The dining room, which had been buzzing with introductions and low-key negotiations, now fell into a quiet, anticipatory murmur. It appeared that Warlock's earlier enjoyment of the "Carnivore's Choice" had stirred some excitement. Yet, Kev noticed that the otter had not decided to get the same meal this time, and he couldn't help but remember what Warlock had said... a meal could be a weapon.
"It seems like you survived Reepia's wrath," Kev said, leaning back a bit to see past Fang.
Horns had pulled his cold joint from the ashtray and was already moving to relight it. "By the skin of my antlers." He then pulled a small, polished brass cuspidor from his suit pocket and passed it across the table to Sterling. "Here you go. I had no idea what these things even were."
Sterling looked mighty delighted, his cobra hood puffing out slightly. "Thankssss, partner."
The cowboy cobra took the small brass cup and placed it in front of himself. He then pulled a worn leather pouch from his vest, untied it, and pinched out a wad of dark, stringy chewing tobacco, expertly packing it into his lower lip.
Kev watched. He had forgotten about chew, but if the beastpeople had water pipes, he guessed it really wasn't a surprise.
With a satisfied sigh, the cobra slunk back in his chair. "This here's a right fine place." He leaned his head back a bit and spit. A thick, brown, yucky blob arced high in the air and landed with a soft plink in the small spittoon.
Kev looked away. Gross.
"You are Mr. Horns, correct?" Baphomet said, gazing at the moose with the munchies. "It was kind of you to bring that for Sterling."
Horns grinned and waved his hand a bit, the smoke from his joint trailing behind. "The best thing about this place is that you can relax here."
Baphomet nodded slowly before turning back to the wolf across from him. "Do all your family members see the world as we do, my son?"
"Yes," Fang said, "but it is often dark here, and not everyone can see at night."
Kev glanced over at Fang before adding, "This club is a meritocracy. And even if we don't always get along, we have each other's back when it's important. Mammal, avian, or reptile."
Baphomet gave a gentle smile. "That is good. Without unity, a flock are just sheep."
Kev quickly reached out and rubbed Fang's leg again when he heard the beginning of a growl. Fang apparently did not like the insinuation.
"Am I to assume," Baphomet continued, "that my son here was the one who 'shepherded' you yesterday during Captain Romulus's visit?"
Kev panicked a bit as he tried to sneakily soothe Fang. He tried to remember what he had told Warlock earlier during the tour, but he was drawing a blank. "The club has many secrets," he said vaguely.
"Romulus was sent home empty-handed!" Fang barked. "And if they ever lay a hand on Kev, they'll leave handless!"
"You do not call him 'Captain,' my son?" Baphomet questioned.
"If he acted like one, I would," Fang growled. "Always sucking up to the city council. His spine is weak."
As the goat-man considered his response, Rebecca returned, holding a tray laden with drinks.
She moved with a quiet, confident grace, placing a crisp, clear martini in front of Nail; a vibrant, red drink smelling of cherries in front of Warlock; a simple, elegant glass of water with no ice for Baphomet; a rye drink that smelled of apples for Sterling; and a fizzy cola for Kick.
Kev smiled and thanked Rebecca as he received his Cape Cod. As he raised it to take a sip, he saw Warlock holding up his own red drink and gesturing. Kev reached forward and clinked his glass against the otter's, who giggled unnervingly.
"Finally," he could hear behind him. He turned and saw Rebecca leaving the room. By the door, Rex had been handed a short glass of amber liquid. The tiger wasn't drinking it; he was just holding it, his eyes closed, smelling it, a look of almost reverent concentration on his face.
A soft clinking sound pulled Kev's attention back to the table, and he saw the demonic Don standing once more.
"Before we drink, I would like to say a few words," Baphomet sermonized. "This is a special occasion, and I would like us to reflect... How we spend our time is the most important decision we make each day. Do we waste away in apathy and let the world overpower us? No! We struggle, and we band together to become stronger... Those who would reject the help of another, who would push another away from the flock due to their differences, are a plague upon this world. They would reject the very unity that keeps the world from overpowering us all... Those who cannot see past the husk shall never enjoy the sweet corn of life... and they would keep the rest of us from enjoying it too. So, to spend your time well, we must reflect on what we can do."
Warlock clapped lightly. "I know what I can do," he said, picking up his drink once more.
"And what is that?" Fang asked, his whiskey already half gone.
Baphomet slowly sat. "It is up to you," Baphomet said to Fang. "Will you join my family and do something? Or will you remain... apathetic?"
Fang growled and narrowed his eyes. "If you want me to be a member, then what are the benefits?"
"It's just such a shocking offer," Kev said quickly, hoping that Fang wasn't too blunt. "We were already getting such great benefits with access to amazing lawyers like Nail and Kick," he tossed the bored-looking suits a bone. "I guess that just means becoming a full member must be really, really amazing."
