The tension in this city is thick. It is as thick as peanut butter laced with honey, then hammed down into plate mail and cooled for a dozen empowering hours. It is that thick.
The fact that I may still say as much means we are still here, little diary. We remain in Rodentia. And I dare say we may have a plan - though it is a dangerous one indeed.
Though the city of Rodentia is not currently under attack, the province is under a state of alert. Rumours continue to glide through the barricades of the sloth's lingering presence, spread quickly by gossips who can do nothing under the state of emergency save plying their favoured trade. Apparently an entire contingent of war wagons was lost to the creature yesterday, their remains forming a sizable graveyard in the farmlands to the north. It is a formidable horror, the sloth.
I want one. Preferably a domesticated one. Logan had a werewolf; why should I not receive a sloth?
We are currently cloisted in the same smutty brothel where we took up residence yesterday. It appears that the man- and woman-whores who work here never bother to look in their attic; since they would find three hidden refugees and the occasional ninja, I am glad they are too busy working to explore.
By which I mean they are having sex.
Sex is most excellent for hiding noises, by the way. Perhaps I can hire a man-whore and a woman-whore to follow me around and provide cover. Is public lewdness against the law in this realm? I will have to consult a lawyer.
"This is stupid." The lesbian had decided to complain again. "We can't get in there. We can't! That blockade is too damned thick. Be better off trying to fly in at this rate. We should be fleeing for our lives before the fugging sloth gets here."
I peered around the narrow attic. My ninjas were out on patrol; Logan was off fetching food. I pointed at myself. "I suppose you are talking to me."
The lesbian scowled. "Yes, I'm talking to you."
"Does that mean you like me? Are we supposed to kiss?" I batted my eyelashes. "I think this is called 'seduction'."
The lesbian's scowl turned into a grimace, as though she'd eaten dog poo. "What is wrong with you, kid?"
"Many things." I let my mouth drop into the strangest smile I could muster, staring blankly up into the darkened rafters overhead. "Many... things..."
The lesbian threw her hands up. Grabbing a mothballed cushion, she flopped down onto her belly and curled her tail so she could pick at her scales. I continued staring at the rafters, hoping that would end the conversation.
(I am not a fan of being seduced. It happens too often, being as beautiful as I am.)
I held the charade a few minutes longer, determined to make a mockery of the seargent's belief that I am a terrible actor. Yet I could not hold my dreamy gaze for long, as the lesbian's determined picking at her tail caught my attention. Not because I am interested in her personal hygiene, but because of... reasons.
"Hey."
She ignored me.
I scuttled over beside her, gently poking her arm. "Hey."
She turned her head away, hmphing. She continued to pick at her tail.
"Hey." I poked her again, harder, more insistently, and repeatedly. "Hey hey hey hey hey."
"WHAT?" she eventually bellowed, smacking her tail against the floor. I'm glad the sounds of moans keep us covered, as that slam would've given us away anywhere else.
I peered at her hands. More specifically, at the little tool in her hands. "You have a scale file."
She held the small, dull blade up to the flickering light of a nearby candle. "Yep. I surely do. Good observation, kid. Want a medal?"
"Where did you get it?"
She went back to picking at her tail. I realized she'd been filing her scales. "A store. Where else?"
"But you didn't have it on you before. Where'd it come from?"
The lesbian sighed. Raising her serpentine nethers into full view, she prodded one section of her scales... and peeled them back. Behind them was a small hollow. "Not common knowledge. S'where half breeds keep their eggs while they're incubating. Good for smuggling. Keep your mouth shut 'bout it, yeah?"
What a curious biological development! "And you... can store... tools, inside there?"
She winked. "Handy for inside jobs. If you get the joke."
I did.
I also concocted a plan on the spot.
We now have a way into the palace.
I just... need to convince the lesbian that it is a good idea.
(Hint: It is.)
Sincerely, and with a genius that outstrips the most learned of scholars,
Celine the Magnificent
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