“Mosur.” The name came out deep, the hollow voice flat.
It was enough to make the draenei crossing the empty Heart’s floor to pause. After a moment he turned and looked up to the top of the stairs where Hadeon stood. Pulling on an immediate grin he put his hands on his hips and leaned back to get a better look at the unamused Cabal member. “Heya H. Didn’t see you up there.”
“I just finished balancing the books for our employees.” Hadeon paused and watched the thinner man.
Mosur raised a brow and tilted his head wondering what exactly this could be about. Not another Telerin incident he hoped. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I noticed there was a two week vacation slip for our piano man,” Hadeon paused again but didn’t give the younger a chance to speak before getting to the point. He didn’t want to give Mosur to much freedom to talk around the explanation he wanted. “It’s signed by you.” Another beat. “Paid vacation.”
Mosur grinned relaxing a little. “Oh, just that.”
“Just that.” Hadeon repeated as straight and flat as he’d started the conversation.
“Well yeah, normally when you take a vacation it’s paid.” He started turning his hand in circles dismissively.
“Not here. Not now. Two weeks Mosur. If we don’t have entertainment, we don’t have customers. If we don’t have customers, we don’t make profits.”
Mosur continued to act dismissively of this. “Oh come on H. He did a good job, he deserves a bit of a break. Besides we have plenty of bands clambering at the door to get a chance to play.” He glanced up, the death knight still stood in half darkness at the top of the stairs to his office.
“He did good what? Fixing up Zaanthe. Or he did a good job playing your game? You still haven’t told us where you were that night.” Hadeon commented. Though he commented he didn’t ask or press the subject. Instead he looked down on the other draenei letting a heavy silence build.
Mosur didn’t have an immediate response, the older draenei’s gaze weighing heavily on him. “Hey, hey, hey now. Hadeon, come on. What’s the problem? You want me to go tell him we’re revoking his vacation?”
Hadeon blew a snort through his nose. “Yes. Actually.” He paused enjoying for a moment the look of shock that crossed his partners face before it could be hidden. “His last day of vacation is on a Saturday. I need him to work that night. The band I had lined up dropped out, which is fine. Zaanthe won’t be here that weekend anyway. Go see if you can’t convince him to work that Saturday – and from now on I approve vacation time.” He waited for the man on the main floor to nod and turned back to his office. Offhandedly he spoke, “and stop playing games, I don’t need you scaring off my good employees.” This was followed by a half-hidden sigh.
“Yeah okay.” Mosur answered sighing himself. It was probably time they did actually meet, this was at least an excuse. The Broken Heart’s piano man.
The lights in main room were dim, casting shadows over the faces of the two men standing behind the Don. Though their features were obscured there was little doubt they were a pair of the troll’s rumored zombies.
Seated across from the Don, arms nestled comfortably on stuffed armrests, the draenei’s smile grew wider, parting his lips while he waited for the troll to speak. He let his gaze canvas the table taking in all the knick-knacks, like the used ashtray facing the pair of guest chairs, one of which he occupied. His host seemed preoccupied with a pair of carved dice, but patience was a virtue Mosur found he could summon an abundance of when necessary.
The moments passed by, the only movement in the room belonging to the flick of the draenei’s tail and the troll’s constant toying with his dice, the gentle clattering of them on the leather desk mat was the only sound to be heard while they waited. The dice looked out of place compared to everything else on the desk, they were crude and appeared to be carved out of cheap, yellowed ivory. In contrast other items on the troll’s desk were expertly carved, smooth with a lacquered sheen and full of deep rich colors. He spun them on their corners between thumb and finger and let them fall then inspecting them for a few moments before repeating the motion.
“It be done,” the troll spoke after a final drop of the dice. A pair of ones showed on the carved lopsided faces. His gaze shifted upward to read the draenei guest’s face.
“We’re certainly glad you approve Don. We’re only looking for a mutual working relationship with you and your family in the future and thought a proper show of neighborly goodwill was in order.”
“Neighborly good will? Dah Cabal lookin’ ta move some ah its business ova ta Kalimdor, dat be what dis is all about?” He questioned, still studying the well dressed man across from him.
“I can’t say for certain. It is a possibility in the future, but we aren’t planning to at the moment, no. We’ve just been aware that you’ve been making more and more of your home here in Stranglethorn, and as I said wanted to show you proper appreciation.”
