Eshek trotted along excitedly at Bermondsey’s side, looking about at the city as they made their way down the dark sidewalk. They were practically the same height, looking like the most mismatched pair in the world - her, unhinged and upbeat, him stalking along sourly. She was in a wonderful mood and the city took on a more appealing light - maybe it wasn’t so ugly after all; maybe she could grow to love it. Her eyes were bright, there was a spring in her step and a self-gratifying smile on her face - anyone who knew Eshek would have known this night was definitely going to be disastrous, in the most explosively brilliant kind of way.

“Oh, no, Ber, you’re absolutely going to regret this!” She purred, dragging her eyes away from the dilapidated building rising beside her to give Bermondsey a pure, cheerful smile. She suddenly leapt clean over him to walk on his other side, close to the wall, as they neared the rusted door to the warehouse. The muffled thud of music from the stereo system Esh, with all her connections, had somehow acquired seeped out of it, making the sidewalk tremble underpaw. “That’s the whole point! If you haven’t made three cats you have no intention of ever seeing again fall in love with you, made out with me, and thrown up in some corner by the end of the night, I’m a failure of a mentor and you can have all your money back.” What was money? Don’t ask questions. Eshek knew things.

She also knew how to throw the world’s greatest party, and everyone knows said world’s greatest parties always take place in the scungiest places it’s possible to find. “Now unscrunch your nose and be the pretty boy I know you can be under all that,” she turned back and paused, gesturing vaguely with one paw for a long, sneering moment, “… that. Now!” Eshek drew aside the heavy metal door with both paws; immediately, ear-splitting electro swing blared out onto the street. Rainbow lights - operated by alley strays, clinging precariously to metal railings on the roof, Esh had persuaded to do the job all night with classy smiles and not at all threats of agonising torture should they disappoint her; she’d spent the whole day beforehand trotting through the city, recruiting cats who’d do anything for a scrap of payment - flashed across the sidewalk. Inside the warehouse, countless cats - League, rogues, no doubt a smattering of Clanners - were having the times of their lives and losing their minds. She’d done more work for this party than she’d done in her whole time as proxy.

Would it be the funniest sight for some twolegs to walk in on a hundred cats having a rave? You bet your ass it would. But they won’t, because this part of town, I have decided, is abandoned. Now stop asking inane questions.

The Siamese she-cat turned back to Bermondsey with a smug, manic grin. “Let’s begin.”

woof biyuu ☆彡 sunlight @ian ѕнαdow✩ Honeystorm ashestoashes  seeker  bauble anyone and everyone!!! come party and flirt with bermondsey. content will be more or less pg and anything else just hinted at c:

Saden-kun knew he wasn't supposed to be here, but perhaps he could get the possibility to get some trading options open for him. At the very least he would be walking out with some nice valuables at the end of the night. He was here for business himself, but if he happened to have some fun...well he was only a trainee after all. The sights, sounds, and smells were overpowering but he pressed on for the sake of wanting to get something done. He was unaware of the fact that the warden would be here...or could easily spot him from where he was at.

Finnbar-kun on the other hand was here to have a good time. Even when he was leader of the Lost Boys they from time to time had parties of their own. He had talked to the others hoping they would come but if they couldn't make it then it was fine. They could always do a small party for themselves later. What he wanted was to have fun, let lose, flirt with some cats, and hopefully have the time of his life.

The tom had thought about this carefully before coming in. It's one thing to be caught by the warden...but any other cat...
Saden-kun remained cool...calm. "You're right and no children are here last I checked. My apologies but you seemed to be assuming that I am the kid. Bold of you to assume but then you seem to be a bold individual in general. Alas no, I am but cursed with being small...looking much younger than what I am. Could be worse though, I have a cousin who forever looks a kit but also acts like a kit. Got injured badly while young poor lad. But anyway the music beckons me and I must be off. With that I give fare well." He gave a small curteous bow before quickly attempting to disappear into the crowds. He had hoped his persona he puts on as a merchant trader would save the day. Most, but not all of the time, he was able to get away with it. He was determined to stay...that is if he bluffed his did saved his tail and didn't get caught by Bermondsey.

Letting go? He didn't really know what that meant; everything was overstimulating. To think he could be in a space where he didn't have to be who he was, upholding this reputation he was given...it was tempting almost. To just let go. To pretend he wasn't Bermondsey, he wasn't the warden or some strict reputation he had started to build...then suddenly, he spotted a familiar face. The ghost-white she-cat...what was her name again? Reynardine? He had yet to speak to her, but he had heard a couple of things...and gods, he knew there was a need eventually, to speak with her, to see if she knew exactly how they were related, but that was not something he wanted to get involved in.

