While I might be used to the nocturnal lifestyle, I'll never get used to looking up at a starry sky and thinking "wow, what a beautiful morning". Even so, that doesn't mean I don't still appreciate the simple appeal of a clear night sky. I pull my curtain shut, then shake the last of the water loose from my headwool. Tossing my towel in the laundry hamper, I begin rummaging through my closet for something a little bit nicer to wear than my usual band tee and cargo shorts. I eventually settle on a clean pair of khakis and a short-sleeved pullover. I might not be on a date or a job interview, but tonight's a very important night -- after the conversation I had with Velvet just recently, I've made up my mind.

Tonight, I make peace with the alpha.

There's really no sense in putting Al off any longer. I can't keep dragging my hooves on this. Especially not now that he's been on a date with his fiancée -- she probably told him everything we talked about. First rule of interacting with couples: never assume anything told to either party will be kept in confidence. Besides, them spending time together gives me an opportunity. It's my best opportunity to strike, get to him while he's in a good mood. At this point, I'm sure everyone's just about ready for us to make amends. Hell, fuckin' Marty seemed worked up about it, and he wasn't even THERE when I went off on Al.

Thinking on it, that's one thing I've learned during my time here. Small community, everyone knows everyone. News travels fast. People talk. And based what little I could glean from Marty and the twins, the "pack" extends to more than just wolves. I can't afford another slip-up again. No telling what the consequences would be if I mouth off to the wrong person a second time.

It feels weird dressing up just to go talk to another dude, but given his attire when Velvet visits, appearance seems to be big with Al, and I really want to at least make a decent impression here. I start gathering up my stuff to get ready to leave. I'm halfway through loading my personal effects from my table into my pockets, when my ankle brushes against something soft. I nearly jump in surprise before realizing it's just a scrap of tattered cloth. Sighing, I bend down to scoop up one of the leftover fragments of my bag I somehow missed when I tossed it. Even the tag's still attached to it, too.

"Stain-resistant, waterproof, with patented scent-locking technology," I mutter, snorting at that last one as I turn it over in my hoof. Yeah, right. That's why it kicked the bucket as a makeshift gym bag instead of what I bought it for. "Ballstics-grade weave guaranteed impossible for even the toughest claws and blades to shred, rip, or tear, or your money back. Safety rated up to... nine hundred pounds of pressure?!"

I nearly choke as I look at the tag one more time. There's no way I'm reading that right. The scent-proof thing was clearly bogus, so why should I believe this? I tug at the fabric with my hooves a couple of times to test it, chuckling nervously. Just another example of false advertising. I mean, I can't rip it, but I'm just a ram. Hooves aren't made for that sort of thing. Picking up a pair of scissors from my kitchen drawer, I slide the fabric between the blades and squeeze the handles.

Rather than being sliced in half, the fabric ends up just wrapping itself around the blades and getting wedged between them. I clumsily yank it free and try again, and after three or four attempts, one of the scissor blades snaps off and clatters to the floor uselessly.

My eyes widen as I stare at the fabric. I spend the next minute attempting to cut it with the remaining half of the scissors to no success. Eventually my hoof slips and I very nearly avoid cutting myself, so I figure I'll quit while I'm ahead. Ballistics-grade -- man, were they serious?! Is this shit what they make flak jackets out of or something? Al was able to shred this thing to ribbons with just his bare claws, and I can't even SCRATCH it with a blade. Tossing the broken scissors and the fabric scrap in my wastebin, I lean against the counter in shock.

On second thought, maybe going for a walk to clear my head before approaching him might be a good idea after all.

Weather's nice tonight. Clear sky, good breeze. Even if there are other places I'd rather be, it's nights like these that make living on Pack Street a little more tolerable. A familiar-looking pup with coal-black fur runs by obliviously with a toy airplane, tail wagging and tongue hanging out of his mouth as he goes. Looks like he finally upgraded from his truck. I'm a little surprised he's out by himself this late, but then again, I'm told Al's influence extends pretty far. He's probably safer here than he is just about anywhere else in the city. After all, the only creep offering candy to kids around here turned out to be me, so who am I to say anything?

I'm kicking around the idea of indulging myself in a trip to Bug Burga. I can't remember when the last time was that I had one, and my meals have been pretty one-note lately. Not that I'm not grateful to have them, of course. Betty really came through for me while I was downed, but ram cannot live on soup alone. Surely a little junk food won't hurt.

Sucking in a gutful of the fresh city air, an unfamiliar scent hits my nose -- and it smells fuckin' amazing. Cilantro, tomatoes, lemon, and -- something else I don't recognize. Whatever it is, it's a strong, overpowering sensation. I notice a line of around a dozen or so predator species gathering up at the end of the street with more hurrying over. I'm not sure what they're lining up for -- another block party, maybe they're getting in line for a barbecue? Looking around, I quickly toss that theory. Not even close to enough people out for one. Last time there were mammals out in full force. You could have convinced me that it was a huge rally or parade or something -- felt like half of Zootopia had shown up. Sure, it's busy out tonight, but nothing remotely like it was before.