Leaning back the troll pressed the butt of his palms against the front edge of the desk, pushing himself comfortably back against the chair and pulled open the desk’s front drawer. His attention had dropped away from his guest as the draenei offered no real threat to him in his own home with his own protections. “Ya said dis wasn’t ah gift ya was lookin’ for anyt’ing in return fa, but Papa be honest. Ya have done him a great service dis day, d’oh ya may not know it.” He lifted a leather-tied necklace from the drawer, hanging from it was a white porcelain jar, though one flattened in design. The leather lace was looped through the small handles on either side, the jar itself was just bigger than an old fashion gold piece. He held it out toward the draenei and read his curious expression. “Ya know Papa’s reputation, so ya know when ah be tellin ya dis will grant ya any wish, ya know it ta be true. Take it.”
After just a beat Mosur reached out and took the leather-lace necklace from the trolls hands and glanced down at it. “A wish, huh? So I could just wish for enough money to retire on?” He chuckled, though the idea of selecting one wish was a bit overwhelming. It would be something he’d have to think about.
“Ya could wish fa somet’in like that, ya. But Papa gonna give ya ah warnin’ just dis one time. Ya best be careful w’at ya wish fa, dah spirits be fickle t’ings mon. Best be makin sure ya wish is some kinda selfless else dey may take it outta ya blue hide.” The Don’s right eye glinted in the low light as he settled back into his chair and stared in silence.
Several moments passed before Mosur realized they were done here, the meeting over, dropping the joking tone he quickly responded as he stood. “Thank you Papa Don Sowdi for your generosity. I will take your words under advisement.” With a shallow bow at the waist he turned and left, passing through a thick curtain of beads and down the stairs back out through the trolls main lobby.
“Well, how did it go?” The unmistakable voice of Zaanthe.
“It went well. Papa was pleased with our show of goodwill. He even gave us a gift in return.” Mosur tilted his head to the side and looked back over his shoulder grinning at the Cabal’s ‘pretty boy’ enforcer.
He decided not to tell the Cabal about the Don’s generous gift, at least not till he’d had time to think it over. He kept the the leather-strung porcelain jar around his neck to keep it safe. He had a lot of ideas and a lot of questions. Primarily, how did one use the wish? Was it a simple ‘I wish…’ or did he need to break the porcelain while wishing? Maybe just break the top of it off at the neck? Was it even hollow? These were questions he should have asked in that window of silence the troll had given, he figured. Beyond how it worked though he had to decide what to use the wish on. Should he plan out an elaborately worded wish, or save it for an emergency? Maybe there was an expiration date on the wish itself and if he waited too late it wouldn’t be worth anything.
“If you could wish for anything what would it be?” Mosur said flopping down a pair of jacks on the table and a three in the center.
“Anything?” The hollow question rang back at him. The well dressed man sitting across from him drew another card.
The light above them swung and the ground above their heads rumbled causing Mosur to look up at the underground structure’s ceiling. He was certain the trains would cave this area in one day, but his host didn’t seem to mind, didn’t even look up anymore. It could hardly be called a room, the old sewers had been cleaned up long ago and left empty. It was cheaper than filling them in. Sometimes the transients found there way down here but they didn’t always make it back out. Mosur was seated on a metal container which looked like it had come from the docks, and the table they played cards on was the side of a wooden container held up by milk crates.
“I would wish that the remainder of my tenure were to go smoothly.” The man, another draenei, laid down a set of three 9s and placed one on top of the stack.
“Tsk, isn’t that a little selfish?” Mosur countered and drew another card he laid it down on his side. “On your 9s.” He said and put one in the center stack face up.
“Depends on how you look at it. Yes. No. For my tenure to go smoothly it means my sister would have to have a comfortable and easy life, and to stay out of trouble. That in turn would make my tenure easy, I don’t mind things as they are, I just want her to have better.” He drew a card and then place it on top of the pile.
“Making someone else’s life easier so it makes your life easier, hum I wonder if that counts.”
“Mosur, are you trying to have one of your philosophical discussions with me? You asked a question and I answered it, what do you really want to know?”
“Oh, nothing. You know me, I just don’t have Sister Superior to yammer to anymore,” He grinned and played his turn.
“Mm. And what would you wish for Mosur?”
