It’d been a long time since Big Simon was twenty, but sitting in the don’s grimy antechamber with Atlas, Aris, and Smore sipping “coffee” – lukewarm, burned, gritty sludge – while waiting for the boss to come out and scold them he sure felt like he’d somehow managed to go back in time by a few decades.
Maybe that was why he wanted to smoke so bad, even though it’d been nearly fifteen years since he’d quit. For good, that is. All the other tries didn’t count, but if they did it would been probably closer to thirty. His paws itched something terrible…though to be fair, it might have just been the aching.
Simon sighed deeply and leaned back, grimacing at the ache that rolled its way up and down his spine like a damn carriage wheel before looking over at his companions. They were, like him, definitely worse for wear: Atlas was missing a chunk of his left ear, Smore’s fur was covered in burns and his suit was little more than charred tatters, and Aris had his right arm in a makeshift sling that was painful to look at.
Heck, it’s not like anyone was keeping score, but if they were Simon had come up positively smelling like roses. He smiled at that: another thing – just like the coffee and decor – that hadn’t changed. He went through the worst of every scrap and came out just fine.
Closing his eyes, Simon silently thanked the world for that Lucky status he’d gotten as a kit. It wasn’t in his soul’s mirror anymore, having disappeared of its own accord a week or so after he got it, but Simon wholeheartedly believed that getting such a status was, well, lucky, and had credited it with his successes and good fortunes ever since.
That type of thinking had power, and Simon saw no reason to abandon it now.
Alas, he was also pretty sure that his luck was about to run out. Million-to-one shot, or maybe one-to-a-million he and the young [Enforcers] were about to get their tails chewed off by the Don just as soon as the boss found time in his busy schedule to come out and do it.
The four battered kitrekins had been waiting for an hour already, but Simon wouldn’t have been surprised if it took two or three more before the Don came out. One time in the old days he’d screwed up a simple delivery job and had been forced to wait in this room all night to deliver the bad news.
So, naturally, he couldn’t believe his ears when he heard the quiet creak of the polished mahogany door – the one bright spot in the otherwise dreary room – swinging open. He stood up as quickly as he could, grimacing at another flash of pain, and led the young [Enforcers] inside.
The room was deathly quiet, and plenty dark. The Don – Simon still thought of him as “Chub”, the cute little kit that he’d been when Simon had first joined the family – was sitting at his desk, drumming his claws and scowling at them. His eyes were heavy and bloodshot, his fur was a ragged mess, and the smooth grin he normally wore had been replaced by a murderous scowl. It’d been a bad few weeks and that didn’t look to be changing anytime soon.
“Shut the door,” he hissed, adjusting his thick bathrobe, and Smore hurried to comply.
Complete silence fell, broken only by the sounds of breathing and the occasional fidget from Aris, Atlas, or Smore. Bad form, those. Simon resisted the urge to snort. Back in his day, an [Enforcer] would have stayed perfectly still – like a [Stone Sentinel], as the old saying went – but the kits these days couldn’t do that.
Finally Chub broke the silence.
“Rough night, eh lads?”
Simon stayed silent, inwardly wincing when his companions answered.
“Yeah, boss.”
“Yessir.”
“Sure was.”
Chub stopped drumming his claws on the table and leaned forward. “I take it that despite your…valiant efforts you were unsuccessful?”
Simon heard the dagger in the don’s voice and stepped in. Better to head this storm off before it got to build up anymore strength. “Aye, boss, that’s the long and short of it. We failed. Sacre’s boys were ready for us and we couldn’t get through them fast enough to get to the elixirs.”
A dangerous gleam appeared in the don’s eyes. “Would you have been able to do so if Shadow was with you?”
Simon nodded. There was no point in beating around the bush; that was the heart of their current problems anyway. Ever since Shadow – the [Mud Golemancer] that was technically on loan from the main family across the continent whose real name Simon didn’t know – had gotten locked up things had all been going wrong for the kitrekins. The careful balance of power between the kitrekins and Sacre was unraveling, tilting one direction faster and faster with each passing day toward the side of the “[Honest Businessman].”
It was all because of those freaking elixirs. Nasty powerful, those.
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The…elixir’d in Sacre’s crew – especially that prick Walnut – had gone from a thorn in the kitrekin’s side to a full-fledged wall they couldn’t break through. There were only a handful of them, for now, but that was bound to change eventually and all of ‘em outclassed the don’s [Enforcers] in everything from speed to strength to sheer freaking insanity.
Simon was no fool. Unless something big changed soon the family would be in real trouble. He tightened his paws into fists, furious that this was the moment he’d been born to. If he was younger – still had all his levels – he might have been able to do more. As it stood though, he knew all too well the limitations of his own strength.
