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His name was Gavis Trent. He was the third son of a rich merchant family and a minor noble in his own right. He certainly thought of himself as one. He had more money than sense and liked to fight. His father sent him off to a military boarding school to try to instill some discipline in him, but while the training turned him into a decent swordman it didn't curb his ego.

At twenty years old he returned from the school, was given a position in the family business, and went back to making trouble.

Gavis liked to fight. He had a slender, curved magical sword, two daggers, a saber scar on his right cheek he thought was quite dashing or he'd have it healed away. In the evening, after performing the absolute minimum amount of work at his father's business, he'd hit the bars. There he would drink the most expensive liquors they had and pick fights. This led to a series of duels but more by luck than good fortune he came out on top in each. Gavis wasn't as good as he thought he was, but he was good enough most of the time.

The trouble started the night he came to the Cracked Flask. The Flask was a Low Quarter bar and inn known for being the place "monsters" hung out. Now, real monsters weren't let in Verbobonc's gates, but ones of a civilized enough bent were. Sadly Gavis wasn't very civilized himself and no sooner did he get there than he picked a fight.

"Hey, beautiful," he slurred to the thuggish and muscular half-orc woman at the door. It was not the first bar he visited that night and he was already drunk.

The Flask's common room wasn't large and at the moment it was half full of patrons. About half of them would qualify as monsters in some towns, like the two lizard men quietly enjoying dinner and the minotaur in the corner booth. The minotaur was in fact an off duty bouncer for the Flask. His name was Thog and by minotaur standards he was very civilized. He still had a chainmail shirt on from his shift and a greataxe occupied the bench seat across from him.

One booth had its table leaned up against the back wall to make an open space but there were only a couple of large feathers there to show that a gryphon had visited the bar earlier. The Flask was not a large inn but it tried to accommodate all comers.

The half-orc woman, who was an on-duty bouncer and not prone to accept shit from anyone, glared at Gavis until he wandered away. Gavis was just over six feet tall, slender but muscular, and wore a very expensive brigandine vest with alternating brass and silver rivets. At his right side was his saber, on the left a dagger, and a second dagger was in his boot. Gavin thought the minotaur looked interesting and wandered in that direction. He tripped on the way there.

"Hey," Gavis protested. "Watch where you are going." He shook off the worst of his drunk and glared at the furry rug he'd tripped over.

It was not a rug. It was a badger. His name was Bartleby and he was another bouncer for the bar. Bartleby was over seven feet long from nose to tailtip, not counting his tailfur, and was a solid mass of muscle under his fur. He had claws as long as a man's fingers, steel bracers on his forelegs, and he weighed five hundred or so pounds if he hadn't eaten anyone recently.

"You have had enough," growled the badger. "Order food, or sit and shut up, or leave. No more drink for you."

"Says you," growled Gavis back at Bartleby, and quick as a flash his saber was in his hand. Or it seemed quick to him. The alcohol slowed him and the sleepy looking badger was far quicker than it looked. Suddenly he was pinned under the badger's forepaws and his right wrist was clamped between its fangs. All he could do was wriggle the sword ineffectually.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the minotaur reach for his greataxe but the half-orc bouncer woman shook her head and the beastman sat back down.

The half-orc woman twisted the saber out of his hand and hauled him to his feet by his collar. She was muscular, scarred, and in no mood to tolerate his antics. The badger relinquished his wrist when she arrived and watched as he was escorted to the door. She shoved the saber back in its scabbard and booted him out.

"Is everything all right, sir?" As the scion of a noble house Gavis was accompanied everywhere by his aide and manservant, Boris. Boris looked like, and essentially was, a butler. One of his jobs was to smooth over incidents and pay off people who might otherwise call the Guard on Gavis.

"Nothing," Gavis slurred, and half drew his saber. "Just some assholes. Gonna go back in and show them what's what."

"If I may sir, isn't that bar with the brandy you like right around the corner?"

"Oh yeah," Gavin said. "Lead on, Macduff."

From the doorway the half-orc bouncer nodded her thanks to Boris, who nodded back when Gavis wasn't looking. It wasn't the first time he'd had to talk his boss out of starting a fight and this looked like a very bad fight to start. Boris had heard of this bar. Its reputation as a monster hangout brought the occasional challenger by, someone with more muscle than sense and a desire to prove himself. Gavis was just the most recent and the bar's formidable crew of bouncers had dealt with much worse.

