VERSE ELEVEN: NOTHING TO DO WITH LOVE

Again Damon woke to the sound of his own screams.

When he began to register his surroundings he realized he was already sat upright. Damon gave his head a good shake. His jumbled thoughts evaporated, taking with them any recollection of the terrors that had roused him from slumber. The fox's heart continued to hammer in his chest, however, and he started when Natasha put her arms around him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, resting her chin on his shoulder. Damon, still dazed, stared at the bedspread while he struggled to get his breathing under control.

"I...I think so," he managed to say once he was able to stop panting.

"You were tossing around for some time...do you always have nightmares like this?" 'Tasha wondered. Damon shook his head again, slowly, and brushed some hair from his eyes.

"N...well, not always so bad, no..." he replied, skirting 'round the fact that he could count on his hands the number of times he could recall having had a sound sleep. Night terrors were one of the few familiar constants in his life. Lately, though...

Ever since Miranda, things have been much worse.

"Do you remember what you were dreaming about, Damon?" Natasha's voice was gentle, calming; sincerely concerned. It made some of the tension in his back and shoulders lessen so that Damon was able to lie back down.

"Never do," he murmured. Natasha moved to rest her head against his chest and the vulpine smiled absentmindedly. He stared at the rays of morning sunlight filtering through the window without really seeing them while his fingers idly caressed behind the skunkette's ears.

"Sometimes I'm not even sure I want to," Damon admitted aloud after some time. "Maybe there's a reason I've forgotten my past."

"Perhaps. But perhaps it is better you know it for the same reason, oui?" Natasha piqued, lifting her head to look up at him with those big emerald eyes of hers. Damon couldn't help but smile at her.

"Would that apply to you as well, then?" he asked. Natasha cocked her head curiously, so he added: "About your past, I mean. For a girl with such an interest in history and the stories other people have to tell it seems like there's an awful lot you don't know about your own tale." Damon felt a momentary pang of guilt when Natasha's ears flattened and she averted her gaze.

"Je...I..." 'Tasha stitched her brow in reflection and nibbled at her bottom lip. "I don't care to learn my own story, monsieur," she concluded and then breathed a sigh. "But...merde, it does make a hypocrite of me, non?"

"No more than anyone else," Damon surmised, returning the little smile she gave when she looked back up at him again. "Why don't we make a deal?" he wondered.

"A deal?" the French girl echoed inquisitively. The Briton nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, "we'll help one another uncover our pasts together, if we can. For good or ill...we can discover and overcome them together, maybe." Natasha smiled wider at the suggestion.

"Facing ze past does seem like it might be easier with someone there to help," the she-skunk admitted. "Perhaps...when you return from England, or...?" Natasha let the question trail off while she pressed a little closer to Damon, draping one of her slender legs over his side. As she nestled there Damon suddenly recalled how very naked the two of them were. Coupled with the intimate implications their line of conversation had taken, the fox suddenly felt more than a little self-conscious. He gave a reflexive bit of a jerk.

"Sorry," he mumbled when Natasha looked up at him in alarm. "I just...ah...wow, I guess last night really happened, didn't it luv?" Damon felt his face burning while he looked away and sat up a bit straighter.

"Oui," 'Tasha smiled, unabashed. Damon fidgeted further in response to her impertinence. But why should I feel ashamed? She doesn't - and if it's so shameful you'd think that would have stopped you from fucking her... one of those times, at least!

"I just, ah, bollocks," Damon muttered, brushing some bangs from his eyes again, flustered. Christ, mate, you didn't even use protection... "I'm sorry, 'Tasha. I'm...I don't know that we should've done that," he finally said aloud.

"...It was a little sudden, non?" Natasha admitted, ears fluttering as she herself sat up and gave Damon a bit more space which allowed him to breathe easier. The fox sucked in air and nodded before he exhaled a deep sigh.

"It...it was. I...I'm not usually like this. Like that. I'm sorry, but-"

"I understand, Damon," the skunk-girl cooed, tugging the blankets to cover her chest while she got up onto her knees. Damon eyed her.

"...You do?" he questioned hesitantly.

"Oui. It was...foolish and spontaneous of us. And...and I was probably taking advantage of your, eh, vulnerable state..." Natasha gave a wan smile, looking for one rare moment a little sheepish. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Damon."

The sudden return to a more formal means of address didn't escape Damon's notice, and he wondered at the unpleasant sinking sensation in his chest. But why should it matter? He asked himself. I just pushed her away because it felt like we were getting too close - isn't this _what I want? A more...platonic relationship?_His ears flickered indecisively between a state of flattened embarrassment and rigid attentiveness.

"No, luv, it's alright," Damon assured her on the matter of his vulnerability. He could at least own up to his part in what had happened...and look a little less weak and foolish in the process. "It was irresponsible of me as well. I just...I hope you'll understand that can't happen again - I'm sorry." I am, aren't I? He realized after he'd said it....But why?

Natasha gave one of her friendly, warm smiles before she turned to slip out of bed and retrieve her scattered clothes. She kept herself decent by holding what she picked up from the floor against her chest while that great bushy tail of hers helped to discretely cover most of her figure from the waist down.

"I understand, Damon," she said, and his heart leapt for a moment at her having dropped the 'monsieur'. What the fuck was his problem? Did he want her by his side or at arm's length? "I...hope you are still alright with ze idea of doing some shopping today," Natasha added. "You need new clothes, after all and I can show you around still, oui?" Before he could even answer the question Damon noticed his tail was wagging - or trying to - beneath the sheets.

"I'd appreciate a guide," he affirmed with a smile. "My last attempt at getting 'round town didn't go so well, it would seem."

"Non," 'Tasha agreed with a knowing smirk. "And we can't have that happening to you again. I'll at least make sure you can make it back to ze tavern in one piece, oui? Oh!" Damon blinked a few times at the sudden exclamation.

"Uh, yes?" He ventured while Natasha bounced on the soles of her feet. She was practically beaming.

"I know something else we can do - If I'm to be your guide, today," the skunkette answered cheerfully. "That is...if you were serious when you mentioned learning about your past," she added with a little trepidation. He felt it, too.

"And...what would that be?" Damon asked cautiously, canting his head to one side.

"Well, I said I have to attend class tonight, oui? Perhaps before that I could introduce you to one of my professors who specializes in medieval history? I know he'd be interested to take a look at zat sword of yours. Did you know there used to be a Knights Templar headquarters here in Paris, long ago?"

"I...I can't say that I did, no," Damon was a little perplexed by the odd segue that had taken their conversation back to where it had started. Did Natasha do this sort of thing deliberately? He found it vexing. "And that's sweet and all, really, 'Tasha, but I've already had the sword examined before, yeah? A few times, actually."

"But more opinions cannot hurt, can they?" She was insistent, "besides, how many examiners have been a genuine historien versed in the history of the Templars? Someone who could recognize ze symbols on it? Per'aps even tell you who owned it, in ze past..." Damon couldn't keep from smiling again at her pluck.

"Not many," he admitted, "and I suppose if you're taking me out to find some clothes the least I can do is see you off to class this evening. And perhaps meet this professor of yours in the process." That response caused Natasha's face to break out in one of her brilliant smiles.

