9 Midsummer, 6104 RTR

Piper whimpers softly as he sniffs at the barred door. ( Did the Temple come and close things down while I was gone? ) He gives the wood a testing little knock and then presses his ear against it to see if he can make out any noises inside.

"Whozit?" an unfamiliar voice asks, word muffled by the door between them.

"Monsieur? Je vis ici," the Gallah barks softly. "I live here. Where is Mam'selle April? Who are you?"

Faintly, the dog can hear sounds through the thick wood – voices exchanging words, though he can't make out what. Then the door cracks open, revealing the face of a light gray wolf whose features are like enough to Silent's to be his brother. He gives the dog a once-over with his eyes. Grunting, he pulls the door fully open and stands aside. "C'min."

Piper swallows down a lump in his throat and hesitantly steps through the door. "Misseur? Are you a friend of Misseur Torn-Ear? Why is the inn closed?" His tail curls against his hip as he tries to keep from looking like a frightened puppy.

"Yah, I'm a friend o' Torn-Ear's," the Jupani replies, grinning in a way that seems more unnerving than reassuring. As the Gallah steps inside and his eyes accustom to the dimmer candle light, he pieces together the rest of the scene.

Durog, the innkeeper, looks out of place seated with his back to the door at the largest of his own tables, opposite a male Jupani with medium-grey fur, and a female Khatta. Platters of food – fresh bread, lightly grilled steak still oozing with juices, stewed vegetables, and minced-meat pies – burden the table top. Cynthia toys with a barely-touched pie, pushing bits of pastry and meat around on her plate. She flashes a nervous smile to Piper as he enters, the expression mixed with worry. Of all those in the room, only Torn-Ear seems completely at ease, leaning back on two legs of his chair, gnawing at a steak bone.

As the "friend" closes the door behind Piper, Torn-Ear tosses the bone onto a plate and gives the Gallah a big, friendly grin. "Glad ya could make it, Pipe. Heard the Zelaks came for ya."

The Gallah swallows and smiles nervously in return. "Oui, Misseur Torn-Ear. I was reprimanded for not reporting the attack at the inn. They only wished to speak with me."

"Izzat so?" Torn-Ear reaches for a loaf of bread, tearing off a hunk. "C'mere, siddown," he tells the dog, gesturing to an empty chair to the right side of the table, between himself and the taciturn innkeeper. "Tell me all about it. What'd the Temple wanna know from you?"

Cynthia gives a little wave to Piper, flashing another smile which is probably intended to be reassuring, but more likely only serves to convey her own unease, at odds as it is with her leader's apparent good cheer.

Piper obligingly clambers up into the proffered seat. "They did not ask me many details about the attack. The questioning was mostly focused on why I did not report it. I told them that as this was not my inn, and I was not injured in the attack I felt it was not my place to report such things. I believe they are simply trying to teach me to trust them more since I also did not report Mam'selle Kassie's attack to them." He chews on his lip, biting down on a whimper. "I do not wish for the Temple to be displeased with me. I do not wish for anyone to be displeased with me."

Torn-Ear devours a chunk of bread while he listens to the Gallah speak, nodding encouragingly at him. He washes the bread down with a swallow from his tankard, then says, "That's real commendable of ya, Pipe. Who's the 'they' that talked to ya? Did ya get names from 'em?"

"Only one Inquisitor, Mam'selle Faith her name was, I believe." The Gallah licks his nose in thought. "Non … she was an Investigator. I am not quite familiar with the ranks there."

Torn-Ear exchanges a glance with the feline beside him. "Prolly Investigator," she mews, hesitant. "I don't recognize her name." She adds to Piper, "Inquisitors're more important than Investigators. They're bad news."

"What'd she look like, Piper?" the Jupani asks, after a nod to Cynthia. "Miz Faith."