Unfortunately, despite Boris's best efforts Gavis did not forget the incident. Two days later he was back, less drunk but with a chip on his shoulder and his saber still at his side.

This time he was barely in the door when his saber flew out of its scabbard. Thog was on duty and had his shoulder and thigh sliced by a lightning-fast flick of the curved blade before he got the handle of the greataxe in the way. Thog was over seven feet tall and if he connected even once with the axe Gavis would be in two pieces but he just blocked as the young noble laughed and flicked his blade. Thog knew he didn't have to fight alone and that it was better not to kill.

Gavis was more alert than last time and he saw something low-slung and fast coming from the side. His sword snapped down and cut into tough hide but an instant later he was pulled from his feet. Gavis cursed and swung his sword again and suddenly it wasn't in his hand any more. Bartleby the badger's fangs were sunk into his brigandine, squeezing the armor tight around his chest, and his saber was in the badger's claws. Bartleby threw the blade under a nearby table and snatched the dagger from Gavis's side before he thought to draw it. The beast was fast, smart and expert at taking weapons away from people.

"Get off me," Gavis growled, and punched the badger in the ear. That caused it to pick him up bodily from the floor and slam him back so hard he saw stars. With its forepaws braced on the floor to either side of him it could thrash him around like a rag doll. It only needed the grip of its fangs to hold him and Gavin realized that if it wanted to hurt him there were two huge forepaws full of claws and a muzzle full of fangs available, assuming it didn't just beat him to death against the floor.

In an unusual fit of good sense he didn't go for the dagger in his boot but surrendered instead.

"Fine, fine," Gavis coughed. He was pretty sure the badger had broken one or more of his ribs when it slammed him down. "I'll leave."

"Don't come back," growled the badger, who had bloody cuts on his shoulder and haunch despite his thick hide. The minotaur stepped out of the way and Bartleby threw Gavis out the door with a flick of his muzzle. Gavis bounced twice before he skidded to a halt.

Outside Boris was waiting, as usual. "My goodness sir, those ruffians did scuff your clothes." He helped his master to his feet and brushed his fingers across the torn leather where the badger's fangs sank into the brigandine. The overlapping metal plates inside the crimson leather kept the fangs out of Gavis's flesh but the coat would need repair.

"Shut up and heal me, Boris."

One of the manservant's functions was to do just that. Boris was in fact a cleric of a nonviolent sect and a skilled healer. It took only a single spell to make the pain fade. A cracked rib or two is a minor issue for a healer priest.

"I want my sword back," Gavis growled, and glared at the bar door. The minotaur and low-slung badger glared back and only a raised paw by the latter kept the minotaur from stepping out of the bar, greataxe in hand.

"I'll get it for you sir," Boris soothed, "Once I get you another drink."

A few minutes later, having deposited his boss at the bar around the corner with a bottle full of their best spirits and the hope Gavis would stay out of trouble until he got back, Boris returned to the Cracked Flask.

"I'm terribly sorry about all this sirs," Boris said. "You know how these young firebrands are."

"He is an asshole," grumbled Thog, who was nursing a nasty cut on his thigh and a lesser one on his shoulder. "We should report him to the Guard."

"Consider him reported," Bartleby the badger growled.

"If I may sir," Boris soothed. He showed the two bouncers the holy symbol pinned under the lapel of his dress coat. "I will heal those right up."

The badger tilted its head to the side, then nodded. It took two minor healing spells to close the minotaur's cuts and a single, slightly stronger one to seal the slices in the badger's hide. The bartender put away the bandages he'd just gotten out.

"For any damages," Boris said, and set two gold Wheels on the edge of a table. A Wheel is a heavy thing, a palm-filling mass of a gold coin worth twenty silver Lunars, and a single Lunar would buy a good meal at most inns. "I would hope that any report to the Guard would note that no permanent harm was done."

He met Bartleby's gaze and the badger nodded. The badger was in fact a junior Guardsman and Boris knew it. The matter would be reported, but not as a matter of urgency. Little incidents like this happened in bars.

"And a round of drinks for everyone," Boris said, and set a third Wheel down by the others. "I hope we haven't ruined anyone's evening."

He took Gavis's sword and bowed. Bartleby had one last thing to say before he left, though.

"Keep him out of here," the big badger growled. "It is my job to keep this place safe. If your master returns, he will find it is safe for everyone but him."