"À tout casser! We'll head out right after breakfast, then! Or, no, I can take you somewhere better to eat - you'll love it, I promise! But first, I need to get ready - may I use the shower?" She was practically beside herself with excitement by that point, and Damon had to grin at her infectious energy.

"Heh...of course, luv. I can wait my turn. I need to get some air, anyway." Damon swung his legs over the side of the bed and was fumbling for his pack of smokes and lighter on the nightstand even as he spoke.

"Magnifique! I will not be long," Natasha trilled, scooping up the bag she'd brought the night before and disappearing into the bathroom with it.

When the door had closed Damon stood up from the bed, unconcerned with covering himself in his solitude. He strode over to the window, bracing himself in order to pry the aperture open and let in a cool breeze. The fox craned his neck to look out on the sunlit street below and absentmindedly surveyed the Paris skyline in the distance while fishing for one of his fags.

"Well, guess I've got a full schedule ahead of m'self then," he murmured as he put one of the cancer-sticks to his lips. He flicked his lighter a few times and inhaled once it took. For some reason, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about it.

Merde. Natasha, what is wrong with you?

The skunk nibbled her lip anxiously while staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her gaze wandered from the depths of her own eyes to the cream-coloured tuft that ran down the front of her neck and over the top of her chest. 'Tasha felt her cheeks burning as her eyes locked onto a blemish where neck and shoulder joined. There was a bite-mark there, visible through the pale fur; a reminder of last night that made Natasha feel simultaneously exhilarated and a little guilty.

But it wasn't like she'd made him do it...was it? Perhaps not, but now you've gone and tricked him into taking you on a date? Natasha scrunched her brow and frowned at herself, shaking her head in answer to her own question. Of course she hadn't - shopping had been the plan from before. Before...

Before you had sex with him. The second time, at least. In fairness, though, he'd started it that time...hadn't he?

Does it make a difference? Of course it did. Didn't it?

'Tasha sighed and turned from the mirror to set down her bundle of effects. She folded her clothes neatly, resting them on the toilet seat before reaching into the shower to give the faucet a twist. The skunkette brushed her tail absentmindedly while waiting for the water to warm. No matter how absent her mind, however, her conscience continued to needle her.

If it's not a date then what is it? She huffed quietly. She was just helping him find some clothes - he needed them for the duration of his stay, after all. There wasn't any hidden subtext...was there?

Again: easier to say if you hadn't already slept with him. Natasha frowned as she stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. She stood under the stream of hot water and sighed, shutting her eyes while she let it saturate her hair and fur, matting them down, showing the definition of the slender figure she had beneath that voluminous coat.

She'd slept with other men before, of course, and even the occasional girlfriend of hers. She'd had crushes and flings and trysts and everything in-between, but they hadn't necessarily meant anything more serious than a bit of fun. So why did she doubt herself now? What was it about Damon, anyway?

He's different.

Well, that was true, if unsatisfyingly cliché...but why? Natasha lowered her head against the downpour and cracked her eyes open, watching the droplets of water cascading over her body and spattering in the basin of the shower. There were plenty of interesting characters who had ventured through the Tavern in the past, so what was it about this new fox?

He's a dark and mysterious stranger...and maybe, just perhaps, you're falling in love with him.

The skunkette jolted a little when that thought crossed her mind. She shook her head in vigorous denial and reached for the bar of soap cradled in the basket which held the shower's toiletries.

That can't be it. You're a stupid, silly girl, 'Tasha, but there's no way you'd let yourself fall for someone so quickly...someone you hardly know.

There wasn't, was there?

She couldn't deny that there was some strange allure to Damon Vulpes, however, and she mused on that while working the soap into a lather in her fur. A tiny moan escaped Natasha's lips unbidden as her paws kneaded over the tender flesh of her pelvic region; she was sore still from the night before, evidently. But it was a good ache.

He is a good lover, she admitted. He hadn't been gentle, exactly...but then, 'Tasha had rather liked that. The fox's skill and eagerness aside, that piercing and the girth of the knot he'd twice tied her with had made Damon's otherwise unremarkable endowment seem much more formidable...

Natasha's ears wilted and she exhaled a hot sight of shame; without realizing it her wandering paws had taken to more lascivious activities than simple hygiene. The she-skunk bit her lip and returned to washing herself with a little more diligence, feeling self-conscious in spite of her privacy in the shower.

What the hell is your problem, silly girl? Are you really so helpless because of a charming stranger? A charming stranger who's got an amazing body and is great in bed and has a good heart and a mysterious past and is...

What? What was he? Damaged - was that it? Natasha frowned.

She grudgingly acknowledged the possibility that part of her attraction to Damon might have stemmed from the maternal desire to nurse a wounded animal, in some metaphoric sense or other. It seemed as likely an explanation as any - but why should she feel guilty about it?

Because he's still hurting and you're in a perfect position to take advantage of his grief, stupid.

Natasha sighed and set the soap aside, turning beneath the stream of water to let it wash the suds from her body. She remained still for a while, stewing in the heat of the steamy shower and her own regret. At length she grabbed for the complimentary bottle of shampoo and popped it open, squirting a dollop into her palm and taking a moment to appreciate its flowery scent.

The bouquet helped her body relax a little, at least, while she worked the shampoo into her hair. It did nothing to ease the turmoil in her mind, however.

Was she really so shallow? Was she simply using Damon's loneliness to see to her own selfish desires? Or was she, somehow, falling for him even though they'd just met? And of those possibilities, which was worse?

'Tasha's slim fingers ran through her hair while she rinsed it out. Then she turned away from the downpour of the faucet and wrung out her hair. When that was done she cut the water and stood in the shower until the droplets dripping from the showerhead and her body petered out.

The mephit girl exhaled a deep breath and drew back the curtain, banishing further worries from her mind in the process. She'd been brooding long enough, she decided, and that just wouldn't do. Stepping out of the shower, she turned to retrieve her bag from the floor and balance it on the edge of the sink.

Natasha smiled as she brushed a paw across the tiny mirror, wiping away the condensation to get a better look at herself. She had the entire day ahead of her and the only way to face it was head on, one problem at a time. The first thing she decided to tackle was her makeup.

Richard groaned and pulled a pillow over his face as soon as the morning sunlight spilled across it from the window. It wasn't that he was hung-over; near as he could tell he wasn't. Richard had a dim recollection of gulping down several cups of water after rinsing the taste of vomit out of his mouth. That had been chased with a healthy dose of sleeping in, and with the headache averted he only felt a little nauseous.

Nauseous, perhaps, but certainly not hung-over; something else was the cause for his morning dismay.

"I fucked a whore, didn't I?" he muttered, the words muffled by the cushion with which he contemplated smothering himself. Hardly my finest moment.

The otter sighed and sat up, allowing the pillow to fall away and forcing him to squint until his eyes adjusted to the brightness. The world was a mass of shapeless colours without his glasses, so he fumbled around until he found them in his clothes tangled up in the bedspread. Upon securing the frame over the bridge of his muzzle he was able to confirm what he'd suspected since his first bleary-eye glimpse of the room:

Avinglad was nowhere to be seen.