“You know Tae, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Mosur looked down at the small worn notebook, soft brown leather wrapped decades old pages full of words in many different languages. This page however was written in simple draenei accompanied with later added notations.
Sister Superior was alive and well, still completing her duties.
-This doesn't often work in stories the dead always come back as horrible amalgamations or without the same memories. Selfish.
Clear out some of the bad families.
-’Bad’ is objective, even if the families are named. Bad Karma comes back on you. Selfish.
Business productivity.
-Material, selfish.
Have less Rook inclusion.
-Probably too selfish, there's no getting rid of that bastard.
“Humph, well…” he murmured, looking over the page, he’d scribbled the words down here and there and--try as he might--he couldn't think of anything selfless. Or at least, anything selfless that he didn’t consider a waste. Though arguably that's what made them selfless; no benefit to himself whatsoever. “And here the Don said it was a gift, a favor.” He groaned and rolled his head back, it was more a bother and an annoyance than anything else right now.
“Hey Moe! Grab your jacket we have to go!” The low-toned voice yelled from one end of the hallway.
Mosur popped up out of the chair and tossed the tanned book onto the bed. Grabbing his jacket from the chair back and gun from the table he hustled out the door and down the stairs. They had a run tonight but by the sounds of things the time had been pushed forward. “What’s the word?” He asked pausing in the back alley of the Heart.
Hadeon watched the lithe draenei straighten his collar and re-tuck his shirt while he explained. “Kedron sent me a message. They are moving the crates out before the sun goes down. I know we do not normally meddle in the affairs of other families but their practices still sit poorly with me and we are not going to let that cargo sail. You all know what this is about, bust open the ones you can, Zrimgor and I will take care of the rest.” The old soldier glanced around at the rest of the Cabal and nodded his head motioning for them to head out.
This wasn’t Lucdamis’ dock, though neither he nor Nesuros would probably have issues with this cargo. No, this was one of the more recently built Westfall docks, no one had really placed claim to it yet, though some were beginning to use them like they owned them. Mosur started to think the families needed to get together and have a discussion about it before it got out of hand.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Mosur said and held up both hands, his pistol still held in his right hand with his finger free of the trigger. His thoughts whirred as he tried to think of a way to get them all out of here, out of this mess. Zaanthe was out cold and his two knights were dealing with issues of their own. “How about we all just walk away from this.”
“Walk away from this?!” The well dressed night elf roared. “Do you know how much you bastards have cost me? Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused, how much of my cargo you’ve ‘liberated’?” His voice got louder with every few words.
“Yeah but we can make a trade or a bargain you kn-” Mosur was abruptly silenced by the ringing of a gunshot as Greensen fired into the air.
“No! There is nothing you can do to get yourself out of this. It’s about time you people-”
“What about a wish!?” Mosur blurted out and hooked his thumb around the leather thong about his neck. He pulled the white porcelain pendant free continuing to hold his hand open.
Stunned for a moment Greensen stomped his heavy shoed foot on the dock and fired another bullet. The shot whizzed past the draenei’s ear. “What kind of idiot do you take me for?”
“No, no, it’s true. You know the Don, the Papa? Papa Don Sowdi, the troll, the one that dabbles in the arts still yeah? Yeah this is from him, a favor for a favor. It’s real, he said it would grant any one wish.”
The elf sneered at the draenei and looked back to one of the fair-skinned entourage that accompanied him, rumor was they were a seer. “Well…is he telling the truth?”
Mosur watched as the calmer underling studied him, watched his eyes narrow. Was he some kind of shadow weaver? Did he do the kinds of things Rook could? Mosur didn’t know he stood there hoping to be believed, his heart pounding and his throat tightening.
“He speaks the truth.” The soft voice of the elven seer came after what seemed like an eternity. “The Don bestowed this gift to him a week past and he has agonized on what to wish for saving it until this instance where he has now offered it to you.”
“And?”
“That is all I see.” The seer spoke again, bowing their head.
“What the fuck Mosur!” Zrimgor growled looking up from his hands and knees. Greensen’s men had done a number.
Greensen gritted his teeth and sneered at the draenei. “Toss your gun in the water.”
“What? When did you get that? Just wish us out of-” Hadeon’s gruff but annoyed lecture was cut short as a bullet tore into the left side of his abdomen.
