Ranaweyt led them out of the musical maison and back onto the busy street. Fortunately, Ranaweyt knew where he was going and they slipped through the crowds like a master lock picker slips out of handcuffs. They approached a quieter part of the town and began ascending a large hill. Beardface and Jean lagged behind and had struck up a conversation.
“…I mean, it wasn’t ever established. What is he a master of exactly?” Jean said.
“Hmm… Well… He’s certainly a master of paw-to-face combat.” Beardface said rubbing the scar on his cheek.
“But, does that count as a weapon?”
“Maybe Felix himself is a weap…”
“Or, maybe it’s a symbolic title” Jean interrupted “and he’s the master of our destiny or something.”
“Hmm.” Beardface was unconvinced.
“Well, whatever it is we can’t really call ourselves FAT49 anymore since we’ve lost the other masters.”
“Ah, I agree. I always thought BAT49 was better.” Beardface said, missing the point entirely.
“Huh? Well, actually, if we were to rename ourselves I thought JAT49 would be the obvious choice. Or, perhaps, Jean’s Jovial Journey!”
“BAT49. BAT49. I like the sound of it.” Beardface said, ignoring Jean completely.
“You’re hopeless. Oh yeah, what do you think Skitty meant by her ‘offer’?”
“BEARDFACE and the 49!” Beardface exclaimed.
Before she had time to reproach him they had caught up with Ranaweyt and Felix who had stopped in front of somethi… wow!
As we know, before Flockboast there was a humble fishing town. The naming of the city had somewhat failed in the honouring-the-past department. So, it was decided (by Maximillions Doshforthewin) to erect a symbolic structure that would truly pay homage to its history.
A vast collection of ships’ masts were amassed and forged into a magnificent memento, simultaneously immortalising their fishing vessels and scuppering them (it should be noted that they now outsource all of the their squid). The Last Mast (as it was aptly named) now stands at the impressive height of rather-quite-tall (just over rather-tall and just under sub-cloud). It’s really quite astonishing that FAT49 hadn’t seen the hulking construction until now, that is until you realise it’s because the author only thought it up recently.
“This is the mast that will pierce the heavens!” Beardface said planting his face against it and looking skyward.
“Mr. Ranaweyt, do you think Valiant went up there?” Jean asked incredulously
Ranaweyt gazed in the direction of some distant buildings.
Flock, you see, was a gathering of fat
cats individuals. They ran everything from behind the scenes and raked in land-whale-loads of money. They are rumoured to own sub-everything (just over rather-quite-enough and and just under everything). As Flock expanded these masters of money would stop at nothing to remain on top. So, they built their houses on top of everyone else’s. Situated high above Flockboast connected by invite-only bridges is the second city within those tall walls: Flock, home to the super-elite (or so they like to think). These elites hardly ever visited the ground, having all they could possible desire brought to them (by waiters who had to go through rather rigorous aptitude tests to get the job).
How, then, does one get there without an invite?
“We climb!” Felix said just in time to appear in this chapter.