Richard blinked a few times and gazed around again just in case there was a chance the massive wolf would somehow materialize. When that didn't happen, the mustelid opted to roll out of bed in spite of the protest of his (now stiffer, sorer) muscles. He stretched with a groan and briefly noted that the large plush chair had been relocated to the centre of the room. How drunk was I last night?

Drunk enough to fuck a whore, it seemed. This was a new low for him. Please tell me I wrapped my crap, at least... Richard had a sinking feeling that he already knew a less favourable outcome was the truth, but he couldn't stand no knowing for sure. He nabbed his pants from the bed on his way to the bathroom.

Standing before the mirror the otter met his own sullen, baggy-eyed gaze and lifted the garment up into the dry basin sink with a grunt. Richard fumbled around momentarily to free his wallet from one pocket and once he checked its contents he let out a disheartened groan: there, inside one of its pouches, remained two unopened condoms.

Son of a bitch_. Or vixen, rather_.

Well, at least that wasn't something he had to worry about. Mustelids and canids couldn't produce offspring together of course. Still, Richard wasn't exactly looking forward to his next visit to a clinic. He felt itchy just thinking about it.

To make matters worse, Richard was sure he recalled that the vixen had learned his name last night. My real name. He frowned while thumbing over the driver's license in his wallet, no doubt the manner in which she'd gleaned his identity; even as drunk as he'd been he couldn't imagine he would have divulged that information otherwise. Which meant the minx had been rifling through his belongings...

The otter frowned as he opened the billfold to leaf through whatever remained of the cash he had on-hand. That there was any at all had him mildly surprised, but as Richard looked through the bills he furrowed his brow in puzzlement.

She didn't take anything. Not a damn thing.

Every Euro was accounted for; he counted twice to be sure. Richard stared suspiciously at the unmolested money. He dimly recalled something about having been offered a 'free ride', so to speak, but he'd half-expected it to be some kind of trick. Or at least, he would have in his right mind. He was hardly feeling sorry for himself over the free lay, and yet... How had she known his name?

Could've been imagining it. I was pretty far gone... I don't even remember getting back to my room. Or where Avi got to, come to think of it. Wonder if I drove him off? Richard shook his head to put the questions from his mind. He'd track the wolf down after breakfast, if he could. Avinglad aside, what did it matter even if one whore in Paris did know Richard's name? He wasn't an international fugitive, after all. Not yet, anyway.

With a sigh, the otter turned to lean over into the shower, cranking the faucet to turn it up nice and hot. He was going to need a good, long soak if he'd to be ready to face the day. Richard waited until steam began to billow before removing his glasses and placing them carefully on the edge of the sink.

Then he stepped into the soothing heat and let the water wash his worries away.

Avinglad hadn't slept well.

His slumber had been restless and uneasy, plagued by bad dreams and worse memories. He'd had fits of alertness; startling jolts from sleep at the slightest sound of nocturnal life in the tavern around him. None of it had been enough to rouse him fully, however, so he'd languished in a perpetual state of semi-consciousness. A door slamming nearby had finally been enough to jostle him into something like wakefulness.

People wandered to and fro in the corridor, either ignoring him to waiting until they were out of earshot to mutter something about the wolf slumped against the door in the hallway. He imagined that they muttered about him, at least, since he could hardly understand a word of the French most everyone was speaking. It took a few minutes of sitting there, ears swiveling to the sounds of morning life, but gradually Avinglad began to warm to the notion of getting up.

Then the door he was leaning against swung inward and the wolf fell flat on his back with a thud and a grunt. He winced in annoyance at what was sure to be a fresh bruise on the back of his head and opened his eyes to stare up at Kawauso.

"...Good morning?" The otter loomed over him, half-dressed and nonplussed.

"Ah've had better," Avinglad admitted with a grunt. "Ye hung-over?" he wondered, feeling the beginnings of a headache of his own. It did little to encourage him to rise up from the floor.

"I don't get hangovers, really," the otter replied, tousling his damp hair impatiently to further dry it out. "They're overrated, anyhow."

"How fortunate for ye," the wolf decided, closing his eyes again and stitching his brow in mild irritation. The headache wasn't helping matters, certainly, but already Kawauso was beginning to irritate him this morning. Without even trying, no doubt.

"What about you?" Kaw wondered, and Avinglad opened his eyes halfway while the otter added, "I don't recall kicking you out last night. Certainly didn't have _that_much to drink."

And how much more would that have taken? Avinglad sat up and stretched with a groan. He hesitated, then gathered himself to his feet, wincing a little at the aches and pains earned by a bad night's sleep.

"No? Ye looked right pished t'me, lad," the wolf said at length, tilting his head in order to crack a few vertebrae. He moved to make for the doorway and Kawauso stepped aside to let him into the room. Avinglad made a beeline for his belongings.

"Well, maybe I was, a little," the otter admitted while the wolf rummaged. Damn. The only change of clothes Avinglad had brought up to the room he was already wearing; all he had left were articles from the night before. They still reeked of CS gas. Kaw was carrying on: "No harm done, though, right?"

"Hnn...perhaps," Avinglad mused. He would have to fetch some supplies from his van for a fresh change of clothes. "Let me ask yeh something, young 'un," Avinglad grumbled as he retrieved his towel and turned to face the otter. Kaw was doing up his shirt by then, thankfully.

"Ask away."

"What was the purpose of any o' that, last night?" the Scotsman asked. The Canadian looked up at him, muzzle scrunched curiously.

"You mean Melodie? Well...I was drinking and a pretty lady asked me if I wanted to bed her. I'm failing to see what's so hard to comprehend, there. I'm sure you had your reasons for turning her down, though," the otter was playing his tryst off as nothing, but Avinglad was less concerned with where he had wet his wick the last night as opposed to where he'd intended to do it next.

"I do," Avi growled softly, "not becomin' a lecherous dafty when ah've had a few drinks in meh being one of 'em."

"Whoa, hey," Kaw held up his paws defensively, "there's no need for us to start making enemies of each other, now. " To the otter's credit at least, he grew a bit of backbone then and added, "what I do outside of our business arrangement is no business of yours, anyhow. Alright?" Avinglad narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Has he forgotten, or is he being stupid?

"Ah ken it is if it involves me, lad," he rumbled.

"Come again?" Kawauso ventured, seemingly uncertain.

"Ye must've been bawsed more than ye thought last night," Avinglad assessed. "After ye were done with the girl, ye even tried t'make a few passes at me." The fur on the back of his neck was standing up as the lupine alluded to the otter's advances. He felt ill even thinking back on them.

"Oh," Kaw blinked several times before a stupid shit-eating grin spread across his muzzle. "That, I don't remember. I didn't succeed, did I? Guess not - or you wouldn't've been waking up in the hall, that's for sure."

"Oi, there ye go again," Avinglad huffed awkwardly and made towards the loo. He had the sudden urge to put some space between himself and his erstwhile comrade. "Enough, lad. Ye're soundin' like a willie again. Knock it off, if ye don't mind."

"A what?" the otter wondered after him, and Avinglad felt a hot flush creep up his neck as his irritation strayed dangerously close to anger.

"A willie?" He turned in the doorway to glance back at Kawauso, setting his jaw, ears twitching in annoyance. "Ye know - a jobby jabber, a poofter, a queen-"

"Alright," the mustelid cut him off, "hey, I get it." He looked disgruntled, himself, but that just made Avinglad want to wipe the expression from his face with a good punch. What right did he have to be annoyed? "Can you get your point across without all the pejoratives?" Kaw continued, "I've obliged not taking the Lord's name in vain while you're around...so cool it."

