Tengu. Part one.
_ I got to know a Furr and was inspired to write this. Let me know if you approve, I've got a story arc I want to follow. BanditJourno. _
The mirror is never kind.
Staring at his reflection, the wolf had to admit he looked a little the worse for wear.
Red, bloodshot eyes stared from deep sockets, yellowed teeth poked from pockmarked lips, and the brutal, raw scar running along his broken jaw seemed twice as obvious in the dive bar's low lighting.
The wolf stopped staring at himself and admired the glass he held instead.
At least the whiskey makes me look better. He thought to himself.
On the other side of the busy bar a pair of eyes watched the dejected wolf drink himself into oblivion.
One manicured, tan furred paw reached for a photograph lying on the pitted table in front of the it, languidly raising it into the half-light cast by the flickering bulbs in the ceiling.
"Is it him?" Asked the creature's companion, a rough-looking Rottweiler with the look of hired muscle, all bulging biceps and no brains.
"Yes." answered the creature, tossing the photo down again.
"You, uh, want me to get him boss?"
"Yeah, but be polite," said the fox, nimble hands dipping into his coat's deep pockets for another cigarette, "this guy could kill you in a heartbeat."
"Uh, I don't think so boss, he's not all that," answered the thug, flexing his considerable muscles.
The fox just gave him a weary look and pointed to the bar.
The mutt got up, and started over.
"I gots someone who needs to talk with you."
The wolf didn't look up from his glass.
"Hey longtail, listen up!"
No reaction.
"You want to play hardball? Huh?" The mutt rolled his sleeves up and flexed again, "now you gonna get it."
"Fuck off." Said the wolf, without looking up.
The mutt was taken aback by the venom in the wolf's voice, but not enough to notice the veiled threat.
"Yous can't talk to me like that!" he said, and swung for the wolf's scarred jaw.
Or he would have done, had a revolver not appeared in the wolf's off-hand and been pressed hard underneath his muzzle.
"I said. Fuck. Off." Said the wolf again, all pretence of drunkenness gone.
"I...uh" managed the Rottie, terrified.
"Where's your boss?" Asked the wolf, one digit of his paw tightening on the trigger of his battered revolver.
The mutt pointed to the fox, who merely smiled and waved the wolf over.
The wolf stared the terrified mutt in the face for a moment before ramming a knee into the mutt's tight stomach, pitching him on to the floor and kicking him brutally in the head, all in one smooth movement.
With the mutt out cold on the floor, and the revolver apparently vanished into thin air inside the wolf's long coat, the wolf crossed the bar.
Behind him, the other patrons continued on as if nothing had happened - it was that sort of place.
"Jazz." Said the fox, as the wary wolf sat opposite him.
"That's not my name." The wolf responded, no emotion in his voice.
"If you say so."
"What do you want?"
The fox curled a manicured, elegant claw around the sculpted glass of liquor on the table.
"I need your help to find someone."
The wolf rose from the table in one smooth movement, his long coat hiding his true strength.
"Not interested," he said, and made to leave the bar.
"Jazz, if you help me, I'll help you."
"Help me with what, fox?"
"Revenge."
The wolf paused for a second, his paw straying towards the pocket of his long coat, his ears perking high above the shattered jaw.
"That's right, I know where the bastard who took your life from you is."
The wolf sat down again, staring at the elegant fox eye to eye, one paw resting casually on his muscled leg, the other resting on the table - both with claws extended.
"Speak," said the wolf, bloodshot eyes boring into the fox, who merely smiled.
"You help me find one very specific tiger, and I'll help you find one very specific lynx. A fair trade, don't you think?"
The wolf said nothing.
"Jazz, did you hear me?" asked the fox, stubbing out his cigarette on the tabletop.
"Don't." Said the wolf, his eyes boring into the fox's skull,.
The fox was nonplussed.
"Don't what?" he asked, one claw flicking at his whiskers.
"Don't call me Jazz. Ever."
The fox considered the creature before him: a wolf in his 20s- all sinew and brawn, muscle and power - and pain. Immense pain.
"If you know where Tengu is, I'll help you," the wolf said, his claws unconsciously cutting into the tabletop, "But if you're fucking with me, I'll kill you."
The fox considered that for a moment.
"Deal."