“Shut up!” Greensen stomped again the agitation in his voice rising..
“Do we have a-”
“TOSS YOUR GUN IN THE WATER!” He screamed cutting off the draenei he was bargaining with.
Mosur exhaled and tapped the side of the trigger guard with his finger. The gun wouldn’t do him much good anyway, he only had one bullet and by now Greensen’s men had time to gather around. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the gun toward the edge of the deck, it landed with a clatter and slid another inch or two before splashing into the dark waters below.
“Now the necklace. Lay it down and then get out.” He said tempering his tone and leveling the gun toward Mosur once more.
Mosur ducked his head and pulled the necklace free; he bent to place it on the ground not sure what would happen if the porcelain broke. He kept his gaze on the trigger happy elf and stood back up.
“I said get your guys and GET OUT!” He raised his voice at the end again and watched as Mosur struggled to lift Zaanthe with Zrimgor’s help. Hadeon was already backing out with his one arm limp at his side and his other pressed against his wounded abdomen..
“Consider this the only mercy you’ll ever see from us...and spread the word.” He said darkly and walked over to lift the necklace as the four draenei hurried in their escape. “Any one wish, huh?”
“What the hell Mosur! Any one wish? And you just gave it away to that bastard!?” Hadeon cursed him.
“Why didn’t you just wish us out of that situation?” Zrimgor’s deep voice questioned immediately after, it was likely what Hadeon was going to say at the docks before he’d been cut off.
“And where the hell... you said you got it from the Don? That was more than a week ago, you kept it from us!” Hadeon continued to bitch as the moved into Elywnn.
“Lets not start pointing fingers about unshared information now. You said he was trafficking humanoid cargo- those guys were dead!”
“Undead.”
“Whatever, undead, they were undead that weren't attacking back which meant he had some way of controlling them or making them docile and you didn’t tell me or Zaanthe. Last time I checked you’re also undead!”
“That’s not the point here, why did you give something that powerful away!”
“That is the point! Because of everything that happened I had to give it away! I could have wished for something, sure, but it had very specific rules to it, I couldn't ask for something selfish or it was going to backfire, it’ll probably backfire on Greensen. Besides it got us out of there one way or another so...wish granted!”
“Alright, look... That piano was being cleaned. I am not responsible for how well or ill-done the rigging was. He was a good piano man. I had nothing against him whatsoever. It was genuinely an accident.”
((Sorry this took so long! I wanted to write something IC but couldn’t get past this line. So I finally just published what I got.))
The only thing aside from a bed and a dresser in the Ex-chaplain's room at the Heart was an antique standing chessboard. Mosur wiped a thin layer of dust off the ebon and ivory laid top and setting the pieces in place. Small nicks and gouges in the board and the table spoke to the board's age. With all the pieces in place he moved the white queen's pawn forward two spaces.
He made his move, the black pawn mirroring his opponent. Before doing any more he stopped and glanced over the board, the pawns set unmoving beside one another under his gaze. The draenei stood next to the board and absently curled his finger pressing against his lips as he thought. It was still too early to read the board much. He assumed his opponent wasn't an amateur, but it would take at least one more move to demonstrate that.
"MOSUR!"
The knight's bellow echoed through the empty club and jolted him from his thoughts. There was no sound of heavy hoof falls, but this was Hadeon not Zrimgor. He could already pictured the knight sitting behind his desk seething. His hands would be on the desk in front of him or clasped with his chin resting on them...depended on how mad he was and how much he knew. He had left on a bad note the previous day and had actively avoided him, did he figure out he'd been at the casino?
With a sigh he turned from the board and made his way to the office. Hands on the desk, he saw, Hadeon was mad...but didn't have the answers to whatever he was about to ask him.
"What the fuck is this Mosur?" Hadeon spoke before Mosur could get the door shut and a smart comment out. He spun the note around for him to read, one line of text written across it.
Mosur's brows raised at how direct the knight was being, he wasn't positive about what Hadeon was talking about yet. He closed the distance between the door and the front of the heavy wood desk and glance over the note. Queen’s Bishop Pawn to Queen’s Bishop Pawn four. "It's the second move in a Queen's Gambit Aitch. Actually not all that common anymore, but you know openings fall in and out of popularity...personal preference and the like though." He answered and glanced up. So their new musician wasn't just shifting pieces around on the board.