But there was no helping it. Hard as Boris tried, Gavis had it fixed in his head that he'd been insulted. Gavis's father tried to intercede and sent his son on a trading trip to Greyhawk, but a month later Gavis was back and he hadn't forgotten. He dressed himself in his best red silks, buckled on his magical brigandine vest and hung his saber at his side.

"Sir, if I may," Boris said as his boss led him onto a very familiar street. "I have heard there is a new brandy just decanted at -"

"Shut up, Boris," Gavis hissed. "I am going to have that badger's pelt for a coat. It will keep me marvelously warm in the winter."

"Sir, he is in the Guard."

"Not when he is a bouncer, Boris."

"Ah, sir, did you hear there is a new hestan courtesan at Madame Enka's. She has the most fetching black fur and I've heard her tail twitches when she -"

"Shut UP, Boris." They were at the door of the Cracked Flask and once again the scarred half orc woman was at her post. She shot a look at them and put her hand on the pommel of a short sword she had sheathed along her thigh. She had one on each leg and had the look of someone who knew how to use them.

"You aren't welcome here," she growled.

"I am only here for the badger," Gavid said. "He has done me an insult and I will have satisfaction."

"He is a bouncer here," the half-orc said. "It is his job to insult when someone deserves it. Go away."

The saber came halfway out of its scabbard. "Make me."

"Wait, Alma," came a growl, the low-slung badger's face appeared between her knees. "We have the right to refuse entry to troublemakers."

"You have to come out eventually," grated Gavis.

"I do not wish to hurt you," growled the badger.

"Whereas I wish to kill you," Gavis said smoothly. "And I will, now or later. You may choose when, badger."

Boris let out a longsuffering sigh and the half-orc bouncer smiled when she saw. It wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time she felt sympathy for a reasonable man saddled with an unreasonable boss.

Bartleby brushed his cheek ruff against the inside of the half-orc's knee and she stepped out of the way. "You know I am of the Guard," he growled. "This does not meet the legal requirements for a duel."

"You can fight me in the duelist's circle or here, badger. Or are you afraid?"

"Very well," growled Bartleby. "On your own head be it."

Bartleby padded down the two steps at the bar entrance and onto the cobblestoned street. The crowd from the bar followed, spreading out to get a good view of the fight. The half-orc bouncer and a second, also half-orc woman stood to either side of the badger. It seemed the bar had two almost identical bouncers plus the badger and minotaur. Both orcs chain mail shirts while the badger had only a leather harness and steel bracers.

"Don't get killed, dear," said the first half-orc, and scratched the badger behind his ears as he tensed for the fight. "Training a new guy is so much work."

Gavis smiled and drew his saber with his right hand, his dagger with the left. He had on his best armor, segmented cuisses protecting his thighs and knees, steel greaves below that. His armor was annealed dark blue-black to stand out against his red silks.

Gavis thought he had the badger figured out. He could backpedal in front of the beast and cut it pieces before it got ahold of him. He failed to reckon on the fact he'd only seen it inside the bar before. The furniture and patrons made it move cautiously there. He didn't realize just how fast its short little legs could carry it until Boris said "Begin!" and the animal was suddenly right on top of him.

Gavis sprang backward and cut at the badger's face with his saber but the blow landed on its wide steel bracer. It pulled its muzzle back to avoid the swing but its scuttling legs carried it forward and its fangs closed hard around his ankle.

Only his greave kept his foot attached to his body. Gavis went down with the badger on top of him and stabbed at its shoulder with his left hand dagger. The blade sank into its hide just as it plucked his saber out of his hand as it had the last time. An instant later it had the dagger too. It used its long claws like tongs and took away both weapons, then pinned him to the cobblestones with its huge forepaws. He had completely underestimated the thing but that wasn't going to stop him.

"Stop this," it growled. Gavin's response was to kick it in the balls.

At least he tried to. It felt him move and partially blocked the blow with its knee but his toe skipped off and grazed its furry scrotum.

Having been in the badger's grip three times now and this time not even a little bit drunk, it occurred to Gavis that it had been very polite in each of their encounters. That should give him the edge he needed to kill it. He went for the dagger in his boot rather than giving up, which was unfortunate as the kick to the balls made Bartleby hiss in pain and more importantly made him lose his temper.

One forepaw mashed down on the hand reaching for the dagger, pinning it hard to the cobblestones, and other wrapped its claws beneath him and dragged him upward. There was a flash of fangs and suddenly his face was in the badger's mouth.

