull Sir Percy had simply spilt a glass of blood wine on his best cravat. What else could have gotten him to scream like that?

With a heavy sigh, Percival finally broke the uncomfortable silence that hung in the room.

“We stand idly by… And I do not know if I can bear that much longer… Do you hear me…?”

Percy's voice trailed off, his usually good-humoured and lazy tone all but gone. Instead, he sounded weary, his words filled with a mix of desperation and vulnerability.

And so it was quiet again. He did not have the energy to say anything else. This time, the silence did not last for long, and Sir Gideon, feeling partially responsible for the state everything was in now, was the one to speak up. He put down his tea cup, and rose from his seat, before walking over next to his exhausted friend and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"... Percy, my dear chap..." His voice was quiet and cautious. "... You know the rest of us are as eager to see justice served as you, but... Lud, what do you suggest we do?"

"... I do not know..." Was the response. "... I... Am at a loss..." A mirthless chuckle escaped him. "... Sink me... 'Twould seem I am just as much of a witless fool as they say, what?"

His eyes had begun to properly focus again, and they landed on the ring he carried on his little finger, and the jewel that hid the symbol of the Scarletwing family behind it. And with that, a memory resurfaced. One of an old diary, which he had once found as a young boy, tucked away in the family library. Pages upon pages, recounting the exploits of one of his ancestors. Bold rescues, and daring escapes, all done in secret.

A smile began to spread on his face, as an idea began to form. A perfectly mad idea, he thought. But then again, what would one expect from an utter nincompoop, if not mad ideas?

Sir Ffrostfang, having sensed the sudden shift in his friend's mood, looked at him with curiosity, and perhaps still a bit of concern. "... Have you a plan?"

"Nay. Not quite," he laughed, straightening up so he stood at his full height again. "But give me a little longer, and I shall surely have it."

His blue eyes no longer had their usual lazy look, nor did they have the one of despair from mere moments ago. Instead, the passion that had burned behind them during his speech was present once more. But rather than being intimidating, now it was quite contagious.

He looked at his covenmates with a grin. "I cannot share my thoughts yet. Things must fall into place, and besides, this club is not apropriate for conversations that are too delicate to be overheard and gossiped about. But if you come to my study, at true night... Then I shall let you in on what goes on inside the mind of a foppish nitwit!"

He laughed that inane, irritating laugh of his, that often made the older members of the club cringe and scoff at him, but that his covenmates had grown quite fond of (as fond as one could grow of it, at least).

"La, but now I must go! I suddenly have much to do, and no time to waste!" He exclaimed, as he began to rush off in such a hurry he quite nearly forgot his cane in the haste. But before he left, he turned around by the door and looked at his covenmates, who all looked to be various degrees of eager and bewildered.

"Sink me! I nearly forgot the most important thing! The most important question. Gentlemen..." His voice lowered slightly, and his smile of excitement almost turned mischievous.

"... Do you trust me?"