a shambolic pubful of inebrieted zailors **** YEAH
"Get off my d__n window, apparition!"
The sad story of Choleric Nick grants you courage. And this thing’s smudging your glass
Whoa Whoa Whoa WHAT did you just said to Mr Eaten Whoa what this even I what holy-
You’re not sure what your hand - groping in the darkness - found. A commemorative bust of your aunt, perhaps. An acquaintance’s manuscript, thick as their opinion of their own talent. A block of Fourth City masonry - the broken left hand of some three-fingered god that you used it as a paperweight. Whatever it was, you threw it.
Your window shattered and your missile knocked the cowled shape off the ledge and into the nearby gaslamp. Fire flared. Its hood ignited. Sacks went up like a candle. As he burned, he threw off secrets like a flame throws off smoke. Some of them concerned lacre, and deep, palpitating caverns where it roils like Charybdis…
The next morning you awake from a firm sleep, breakfast on eggs, and head to the docks. There, you drag several of your earlier night’s companions from gutters, alleys, troughs, and - in one lofty case - a weathercock. You share the things you learned from Mr Sacks and send them off to find out what they can.
You watch them shamble into the city. They are bleary. They smell disastrous. Many of them are still drunk, and will probably be drunk for the rest of their lives. But they are yours, and they are resolute. Somewhere, Choleric Nick is waiting.
…So, Eaten-Sacks went up like a candle. As he burned, he threw off secrets like a flame throws off smoke (or like Rat of Glory, if that feels more proper) as he melted like candle.
Maybe I should have picked Dock instead of Widow.
PS: as for "Accept a memory of amalgamy" option…
RIP < DavidL >, we will never forget your noble sacrifice.