Hot breath panted in Brock's face, a humid not-quite-mist that, somewhat surprisingly, did not reek of half-decayed carrion, but was actually quite crisp and invigorating, blending notes of citrus with a softer herbal medley. If it wasn't for the razor sharp teeth and talons currently a millimeter from descending on his waiting flesh, it probably would've been pretty pleasant, Brock had to admit.

He hadn't moved an inch the entire time Councilor Holly Stitch descended in a whirlwind of claws and fangs, nor was he going to move now.

What's the worst she can do? Kill me? He giggled silently to himself. Been there, done that, doesn't stick. Just ask KB (Administrative) for the note in my file.

The piercing points halted right at the edge of skin pressure, then slowly withdrew. With a begrudging look, Holly Stitch pulled away from Brock, her massively muscled and furred form shrinking back down into her initial shape as she returned to the judge's bench, scattered remnants of clothing barely hanging to her frame. Cap snarled at the werewolf's retreating backside, but refrained from moving away from Brock's position. Brock noticed, however, that several runic circles around her wrists were still glowing a faint blue.

High Priest Antioch rolled his eyes, then waved a finger in a quick glyph. Coruscating silver light swirled around Holly, repairing the barely-concealing scraps to their immaculate former condition.

"If you're done indulging yourself?" he asked sarcastically. "We wouldn't want to concern Captain Swift any further, I'd imagine, and I'd like to take this moment to remind everyone that class four munitions or equivalent morphs are expressly forbidden in committee chambers."

"Definitely an ennenn," Holly replied, ignoring the second sentence and sliding into her seat next to Councilor Drast. "He's got that 'I can't die because I'm the hero' smell they all have, and he clearly thinks we're things he can fuck with. Still in control, though," she added, gathering her hair back thoughtfully. "He didn't prepare an attack at all."

Just another test, Brock thought numbly. I guess I passed this one since they think I'm like all the rest of those murderous assholes from Earth. Hooray. Might as well lean into it for a bit, make the Director happy.

"Hey," he called out, "your breath smelled real nice. Didn't expect that at all. Love what you did with your hair, too. Can I pet you?"

Cap barely held in a snort, and Holly Stitch snarled.

"Typical Sekkie speciest. Why do all of you think that a werewolf, with their amazing sense of smell and easily tangled fur wouldn't be the most concerned with mouthwash and hair products? You fuckers are worse than Chet, but only because he's at least civilized enough not to ask to pet me."

"...I resent that!" a quavering voice beneath the desk complained to uncaring ears.

"Just following my captor's guidance." Brock pulled his chair upright and sat back into it, deliberately adopting the same casual pose he'd held before. "I meant what I said earlier. I'll answer your questions. Just ask."

"He's telling the truth," Councilor Drast said slowly, but Holly scoffed.

"Of course he's telling the truth, you pompous donkey, but I'm not interested in hearing him cite that stupid subsection over and over. The Director obviously impressed upon him that he needs to handle his shit, and as far as I'm concerned, he's currently handling his shit. You don't play word games and then stand still in a faceful of fangs unless handling your shit is a top priority."

She turned her focus to High Priest Antioch.

"Sorry, Lucio, but Oversight has to be a unanimous vote, and while I have some misgivings about possible future consequences, I don't think we're being misled here by the Director."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"...you're sure?"

"I am. We need to keep an eye on what's happening, obviously, but if the Director says he needs him ennenned for an operation, I'm inclined to trust the old man. This doesn't smell like an overstep."

High Priest Antioch rubbed a hand across his face, seemingly aging a decade in an instant. "Damn," he sighed. "And the message was so clear this time too..."

"What was that?" Councilor Drast asked as the High Priest trailed off. The robed man shook his head wryly.

"Nothing. Just pondering the words of my gods. I apologize for wasting all your time. Vote to adjourn."

"Aye. Later, I've got the end of a party to make."

Councilor Holly Stitch pressed her hand against the wall, and it slid open. Seconds later, she was gone from view. A pain-filled voice rose from beneath the bench.

"...aye. I think my kneecap's broken."

