Endra'aal wasn't exactly what Abby pictured when she thought of a tavern in a land full of large talking cats. But then again, none of this was what Abby had pictured for herself, the day after her thirteenth birthday. The tavern was the size of Mandarren Square. The black stone Abby had been so uneasy around was polished and refined into bricks that made up the walls. Doors twice Abby's height and almost three times as wide, were thrown open as they approached. Another Wanesguard in black armor and horned helm stood at the entrance, surprise, and curiosity written on his face.

"Delhen Petrious," he said, thrusting his right arm into his chest. It made a loud thud as it connected with his breastplate. "Eligan," he added, though not nearly as enthused.

Eligan nodded briefly at this newer guard and pushed past Abby and into the tavern.

"What have you found?" the curious soldier asked. He obviously meant Abby and Margo. He hadn't once looked at the other cloaked cat-men.

"Ratta in the woods," he said. "Studying."

"Herbs," Margo added.

The soldier, who seemed a lot younger, a lot less sharp than his commanding officer, nodded. "To help this ratta gain her color," he said, nodding at Abby. "I've never seen one so pale before."

Abby found herself looking down at her bare arms, her bare legs. She had been one of the tannest children she knew. Everyone else was too busy being rich and lazy and too good for summer sun and fresh air.

"It's a pigment deficiency," Margo said. "One I hope to cure with your blight thistle."

The cat-man nodded with every word Margo said as if he agreed with her bogus assessment and remedy.

What a strange, cat. If he were smaller, and without all the armor, he'd be almost cute.

"Enough chit chat, Yawn," Petrious said, "Let us inside."

Yawn straightened up and nodded. "Yes, sir." He gave the commander another salute before taking his place to the right.

Her view unobstructed, Abby got her first real glimpse at an Aelurian tavern and to her surprise, it looked as though it didn't serve milk. 

It was jam packed full of Aelurians though, crammed in wide-backed benches from end-to-end like salted Jacquer fish in a can. Cat-women wore skirts, long and flowy, with wide bell sleeves that fell just below the ankle. Every cat seemed to tote a different fur color; some where white as snow, others a burnt umber, while others still had similar shading to that of large clumps of dust.

Then their were others who sported an array of colors in patches down their backs and across their faces. And the patterns! Striped, spotted. Abby even saw a tortoise patterned Aelurian, eight feet tall, who had two others help walk him to the bar.

Given what Abby had learned about Aelurians, from her brief encounter with Eligan and Petrious, she thought she'd stand in the middle of a sea of scowling faces while growls and grumbles accosted her ears. To her surprise, not every Aelurian here seemed as dangerous as the two Wanesguard. Quite the contrary, actually. Most of them laughed and smiled as they threw back large pails of a smoking black sludge. 

It was no different then the pubs in Laos where people went to relax after work and spend a few hours catching up with friends. Maybe Aelurians weren't much different. Maybe under all the fur and teeth and muscle, they were made of the same stuff, carrying the same burdens and seeking the same escapes. One of which came in the form of a large creaking tavern that smelled of musk and cat dander. 

A sharp growl echoed through the room, as a rather bony cat-man with dark brown fur hissed at her. He winced, his face scrunching up like wrinkled cloth, and hissed at her again. Then he pointed.

Abby followed his fingers and saw underneath her shoe, was a dark brown tail. She yelped as she realized she'd stepped on the poor thing's tail.

"I'm- I'm so sorry," she stammered out, stepping back quickly to release the tail. The cat-man's face relaxed as she did, and his tail curled up around him.

"It's all right, little one. Tail stomping happens to the best of us, let alone one so tiny and frail. The fact that you apologized, and meant it, that's good enough for me."

Abby released her breath. She was glad she hadn't offended this creature, not because he could easily snap her in two, but because she had felt genuinely bad. 

When she'd been younger, she'd pulled on Sebbi's tail. He'd hissed at her, swatted at her, held that same hurt look on his face as this cat-man. A cat's tail, she realized now, was quite important to the cat. She'd have to remember that as she moved through this tavern considering almost every inch of buckling floor was littered with tails. Abby turned away and looked back at Margo. She was scanning the room, searching for something, or someone. Lucy and Margo were behind her, wrestling with a very pretty grey striped cat-woman who insisted on taking their cloaks and buying them a drink. Abby chuckled.

They're just like people. Some are scary and unpleasant, and some are quaint and sweet.

 In here, with the lively banter, the deep laughs, the clinking of stone mugs, and some strange sounding music, Abby felt like she was back in Louse, running through the streets, saying hi to Gardenia and Petunia as they insisted to a poor man that he should drink their wine. And then, a pang of heartache rippled through Abby's middle. Louse, loud, chaotic, fish smelly Louse. She missed the city. She wanted to go home.

Petrious' voice snapped Abby out of her thoughts. "Well, little ones, you're free to go. I've done what I said I would."

The large, stoic captain didn't have to push through the crowd. Rather they parted when they saw his helm, his shiny black armor, his sword.