"Wouldn't have thought it'd bother ye so much, seeing as how willing ye were to go an' play pole-in-the-hole with that harlot last night," Avinglad sneered, feeling his blood rise. The otter growled back.

"Whore or not, what's that got to do with anything? I don't recall signing up to have my sex life vivisected, preacher-man. Nor do I recall it ever being fucking relevant."

"Och, maybe ye're one o' those 'bisexuals', then," Avinglad retorted. He knew by this point he was goading Kaw, and though it was shameful, part of him relished it. Particularly as he felt he was close to having his suspicions confirmed. "Greedy or confused, more like," he added in response to the visible snarl on the otter's muzzle. Can't make up yer mind whether ye'd rather be straight for a fuckin' nancy?"

"My capacity for courtesy is...deteriorating, Scot." Kawauso's body was tense. He took a half-step toward Avinglad, who stood his ground. "What's it to you, anyway?" Avinglad felt himself puff up a little, instinctively, before he saw fit to reply.

"Hit the mark with that one, have I?" The wolf's teeth were bared as he got to the meat of the subject: the heart of his suspicion. "That why ye've been so generous, whelp? Puttin' me up in yer own room an' the like? Hoping ye could bed me like that rancid fox-cunt?" Avi sucked in an uneven breath before he concluded, "ye're almost more of a whore than she is!"

"What the - get over yourself, you fuckin' breeder!" The otter's voice had risen to a shout.

"Ach, wot a fuckin' faggot thing to say!" Avinglad roared back. _That_escalated things.

In a flash, one of Kaw's webbed paws had grabbed for his holstered weapons where they lay on one corner of the bed. He stopped short of drawing one of them, but had his fingers wrapped securely 'round the grip of a pistol while he glared daggers at Avinglad, silently baring his teeth. Avinglad had hardly noticed his own paw tense around the weapon holstered against his thigh.

"I'm goin' downstairs," Kawauso hissed, breaking the palpable silence. His words hung for a moment in the tension-filled air. "You take your Goddamn shower," he huffed, practically spitting the emphatic word, "and get the fucking Hell out of my room. I swear...to Jesus fucking Christ, if you're still here when I get back I will kill you."

Avinglad's ears were back, but his eyes were hard and his teeth were on display while he squeezed the grip of his pistol tightly.

"Yeh, well, ah'm all for leavin', ye wee bent bastard," he rumbled. "Won't get much sleep anywhere ah have tae watch my arsehole." Kawauso narrowed his eyes at that, and Avi could see he was practically quivering with rage. That suited the wolf just fine. They glared at one another for a few silent moments before the otter finished gathering his effects. Without another word Kaw stormed from the room and slammed the door.

It wasn't until Avinglad heard the otter's footsteps descending down the stairs at the end of the hall that some of the tension left the wolf's body. Avi breathed a deep sigh and leaned back against the doorjamb, his hand falling away from the weapon at his side. He looked down at his thick, strong paws and saw that they were trembling.

"Not spending any more time 'round another fuckin' diddler," the canid vowed to himself. His fingers balled into fists, but he couldn't get his paws to stop shaking. Avinglad decided then that he couldn't be free from this room - from its occupant - fast enough. He didn't need Kaw's help with Damon, anyway. He knew where the fox was holed up; one quick shower and Avinglad would sort that ordeal out by himself. Then he'd be on his way without having to so much as think about the otter again.

"Ne'er again." The Scot muttered before disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door.

Richard's head was spinning by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. Had he nearly drawn his gun back there? He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so...furious.

Well, that wasn't exactly true.

The last time things had ended much worse, however. Perhaps the recollection of that past event was why the otter felt so lightheaded and short of breath. I need to be alone.

Richard grumbled wordlessly while he stalked over to a table tucked to one side of the tavern, away from the entrance, the stairs and the bar. He all but fell into a seat once he got there. The mustelid was still agitated enough his fur stood up all over, making Richard's clothes feel incredibly uncomfortable. He patted down the sleeves of his coat, wishing he could remove the damned thing; if only it weren't for the fact it was concealing his firearms.

That was just as well, considering a serving girl was upon Richard before he'd even settled into his seat. She was a cute mink he hadn't seen before. Richard was hardly in a mood for flirtation or small-talk, however, so he placed a quick order for a simple French breakfast with coffee (though that sort of drink was not his usual fare) and sent her on her way. Alone at last, the otter heaved a weary sigh and discarded his glasses so that he could bury his face in his paws.

Had enough of that shit to last me a lifetime, he reflected gloomily on Avinglad's arrogant nonsense. More than enough, in fact. Much to Richard's chagrin, however, his confrontation with the wolf had brought old memories to the fore, unbidden.

Some years back, at the lowest point in his life, Richard had found himself bereft and alone. The young lutrine had had nowhere else to turn, so he'd sought solace in his faith, or whatever faith he might have had at the time. What was it now, five years ago? Six: grad was in '06, remember. Fuck, it's been so long already?

At the time, Miranda had long since returned to the UK. Most of Richard's other friends had moved on following high school to continue their lives without him while he'd languished in post-graduate uncertainty. All that hadn't been so bad in and of itself, but then with the loss of his family...

Finding himself suddenly and completely alone, Richard had craved the solidarity and sense of belonging offered by the Church in which he'd been baptized. He'd clung to it like a life-raft, the comforting familiarity of tradition and purpose keeping him buoyant in the stormy seas of his life. But it hadn't helped for long. Things had boiled over when, amidst everything else, Richard was forced to confront the struggles he'd been having with his sexuality.

Those had begun in high school, but he'd kept them mostly to himself, if only out of necessity. His friends had always brushed his inner turmoil off; at least those he'd confided in. It had been too uncomfortable a subject to treat as anything more than a joke for most. Others had been even less charitable. Even now Richard could hear those irritating assertions: "it's just a phase;" "oh, you just haven't decided yet?" "you're just greedy;""you can't be bi - bisexuals don't exist;" He'd heard them enough that there were times he even thought they might be true.

Even friends of Richard's who had turned out to be gay hadn't had to put up with the same degrees of presumptuous nonsense. They'd had their share of hardships coming out and being accepted, sure, but once they were out people hadn't tried to convince them they'd come to the wrong conclusions about their own sexuality. And you'd think their plight would have made them more understanding...but they'd been just as bad as the rest...

The crisis of identity would have been hard enough to bear on its own, but the salt in the wound was the fact that Richard had never managed to tell his family before... Before it had been too late. So of course, with nowhere else to turn, everything had come tumbling out all at once to the one person the troubled youth had thought he could trust.

The man had been a spiritual father figure most of my life, after all, Richard thought bitterly. But in the end Father Tremblay was no better than anyone else had been, and perhaps a good deal worse. The sting of the priest's condemnation had been a poor mixer for years of accumulated guilt and self-loathing and the raw pain of fresh grief... In the aftermath, Richard had all but shut down.