"Mosur." The name echoed the patience Hadeon was straining to give, anyone outside of the Cabal he might not have received such a luxury.
"Man you've really got to watch your blood pressure, you know old man?" He could seen the knight's hand flex. "Come on, your new piano man left a note with Xere and she gave it to me before taking Diyos home. It just had a chess move on it so I'm humoring the situation. Now...can I have that?" Mosur extended his hand.
Hadeon sat motionless as he weighed Mosur's explanation. He used the center finger of his right hand to push the letter an inch forward.
Mosur reached down and pulled the paper free with the knight still sat staring a hole through him. He perked his brow and made his way to the door. He left the office and stepped out into the hallway, it felt twenty degrees cooler out here, hard to say if it was just his head or not. Making his way back to his room he moved the white pawn accordingly. "Pick a defense," he muttered and weighed his options. As he thought to himself he placed the letter face down on top of the first note in the white player's chair. He gathered up a note pad and scrawled down his move before adjusting the board appropriately. He smirked as he folded the note twice into a trifold and took it downstairs to the stage. Slipping it behind the thin book of sheet music on the music rack he left an edge exposed.
The grizzled old administrator of the Broken Heart’s legitimate face was not a man given to fanciness and frills. As an old undead soldier from the centuries past when street corner necromancy got you gutted and demons were as common (and unruly) as house cats, Hadeon had seen so many traditions and styles come and go that he hardly bothered following any of them - even those he liked.
Except in his office.
Though it was already sliding out of favor, Hadeon was so fond of the Azerothian style which came from rich woods, wine-dark leather, tasteful touches of brass, and organically inspired curves of the post-royal period that he’d had his office redone to echo that heavy, almost kaldorei-primitive decor. Like their well-tailored suits and perfectly legitimate business activities, it helped those who worked with the Cabal remember the days when they had class and taste. And morals.
The old smith had precisely two places which were his alone and the presence of others was only grudgingly tolerated: his forge in the second basement near the boiler room, and his office. His recently served-as-operating-room office. With their usual janitor off on a week’s holiday, the task of renewing the burnished gleam of mahogany wood on his desk, replacing the blood spattered Pandaren-style rug, and restoring order to his careful filing system fell entirely on him. With the furniture righted and the curtains (over a blank wall and no window) straightened and the all-too-familiar scent of blood gone, it almost felt proper again. He could almost pretend he was civil again.
Only once the space was set to rights could he set his orderly mind to sifting through the weekend’s mail. The power company bill. A renewal notice for their liquor license. Several too-forward requests for a gig on their stage. A cryptic scrawl of ink outlining a chess move. The death knight set the letter down on the burgundy wine leather blotter and smoothed it flat with slow, deliberate moves of his dusty blue fingers. He reached up to his neck and adjusted the knot of his tie. He stretched his hand out to nudge the ancient prismathyst paperweight into precisely the correct spot on the right corner of his desk. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. A deep breath in, murder out.
"Yeah. He is, no thanks to you and where the hell were you Mosur?"
"None of your damn business," Mosur snapped back, he was feeling scrappy this evening.
"It is my business Mosur!" Hadeon roared and slammed a heavy fist against the top of his stained desk.
Mosur tsked through his teeth and turned to leave. He yanked the door open and jerked it shut behind him. The door shook with the force he slammed it with, but that was part of the reason they had such a thick door on the office. Mosur started down the stairs of the empty club quickly one hoof after the next. He tilted his head back and brushed his hair back down with his hand. He slowed to a stop at the bottom of the steps, the young janitor stood there. Silent a brief moment he greeted her trying to keep the warry sound out of his voice. "All done Xere?" He turned and glanced up the stairs, Hadeon hadn't followed him but he could hear the sounds of the bull's fists against his desk again. "Don't worry about the office." Not that that was her job at all, Hadeon didn't like people in his things. "Or the upstairs tonight."
Xere nodded and flashed a smile. "Thank you, I need to see uncle Diyos home anyway."
"Alright. Thanks, go on then." He said still standing a bit stiff at the bottom of the steps. The club had been closed for a couple hours now and the tailor still sat at the bar nursing a mixture of drinks. He probably earned it Mosur thought. He glanced down at the grinning girl again, she was a good kid.