"Do stay out of trouble," he added as he gave them one last glance, his lips curled upward. A smile, a threat. "I'll be watching."

He was gone as the crowd filled in the space behind him, but Abby could still feel him, feel his deep red eyes on them. She was certain he'd be watching them, but for what? She had no idea why they were here either.

As soon as the last of the Wanesguard was out of sight, Margo crumpled forward and exhaled. "Thank whiskers," she said. "One more second and I would have turned them both into toads."

"And why didn't you?" Sebbi growled. The cat-woman that had been bothering both him and Lucy had been taken off their hands by a more eager cat-man to have company. They sat at a little corner table, next to the window, claw in claw.

Margo huffed. "Magick's not as simple as that. You have to think about the cost." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny green stone on the end of a silver chain.

Abby looked closely at it and saw its color, the deep green that reminded her of emerald only went three-quarters of the way up the stone. The very top of it was clear.

Like sea glass, Abby thought.

Margo pocketed the stone and smiled. "Corner table," she said, pointing to a dimly lit portion of the room where a long wooden table extended from the wall. What looked like chairs surrounded the table. They looked like chairs but that was questionable. They didn't have the high backs and four legs as most chairs Abby had ever come across. Instead, they were carved of wood, polished until smooth. Similar to a bench but with no back, just raised sides on either end. How was she supposed to sit in something so odd, and so uncomfortable looking?

Abby followed the others as they pushed through Aelurian after Aelurian. Cat fur tickled her nose, dander falling like snowflakes onto her dress.

Thank the gods I'm not allergic.

Margo was the first to plop herself down around the table. She sat in the middle of the stone chair, and folded her legs, resting an elbow on one of the raised sides. Lucy and Sebbi sat straight-backed, thankful the chairs didn't have backs so their long tails could spread out and down along the floor. Abby stood there not quite sure how to continue.

"What do I do?" she asked.

Margo motioned for her to sit quickly. "Just do what every cat does. Claim a spot for yourself, and own it."

Abby, unsure how to take Margo's words, decided it would be best to follow the mouse-woman's example. She plopped down, folded her legs, grew increasingly aware of the fact she was in a dress with tattered tights, panicked, and then threw her legs over one of the chair's raised sides. She tried to make it look natural, purposeful, but she knew the smile she was wearing, was just a little too rigid to fool anyone. She grimaced and felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

Margo smiled. "How proper, sitting like that. Like you don't care at all." She leaned forward, "How very cat."

"Thank you," she said shyly. "I guess I had some good role models."

Lucy shook his head, though careful not to lose his hood. "Role model," he corrected. "Why if you followed his example," he pointed at Sebbi with a long finger, "you'd be out in the dirt, twigs in your butt, squashing beetles and chasing leaves."

Sebbi growled and smacked the finger away from his face. "If she followed your example, she'd never leave her vanity, preening over herself until she turned into a corpse."

Lucy smiled and looked at Abby. "And what a beautiful corpse it would be," he said.

Abby clenched her mouth tight. "Thank you," she said, though she wasn't sure she should be thanking him.

Margo shook her head. "I take it back, you're both idiots and Abby is not. She obviously didn't model her role after either of you. Guess maybe she just knows how to be cat-like."

A young grey striped Aelurian approached the table. She was shorter than some of the other guests, though still heads taller than Abby. Her left ear was a little crooked, as though it'd been bent and hadn't quite righted itself. Her fur was longer and fuller than some of the shorter haired creatures and what Abby noticed the most, what made her stare up at the cat with eyes of wonder, were the thick black eyelashes that fluttered like butterfly wings whenever she blinked. They were beautiful and suited her round face and soft grey-blue eyes.

"Can I get you all something to drink?" she said, her hands nervously playing with the frayed edges of a navy apron.

"Got any scrub?" Margo asked. The Aelurian smiled, her mouth curled up. Even her fangs were delicate and short.

"Fresh batch just in," she replied. "A bottle?" She looked toward Sebbi and Lucy. "Or maybe two for the large kits?"

Margo shook her head. "One's fine. Them two are failmakers."

The Aelurian crinkled her nose, making her whiskers bob up and down. "Ah, Ven'echni," she said and turned and walked away.

"Ven' ecci?" Abby asked.

"Ven' echni," Margo corrected. "One who goes against their nature. Aelurians aren't supposed to be academics. They're meant to be more," she looked Sebbi and Lucy up and down. "Well, look at them! They're like furry battering rams. They're warriors, or at least, that's what everyone thinks they should be. So failmakers are just that. Failures. As well as staunch believers that a sober mind leads to greatness." Margo shook her head. "Can't imagine that's fun. Being sober every time you catch a glimpse of that ugly mug in the mirror? Ugh."

Lucy rolled his eyes. "And why, oh insightful one, did you make us something so despised? Doesn't that make us more suspicious?"

