Catherine (before battle)

Boss…? Matthew…?

Right on, you muppet! You've been gone for so long that people don't even recognize the infamous Mad Coney!

Mad... Coney?

Y-you've known that vagrant for long? Why haven't you told me so?

Well, I hardly imagined you'd be interested in hearin' about every little friend I made back when we were just another gang rollin' in the sweaty, muddy streets.

Boss, why are you working with this blighter… Wait, no. But…

That mask… those rabbit ears…

Wait, you're still with the Dead Rabbits?!

Yeah, we've uh, changed a tad, eh?

Remember, lad? Back in the day, all we needed to crack some Addams Family 'eads was some tattered scarf 'round one arm and bottles of beer on tab.

We even named one of them beers after you, didn't we? The pub that used to sell that beer closed shop a few weeks ago. Ain't got much business around with that dreadful rumour keepin' everyone home nowadays.

What?! The Wolf's Fall closed? Bloody hell...

…….

Oh… I suppose I'm leaving you all out the loop, eh?

Well, allow me to introduce the gaffer.

He was a boss of the old Syndicate I used to run with.

They all friends of yours, eh? Joined some posh proper company after running out on us outta nowhere, did you?

Well… things just worked out that way.

Are all them lads and lasses your lackeys? Blimey, got a walking timepiece with you too... You daft bastard, you've certainly moved up in the world, eh?

Heheh...

Lackeys…?

Ishmael glared at Heathcliff with a look that could kill… but she decided to hold her silence and merely shook her head in disbelief. She probably decided that it was not worth the trouble.

So what's up with the masks, boss?

What, is it odd? Trends change with time, lad! The time for scarves with rabbit embroidery is long past!

Uh, is that so? It looks a bit…

'Course not! Who do you think we are? We the Dead Rabbits ain't a bookish rabble that follows the coattails of some naff trend.

You've… really not once returned to this place since you left, have you?

No. When I left this manor… and eventually, the Dead Rabbits…

... I made a promise to myself that I'd not return.

Not even a step closer to this place until I've made something of myself. Not until I can return as a successful man.

Well, you've always hated this place. Even when you were one of us.

…….

I've got news for ya, Heathcliff. We're no longer the same lowly Backstreets gang yer familiar with.

I 'spose we've also 'moved up in the world'. Someone from the Ring who'd been keeping their eyes on us plucked us right off the streets and into their fold. We're bigger now; we're one of the up-and-coming Syndicates.

T-the Ring? One of the Fingers?

… Must be the Fauvists of the Ring, then. They're the only ones who'd outfit their underlings with these cheap, tacky animal masks.

Then you're…

Yeah, ya little shite. I'm the top boss of the Dead Rabbits now.

Boss...

Remember what you always used to say when we've each filled up with more than three bottles of beer?

What we drank were some lousy beer made from halfway rotten wheat, Heathcliff.

All that I remembered come the next morn was a poundin' headache and the light feeling of our emptied pockets.

You used to tell me that it hurt like hell every time one of your own men came back to us hurt. Even the recruits.

Like they hurt not just any underling, but an extension of you.

I knew you'd make it big one day, boss.

Well, I 'spose drunk me knew how to wax poetic.

I knew it was you, Matthew. The mask threw me off for a moment, boss.

What a sorry sight this is.

I sincerely apologize to you two sweethearts for crashing your tearful reunion…

But the point is, while you were wandering the streets, wasting away the best years of your life on the road…

Matt's made something of himself. Which is why I hired him as my bodyguard. You hear me?

Not like you and your merry band of no-name, second-rate hooligans!

I could think of more than a few Sinners who would've gotten angry enough to brandish their weapons at such an insult...

... but they all seemed to remember that responding to such insults with violence only begot pointless turmoil. So, instead, they all began sighing heavily in an attempt to vent some of their pent-up anger.

... Hindley. You seem to be sorely mistaken. This isn't the same winter you thrashed me, treated me like an indentured servant, and abused me like a hound.

