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The barn and silo on the farm are a study in contrasts. The barn is as ancient and decrepit as things can get in a post WWII soviet farm town, all sagging wood and corroded corrugated metal. Whereas the silo, a product of post-Maidan reformism, has a German stamp on the side and holds the precious wheat the farm has produced in better keeping than the house does its human inhabitants. Climate and temperature controlled, strictly moisture and as pest free as modern science can manage.
It's in the barn that the rats have set up their shop, for at least as long as they'll need to build up the strength to return to Odessya itself. Should that be what's decided for them.
She went back to Philadelphia last night and spent time wandering around as an owl and then a fox. Today, she's wandering the farm as a rat, taking in acres upon acres approximately two inches above the ground. It's quite a workout, really, and she enjoys herself.
Much more than the hawk that swooped on her enjoyed itself, though when it wakes up half an hour after she knocks it out and the pair both fall from about six feet up, it'll be just fine. She sheds the wounds from its talons easily and gives up on being a rat for now, instead shifting into her most familiar non-human animal form. Thus it is a fox, golden-eyed and sleek, that noses its way in through the cracked barn door, eyes viewing all layers of reality.
Vasya got his third yield in early because of course he did. Meaning he's been free to help the older farmers get their crops in. Because of course he is. But this means that presently the barn is very much shut down and inactive, but also quite empty. He's ridden the old tractor several miles up the M37, thresher attached, to go help out. Which leaves much of the space in here simply unoccupied, but for a dusting of straw and clay mud.
But true to his word, Vasya has left a bag of feed open in the back corner of the room and field rodents scurry for the corners and dark edges when she enters the barn and disturbs their mixed banquet slash dating meetup. It doesn't really bother the rat spirits, however, who have been nibbling on the essence the rodents were giving off. So long as that bag is there, the field mice will return.
The four spirits stare at her in silence, still but for twitching noses.
She pads in, sniffs around the doorway, and then sits down and sniffs some more. Foxes have keen noses and Fox's nose is keener still than most vulpines, because of course it is. Why have a dull nose if you could have a nicer one? Obviously.
So it is that the fox settles herself before what looks for all the world like a rodent beit din plus one, wraps her tail around herself, and queries, "So."
The grammar isn't quite a query, really, but the tone of her voice makes it one. So what are your plans, then?
Three of the spirits go back to devouring the relatively abdundant essence still moting about while it's there to be easily dined upon. The fourth and larger of the group pads forward on its tiny little clawed feet and sniffs at the air in Fox's direction.
Same thing we do every night. Try and take over the world?
The rat has a sense of humor.
Can't go back. Not safe. Can't stay here. Not safe. So maybe up to Kyiv or hop a ship to Kherson or Mariupol.
A sense of humor and at least a passing knowledge of the memetic language of the 1990s: this is a good way to make Fox pleased with your presence, whether the rat knows it or not. The fox tips her head back and laughs, gold eyes glittering. "Narf," she deadpans, though the voice doesn't try to squeeze itself out of a vulpine voicebox, instead simply appearing in the air by means of Forces. Tricksy fox.
"Mmm," she agrees thoughtfully. "Is it just the four of you?" A beat, and she adds, "What should I call you?"
We are all that remains, the spokesrat answers, ducking its head in ratty anxiety posture. I have never been asked that question. I am a pure representation ofRattus Rattus, roof rat variety?Rattus Rattus Rattus* as we used to be reckoned. We're a very cosmopolitain and refined breed of rat. Which country rats dislike, as you have seen.
Anyway. Call me what you like, so long as you call me a proper rat. (edited)
She considers it for a moment, and leans forward, stretching upward and outward into her most common humanoid shape, one of the two Default States of Fox. It can't be terribly comfortable, she reasons, to spend its time talking to something shaped very predatory. Now the Forces voice disappears, and she just speaks normally.
One of her hands extends out to him in offering, if he wants to come closer, and she ponders thoughtfully. "I think I will call you Ratthew."
That doesn't appear to have been the cause of the rat's anxiety, as it lingers long after the shape change. Eventually, though his little nose twitches out towards the extended hand and his little legs work against the dusty boards and propel his fat little body forward, then up and around her arm almost as a snake would do, then around her shoulders and up onto her shoulder where he sits up to begin cleaning his face and hands.
Proper Ratthew. Have you been to Odessya?
"Proper Ratthew," agrees Fox, sitting very still and allowing the newly-anointed Proper Ratthew to scramble up her arm and settle on their shoulder. Once he's had a chance to get settled, she lifts her hand and a bubble of pure Essence forms on one of her fingertips, about the size of a jumbo marshmallow and just as delicious. "I have been, yes. Vasya wants to take me back again, and I want for him to. I haven't been there since I was missing him."
"What do you want? Where do you want to be?"
Odessya, of course. But no rat goes there any longer if they know what is good for them. When I say we are all that is left, I mean that we are all that is left of Odessya's city rats. So far as I know. And certainly all that remain free from the market warrens. I am convinced if we were to return, we would simply meet whatever fate met our cousins.
Ratthew is receiving some jealous looks for the easy feast he's been presented, but he's been doing a lot of talking and not a lot of eating of the motes down there. So they can all deal with it. He even turns his little rat back to them to continue eating in a show of social dominance.
