Tristaan's threat had mostly worked, and that was enough for him. He didn't feel particularly charitable and wasn't about to volunteer the fact that he'd tied Carmine up with the ugly, ratty pair of stockings he seemed to be whining about as much as his cat.

Without another word and without waiting for Sparkles to return, the swordsman took the lull in the chaos as a good time to flee for the stairs. It was time to get the clock out of this mess, tired and aching and confident that if he stayed, someone else would just get hurt all over again,

"Sparkles, he ent sleepin' here. It'd be best you work somethin' out so he doesn't show his ugly mug back at my doorstep in th'same circumstance, neither." He grumbled over his shoulder before disappearing upstairs, making sure to lock doors behind him.

That was enough.

That word and that mark were seared into his mind; the events of the evening were still coursing their way angrily through his veins.

Tristaan was confident he wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon.

Sparkles flapped his hand at Tristaan dismissively, as if he'd already put a great deal of thought into what to do about Carmine, "Yarr. I hear yeh."

Elsie had apparently finished her work and turned to Sparkles, all business, "I'll be sending you the bill, then. If she has any troubles, you send her to me and I'll fix her up."

She merely nodded as a goodbye and turned to go, picking up her umbrella on the way out the door.

Tristaan’s words had fallen on deaf ears. Or, ears too filled with their owner’s quiet crooning to notice. Carmine was too happy for sour words.

He had hobbled over the makeshift enclosure for the poor cat the moment Sparkles set it down, haggard expression wavering into a watery smile. The smallest of small victories, some could say. He was still homeless, still penniless – but he had his Wink, godsdamn it, and that was all that mattered to him. For the moment, anyhow. Sure, when he was out in the rain or starving for a drink soon, he’d be pining over his other losses. But for now, Carmine was complete.

He stooped down over the bucket, going so far as to affectionately rest his cheek atop the brick. It might have looked just plum moony to any onlooker, but it wasn’t too surprising, not really. That cat beneath the bucket was Carmine’s one star on this most dark and damp of nights.

“Iss arright, iss arright…” He closed his eyes and murmured sweetly to the bucket. Whether it was a condolence for the cat or for himself, however, was unsure. All this time he’d been working silently at his binds, twisting and wrenching, finding that the cloth that held him was thin and easy to stretch. Within minutes after his awakening, Carmine managed to finally tug his wrists free of the ties.

There, another smile, when he held the ties that bind up before his unfocused eyes. A pair of dusty old stockings, striped black and white and ripe with as much magic a passive could ever hope to possess.

He removed the brick and freed his precious cat, cradling the spitting little beast like a newborn child. It was sickly thin and ghostly white, tufts of hair missing from its bony rump, its ears torn to ribbons. However, its eyes were ugliest of all. One was murky piss yellow, the other was crusted over with some cat-disease. Wink.

Carmine kissed him square on the head. But in an instant, his eyes swiveled up to Sparkles, taking on their old splintery harshness.

“Now where’s the rest o’ my shit, ye ol’ tumblefuck?”

Some might say it was impossible to look vicious while snuggling a cat, but Carmine achieved the impossible.

Sparkles put on a grandfatherly affect during the moments of peaceful reunion, watching the tender moment and appreciating it for all it was worth.

When Carmine burst into angry spits about his things, Sparkles' affect didn't change. He waved his hand in much the same way as he had to Tristaan moments before, "Issall thar. Whate'r wouldn'a done t'be in th'rain's upstairs. Ever'thin' else is out back un'er a canvas."

"I ent'cher lan'lord 'ny more, but I ent about t'leave yer chuck t'the thieves, hm?"

Carmine held Wink tighter against his chest, stripey stockings twining around the cat’s head. They pressed tight, making it look like a bit like a Mugrobi lady in a headscarf. The cat squirmed in irritation, brittle teeth gnawing at Carmine’s knuckles. An angry light gleamed in the eyes of both feral little creatures.

“I ent goin’ up them goddamn stairs. Not wit’ tha’ scrappy fuckhead prowlin’ around. Tha’ fucker’s got somethin’ t’prove. 'e said 'e was gonna shoot up Wink,” he growled. Carmine strode over to Sparkles stiff-legged and bristling, his lips curled back showing a bristle of fangs. Just like any good cat mama would do when one of her babies was threatened.

“High ‘n’ mighty sumbitch, talkin’ like a dirty ol’ wick…” that last bit was grumbled to himself as he shambled up to the doorway, going up on tiptoes to peer out the window into the storm. The rain was coming down hard and it made him anxious. Wink squirmed in his arms.

"I ent gettin' none o' it unless ye come with me," he spat over his shoulder. All the hard anger was such a joke at this point. Carmine didn't want to look nearly as worried as he felt.

Sparkles shook his head, completely unconcerned at Carmine's shows of anger. "I ent movin' jack till it stops'a'rainin'," He propped his foot on the table in front of him as if to illustrate, "Y'kin gitcher chuck out back when e'er y'feel like it. S'what's covered in tarp. Th'rest'll be on the porch in th'mornin' iffin' it's cleared up. T'ent like y'gots anywhar t'put it jes' now, anyhoo."

He pulled his hat down over his eyes as if that was that and laid his head back. He looked ready to go back to sleep right where he was at the table.