I won't deny that I spent many days and nights imagining tearing that foul tongue from your gob.

But…

Heathcliff glanced briefly in our direction.

Even a poor sod like myself found a place to belong. Went on adventures to places you couldn't even imagine. Learned a thing or two from 'em.

So I just… feel bad for you, mate.

What…?

Because you really haven't changed one bit.

Besides…

The hell is that rag you're wearing? You look more like a drifting vagabond than I do.

What? ...WHAT? Y-you insolent fool…!

That man's been saying some pretty nasty stuff about us…

But he doesn't even look like someone that's worth arguing with...

Haah… mate, did you even check yourself in the mirror in the last week?

I can't bear to look at you so down in the dumps, Hindley.

Of course, we had no way of knowing what Hindley looked like in the past. But…

We could pretty easily tell that he was far from the most stable person in the room.

You… you fucking bastard…!

Now, now. Mister Hindley, why don't ye seat yerself on this sofa and calm down?

Be more considerate of our boys standin' in that corner, watching the whole thing go down, huh? They don't even get these comfy-looking leather sofas.

Tsk…

Hindley grumbled for a moment before slumping down on a sofa.

And even that simple action was stumbling and pathetic.

I see what happened.

He let the alcohol consume him, and not the other way around. Fell into a big, nasty barrel with no way out.

I've seen the same look on some sailors. Failing to pull themselves out of that habit… would lead them straight into the merciless maws of the Lake. Not even a trace of them would be left.

Well, this man's still my client.

Mister Hindley hired me for some job, which is why I'm here at Wuthering Heights.

Job?

Catherine's hosting this banquet, ain't she? What kind of job could possibly need the Dead Rabbits' help here?

… What?

… Hah. A banquet?

Well, I suppose there is one thing that hasn't changed with time. It's that witless, useless idiot brain of yours, you absolute dullard.

Hindley…!

Please, cease this at once. I implore you.

I do not wish to see my manor sullied by such... foul obscenities.

This is not your home, Linton. It's mine. It's my manor!

You're the one who sullied this noble Wuthering Heights, MY birthright bestowed upon me by my father, by taking it from me by the means of trickery!

Was your own family manor too small for you, Linton Edgar? Your oh-so-noble Edgar Family?

… Edgar Family?

The time for whining, crying, and throwing a tantrum to get what you want is… long past. Cough.

Bold words for some milksop who's about to choke himself to death on air!

Please maintain your distance, Mister Hindley.

I've seen mongrels more loyal than you lot! I was your master only a few years ago! Have you cast aside your memories as well when you did your loyalty?

Cease this at once, Master Hindley. The Butlers have all left Hindley Earnshaw behind, as you are very well aware yourself.

And you too, Butlers. We do not want to make further trouble here, hmm?

Understood, Chief Butler Nelly.

…….

After a brief silence, Heathcliff finally brought up the question he'd been stewing for so long.

Nelly, where is Catherine?

You must know, Nelly, that Catherine never did like these commotions. So many guests making so much noise in her home... she won't be pleased.

... I suppose she never did.

I've been... keeping my volume in check because I didn't want to offend her. But it's getting harder and harder to keep it down.

…….

There was a look of unfathomable, immeasurable grief on both Linton and Nelly.

Hindley was absentmindedly mumbling some foul language at the ceiling...

... and Heathcliff probably sensed from this ineffably dark and ominous silence that something was terribly wrong.

It was setting in for us as well.

After all we've been through in this journey... this kind of silence was all too familiar.

Where is Catherine? What's with this dour look on everyone?

I'm terribly sorry, Heathcliff. I...

Why... why are you sorry? What the hell are you sorry about?!

…….

Heathcliff.

I may have a correct assumption as to what this silence indicates.

So I have no other choice but to tell you, as it is common courtesy to do so, that I am very sorry to hear that.

What the fu - aagh!

Can't you talk normally for once?!

I hardly know how to tell you this, but...

Miss Catherine... isn't here anymore.

What do you mean she's not...?

Catherine, she's... dead.