Sir Broderick and Biscuit Pisser walked down the expansive, opulent streets of the purple light district of lower-rich Caldonia. Sir Broderick was decked out in a long, thicc fur coat under which he wore a pleated leather vest and twenty gold and platinum necklaces with various jewels and patterns. He walked with a cane with a gold sculpted snaked head on its handle and was smoking an absurdly long, heavy cigar that was darker than pitch. He was carrying a large glass handle of the most expensive whiskey money could legally buy, as he was not too familiar with underbelly of lower-rich Caldonia as he was the underbellies of middle and upper-poor Caldonia.

Biscuit Pisser, on the other hand, was wearing a floor length gown and corset with a flowing satin cape. He spun a large, ornamental umbrella around magnificiently. He wore bedazzled bracelets with gemstones on the gemstones and gemstones on those gemstones too. Trash Heap was draped elegantly along the back of his neck and front of his chest like some sort of fancy fur scarf, and she herself was covered in a bedazzled dog collar and indeed even had fancy painted claw covers.

“Remind me again why you’re in the dress, Biscuit Pisser?”

“It’s so elegant, how could I not? Makes me feel like a barroness.”

“Very well then,” Sir Broderick shrugged, chugged the handle of whiskey and smashed it against the sidewalk. “Ahhh. Refreshing to see that indeed even expensive glass shatters the same as the cheap stuff.”

With that, the shattered bits of glass bottle quickly snapped back into the complete, uncracked shape of the glass by way of enchantment.

“Well. Guess I spoke too soon. That’s what you get when you spend the big bucks, Biscuit Pisser. If only it did that with the liquor itself, so I could keep drinking it.”

“It’s hood we got this dog stuff for Trash Heap. We’re sure to get into the CKC looking this hood.”

“Indeed,” Sir Broderick chuckled as he waved at a classy, nearly naked hooker dancing in a nearby window, “The purple light district sure is a marvelous place, is it not?”

“That it is, that it is,” Biscuit Pisser spun his umbrella around for emphasis.

“That umbrella is quite something. Looks quite freeing. Almost makes me wish I got one instead of this hamned cane, which just makes me feel a bit of a curmudgeon if anything. Then again, I do think it’d be a marvelous tool in case anyone poor tried to talk to me, I could simply beat them off me as if they were a stray dog, which I can imagine is a very satisfying feeling.”

“Shitface, you remember that we’re still poor, right? I mean we’ve almost spent all the money you stole and we haven’t even found a place to stay tonight.”

“I was honestly thinking quite the same thing. However, you must remember, we are in the upper crust of society, albiet walking around the purple light district we are probably in a somewhat burnt section of that crust.

“Excrete me!” shouted a crackly, adolescent voice from afar. It was someone lanky stuck in ill-fitting Royal Gourd armor. “Excrete me, you two will need to get going.”

“Excrete you? Why, excrete me!” blathered Sir Broderick, “Why must we do that? You see us, two affluent chups trampsing about the purple light district for a spot of giggles and glee. What reason could you possibly have for telling us to keep it moving?”

“Look, uh, you see,” squawked the juvenile Gourd member, “I can see clearly by the mud all over your faces that you’re not supposed to be here, no matter how expensive the stuff you’re wearing might be. Since you’re obviously poor you, uh, you probably stole all of it.”

“How do you know whether we stole anything?!”

“Eherm,” Sir Broderick pushed Biscuit Pisser aside, “I think what my hood chup here meant by that is, who are you to say we would ever steal anything, when we are simple law abiding citizens that just so happen to be flush with cash. Why, you do not speak with a noble accent yourself.”

“Of, um, of course I don’t. I’m a civil servant.”

“If you’re a civil servant then why don’t you bring me a cheese plate and some slippers and give me a massage instead of telling me to get lost?”

“I’m, um, I’m not that kind of civil servant. I’m the kind that, um, enforces the law, you know?”

“No, I don’t! I didn’t hire you, did I? And if I did why would I want you bossing me around? You’re my servant, not the other way around.”

Biscuit Pisser pushed Sir Broderick out of the way, “Look, what I think my associate is trying to say is that—”

“Your associate? Excrete me, Biscuit Pisser, but who said I was your associate?”

“Um, are you two actually associated? Because if you two have an association I might, um, I might need to see your associate papertwerk. You, um, as you know it’s a legal requirement that, um, all associated individuals carry, um, associated papertwerk along with them whilst, um, whilst they are, well, whilst they are, um, associating amongst eachother.”

“Excrete me? Associated papertwerk? First of all who’s to say I associate with anybody? Except my ass of course, who seems to have been ass-napped by a sort of lord of bags of genetalia or something, but nevermind that. Second of all, who in the muddy hen carries associated papertwerk around while they associate with people? I swear to cock I’ve never heard of such nonsense in my life.”

“Well, um, I would hope any and all law abiding citizens who associate with somebody follow that law, because if not they’re committing a crime and liable for incarceration, um, at our discretion.”

“That’s bullshit! Go ahead Biscuit Pisser tell them that’s bullshit.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Giving, um, and taking orders betwixt one another only makes, um, makes the case for association and therefore apparent lack of associated papertwerk hold more water. Just, um, just warning you two.”

“Oh go warn yourself of something.”