The otter spent a week without leaving home. Then two weeks, which became three... If the good Father had paid Richard's absence at mass any heed, Richard hadn't known. Hardly anyone else had seemed to notice when the otter withdrew more and more from the world. At his lowest point Richard had been certain no one would have noticed or cared if he'd died, which had seemed an increasingly appealing solution...

But the troubled young man managed to pull himself through that ordeal by sheer stubborn endurance and reliance on the few friends that had remained to him. Miranda had helped, of course, in spite of being overseas, and Kevin had proven steadfast if emotionally distant. In the end, Richard emerged from that dark time more or less intact and certainly stronger for it. He'd put that chapter of his life behind him...

But to have to put up with that shit all over again, all the way out here? Richard might have grown stronger through his hardships, but that hadn't completely dulled the edge of Avinglad's sudden sanctimonious bullshit. Where do all these priests and holier-than-thou hypocrites get off?

The mustelid's webbed hands fell away from his face as he broke from his reverie. He pawed some moisture from his eyes and blinked while they adjusted to the bright daylight streaming through the pub's front windows. Taking a moment to clean his glasses with the hem of his shirt, Richard nearly jumped out of his skin when he put them back on and looked up to find that a woman had appeared suddenly before him.

"Guten Morgen," the older feline greeted him with a purr. Her features were sharp and severe, her eyes cool and keen. She was dressed in a smart skirt-and-blazer combo and that gave credence to the short, professional haircut she wore so well.

Ah shit. Richard groaned.

"Good- er, Guten Morgen," he replied sheepishly. He recalled enough to know he'd made an ass of himself to this lady the night before.

"You...prefer English, ja?" the feline inquired. Richard raised a cautious eyebrow.

"Yeah...you speak it?"

"Natürlich," was the reply, and Richard was unable to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching in a tiny smirk at the irony.

"Heh, alright then - help yourself to a seat, if you like," Richard gestured to one of the empty spots at the table, and to his surprise the woman graciously accepted the offer.

"Danke shön. You are hung-over?" she asked as she deposited a metal briefcase on the floor and placed her purse on top of it before taking a seat.

"Not especially," Richard replied, flitting his eyes inquisitively at the luggage while trying not to draw attention to his noticing it. "I don't get hangovers all too often, really."

"How fortunate for you," the cat mused in her German accent.

"So they say..." the otter began. He had no idea where to go from there, however, and opted instead to tackle the source of his current puzzlement. "I'm sorry, but, can I help you with something? I seem to recall I gave a poor first impression last night. That was you, right? Not a twin sister, or...?" Richard glanced around just to be sure.

"Ah, so you remember, ja?" The woman's expression remained cool and aloof, but Richard did notice the very corners of her mouth betray a tiny smile.

"Yeah," he stated simply.

"I see. Well, I came to apologize to you," said the stranger. Richard wrinkled his brow in bewilderment, but she continued: "I just arrived in town last night, you see. I vas a little frustrated after being so long on the road...well, und I do not tolerate drunks so vell. No hard feelings, I hope, ja? I don't keep it against you."

She extended a slender, long-fingered paw to the otter in greeting. Richard stared at it stupidly for some time, unable to make sense of the unexpected and misplaced mea culpa. Cautiously, he extended his own hand to shake hers.

"...Alright. I promise I'm not a 'drunk', though. Not often, I mean. The name's Kawauso. Well, it's not, but you can call me that. Or Kaw."

"Kaira Steinherz," the feline purred in introduction, squeezing his paw warmly. Her own delicate fingers were surprisingly strong.

"A pleasure, Ms. Steinherz," Richard said truthfully, though he remained suspect. "Now, I hope you won't mind my saying, but it must be said: your greeting me here seems terribly strange to my mind, miss. I know you didn't come all the way from Germany to apologize to me in advance and I doubt brushing me off last night gave you any trouble sleeping...so what gives?"

"You are a shrewd man, Herr Kawauso," she answered with the faintest hint of a frown. Herr Kawauso. I kind of like that.

"I have my moments," the otter acknowledged with a thin smile. Kaira sighed and lifted her purse up onto the table in order to delve into it. Richard was curious as to what she was up to, but before he could inquire he was interrupted by the arrival of his breakfast.About damn time.

It was a light, Parisian affair consisting of a baguette and croissant and half of an orange, but Richard was famished and accepted it gratefully. Even the coffee smelled wonderful, and it was sure to help him clear his mind, besides.

"Merci," he thanked the waitress, cocking his head in Kaira's direction. "Anything for you, miss?"

"Nein," the feline murmured distractedly, so Richard dismissed the server with additional thanks. The otter began spreading some preserve on his baguette as Kaira finally seemed to find whatever she'd been looking for.

"I'm here on business of a...personal nature, Mr. Kawauso. I hope you understand I want to keep this discreet..."

"Oh I'm very discreet. Don't worry about me, miss," he murmured around a mouthful of baguette.

"Good," Kaira concluded, looking up at him while maintaining a grip on the edge of her purse. Whatever she'd found remained out of view inside it. "As it so happens, I'm looking for someone. I do not really know where to start, but perhaps there was some meaning to our meeting last night, ja?"

"I'm sure there was," the otter replied jovially, feeling much better now that he was getting some food in him. "And it just so happens I'm rather excellent at finding people," he added factually.

"Wunderbar," the feline concluded. "I am wondering, Mr. Otter..." Richard watched attentively as she withdrew one hand from inside her purse. She was holding a smartphone. He didn't think anything of it until Kaira thumbed something on the screen and turned it to face Richard, at which point he nearly choked on a mouthful of food.

"Can you tell me," Kaira asked with a tiny, sly grin that told him that she knew he could, "if you have seen this man?"

Well, shit.

Avinglad stared intently into his own eyes until the fog he'd wiped from the mirror obscured their reflection once more. He growled, flexing the heavy paw he had on the surface of the looking glass, his claws scraping it.

"It's easy, lad," he told himself, frustrated with the lack of conviction in his voice. The otter wasn't on his mind any longer; a shower had helped Avi clear his head where such petty matters were concerned. Instead, Avinglad wrestled with the return of the strange reluctance and gnawing doubt that had stopped him in his tracks the previous evening.

"Ye've done it before," he reminded himself. "Ye're not gonna choke this time." He wiped the glass again. Those eyes staring back at him didn't look as convinced as he'd managed to make his voice sound. Avinglad sighed and let his head fall forward against the mirror.

This is ridiculous, he thought_._It's not like you've never killed a man, and who could deserve it more than Damon? But then...

In previous scenarios he'd been certain of the guilt of those involved, one way or another. She'd helped assure me of that... But Damon - or rather, the Damon he'd seen last night - didn't seem like something Avinglad could reconcile with the Hellish beast he'd seen in action twice before.

Was it the presence of the young woman that had given him pause? But why should she have mattered? It's not as though he had intended her any harm, after all.

Whatever the case, Avinglad was determined to try again. This time he meant to make full use of the opportunity he had before it slipped away. Hoping to strengthen his resolve, he murmured under his breath:

"Lord...please, Almighty God; give me the strength to perform this act of judgment. Let me finally grant peace to others, and in so doing perhaps find peace for myself. If nothing else, just one more soul to cleanse, Lord. One more soul... Let me destroy this evil, so that which is good may flourish. ...Amen."