"Oh, before I go, here." She extended the folded note and turned to skip off toward the bar once he took it.
Mosur raised his brow and opened the note.
Queen's pawn to Queen's pawn four. ~ Koth
"Hum." He hummed his brow lowered and eyes narrowed. He folded the paper over and pocketed it beelining for the back door he shoved the push bar and stepped out into the back alley disappearing into the late evening again.
"Direct or indirect?" He muttered and pulled a gold out of his pocket. Flipping it as he walked he muttered aloud, "lions." He watched it spin in the air glinting in light cast from the opposite end of the alley then caught it and flipped over onto the back of his hand. He tsked through his teeth again as he looked at the coin and it showed an old memorial. He thrust it in his pocket again and headed down to Crimson Inc.
He came just as quickly as he left, moving with an unnatural silence for his kind. A token he would have to pay for later. A sealed envelope found its way under the Piano man's door.
The back door clicked twice and opened in a flash slamming into the concrete bricks behind it. The clamor of heavy hooved steps didn’t draw much attention from the gathered crowd. They were having too much fun dancing, too much fun drinking. The man on stage, however, took notice as the collection of draenei shuffled up the stairs leaving the door to slam closed behind them. He hadn’t missed a note and as the office upstairs clicked closed he turned all his attention back to the keys that danced under his touch. He wasn’t alone on stage tonight, thought it wasn’t the company he would have chosen himself. It was one of those electric jazz bands the Broken Heart normally hosted, a new name, tonight was their trial run, they were supposed to start playing once they finished setting up. His song came to an end the sound of the keys dying to a cheer and scattered applause. A yellow glow of light from the office streamed down the stairs. Asherrean took notice because the piano was positioned to face that direction.
“Hey, Piano, your sets over get up here!”
Ash glanced up to see one of the owners, a dusky brown colored draenei with tattered cheeks and a look of murder, leaning out of the open office door. It wasn’t until he stood and offered the crowed another gracious bow of his head that the knight tucked back into the room. That wasn’t the guy who had hired him, while also an old knight the man who had hired him was more of a people person and looked to be in better shape.
He heard the jazz band start up as he began ascending the wide stairs to the upper area normally off limits to anyone aside from the Heart’s staff. The sound of items falling or being thrown to the ground, the slam of a fist the stomp of a hoof. Something was going on in the office and Ash couldn’t decide if he really wanted to know or not. He paused to gather himself in front of the door then rapped his knuckled against the stained oak wood.
“Get in here!”
It was the same draenei from before, his voice harried. Ashe sucked his teeth and pushed the door open. The office floor was littered with papers and several baubles. Three draenei took up most of the office’s space, two deaders and a living one he had gathered was the group’s enforcer. Asherrean had removed himself from any such organizations a long time ago, but he wasn’t blind to what went on around him. The scene was quick to explain almost everything. The boys normally dressed in tailored suits, the more business minded one, the one who had hired him, Hadeon stood there with his jacket buttons undone, and Zrimgor had removed his altogether. Blue was smeared across his once white shirt, and the third, Zaanthe, lay across Hadeon’s now cleared desk with his shirt ripped open.
“Where the hell is Mosur!” Zrimgor growled in frustration.
“Calm down Zee, I don’t know.” Hadeon answered and turned at the torso to see Ash standing there. “Here, get over here and help,” he said with a quick tilt of his head.
He looked from the horned draenei to the one laid on the table. Bullet wounds in his right shoulder, and one about his abdomen. A steady rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still alive.
“Can’t take him to St. Maraad’s.” Hadeon spoke answering a question before Ash could ask it.
“Why-What do you want me to do?”
“We didn’t just hire you for your music Asherrean, now Zaanthe.”
A heavy fist pounded on the office door and when there was no answer, the noisy git just let himself into the office. Only to see Hadeon sitting there at the desk, fingers steepled, and the strangest expression on his face. Was he smiling?!
“Aitch, look, why is our janitor on stage singing about our business? This isn’t subtle at all! Why the hell did you book the cleaning girl as an act anyway?”
“Saturdays are open mic night. I do not control who goes up there or what they sing about.” There was the distinct sound of a hoof tapping along with the beat from beneath the desk. “Perhaps she is singing about a different family, yes? Or it is a metaphor. She is too sweet and innocent to know about busting kneecaps.”