“Um, okay. Um, hi, me. I think, um, you might be being a little to lenient on these guys. Um, oh really? I thought, um, I was being kinda hard on them. Nah, um, I actually think you better be harder on them, or, um, or I’ll be hard on you. And you know, um, I go really hard. Okay, me, um, I’ll do what you say. Alright, um, listen up you two, listen to me hood,” the Gourd started, only to pause upon realizing that Sir Broderick and Biscuit Pisser were scurrying away. “Aw, um, dangit. I’ll never, um, get that promotion now.”

Sir Broderick and Biscuit Pisser darted through swanky alleyways, noting that there was no mud, dung or piss or indeed even any cigarette butts in these alleyways.

“The streets must be enchanted to self clean.”

“That makes sense, Biscuit Pisser, though I personally am more interested in escaping that idiot back there who tried to arrest us for…being associated? I’m still not really sure.”

“Oai, hellao theare yaou two!” called a noble yet feeble looking fellow leaning out from a small popup mansion, like a tent essentially but it was much bigger on the inside, much bigger meaning mashion sized, that was situated in a dark corner of one of the alleyways. “Maight Ia traouble yaou foar aa meagaer handaout oaf…maybae twoa haundred chaickensfeed?”

They stared right past him as if he did not exist and continued running. After they were certain the stranger was out of earshot Biscuit Pisser turned to Sir Broderick.

“Now how did any of that make any sense? I’m pretty sure that guy has more money than I’ve ever had! And that accent was so rich sounding! But they still seemed to be poor somehow, even with that nice popup mansion that is while small and in an alley much nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived! All that and I still felt bad for him when I ignored him.”

“You felt bad for that guy? Are you clucking kidding me, Biscuit Pisser? I think he had some nerve. Why if I’d had a second more I might’ve stopped to try and pickpocket him.”

“Shitface that’s awful.”

“Yea, well you’re awful.”

“Did you know it’s really difficult to run over cobblestone in a floor-length dress?”

“No, I’m shocked. Totally floored, I’d say.”

“Yea, me too. You’d think that rich people would’ve figured out something for that. Like an enchantment or something.”

“I think most rich people aren’t worrying about being chased by a member of the Royal Gourd. Which, now that I say it out loud, are they even chasing us?”

Biscuit Pisser looked back and slowed his run to a walk, “Nope.”

“Well shit.”

They both stood there at the edge of the alleyway, taking in their surroundings. The moon hung high in the sky. The stars were out, and some of them were shooting blanks. A couple of gray clouds hung in the air, fading into a dreary miasma of blurry nothing. They were a few blocks past the purple light district now, getting into some of the lower-lower-rich residencies, all with quite elaborate and well-thought architecture.

“Cluck. It’s half-passed gas out here and we’ve only fifty chickensfeed to our names.”

“I blame you.”

“Blame me? What do you mean you blame me Biscuit Pisser hen if anything I blame you! I stole us all the money! What’ve you done? Earn it all and then lose it immediately? Spend half the money I stole on that stupid dress?”

“The dress isn’t stupid.”

Sir Broderick looked closely at Biscuit Pisser’s dress and relented, “The dress does look lovely. And hen it may be smarter than me but if we hadn’t bought that dress we’d have plenty for a room at any number of budget motels. With only fifty chickensfeed the best is probably a hostel, if lower-rich people even do hostels.”

“Shitface you can’t just blame me.”

“Can’t I though?”

“No! You bought that awful fur coat that even you admitted you hate. You bought five bottles of that overpriced liquor that you swear is too weak because it doesn’t burn as much as bottom shelf liquor and you bought so many bedazzled dog and cat accoutrements for Trash Heap who isn’t even a dog or a cat but is indeed a clucking ferret! Can’t you just admit that neither of us were very concerned about the price tag of anything we bought?”

“Well of course we weren’t! Clucking Limpy George of all people comes up out of the blue and rubs his money in our faces for half the day I mean hen what in the cluck else were we supposed to do?!”

“Exactly. So don’t clucking complain about how I spent my money when you did the same exact thing.”

“You know technically Biscuit Pisser it was all my money. Since I stole it. It’s that old finders keepers losers weepers stealers get whatever they take with no consequences saying in effect.”

“I think you made that last bit up, Shitface.”

“Excreate mae,” interjected a noble voice in the shadows, “Baut Ia caan’t haelp baut havae ovaerheard yaou twao talkaing abaout yaour traouble fainding slaeeping arrangaements. Ia maay bae ablae tao haelp yaou, iaf yaou caan haelp mae. Haow mauch doa yaou knaow abaout thae daark undaerbelly oaf loawer-riach Caldoania?”

Sir Broderick snorted, slurping down half a handle of fancy whiskey and smashing it on the sidewalk to watch its glass reshape itself, “We don’t know clucking jack shit about it, chup.”

“Waell…eaherm…haow mauch arae yaou wialling toa laearn abaout thae daark undaerbelly oaf loawer-riach Caldoania?”

“As willing as a clam to jump into chowder and as a hovering manatee to terrorize your childhood.”

The figure, who they could see now was a tall lady in a trenchcoat, turned to Biscuit Pisser.

“Hea’s talkaing ian raiddles. Arae yaou twao ian oar arae yaou twoa oaut?”

“I think he’s saying we’re in.”