When Avinglad raised his head again and wiped the mirror to gaze into his reflection once more. However, he still failed to find the strength he'd been seeking. Cursing himself and his weakness, Avi took his phone from where he'd balanced it on the edge of the sink. There, on that little glowing screen, was the assurance he needed:

Paris. This is the one you've been after all along. You'll have to find it on your own there, but once you do I know you will succeed in your righteous work. I have faith in you, my child. - M.

The last message he'd received from Madre.

From the only person left in the world whom he still trusted. And she has faith in you_, and in your ability to do what has to be done_. Avi stared long and hard at her message and reflected back on all that they had accomplished together for the greater good.

When Avinglad looked up into the mirror again he finally found the strength he'd been seeking: his eyes were steely and resolute. His faith gave him the conviction he needed. The wolf lifted the heavy crucifix from the chain around his neck and kissed it before he stood up straight and flexed his shoulders. He was ready.

Avinglad stepped out from the bathroom at the head of a column of steam. He adjusted his clothes and made his way to the dresser, retrieving his coat and throwing it on to help conceal his sidearm. The Scot threw the rest of his belongings into a bag and took time to bundle up his axe in a large, heavy towel to conceal that as well. He'd brought it into the room in a sling he wore on the outside of his coat, but that had been in the dead of night and today he didn't care to brandish the weapon publicly. The wolf slipped the heavy axe-head into his duffel bag and did it up as much as he was able before slinging the bag straps over one shoulder. After double-checking that he had all his belonging on him Avinglad ventured into the main corridor, leaving Kaw's room behind.

The hall was quiet except for the din from patrons eating breakfast downstairs, or whatever else it was they did in the morning. Avinglad frowned as he surmised what that might be. He didn't dwell on it, though, in light of the opportunity the lull in upstairs activity presented him.

With a couple of surreptitious glances to and fro, Avinglad set his bag down gingerly against the wall between the door to the otter's room and the door to Damon's. Next door. He thought, still incredulous. Right next door! How the bloody Hell?!

Avi shook his head in disbelief before he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob to Damon's room and gave a ginger, experimental twist. Locked. The wolf's pointed ears swiveled and twitched alertly while he rummaged in one pocket for the lock-pick he'd used the night before. As soon as he found it, repeating the process by which he'd previously bypassed the lock was a trivial matter.

Avinglad stiffened when a gentle 'click' heralded his success in breaching the chamber. The wolf steadied himself as the portal yielded, slowly and carefully inching the door wider open. He readied his pistol in one paw and cocked the hammer with his thumb. It sounded damned loud, to his anxious ears. Avinglad swallowed nervously and gathered his courage in a withheld breath.

Then the lupine burst into the room with a snarl, weapon drawn. A hasty glimpse into the loo revealed a dark and empty room, so Avinglad stepped away from the entrance to see...nothing. His pistol was drawn on an empty, neatly-made bed. Damon was gone.

A cursory survey of the chamber revealed that the fox wasn't hiding anywhere else. Avinglad stumbled into the centre of the room and looked again, in vain, for somewhere his quarry might have been skulking.

"Wha...where? Where?!" he snarled, jabbing his gun toward all corners of the room and the bed-spread again, just in case. Avinglad even stooped to take a quick peak under the bed.

"GRAAAH, FUCK!" the Scotsman cursed. He paced the room several times, like a caged animal, before he turned to the nearest wall and drove his fist into it with a crunch. When he withdrew it he left a crater behind. "Where'd he go?!" Avinglad growled, as frustrated with himself as anyone else. It didn't help his mood that his fingers were beginning to regret their encounter with the wall.

"Why'd ah hesitate?" Avi grumbled, pacing the room a few times more and repeating, "why'd ah hesitate?!" As he circled the room the wolf noted there was a coat draped over one of the chairs by the window.

Avinglad approached the garment and inspected it carefully, holding it up to get a better look. It was the same long coat Damon had been wearing two nights ago, in Notre Dame. If the unsavoury brown stains from dried blood weren't damning enough, the ragged holes torn by gunfire and the complete absence of sleeves made it unmistakable. Perhaps Damon would return?

A quick reassessment of the room didn't reveal any other personal effects or luggage, but there was a book... a thick textbook resting right there on the coffee table. The title was French, of course, and Avinglad couldn't make heads or tails of it, but it looked like a history text of some kind.

Hoping to find something - anything that might give him a clue - Avi carefully opened the book, intent on leafing through it. He didn't even have to go very far. Just inside the cover was a pouch with a check-out slip from a library.

"Not gone, then," Avinglad surmised, closing the book soundly. He hefted it and turned to exit the room, smiling a little. He could parse the library insert for an address easily enough. Perhaps not as easily as Kawauso, but nevertheless-

Then the canid stopped dead in his tracks and his heart skipped a beat as he realized: the otter! If Damon had left the tavern while Avinglad was wasting time in the shower and Kaw had been waiting downstairs... Shit!

Avinglad thundered through the door and almost forgot to close it behind him. He nearly forgot his bag in the hall, too, in his dash for the stairs. If anyone was tracking the fox down, it was going to be Avinglad.

"Like I said: I have no idea," Richard insisted. He hated talking in circles, but Kaira was being painstaking and thorough and demanding nothing less.

"His last-known was the Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris, two nights ago. I never saw him there with my own eyes, but I had it confirmed by a witness. As for right now...who knows. Damon could be anywhere in this city." The otter shrugged. The feline narrowed her eyes at him from across the table and Richard felt his small ears wilt beneath that gaze.

"So vhat about your contacts; they don't know where Damon could be?" The German wondered.

"Not a chance," the Canadian grunted. "I haven't heard back from the initial contact that tipped me off to Damon being in Paris. As for the one who confirmed Damon at Notre Dame, he has no clue. Well...if he did...like hell he'd tell me, anyway." Richard rolled his shoulders again before deciding to turn the conversation more directly back to the subject of Damon. "If you don't mind my asking: what do you want with him, anyway?"

Kaira's cold, calculating eyes grew somehow colder still.

"He...hurt me. I want to make him pay..."

"I can understand that," Richard sympathized. "He's hurt a lot of people. Look though...he's dangerous, and that's putting it mildly. Maybe we could work together?" he offered. "I know I'd appreciate the extra help in light of my recent partnership turning sour, and if you work with me you'll have someone who knows what he's dealing with on your side."

"...Vielleicht," Kaira responded after a few moments' consideration. Richard smiled amicably, excited over the prospect of an alternative to Avinglad's dour company that didn't necessitate going it alone.

"What say we focus on finding and capturing the sonofabitch," the otter suggested. "That'll be the hard part. If we can manage that much, well...then we can figure out what to with him, at least. Cross our bridges as we come to 'em. What do you think?" Richard extended a friendly, webbed paw over the table to the feline. Kaira regarded the hand carefully before she gripped it in a firm shake.

"You have a deal, otter. We'll make finding und capturing Damon Vulpes our first priority, ja?"

"Agreed," Richard responded with a smirk. "Now, I hope you'll excuse my asking, Ms. Steinherz, but I hope you've come, ah, prepared?"