"You're sure we shouldn't keep investigating, High Priest?" Councilor Drast questioned reluctantly. "I feel like not knowing the precise abilities we're dealing with might end up coming back to bite us in the ass."

"I may not like that manipulating old bastard," High Priest Antioch grimaced, "but even he can't fool Holly's nose. If she doesn't smell trouble, then I've got no choice but to give him enough rope to hang himself and hope he doesn't take the rest of us to the gallows."

"I suppose," Councilor Drast agreed dubiously. "In that case, aye."

"Meeting adjourned," High Priest Antioch replied curtly, already turning to leave the room. As he passed by the bench, he crooked a finger. Silver bands of light lashed down and dragged Chet out from underneath the stone desk, hauling him behind the robed man like a sack of potatoes.

"Wait," Chet wailed as they exited the room, "this is deeemeeeaaaannnniiiinnggg-"

The three remaining figures ignored him.

"Well, kid, looks like you made it," Cap said quietly. "Survived your first OC interrogation." She pulled out her magiphone and made a few quick taps. "Director. Yeah, looks like we're done here-"

"If I can interrupt for a second?" Councilor Drast's polite voice intruded on Cap's one-sided conversation. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to talk to... Brock, I believe it was, for just a moment."

Brock's eyebrows lifted slightly as the Councilor used his name. Next to him, Cap lowered her magiphone with a questioning glance.

"And what is it you want to know?"

"With all respect, Captain Swift," Councilor Drast continued in the same polite tone, "I'd prefer to keep that between Brock and myself. Council business, I'm afraid."

Cap put her lips up next to Brock's ear, her short hair tickling the side of his face.

"Up to you," she whispered. "You remember the briefing?"

"I think it'll be okay," Brock replied normally, eyes locked on Drast. "I'd like to hear what he has to say."

"Okay then," Cap said curtly, leaning away and lifting her magiphone back up. "You've got two minutes. He's on duty," she finished with an insincere smile.

"Fair enough," Drast smiled back. "If you don't mind?"

Cap glared at him, then stepped backwards through a coruscating gray portal that appeared silently behind her. It vanished just as quietly and Brock was left alone with Councilor Drast.

"So, uhhh, what do you want to talk about? And how'd you know my name?"

"It was on the report, Brock," Drast smiled, walking companionably closer. "And no need for formality, you saw me at Ms. Softheart's last night. She does run quite the establishment, doesn't she? No secrets there."

"Errr..." Brock felt his thoughts derail, remembering the activities of the previous evening. "Uhhh, I guess?"

"Take my word for it," the handsome man winked. "But we're getting off topic and I don't have much time." He put a firm hand on Brock's shoulder. "Now, despite what you might think about my actions during this meeting, I'm very much on your side, Brock. Yours and Ms. Softheart's both. I think your people can offer even more than what you're allowed now, in a way that benefits us all."

"We can?"

"Assuredly! Brock," Drast took on a wounded expression, "it pains me to see all that potential absolutely wasted due to some hidebound regulations dreamed up a thousand years ago. We could be doing so much more as a collective society, if we just dared to dream big!"

"I... what?"

"Your people, Brock. Criminally hobbled, and for what? To appease the strictures of tradition? Out of misplaced fear that a few bad apples spoil the barrel? Nonsense! Obstacles obstructing the path of progress, is what I say!"

"You do?"

"I do. That's why I'm working with Ms. Softheart and others. I believe you deserve better, Brock. You deserve to stand on your own and contribute everything you have to offer. You deserve," Drast said softly, stepping in close, fixing Brock's eyes with his own, "to use what you have."

Brock stared back at him, caught in the mesmerizing gaze, but then the Councilor suddenly leaned back.

"Think about it, that's all I ask. That, and maybe keep it to yourself for now. My position isn't necessarily a popular one. Yet." Drast lifted his hand from Brock's shoulder and chuckled self-deprecatingly. "We'll talk again later, Brock. Safe travels."

A moment of discontinuity walked across Brock's skin, and then he reappeared in the Director's office, afternoon sun visible in the windows behind the orc's throne.

"Welcome back, Brock. Time to file your after-action report."