Bermondsey now felt...extremely awkward in this place. Gods, was he really agreeing to this? Agreeing to letting everyone see how utterly awkward he felt in all of this? He cleared his throat, straightening up. He couldn't let go, not on his own. That was just not something he was capable with.

"This is giving me a headache," he complained, "I don't think I'm made for this, you know. Maybe you go have fun...you know, do whatever, but I think I'm going to take a seat for a second." He moved away, before spotting a younger cat, one that didn't seem to belong here.

"Saden-kun, right?" he snorted. He knew he should be annoyed that some kid was around, and he had half a mind to give Eshek that dirty look; was she really bringing trainees and kits into this too? Ugh, he didn't have it in him to yell. "You know, I should probably throw you out," he grumbled, "but if you find a way to stop my bloody headache, I'll let you stay." He wondered if his niece was around, or any of the other proxies; he didn't know whether they were the type to find these things fun or the type who thought themselves too good for things like this.

Verne was just there, melting from the sea of anonymous faces, suddenly leaning against Bermondsey’s slim shoulder, knocking him a step sideways. “Woah, no way, it’s the Warden dude!~” her tone was a jubilant slur. “And the Mage too? And kids??? Yooooo, this party’s crazy!”

It didn’t matter where she’d come from or who she was here with (her sister was nowhere in sight), and that she didn’t know even a single one of these cats. She was attracted to buzzkills like a wolf to fear, and Bermondsey just reeked of lame. Whatever these strangers were planning on doing to him, she was certain it was going to be epic.

“W-why are you guys just standing around talking? You don’t t-talk at parties, you dance!” She started working her shoulders into a little jig (while still practically hanging off poor Bermondsey), when she noticed the little package one of the kids had dropped. Her face warped into a devilish smirk, eyeing the Warden, whose face she was no more than a paw-length from. “You should totally eat that.” Even under all the chemical euphoria, there was nothing more exciting to Verne than a challenge — even challenges she projected on others. She looked for them everywhere and in everything, whether harmless or hazardous. Anything that would inject more adventure into her world.

Esh had disappeared into the crowd. At first, she’d listened to Saden-kun’s highfalutin vocabulary and adorable attempt at deception with a grin that just grew and grew, nodding along - she didn’t care, she wasn’t the host, she just arranged the party and then threw responsibility for it to the wind, so what if a bunch of kids wanted to melt their faces off, go nuts (‘go get wasted, and if you tell your parents I said that I’ll kill you in your sleep and then them’, was what she was about to say); then Reynardine - hot, hot Reynardine - had talked to her like it wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing and she’d, without looking at him, snatched her paw out and roughly grabbed the trainee’s tail when he attempted to vanish into the crowd, staring giddily, fawningly, at the she-cat for a long few seconds like she was waiting for a sign that this was the right thing to do - she hadn’t spoken to a she-cat in so long, and this one was disapproving, and she wanted so terribly to impress her. Then Bermondsey had slunk into the conversation beneath the swirling lights, looking queasy, and she’d considered the matter handled. The white she-cat was too good for her - maybe Bermondsey would be better suited to her.

Now, she reappeared. “I’m here, Ber,” she promised him gently, swooping in to let him lean against her. “What did you give him, you kleptomaniac idiot?” she hissed over her shoulder at the trainee, but he was already slipping into the crowd; her eyes shifted to Verne, but the she-cat was just grinning like the devil. Eshek turned back and stretched out her muzzle to sniff Bermondsey’s breath; she immediately recoiled with a sneer. “God, you’re such a fresher,” she muttered, but it was far more soft and worried than reproachful. Eshek was a bit tweaked out already - and was trying very hard to hold on to the joy of the party instead of crumpling in on the grief of not being able to do this with Funk anymore - but she was far more experienced than Bermondsey. “C’mon. Loser.” She stooped in passing to snatch up more of whatever Ber had taken in her jaws, not swallowing it just yet.

With the party raging around them and music blaring off the walls, Eshek guided Ber - getting heavier and heavier with every step - to a corner of the warehouse piled high with plush, red velvet cushions. If Verne or anyone was following, in the hope of more questionable herbs or just to stir up crap, she ignored them for now. She lowered herself slightly, easing Bermondsey down. "Okay,” she told him, crouching down in front of him with the twisting, nauseating lights flashing behind her; only her silhouette was truly visible, her slashed ears lit up. Her voice was reassuring and comforting, despite the dubiousness of what she was doing; she cared about this idiot. “Breathe for a sec, you’re not gonna die, you’re fine, I won’t leave you - and then,” she pushed the herbs towards him with one paw, “take more.” Her face split into a grin, her eyes flashing white under the lights. Sitting back up, she leaned forward and gave Ber a reassuring lick on the forehead. “You’ll get the giggles soon, and then everything will get a lot more fun. I promise. I’ll take care of you. Even if it totally ruins my street cred.” Without waiting another second, she scooped up one of the leafy stems with her claws and popped them in her mouth, grinning down at Bermondsey with a waggle of her brows. “Your turn, ribs.”