"Natürlich," the woman replied with a toothy grin that sent a shiver down her new partner's spine. She turned her purse toward Richard carefully with a discreet glance toward the bar and the fox manning it. Richard understood. Pulling the purse closer, he carefully took a look inside it while keeping it positioned such that passers-by couldn't view inside. Just as well, since its contents took his breath away.

"Is that...a SOCOM?" he gasped in surprise. Never mind that he realized she'd been gripping the weapon and pointing it at him from within her purse; Richard was impressed that she had a piece of hardware like it to begin with. "HK Mark 23 Mod 0, .45 ACP, with a military-grade LAM module?" The pistol itself was not terribly hard to find, but this particular specimen wasn't the sort for private sale. It was, essentially, the military forebear of the same sidearms that had seen Richard through thick and thin the last few years.

With the aforementioned attachment, the weapon occupied most of the space inside the purse. It jockeyed for position with a distinct-looking cylindrical canvas case which stood out among the other odds and ends in the bag. "Don't tell me you have a suppressor for it, too?" Richard asked incredulously.

"You know your guns, Mr. Otter," Kaira assessed. She leaned back in her seat with a knowing smirk, looking mildly impressed.

"I like to think I do, yeah," Richard looked back and forth a few times between Kaira and the murderous contents of her purse. "Damn," he commented, still a bit surprised. "How the fuck did you get a piece like this? I mean, it's not a missile launcher or anything but this isn't exactly a civil model, either."

"I have meine ways," the feline purred coyly. It took Richard a moment or two to register a discreet nudge against his leg. Glancing under the table, the otter noticed Kaira tapping her briefcase with her foot. Richard peered up at her again and she encouraged: "go ahead. Take a look."

Unable to deny his curiosity, the mustelid carefully slid the purse back across the table to its owner before ducking down to heft the briefcase up off of the floor. He grunted with exertion - it was heavier than it looked - and planted the case on the table. Kaira kept a wry smirk on her muzzle as Richard looked to her and then took a glance around to make sure they weren't the subject of any unwanted attention. Fortunately he was seated with his back to a wall, facing much of the tavern common area. Monsieur Vulpecula might have been keeping an interested eye on them from the bar, but he wouldn't be able to see inside the case when Richard flipped it open, which was exactly what the otter did next.

"Holy fucking hell..." Richard closed the case in disbelief, looking around anxiously before shooting Kaira an incredulous glance. "This...what is this? It looks like an MP7 personal defense weapon, but... "

"You like?" Kaira's smirk split into an outright grin. "It is meine own modification on the standard MP7...undesignated. A prototype variant." Richard had cracked the case open again and was almost too busy admiring the strange compact weapon to hear her.

"Looks like it's been modified to take a...what, a 5.7?" the otter mused. "And all these other bells and whistles...it's enough to make me giggle like a schoolgirl." He almost did.

"I also have zwei P2000 pistols on meine person," Kaira added. "Und upstairs..." she tilted her head in the direction of the floor above. "Ein G36C Sturmgewehr."

An assault rifle? Richard whooped a brief laugh. It was equal parts nerves, surprise and amusement. What kind of person was he _dealing_with, here? He flashed Kaira a grin of his own.

"Well, damn. You came prepared, I'll say. How the hell did you land all of this?"

"I am a Junior Weapons Designer in Oberndorf," Kaira replied, smiling as she trailed off to see whether the otter understood the import of her words on his own. He did.

"You _work_for HK?!" Richard exclaimed.

"Ja."

"Christ...what did Damon ever do to piss you off, I wonder?"

"I'd rather not talk about it at length, Mr. Kawauso," Kaira replied, eyes narrowed.

"Right, right. No need to go into specifics," Richard agreed, understanding. "As long as you help me track him down and...detain him 'til we work things out, I won't pry. Just remember we're not going to war here, yeah? I mean he's dangerous but...Christ."

"This is appreciated," Kaira purred, adding reassuringly, "und of course." Richard thumbed the clasps on the briefcase shut, carefully placing it back beneath the table before he sat up again and interlocked his fingers as much as their webbing allowed.

"Just...for the sake of clarity before we really get into anything, though..." The otter rested his chin atop his paws while he searched for the most tactful way to phrase his concerns. "I don't need to...worry about you, do I? I mean, you've shown up here with enough firepower to practically start your own personal war. I don't want to draw any attention to myself, you understand."

Kaira smiled. The gesture was meant in reassurance, no doubt, but there was no warmth in it, and that made Richard nervous. That could have just been her way, though; he had no way of knowing...

"Rest assured, Mr. Otter," the feline rumbled with what must have been intended as a relaxing purr. "I vould very much like to get meine hands on Damon, so I understand the need to be discreet. I wanted to make sure I came prepared. As you say...he is a dangerous person."

Richard was about to respond when he noticed Avinglad thundering toward them at an unsettling pace. Before he could think to react the burly wolf had reached their table and slammed a paw down on it heavily, making the entire thing judder. Kaira jumped.

"Listen, otter-" the lupine began, but Richard was having none of it.

"Scot, you'd better have a good fuckin' reason for showing up like this. You've got five seconds befo-"

"Damon. Is. HERE." Avi hissed through clenched teeth. The silence that came in the wake of those words was tangible. Richard's jaw hung open while he tried to conjure some means by which to respond.

"What do you mean, 'here'?" was the best he could manage. Kaira tapped at Avinglad's elbow to gain his attention.

"P-pardon mich, Mr. Wolf," she began, her eyes wide.

"Who're ye, lass?" Avinglad growled.

"Someone with a shared interest of ours," Richard informed him impatiently. "Get to the fucking point, man! Where's Damon?!"

"Well, he was here. He's not, any more." Avinglad looked back to the otter, his ears wilting a little when he backpedaled.

"The _fuck_are you on about?" Richard snarled. The effort hurt his throat, still, making him wince.

"Ah mean he was here," the wolf retorted, baring his teeth. The angle of his ears took on an aggressive slant. "He's got a room rented at this tavern! He's not in right now though...ah dinnae ken where he's got to! But we might have a way to find out..." Avinglad reached inside his coat for something. Richard furrowed his brow in disbelief, shooting Kaira a significant glance before he replied to Avi.

"How the hell could he be here and us not know about it? What the actual fuck, man?" Avinglad closed his eyes and sighed deeply, clenching his hands into fists. He'd pulled something from the inside of his coat to set it on the table: a worn textbook of some kind. Richard stared at it bemusedly while the wolf tried to explain.

"Ah came upon 'im last night, when ah was caring for yer drunk arse," Avinglad grumbled, failing to hide the hostility in his tone.

"And you didn't tell me? Or, hell, do anything about it yourself?" Richard piqued.

"Not after we started the day off at each other's throats!" Avinglad snapped, fuming.

"I haven't forgotten," Richard growled back, clenching his jaw. "At any rate, piss off, pooch. You'll get no further help from me. You found 'im before on your own, you can do it again." The wolf bared his teeth but otherwise ignored the casual slur.

"Och, lad, ah'm not keen on workin' wit ye either, d'ye ken?" To his credit, Avinglad was handling the situation much more diplomatically than Richard, which kind of galled the otter. "Think of how_important_ this is if ah'm down here talkin' to yeh," the Scotsman concluded.

Kaira, evidently tired of remaining in the background for all of this, interrupted them both.

