The owls at the front, who always got the best job of sitting on top of tall shit and doing bugger all whooped and clapped sarcastically. Dult gave them the obligatory daggers and slipped out of his chair to fetch himself a cup, and Hoar a refill from the breakfast table.

“You have two hours before you hit the streets. I do not want to hear anything about murders or drug busts unless I see a clear connection to the festival. I do not care if or Sei Orlouge himself appears at the head of the procession in the buff. Do your jobs. Go home to your families. Clear?”

Dult pocketed a donut in each of his cloak’s pouches, and walked back to his seat with a cup in each hand. Though the coffee served in the precinct was strong, unsweetened, and coarse, the smell beat the last reluctance to be anywhere else but here out of him.

“Yes sarge!” the room barked, a chorus of overweight rabbits and do-gooder hedgehogs.

Hoar took his coffee and they clinked mugs to toast another boring afternoon. They exchanged smug glances. Just because the Sarge did not want to hear about it, did not mean they could not do anything about naked faeries or herb peddlers on the sly.

“Dissssmissed!”

Waiting for the others to filter out and back to their desks, Dult made polite conversation with Hoar about all the normal boring morning stuff. Unlike Dult, Hoar moved out from his parent’s house and enjoyed a modest hovel in the merchant district – a flat amongst four squeezed in between a butcher’s and a hairdressers.

“Still on for Friday?”

“Course Hoar, game night completes me.”

Six members of the City Watch sat around a table in Weird Norm’s basement was a remarkable sight. They kept it amicable for at least an hour, before dice rolls, beer suds and slagging off their bosses became the week’s best sort of end.

“Come on.”

They stood, left their cups on their chairs and trailed out onto the office floor. Tails swishing and flicking behind them, they walked to the exit, and trotted down the stairs still exchanging jibes and threats to ‘ruin’ the other and perhaps for once break even (wagered Scrabble was a vicious affair).

“Well, you did roll enough sixes last week to let me just have a little-. Bit. Of. Hope.”

Dult chuckled. They shuffled up to the armoury porthole and waited in line. A badger, two turtles and a female sparrow hawk booked their weapons out in front of them. Through the caged window, the mouse saw his father’s sword on the rack and smiled.

“Don’t throw up in my lap this week and I’ll see what I can do.”

Hoar frowned and buried his hands in his pockets. Dult rolled his eyes, the same old mannerisms marking their pre-patrol routine. Whilst it got a bit dull sometimes, they worked well enough together to forge the sort of friendship that did not go pear shaped over a bit of vomit.

“Next!”