His little rat eyes roll.
She snickers softly at the interplay between the rats, and puffs up a second marshmallow of Essence for him. It's only fair, after all, and she casts a brief look aside at the other rats, smiling a lopsided little smile at them.
"Hmm," Fox agrees. "That seems... like an issue. A city should have its rat spirits. That's ... " A vague wave of her hand, which seems to encompass 'that is part of the natural order of things, as I do not have to explain to you, since we both understand it.' "I suppose I ought to go have a look at that. Whatever it is already isn't good, and may spread." A small frown. "But you can stay here, in any case, as my guests." And the other rats can stuff it, comes the subtext of her words.
Myrne has been good to us.
He's speaking of Vasya with that address, Fox can intuit. Because surely Myrne has not been good to them whatsoever. Which may be the first time Fox has heard Vasya spoken of as a spiritual location. But it also makes a good deal of sense. Because that's... kind of what he is, isn't he? Now?
If you want us to remain, we will remain. I would be ... careful. At first we assumed beshilu were active. We had good reason to think it so, and we know how to deal with them. Let the fanatics join the crusade. We used it as a culling at first, to keep the breed pure. But then even good rats began to disappear. Proper rats! Rats like me! When we finally had a plan in place, it was too late to put it in action. And so we planned an evacuation. But by the time that happened-- well. There were four of us.
He is aware there may be an attempt to make a joke here.
Don't say it.
She listens to him, and the smile that slides across her face when Vasya is spoken of like a location is soft, affectionate and gentle. There's true joy in her expression which Proper Ratthew may not understand, because he hasn't got the context for it. Here is Vasya, not being a Guardian. Here is Vasya, becoming something new, and healthier, and -- most important of all -- something which he chooses to be.
"I want you to remain," Fox affirms. She reaches up slowly, offering small pets to the spirit, should he in fact want his ears scratched. You never can tell what a Proper Rat would like.
"I am careful," she replies. "When it matters." And she is, in the ways that matter.
"... say what?" Apparently she hadn't realized there might be a joke until he said something. "Oh." (edited)
Not a Robbie Burns fan, huh? It's okay. Rodent based literary puns are a very niche thing in Odessya, too. I'm used to it. It's sad, though. Rattus Rattus Rattus has been from Kamchatka to Lisbon via Mumbai! We're everywhere you want to be! Do you have any idea how many fungal species depend on the travel and dietary habits of rattus rattus? Hm? Truffles in Australia might not exist if not for us! We're world travelers, you know. Sailors and explorers! Bold and intrepid thinkers and doers. But also staying in a barn with food sounds nice. I could do that, too.
He's spun himself in circles on Fox's shoulder several times as he's squeaked all that off rapidfire.
Be safe be safe be smart be safe be smart be smart. (edited)
"Oh, but you're not mice, you're proper rats, why would I call you mice?" Fox asks, puzzled. "I thought you were going to tell me not to say 'there are four rats!'" She raises an eyebrow, watching him talk. "Have you ever been to Philadelphia?" the Orphan queries, and gently pets the top of his head until he calms himself back down.
She's very patient when she wants to be. "I will be. You be safe and smart, too. You can stay with me if you want."
Has Proper Ratthew been? No. But Rattus Rattus has been! Philadelphia and Baltimore and Boston and New York, yes yes yes! Is it true that in New York they give the rats pizza and worship them as Gods?
Ratthew's circling has stopped and he's now standing on his hind legs, forepaws gripping Fox's nose, his little nose twitching against the bridge of her own as his little black beady eyes stare at her from up close. Is New York rat heaven, human?
She stares back into his eyes, crossing her own eyes a little bit to manage it. "I meant Proper Ratthew," she laughs at his intense curiosity. "I travel many places, but very commonly between here and Philadelphia, which is my other home." Fox scratches the back of his head and down his spine. "It is true that in New York, there is a great deal of pizza for rats, and they prosper and eat well. They do not worship rats as gods, but they do pretty much just accept them as part of life."
Ratthew's little eyes would get bigger if they could. But they can't really, so he just gets his face closer instead.
I want to see New York. I want to eat pizza in New York. Take me in a taxi fagoul fuggedaboudit! I will be the MOST Proper Rat in all of Odessya, and all other rats will be number two or lower. Teach me about selfies. I want to explain them to them so they understand how much I'm rubbing it in when I show them a selfie of me eating pizza in New York.
"Okay. So we will go to Odessya together and we will find out what is happening there. You can ride in my pocket, so you can be safe." She's got her eyes crossed fully now to look at him. "And then you and I will go to New York and Philadelphia and you can eat pizza in New York, and you can stay with me and Agoston and Vasya and Proper Ratthew will take selfies in New York."
Ratthew's little eyes glow like he just got 'pilled' on some shitty 4chan message board.
New York pizza selfies and adventure? Proper!
He scurries under her hair, *down her shirt and out the bottom, up under the lip of her jacket, and around into the pocket where, with a bit of effort, he manifests. He doesn't weigh much, but a pocket that was not full of rat before is now very much full of rat. A small brown-gray head pokes out, noses twitching expectantly.
Slava Ukraini! Let's go!
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