The innkeeper sits with a mug between his hands, hunkered over the table, while the Shadow Wolf leader peppers the Gallah with questions. As seems typical of Durog, he says nothing, and the only sign he shows that the situation is unusual is that he twists the mug in his hands, revolving it in tight circles, not drinking.

"She was a Khatta, Misseur. Gris." The Gallah looks around the room, the tenseness in the air feels like it's about to choke him out or drown him. "Misseur Torn-Ear, what is going on here?"

"What's goin' on here?" The wolf seems taken aback by the question. "We're havin' a meal and sortin' out how we're gonna help Mister Blackrock here keep the Blood Kings outta his place. Just like I said we would." He flashes a big, friendly grin all around. The big wolf by the door returns it, but neither Cynthia nor Durog seem reassured, though the Khatta smiles weakly in answer. "Cyn, lighten up. Ain't no fightin' goin' on today, girl, relax," he tells her, giving her shoulder a rough but friendly shake.

At this last, the feline does seem a bit more at ease, and the smile she offers Torn-Ear, though timid, doesn't seem forced. "Sorry, sweetie," she apologizes.

"Fighting? Oh … oui, I suppose that fighting would be the way to deal with the ruffians." Piper scratches at one of his ears, flapping it around in the process. "I am not a fighter, Misseur, but may I be of any help?"

"Right," Torn-Ear says to Cynthia, reaching for one of the minced pies and juggling it between his hands as he retrieves it. "Oww, woo, hot. These things're great," he tells Piper. "Sure you can help, Piper. See, 'fore we can get down to our business, I need to know what it is the Temple's got in mind. And that's where you come in, seeing as you were just down there and all. So, didja tell 'em about us?"

Piper is quiet for a long time at the question as he looks into Durog's eyes. Finally, "Oui, Misseur, I did. I told them that you have been very helpful to me in getting me work, and trust you for it. They did not seem to agree with me, but no talk was made of having me watched or sending guards here."

Cynthia gasps as he starts speaking, whispering, "Oh my Star, you didn't!" as she leans forward.

The lupine next to her pats her shoulder, then tugs her back against her chair. "There, now, Cyn, don't you fret," he tells her, smiling at Piper again. "Cyn don't exactly trust the Temple, Pipe. But you wouldn't've said anything if you thought they were gonna hurt us, I know." His smile turns wolfish. "Leastways you'd be a lot more worried-lookin' when you came back to us, if'n that was the case. Did Miz Faith say what she was gonna do with this info? Or tell you what you should do next?"

"Mam'selle did not seem as though she was going to do anything." The Gallah folds his hands in his lap. "I was told to put some thought into those that I trust. Rephidim seemed so much like Gallis, but they tell me that dogs can live in towers and poodles protect the rats. She wants me to think about a great many confusing things, and it makes my head feel heavy."

"Heh. That's the Temple all over for ya, ain't it? They make my head hurt, too, I'm tellin' ya, Piper," Torn-Ear says, with good-humored sympathy. He runs his fingers through the fur on his head, taking a bite from the pie as he seems to consider this information. "Well, if the Temple ain't gonna do nothin', guess that leaves it back to us. Durog, the Blood Kings been back since they trashed your place last time? Or sent any messages?"

Piper bites his lip hard as he wrings his hands. He looks like he wants to say something, but waits for the elder raccoon's reply before he makes his decision to let it out or hold it in.

"Sent a message," the Rath'ani grunts. "Said I had until Midsummer's Eve to pay up or … " He doesn't complete the sentence.

The Jupani frowns, rubbing his chin, and starts to say something else when he notices Piper fidgeting beside him. "Feel free to pipe up, kid," he tells the Gallah, grinning.

"Misseur, I am having second thoughts about all of this." He scratches at his cheek, looking tired. "How far off is Midsummer's Eve?"

The wolf glances to Cynthia, and she mews, "Eight days." Torn-Ear nods, then says to Piper, "How'd'ja mean, second thoughts? Reckon maybe Mister Blackrock oughta pay off the Blood Kings instead?" He glances to the innkeeper, whose eyes are on his drink, still pivoting in his grasp. "I don't think that 'or' is really an option."