"I think there will be plenty of time for you two to fight later, ja? After we relocate und capture Damon?" Richard continued to glare daggers at Avinglad, who seemed happy to return them. Eventually the otter shot Kaira a sideways glance.

"I'll agree to partner with you, miss. Not this Bible-thumper here, though." Richard gave a curt not of acknowledgement to Avinglad's existence. The wolf grunted.

"An' ah'm not associating with someone who takes it in the tailhole."

"Sometimes I even use my mouth," Richard added sardonically.

"Wunderbar," Kaira interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "But both of you will work mit mir, ja?" Several uneasy moments passed before otter and wolf exchanged significant glances. They responded to the German feline in uneasy unison.

"Yes."

"So let's get to work," Kaira cracked her knuckles and gathered her belongings on the tabletop. "Ve need to question the proprietor of this place. If Damon has a room here, they have done business. Mr. Wolf?"

"Avinglad," the large canid offered, extending his paw. Kaira shook it firmly even though her slender fingers were lost in his big mitt.

"Kaira. Now, you said you may be able to determine where Mr. Vulpes has gone?" Avi grunted in response and looked suddenly a little sheepish.

"Aye. Well..." he shot Richard a look and frowned. "Ah...need his help. Unless ye can read French, miss?" He tapped the book he'd placed on the table. Kaira shook her head. Richard craned his neck to get a better look at the title.

"The History of the Teutonic Knights? What, is he a fuckin' time-traveler now?" Richard bit his tongue after voicing the quip; it felt satisfying in the heat of the moment to make some remark or other, but he realized it was hardly the time to be making enemies. Or keeping them, as the case might have been. Avinglad, for his part, merely tensed his fingers, his claws digging into the cover of the book.

"This was in 'is room, lad. An' if ye'll look inside..." Avi flipped the cover open with one thick digit. Richard mused for a moment on the fact that Avinglad's brogue grew stronger the more frustrated he seemed. The otter shook his head clear of idle thoughts when the wolf tapped soundly inside the cover. All three hunters crowded around the book on the table, each of them trying to get the best look they could at the spot where Avinglad's claw had come to rest.

A library slip. With an address. Shit...

"That's...not far from here," Richard exhaled breathlessly as he read the location aloud. "At least, I think."

"Gives us somewhere to start, aye?" Avi wondered. Richard nodded and looked up at his fellow fox-hunters.

"Right," he concluded. "So, how's your conversational French, either of you?"

"It isn't, 'f course," Avinglad affirmed.

"Not as good as meine English," Kaira admitted. The otter nodded and tugged the book out from under Avinglad's palm. The wolf let him have it.

"Alright," Richard asserted, "so I'll do the talking with Mr. Vulpecula - I know his name already, see? Anyhow, he's the fella behind the bar over there. I'll see if I can't get some directions to the university here out of him." Richard drummed his fingers on the book before he stood up and looked to Avinglad, grudgingly. "Thanks, I guess...y'know, for telling us. You wanna bring your ride around front? It'll make more sense than walking...particularly if we find who we're lookin' for."

"...Aye," Avi replied with a bit of hesitation, but he left readily enough. Richard turned his attention to Kaira, who was hefting her briefcase.

"I should retrieve some of meine things from my room," she ventured, and the otter nodded.

"Sure, but if you won't mind, Miss Steinherz, could you accompany me while I have a chat with our vulpine friend over there?" He nodded toward the bar and Kaira cocked her head quizzically.

"Of course...but why me?"

"You've got a nice rack," the otter assessed with a toothy grin. "That can come in handy. Unbutton a bit...would you?"

Kaira narrowed her eyes at Richard for a moment, but she relented, setting her briefcase on the table momentarily to pop the first couple buttons of her blouse. The otter was pleasantly surprised that she also favoured him with a wry smirk.

"Is this for you or for him?" the feline wondered. Richard grinned wider in reply and turned to make his way to the bar with Kaira in tow.

"Strictly business," he assured her with a backwards glance in her direction. He wasn't lying, of course: "I know the fella likes cats, is all. I do love my job, though..." the mustelid added, turning 'round again as he stepped up to the bar and rapped his knuckles on its surface to summon its attendant.

Kaira caught the bartender's eyes lingering on her exposed cleavage when he turned to face the otter and herself. After a moment's hesitation the fox took stock of Kawauso before looking back to Kaira, this time meeting her eyes. She smiled coolly, and he turned to the otter again.

"Oui, monsieur loutre, ce que je peux faire pour vous?" Vulpecula asked of Kaira's companion. Kaw, to his credit, responded ably in what seemed fluent French. Kaira was not terribly well-versed in the language and between the two of them they soon lost her.

She was more than capable of following the conversation in other ways, however. Occasionally as they spoke she would notice Vulpecula's nonchalant gaze drawn in by the apparent allure of her chest. The otter had been right about that much, evidently. Kaira rolled her eyes when the fox was no longer looking; not that he'd have noticed, anyway. Were all men such base creatures?

No, not all... In truth, there might have been a time Kaira would not have minded the attention she'd received from either male. She could appreciate a nice, masculine piece of eye-candy as much as the next woman, to be sure. Years had passed since then, however, and besides: the hot flare of carnal attraction failed to compare to the comforting warmth of deep affection.

Outside of her brief reverie, where matters of the present were concerned, Kaira noted that Vulpecula's normally-detached gaze failed to hide a flicker of interest. Kawauso had produced the text book Avinglad provided them and placed it on the bar. He mentioned something about a university.

Suddenly, the fox directed a few seemingly-pointed questions at the otter. Kaw seemed taken aback, but he held up a webbed paw to reassure Kaira when she raised an eyebrow at him. The dialogue between the bounty hunter and the barkeep was taking on a rather heated bent, however - not that it prevented Vulpecula from continuing to ogle Kaira's chest from the corners of his eyes. Ignoring that, Kaira strained her ears to make sense of the francophonic din.

'Renard' and 'noire' were two words she understood, at least.

Kaira couldn't keep from drumming her fingers on the bar top while her newfound ally and the establishment's owner conversed animatedly. Without her leave the feline's claws swicked out against the smooth surface, scoring it lightly while Kaira's patience wore thin. That much was enough to pull Vulpecula's distracted gaze from the feline's chest, and Kaira failed to suppress the faintest of smirks.

"Bien!" the fox exclaimed abruptly with a dismissive wave to see them off. Kaira blinked rapidly, taken aback at the sudden termination of conversation. She wondered momentarily if defiling the surface of the bar had set Vulpecula off, but then Kaw nearly bowled into her as he made for the door and bid her follow.

"C'mon," was all he said.

"Vell?!" Kaira demanded, irritated by her lack of understanding. She did her top back up.

"We have to go," Kaw replied, pulling out his phone and tapping on the screen. "Now." He paused to turn back toward the bar, but before he could say anything Vulpecula barked out a series of numbers. The fox was doing something with a phone of his own. The otter hastily entered the shouted numbers into his own device. Tap-tap tappity tap.

"Vhat happened?" Kaira demanded again, impatiently. She was seconds away from using her claws to get an answer from the mustelid; they'd slipped free from their sheaths again of their own accord. When Kaw looked up at her, however, he dismissed her irritation with that familiar grin.

"Fucker can't get away this time: we've got 'im."