Sharp canines locked behind his skull and held him in place. The badger could snap his neck with a twist of its muzzle and there was not a thing he could do to stop it. It turned out that getting into close combat with a predatory beast three times your size is a bad idea.

Saliva dripped down his forehead as his face squelched into the wet folds at the back of the badger's mouth. His face was firmly trapped in the thing's jaws and he was staring into a slimy tunnel of gullet.

It was still being nice. It could have killed him by now and he thought he felt the press of its paw atop his hand lifting. If he could just reach his dagger its furry throat was open to attack.

What he should have done was tapped its shoulder with his free hand to signal his surrender. He could come back another time and do better. What he did instead was try to wriggle his hand from under its paw so he could grab his boot dagger. The result of this was the badger bunching its fleshy tongue up under his chin and swallowing.

The paw across his back pulled as it gulped and slimy flesh slithered by on all sides as his face slipped into the beast's throat. With a wriggle of its muzzle it got its cheeks over his shoulders and it pushed its nose toward the flagstones, forcing its jaws over him all the way to the elbows.

In the sudden darkness of its throat Gavis's eyes went wide. He had expected it to bite him, not swallow him! He'd never heard of a beast only two or three times the size of a man swallowing one whole but that just showed how little attention Gavis paid to current events. Had he simply asked Boris he'd have heard all about the many-hatted badger who worked for the guard, as a bouncer, and occasionally as a fire rescue animal who got people out of burning buildings by swallowing them alive and coughing them back up when clear of the flames.

He was finding out first hand what Bartleby was capable of when angered. The badger's jaws pinned his arms to his sides and his fingers brushed his boot, but he felt the movement of the claws that took away the dagger before he could draw it. The badger paid close attention to what sort of gear its meals were carrying and its claws next tore at his legs, ripping away his cuisses and greaves and even pulling the boots from his feet. Only then did it heave its muzzle upward and swallow.

One heaving gulp took in his now nearly naked ass and Gavis's arms were in its gullet to the wrists. Another gulp and there was just a set of legs kicking from its maw. A great contraction rolled down its throat as it swallowed and its powerful throat muscles slid him deeper despite a sudden desperate effort to wriggle free.

Gavis's face squeezed through a muscular valve into what could only be the badger's stomach. He very much did not want be there but his shoulders followed his face and the beast's stomach acids stung his face. A thick coating of caustic slime covered every surface in here and the lower portions of the stomach contained a pool of acid just waiting for something to work on. From the smell of it the beast had eaten stew earlier but a more substantial meal arrived as it swallowed up his knees.

The badger sat back, looked around as best it could with a set of legs in its throat, and shot a look at Boris twenty feet away. That seemed the only possible person who'd rush to Gavis's defense and the badger paused a moment to see if the manservant would rush forward and grab his master's ankles. Whether that would have resulted in a double meal and a long, satisfied belch afterward or the loss of his first meal due to his good nature would never be known. Boris just shrugged and Bartleby gathered up Gavis's naked feet in his mouth and swallowed.

Gavis slithered helplessly down the badger's throat, scraped all over by its fangs in transit but well aware that his scratches were not the main problem. The main problem was slipping whole into a wetly caustic stomach and causing the badger's belly to droop full and heavy. The thing's swallowing muscles forced him into the pocket of flesh and Gavis found himself folded up with his knees against his chest and slimy flesh pressing in from all sides.

Though the badger was some three times his size its gut stretched thin to accommodate its meal and if he just had a dagger he might cut himself free. Tight as it was he was able to slide his hands between the flesh and his clothing, or what remained of it. He felt over himself but it was as he'd feared. It had torn away his belts, where even his little eating-knife was scabbarded, and the entirely of his leg coverings including the boot where his second dagger lay.

He still had on his armored vest and arm armor, but those were notably lacking in built-in daggers. While he was whole and intact he had no way to cut his way out and the acid squeezed into every fold of his flesh as his sudden entry into the stomach filled up the available space. The beast's stomach juices stung his skin wherever it touched. It was worst toward the bottom on the stomach where the acids pooled but it was eating into him everywhere.

"Boris," he said firmly, with only a slight note of panic in his voice. "Boris! Get me out of here."

The badger's short legs meant its drooping belly pressed against the ground and he felt the cobblestones through its thin-stretched gut.