"It would, if you were alone, or with other Aelurians but since you were caught with ratta, it was the only story that would make sense. Besides, that Delhen's still at the bar and I'm sure he's already seen our waitress' displeased expression. It'll only add credence to our story."

Lucy huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Still though, I would have preferred you made us something more glamorous and less hated."

"You are something more glamorous," Margo whispered, "And it'll get you killed. So be a good little failmaker, abstain from the drink, and try to look scholarly."

Lucy looked at Abby. "What's scholarly?" he asked.

Abby thought for a moment. Lucy had never gone with her to the seaside nursery when she'd been younger. And she'd never really had a formal education. She had her father, but he barely ever lectured her, and she had--

"It's like Mimi when she sat me down for hours and talked my ears raw. Remember?"

Abby tried to recall Mimi's posture and mimic it. She sat up, back straight as a board, finger in front of her face, wagging back and forth, cheeks puffed, lips pulled taut, eyebrows low over her eyes. "Like this."

Lucy followed suit, though he couldn't manage to lower his eyebrows considering he didn't have any. "This?"

Margo frowned. "That just makes you look more stupid."

Lucy quickly returned to normal, though he shot Margo a glare. "So," he began, "What are we doing here besides drinking, conversing, and consequently getting insulted?"

The Aelurian came back, a large glass jug between her heads. She hefted it onto the table the weight of which made the table wobble. 

Margo nodded her thanks as the cat-woman shot one last disapproving gaze at Lucy and Sebbi. Abby guessed the brothers looked scholarly enough considering the Aelurian didn't seem to have any trouble believing who they were. The jug the petite cat-woman had left on their table began to smoke. Abby watched it in awe as curls of smoke the size of arms slithered toward the sky. 

Curiosity taking the reigns,  Abby leaned forward to inspect the concoction further. Black water sloshed against the sides. Some sort of spiked leaf floated in the liquid. It reeked. Like rotting gizzard guts and burnt grass.

"And we're supposed to drink this?" she asked, pinching her nose. The stench was making her head swim. "How? Why? Goodness, it looks like rotting poison, Margo."

The mouse-woman took the jug, hefted it to her lips, and shot it back, dribbles of black liquid running down her throat. "It's Scrub," she said, as she ran a hand across her lips. "Cheap liquid scrubbed together from the bottom of other liquor barrels. It's easy to make, considering it's made from other already made alcohols, and perfect for the lazy. "Cats," she said, as she looked around the room. "Are nothing if not lazy."

Abby shook her head. "It doesn't appear like they're lazy at all," she said as she studied the room. At the table next to them, a group of five rust-colored cat-men sat around a table throwing wooden tokens on the counter, mugs of smoking scrub within reach. Claws outstretched, the cat-man with a tuft of fur along his chin that hung like a beard, took up the nearest chip. He turned it over, to the curiosity of the other four men, and eyes widened as they eyed a smear of red paint. The cat-man slammed the chip on the table and then his fist. His companions were a mix of smiles and laughter.

"Don't fret, Wynn," the cat-man on his left said. "You know Fy' aren's hard to win." He patted his downtrodden friend on the back.

Quickly, the other man slapped it away. "When a king cries for another king," the man spat.

"As they say," his companion agreed.

His snarl giving way to the tiniest smile, the other man concluded, "Then shall we play again? At this impossible to win game?"

The others nodded, gathered the chips, and began to shuffle them along the table. Abby returned her attention to Margo.

"Hey," she started, her voice low so as no wide-eared Wanesguard could overhear her, "What does that mean, 'when a king cries for another king?'"

"It's just a saying here, a way of saying it's impossible. Aelurians like their clans love their bloodlines above all else. Some claim royalty and these, what they call them, lesser kings, fight and kill each other for a glimpse of the throne. They'd never cry over one another. That would be a miracle no magick could perform."

Abby listened intently. Infighting, bloodshed, this was what she learned of the cat kingdom. And yet, here they were, sitting, chatting, while cat men and women danced and laughed and drank and sang. It wasn't all bad, though the bad parts did seem rather bad. Abby folded her hands across her lap, eyeing the smoking liquid.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

Margo lifted the jug and tilted it toward Abby. She shook her head. Lucy politely refused the drink while Sebbi's curious nature got the best of him, and he took a sip. The liquid curled his lips, dribbles of it running down his fur and onto his chest. He choked as he tried to swallow.

"It's like drinking gravel," he said as he wiped his lips off with the back of his hand.

Margo shrugged and taking the jug in her hands, took a gulp. Then another and another. Finally, she placed the jug back onto the table, its contents half gone, and gave the bewildered group a smile. Her pretty white teeth were now a deep charcoal.

"We're going to wait," Margo said.

Abbernathy Fun Fact 4: Abby's middle and last names have gone through a rewrite. Originally, she was named Abbernathy Eustice Celeste Tallis. Now, her name's a lot simpler though she hates it, and would probably kick me in the crotch if I revealed it to you. Just know that although she hates her name, she doesn't hate it as much as she had in the first draft.