The world was spinning for a moment, and suddenly, clarity seemed to slam him right in the face and gods, what was going on? He could feel his body tingling, his paws light as a feather, and suddenly he felt like if he didn't hold on tight enough, surely he'd fly into the sky. The sound of the music didn't sound like a cacophony of noise, and the sudden breeze felt like a wind ready to push him into the sky.

"I feel like a bird," he gasped, widened eyes staring at Eshek, his pupils dilated completely. Where was he right now? Pillows? Why were they so comfortable? He took one leap and bounced into the soft plush, engulfed by the velvet with a squeak of surprise. "Wow these are amazing!!! Why am I being eaten by these red things!!!!"

"What do you mean I'm like a cat?" he demanded with a pout, "I am a cat! And you're crazy!" He slapped a paw into Eshek's face clumsily, as if pushing her little kissy-face away from him with a pout that, if anyone brought this up afterwards, Bermondsey would deny with the fiercest expression on his face possible, "I'm not cute!!! I'm fierce!!! I'm a killer!!!"

He tried to get up but it was like he was swimming in these pillows, and at this point, he was just digging himself into a bigger hole in this soft, fluffy, bundle of velvet.

(AGZOWHAOXBPQBDLAA SCREAMING) 

I’m fierce!!! I’m a killer!!! Eshek sobbed freely, cradling Bermondsey’s head against her chest. “You’re so cu-u-u-u-u-ute,” she wept, genuine tears pouring from her eyes and wetting Bermondsey’s fur. “I want to put a little bow between your ears and rename you Mr. Mittens. Your cute little ears… Little meow meow. Meow for me, Bermondsey.”

Then, suddenly, some random chick started to float over their heads, rising higher and higher into the air until she was backlit by the spinning disco ball. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to Eshek. She gaped up at her in tearful awe, still gasping for breath from her sobbing, tears collecting on her cheeks. She looked like she was gazing up at Christ reborn, her face that of a doubter who had just been transformed into a true believer. Verne was a miracle. She was a… god. When Verne finished her speech - Indeed: we are cats! - Eshek burst into tears, nodding along. “I’ve always felt it,” she wept, “I just never wanted to say.”

Tears that, like a record screeching to a stop, suddenly stopped mid-flow, her expression switching back in a split second. “Bermondsey’s not the Warden,” she told the she-cat, looking down at the soft grey tom still cradled by force against her, like a little baby with vicious teeth and claws and a history of family madness. “He’s literally just some guy I found on the street. Can you,” still looking down at Ber, she suddenly burst out laughing - which, with tears still on her cheeks and her blue eyes bloodshot, made her look utterly deranged, “can you imagine if you were important?” She looked back up at Verne, her eyes bleary and unfocused, struggling to pick the she-cat out amongst all the flashing rainbow lights, and rolling in her skull a little - it was a party trick she hadn’t used in a long while, and that, at that moment, she wasn’t doing on purpose. “Sorry, toots. You got the wrong twink. Now come cuddle and tell me what it’s like to be a god. Do you know the Sun God? I hear my step-son had something to do with him being destroyed, or else he used his religious fanatics to gain power or something. Must run in the family. God, Funk was voracious.” She let out the kind of hungry laugh you never want to hear a drunk widow laugh at a party, one that means she’s about to launch into details about her and her late husband’s intimate personal life that will leave all the children and repressed adults scarred and swearing to celibacy.

Suddenly she swayed and fell backwards against the cushions, cutting off her story before it could begin. She dragged Bermondsey with her, so that they were now both lying on their backs with Esh’s forelegs wrapped languidly around Ber and Ber’s weight atop her. “Well, this is nice,” she slurred. Snuggling down more into the velvet sea, Eshek rested her chin between Bermondsey’s ears and wandered her eyes about the party, all imperious and haughty and disdainful, like they were holding court above everyone else in the room. “Soon they’ll be getting the guillotine out,” she growled quietly, becoming, as queen of the party, suddenly paranoid. Her shaking paws prickled their claws against Bermondsey’s shoulders. “All I do for them - religious reforms, lower taxes, reduced compulsory military service... and for what? They still howl for my head.”