"Boris?" Gavis complained, and the badger let out a long belch as it vented the air that went down with him. Acid rushed in to fill the resulting voids and Gavis could only squirm and kick in his fleshy coffin as he realized he wouldn't get out of the badger the same way he got in. As he gasped for air and got only acid, he would swear he heard cheering.

He did hear cheering. Also clapping, because the bar crowd liked their free entertainment and seeing an annoying noble disappear down Bart's gullet counted.

"Terribly sorry about all this sir," Boris said as he stepped forward. He came to a sudden halt as the half-orc woman who petted Bartleby before the fight interposed herself and half-drew her swords. Boris held up one hand in a peaceable gesture and showed her the holy symbol pinned inside his lapel.

"He is injured," Boris explained. "I will heal him. It is only fair."

Bartleby nodded and the half-orc fixed a steely glare on Boris as he did exactly what he said. He healed the stab wound in the badger's shoulder with one quick spell.

"If I might have the master's gear to return to his father," he asked, and the sword, daggers and assorted bits of armor and clothing were gathered up. Bartleby belched again as there was a last kick inside him and then stillness. The badger led them back into the bar and Boris followed, setting his master's gear on an empty table.

Bartleby sprawled out next to the stage, burped a last time, and watched as Boris went through the gear. Though his belly was full and heavy and he looked like he wanted to nap, he perked up as the manservant once again approached.

"If I might be so bold, sir, my master's signet ring went down with him."

Bartleby tilted his head quizzically. "Do you want me to look for it to come out? I suppose I could relieve myself into a screen and strain for it. I could throw him up but I'd rather not. I would get heartburn and the floor would be a mess."

And, he didn't say, You are a cleric. If I retch Gavis up maybe you'll Raise him.

"No no sir, I wouldn't ask any of those things of you. That would be too much of an imposition. And the ring might be damaged by your stomach acids, it is not all precious metals. I had hoped I might reach down your throat and try to find it."

Bartleby pulled back his head, nonplussed. "I just swallowed your master whole, manservant."

"I am Boris, sir," Boris said respectfully. "You are an honorable man. My master could have gone down your throat at any time but you were very patient with him. He is in your stomach now only because he continued to provoke you. I trust you will not eat me unless I, too, prove to be an asshole."

Bartleby laughed. "You are a loyal man, Boris. Reach away." He rolled over so his forepaws were together on the floor, though his belly bulge and haunches still lay sideways, and yawned a jaw-creaking yawn.

The crowd had just returned to their seats but gathered around once more, because they'd never seen anyone volunteer to be Bart's dinner before. They'd heard about it happening, but here was a live show! Boris stripped off his upper clothing, revealing a slender but well toned body and the tattoo of his holy order covering much of his back, and slid his arm fearlessly into Bartleby's maw.

"Hm," Boris pondered a moment later. "I can't even reach your stomach. Your throat is too long. No no, don't try to scrunch your neck up like that, it won't help. If you could yawn wider - ah yes, like that."

The audience and other bouncers watched wide-eyed as the manservant crawled into Bartleby's jaws. First one arm, then the other, then Boris's face and even his shoulders disappeared. Bartleby watched all this with some bemusement. His furry neck doubled in thickness as Boris pushed his way deeper and for a moment he gagged, then reflexively swallowed.

Boris' still-clothed butt was sucked toward the badger's maw as his throat muscles gripped this new meal but Bart quickly put a forepaw on Boris' calves to stop the slide. Boris didn't panic, from the lack of movement of his legs, even as his head, arms and shoulders joined his master in Bart's stomach. His rump was in Bart's maw and he was one gulp away from joining Gavis on a trip through the badger's bowels but he kept at whatever he was doing. For a full minute he was gone to the hips in Bartleby's gullet, until he finally planted his knees against Bart's forepaws and made to pull himself back out.

With half his body including his arms down the badger's throat he was completely at Bartleby's mercy but he hadn't misjudged the badger's good nature. Bart held Boris's knees beneath a forepaw to anchor them and pulled his muzzle back, disgorging the manservant in one long side. Boris reappeared clutching Gavis's brigandine vest, which he'd somehow unbuckled and stripped off in the caustic darkness of the badger's stomach. Even the noble's arm armor, attached to the vest and also unbuckled, came up with it.

Bart popped his jaws back into shape and gave the manservant a look. Boris held up an elaborate signet ring dripping with stomach fluids. Everything from his waist up was sodden with gullet slime or worse.