Baphomet sighed and reached for his water. "Warlock, my son. Please."
"Oh, of course, Father." Warlock turned to Kev and spread his fingers out wide while gesturing. "A couple of lawyers, some accountants... these are things that a rich man can pay for. When Fang finalizes this agreement, you'll have protection and access." The otter's sharp grin widened. "The benefits are international, of course, so you could imagine... if this club was a preferred venue, any one of my brothers would have the benefit... but if Fang is my brother, he will receive benefits from every single one of our existing and future preferred venues and... distributors."
Kev looked up at Fang to gauge his reaction. The wolfman was still, his expression unreadable. His gaze was fixed on Baphomet, his ears slightly canted forward, processing. Kev could see Horns, Dale, and Bozeman were also leaning forward, their own expressions a mixture of apprehension and intense focus, all waiting for Fang's reaction.
"And what," Fang finally said, his voice a low, careful rumble, "are my dues for membership?"
Baphomet slowly put down his glass of tepid water. "There is only one."
Fang bared his teeth slightly. "And what is it?"
"You will address me as 'Father,' and I will address you as 'son'," Baphomet declared loudly.
Fang froze. His fur began to bristle, the hairs along his neck and back standing on end. His tail went rigid, and his lips peeled back slightly, a low, almost inaudible drone starting in his chest. His amber eyes, a moment ago just serious, now held the familiar, terrifying glint of rage.
No, no, no, Kev thought, as he watched the warning signs of one of Fang's episodes manifest. He could almost feel Horns tense up beside him, a panicked look flashing in the moose's eyes.
Kev had only seconds. Fang had been triggered. By Baphomet. Was it to do with Fang's father? Lanon had said something last night... But there was no time to think anymore. He did the only thing he could think of and quickly stood, grabbing the front of Fang's collar with both hands.
Kev attempted to pull Fang towards himself but ended up just pulling himself towards the nearly snarling wolf. His cheeks burned, knowing this was not exactly the right time for such a public display of affection, but he was out of time and out of ideas. He kissed him.
Fang blinked a few times, his snarling face going slack with surprise. He caught Kev's eyes, wide and desperate. Then, he closed his own eyes and, with a low groan, his hands shot out, wrapping around Kev's waist, and he pulled the human onto his lap, into the captain's chair with him.
Baphomet coughed pointedly. "That was not the reaction I expected."
Kev slowly pulled away from Fang and looked up into the wolfman's eyes. The raw, animalistic fury was gone, replaced by a dazed, almost vulnerable look. There was a profound gratitude in those amber depths, a silent thank you for pulling him back from the brink.
Fang looked back towards Baphomet. "Please excuse me, but I... get excited when I think of my father."
Kev nearly rolled off of Fang and onto the table. What?!
"You must know," Fang continued, his voice regaining some of its strength, "of Fang Senior..."
Baphomet nodded, his demeanor once again completely controlled. "I understand, my son. But you need not think of him when you call me 'father,' for I am... ascetic."
Fang cocked his head. "What about your looks?"
Kev pushed himself off Fang and sat back in his chair. "He means he... lives like a monk or... he doesn't indulge."
"Correct," Baphomet said. "I have vowed myself to celibacy and only intake what I need." The goat raised his glass of room-temperature water once again. "Whatever excess that you attribute with your old father, you may rest easy knowing your new father is a different man."
Kev had no idea what Baphomet was talking about, but Fang seemed to have listened intently. He looked down at his drink, contemplating the offer again. Kev had to rub his shoulder a few times when he saw the fur on his neck begin to rise, but it only took Fang a minute to come to a decision.
Fang looked up and said, "You have given me an opportunity I did not expect..."
"If you expected something," Baphomet replied, his voice calm, "it would not be an opportunity, but the path you were on."
Fang nodded. "That is a good point... I accept."
Baphomet smiled softly. "You know what you must say."
Fang stewed in his seat. "Really? We're adults."
The Mafia Don gently nodded.
"Oh, come on," Fang grumbled, crossing his arms.
The gangster goat raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, fine," Fang said, the words coming out in a rush of petulant concession. "I'll call you 'Pops,' but that's it."
"Pops?!" Warlock burst out laughing, a loud, delighted bark of a sound.
The other Mafia affiliates across the table all seemed to find this a bit absurd as well. They in unison leaned forward to catch the goat-man's reaction.
Baphomet didn't laugh out loud. He just closed his eyes, a serene, almost beatific smile spreading across his face. His shoulders began to shake with silent laughter, and the small brass bell on his neck let out a series of soft, cheerful jingles.
Kev breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad that the goat had a similar sense of humor to Warlock. Kev frowned... he hoped that the goat did not find cameras funny...
The conservatory door opened once more, and Rebecca entered. She was balancing a tray that was double-stacked with plates, a feat of both strength and incredible dexterity. The aroma of perfectly cooked food wafted before her, filling the room with mouth-watering scents.