Worse, he knew deep down that he didn’t even want to. He missed the Pig. He missed laughing with customers and the constant smell of cooking food, the uneven-but-still-comfortable benches and the quiet satisfaction he felt locking the door each night.
Something hit Simon in the chest and snapped him out of his thoughts. The don was standing up now, his eyes blazing and his whiskers splayed something fierce.
“What’s the matter with you idiots, eh? Too stupid and slow to go and break some bottles? Too scared of a guy who turns into a freaking nut when he fights or something? Eh?!”
“You haven’t seen him boss,” Smore said.
Simon winced. That was a mistake.
Chub stomped out, his tail slashing from side to side like a sword wielded by a guy who’d only ever learned how to do it from reading books, and stormed over to Smore. “Haven’t seen him? I should skin you, fur ball. You’re Piper-promised right I haven’t seen him! What do you think I pay you idiots for? Your job, no, your entire reason for being, is to make sure that I don’t have to see anybody. Instead I have to see that our family is slowly getting pushed back all across the city and losing the things we’ve all worked so hard for to a bunch of morons who found and drank some sketchy potions. I think that’s a lot worse!”
He grabbed Smore’s face and looked into his eyes. “The next time you see Walnut,” he hissed, “I want you to break his shell. Permanently. Do you understand me, fish breath?”
Smore nodded and looked away, muttering an apology and promising to do as asked.
Atlas and Aris wisely didn’t jump in, the way they otherwise might have, and to their credit they took their scolding from the don better than Simon had expected them too. They were quiet and apologetic, which was probably the best thing for them to be. Chub was the type who blew off his temper right quick if you let him, which was a good thing in most cases and a bad thing in others.
Simon steeled himself to do the same when his own turn came, meeting the don’s glare with his best contrite expression.
“And you! You don’t look like you’ve done anything! Barely a wound on you.”
“Just lucky,” Simon said with a shrug. “That’s all, boss.”
Chub snorted. “Wish I could say the same.”
He gestured to his desk, to the chair on the opposite side of his own, and Simon took it while the other three [Enforcers] stayed standing.
The don closed his eyes and rested his chin on his paw. ”I’ve known you my whole life, Simon. I know you’ll give it to me straight. How screwed are we? Any chance we can get another chance at those elixirs?”
Simon shook his head. “Don’t think so, boss. Sacre’s too careful for that. He’ll have his stash moved somewhere more protected and keep working through them ‘til his entire living crew is elixir’d up. When that happens, I don’t think it’ll be too good for our side.”
“You think I should ask for another loan from the main family? Maybe seek out a heavier hand than Shadow.”
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know nothing about that, boss, it’s your call.”
“What would you do if you were in my position?”
Simon rubbed his chin, thinking. “I think I’d try to get Shadow out before asking for more help. The prison isn’t all that hard to get into, and I doubt that armorsoul would interfere.”
Chub cursed loudly. “That accursed armorsoul! I’d give my right paw for a fighter like that.”
Simon agreed. He’d only seen the last moments of the fight between the armorsoul and Shadow but it’d burned itself into his brain. A swirling storm of steel shredding Shadow’s golems like they were nothing. He thought he’d known armorsouls on account of spending so much time talking to Alforde, but it was obvious to him now that he hadn’t seen anything yet.
“So, yeah, like I said. The first thing we should do is get Shadow out. He can tell us if we have a chance against Sacre’s crew or if we need more help, and then we can go from there. But there’s one other thing, boss.”
Chub’s eyes flicked open. “Yeah? What is it?”
“I think I might have seen a way to deal with the [Flamespeaker],” Simon said.
“Oh?”
“When he was fighting Smore, I noticed that he was carrying a little ruby egg in his hand. He’d rub it before he attacked each time. If we could get it away from him, we might be able to interrupt his power.”
“And how do you propose we do that? I don’t think he’ll just give it to us if we ask politely. Do you?”
Simon knew better than to answer that question, so he simply shrugged and kept his mouth shut.
“There has to be a way to turn the tables,” Chub muttered. “Some new element we could introduce to shift the balance. Something we can do.”
He shook his head. “Alright, I’ve gotta think. You four get out of my sight and get some rest. Get yourselves cleaned up too, eh? You stink.”
Simon stood up and followed the other [Enforcers] out of the office, feeling low in his stomach and chest. This too was the same as it had ever been.
Big Simon's Character Sheet
“Big” Simon Coppertail
Primary Class: Shopkeeper (Self), Level 31
Secondary Class: Enforcer (Haverty Curlytail), Level 26
Tertiary Class: Boxer (Self), Level 22
Additional Class: Street Cat (Self,) Level 10
Might: 81
Wit: 45
Faith: 23
Ambition: 24
Greed: 36
Loyalty: 52
Guts: 37
Endurance: 30
Charisma: 40
Citizenship: 4