"While I was in there I thought I should try for the vest," Boris explained. "It is magical and very valuable, plus the metal plates might trouble your guts on the way out."

"Alma, if you would," Bartleby began, but the cook was already there with a pot of hot water and some rags. Boris wiped off first the signet ring, then the gambeson, and only them himself, though his face and arms were reddened from contact with Bartleby's stomach acids. Bart needed a whole day to digest and pass a man, but the acid burn started almost instantly.

"Clean," Boris intoned, and the last droplets of acid evaporated from his skin and the red leather of the brigandine vest. He followed with the gesture of a minor healing spell and the redness disappeared from his skin.

"I should have done that at once," he confided. "I wasn't thinking. Thank you sir," he said to Bartleby. "And to you," to Alma the half-orc, who'd stood protectively by Bart's shoulder the whole time. "You've been ever so accommodating."

They watched as he pulled back on his upper clothing until he was one more the vision of a faultlessly polite manservant, one now missing his master. Bartleby burped and looked apologetic.

"Boris," Bartleby growled, and the manservant looked down at him. Not disrespectfully, it was just that even standing up Bart was a low-slung beast. More so now that he was sprawled out digesting his meal.

"You're a good man, Boris," the badger growled. "I apologize for eating your master. I lost my temper when he kicked me down below."

Boris bowed. "I suspected he would die in a bar fight sooner or later," the manservant said. "His father thought so too. It was going to happen. I didn't expect there to be a burp afterward, but here we are." He did not say that he's already had to Raise Gavis twice. There would be no Raise Dead this time. It would take stronger magic than he had to bring his master back from what the badger's guts would make of him and he very much doubted that Gavis's father would spend that much money to bring back a problem child. Gavis had gotten himself into this situation and he could find his own way out.

"Come back anytime," Bartleby growled. "By yourself," he smiled, and Boris bowed again and left.

With the excitement done for the evening and Bartleby rendered less combat-worthy than usual by the bulge in his middle the cook, who was also the manager, gave him the rest of the evening off. Bart waddled down the basement stairs, pulled the sleeping basket down from where he'd leaned it up against the wall in the store-room that morning, and settled down to sleep off his meal. Two hours later when the bar closed Alma joined him and they did things in the basket that would be illegal in many towns, given that she was a near-human and he was a big feral badger. When they had worked the edge off their urges he curled up around her like a big furry blanket to sleep. There was room for Bart and one or two humanoids in his sleeping basket, but only if they were very friendly.

The hours ticked by and Bart woke in the morning, his previously lumpy belly shrunken and gone all squishy. Bones took a while to break down but eight hours of stomach acids had turned Gavis's flesh to soup. Much of it had made its way through the badger's short digestive tract and after nuzzling Alma awake and telling her he'd be back momentarily, he made his way to the privy and climbed up onto the bench seat. It was designed for humanoids and his short legs left his paws dangling clear of the floor but he'd used it many times. He sat there balanced by his tail and one forepaw against the wall as the pressure in his bowels was relieved. His lower intestine had expanded to accommodate quite a lot of Gavis and as it shrank back to its usual size it squeezed out a long tube of used-to-be human.

It would take two or three more bowel movements to fully rid himself of the noble, the last being chalky white with digested bone. Badgers, dire or otherwise, do not normally swallow whole humans and couldn't digest the bones if they did, but Bart had long since been modified into an ambulatory body disposal. Sometimes he even ate people for the city, noted criminals being harder to Raise once they were reduced to amorphous brown masses of fertilizer.

Bart pinched off the last and climbed down from the seat. He did not normally examine his excreta, even when it used to be people, but something caught his eye this time. The pile of droppings in the privy was purple. He considered this and decided that the red dye in the noble's silks must have broken down and turned his poop that color.

Poking out of the mass were corroded buckles, the straps they once secured digested away, and a few brass rivets. Nothing worthing poking through shit for unless he was absolutely desperate for money, which he wasn't. He was not rich by any means but he had everything he needed in life. A place to live, several lovers, all the food he wanted, and people who valued his work and even paid him to do it. It was everything a big badger needed in life.

Bart gave the pile of used-to-be-Gavis a last look and stepped on the pedal to flush the privy. With a shrug he dropped down on all fours and made his way back to the storeroom and Alma. Sometimes assholes came to the bar, it was true. And while he tried to be a patient badger, sometimes they left it through his.