Piper looks up. "Misseur Torn-Ear, the Blackrocks are like my second family. What is your plan on dealing with the Blood Kings? And when they are dealt with, what will we have to do to repay you?" A whimper creeps into his voice, making his bark sound tinny and stretched. "Will other gangs come here out of revenge? Or will they decide to come and cause damage here in the hopes of angering the Shadow Wolves? I do not wish to bring trouble down on this house."

For a few moments, Torn-Ear doesn't answer – instead, looking at Piper, and for the first time it seems as if the wolf is regarding him as an adult, instead of a child. "Well, now. I think it's safe to say none of us want Mister Blackrock to have any more trouble on account o' us. And I can't deny, might be you've got reason to worry. If this inn becomes a Shadow Wolves place, well, it might be that those what don't like us will come lookin' for us here. But payin' off the Blood Kings just gives you the same problem, Pipe – only worse, 'cause then it's them what are bringin' you their troubles. And they got it worse'n we do, kid."

The Khatta next to him swallows a bit from her pie, and nods at Torn-Ear's words. "They are," she mews. "Did you … did you have another alternative in mind, Piper?" she asks, hesitant.

The Gallah nods, his little speech draining him for a moment. "Could plans be put off for a day? I think … I think that I need some time to think. Misseur Durog as well." He sighs. "Casser la baraque de Dechiree-Oreille. Though it may ruin your plans, Misseur, I would like some time to think of an alternative."

Cynthia takes a deep breath and holds it, watching as the wolf turns the end of a loaf over in his hands, then chuckles. "Hey, Piper, no problem. I ain't made no plans yet, kiddo." He winks, broadly. "And you got yourself a little time, still. Knock yourself out." He finishes the rest of the loaf, washing it down with a swallow of ale. "Me, I gotta good meal for my time. I ain't complainin'. You need us, you know where to find us."

The feline exhales slowly, looking relieved, then flashes a bright, cheerful smile to the Gallah.

Piper barks, "Merci, Misseur Torn-Ear. You are very kind to me, and that speaks much." The Gallah's tail wags a little, although its movements are a bit sluggish, as though a weight were tied to it. "Do you know much of the Blood Kings? When I wish to deal with a rogue animal, it often helps to know its behavior.""

"Kavi gang," Torn-Ear says. "Kavis don't live long – even when they're not in gangs – " He chuckles, roughly. " – but there're lots of 'em. 'Rogue animal' ain't a bad way to look at it. Not much skill, not much subtlety. The crap they're trying to pull on Durog's actually more, wazzit … " He fumbles for a word, looking around, then settles on, " – complicated than I'd expect of 'em. They've always gone more for killing people and takin' what they can grab than tryin' extortion."

"Could they have a new leader, or joined forces with another gang?" Piper scratches at his chin. "An animal usually changes its behavior only when it is sick, or something in its environment has changed."

Cynthia nods at the lupine's speech. "Word on the street is that Claws-Ice – that's their leader – has a new right-hand man feeding him ideas. Garone Machkat, if it's true, and he's a Gallah, not a Kavi. Used to be one of Faraon's 'officers', one of the handful smart or lucky enough to escape the purge."

Piper nods, causing his ears to flap up and down. "Have they done this to anyone else?"

"They haven't trashed anyone else, yet. But I heard that a couple of the businesses 'round here – that laundry next door, and the cobbler across the street – have already paid 'em off. Way I reckon it, that means they're moving in, probably to stay. You give a gang money once, they'll be comin' back to you for it forever," Torn-Ear says, knowledgeably.

Durog nods, reluctant, at Torn-Ear's comment. "The cobbler warned me about them." The Jupani nods, and reaches for another minced pie as the conversation continues, candle flames flickering in the stuffy room.