Making my way forward, I realize that the mammals are lined up for a food truck. Whatever they're selling must be something popular, because more and more folks are piping over by the second. Shrugging, I make my way forward and take my place in line without even questioning it. If everyone else is this excited, it must be good, right?

Standing in front of me is a tall coyote in a business suit, a briefcase hanging from one of his paws. In front of him is a jackal, equally well-dressed. It takes me a second to realize I've seen these guys before -- in fact, a couple of times now that I think about it. They pause chatting with each other long enough to catch sight of me, and to my surprise they actually turn around to engage me in conversation.

"Hey," the coyote rumbles, extending his paw in greeting. "You're that new ram that moved in. Corner? Comor?"

"Cormo," I correct politely, offering him my hoof. He squeezes it like most non-hooved species usually do, though to his credit he's gentle about it, like he thinks it's going to break if he isn't careful. "Remmy Cormo. Nice to meet you."

"Dewey," the jackal offers as he grips my hoof much tighter, in a much more powerful display. "This is Don, my partner. I've seen you around the neighborhood a few times, actually, but it's good to finally meet you."

"Same," Don says, shifting his briefcase to his other paw. "You ever had a street taco, Cormo?"

"That what this guy's selling? Can't say I have," I reply, licking my muzzle reflexively as the smell grows stronger. "Closest I've ever had to that kinda cuisine is cornbugs."

"Yeah, not really the same level. This guy's stuff's pretty good, and it's rare that he comes by here. Usually sells out quick. I bet if you ask he'll make one herb-style for you." Don glances over at Dewey, who's pulled his cell from his coat pocket and has it aimed at me. "Dewey? Don't."

"But--"

"Don't," Don echoes, much more firmly. "Imagine if you were over off of Flock eating prey food, and someone was doing that to you. Worse, imagine what the boss would say if she found out. We're not freelancers anymore."

Dewey draws a heavy breath through his nose, sighing. "Fine," he grumbles, tucking his phone away. "Not every day you see a ram lined up at a roach coach, though."

I chuckle awkwardly. "That's fair. I'm not your typical ram, though."

"Goes without saying you're different," Dewey says with a thin smile before turning back to Don. "You're living here."

Though his answer is one I've given myself in the past, this time it makes me stop. "So, what, only a 'different' ram would move into this place?"

He smirks over his shoulder at me, toothy, but his eyes are calm. "Nah. You got it backwards. I mean that living here for a while is gonna MAKE you different."

The line moves fairly quickly, and before long I find myself at the counter as Dewey and Don head off with their order to-go. To my surprise, the guy working the truck is Neil, the lion I met at Packer's Gym. Instinctively I find myself looking around to see if Cliff's with him, but it looks like he's a one-man show tonight.

"Hey! Remmy, my man," he grins, brushing some of his loose, unkempt mane out of his eyes. "Didn't expect to see you here! What can I get you?"

"What's good, Neil?" I reply, standing on my hooftips to get a better look at his menu. "I hear you got tacos and, uh -- wait, these are made with... fish?"

"Well, yeah," he replies, almost apologetically. "But I can do an herbivore one for you--"

Shaking my head, I match his grin with one of my own. "Fuck no, I'll take one however it normally comes. I've never gotten a chance to try fish before. Is it anything like bug meat?"

Neil takes a deep breath as he pops open a cooler on a shelf behind him, pulling out a fresh, ripe tomato and a head of lettuce. "Better," he answers as he begins chopping them up. "But really, you sure, man? You -- you eat bug meat?"

"You couldn't keep me away. I'm actually a regular at Bug Burga," I respond with just a hint of pride. "Fish are like bugs of the sea, right?"

"More like bugs wish they were the fish of the land," a wolf behind me interjects with a snarky leer. "Holy shit, what a concept. Lamb eatin' fish. You get separated from the herd, kid?"

I snort, taking his jab in stride. After dealing with my neighbors he doesn't even rank on the scoreboard. Besides, right now I don't really give a shit -- I'm kind of mentally freaking out about getting to try real fish. I'm aware I've gotta look like a tourist to these guys, but in a way, I am. I knew there was a fishery somewhere over in Tundratown, but you don't really tend to hear or think much about that kind of stuff growing up in a prey neighborhood. I mean, I only started eating Bug Burga recently, gimme a break.

Neil pushes a basket into his deep-fryer, pulling out a thick, battered slab of what I'm assuming is the actual fish. It's golden-brown and crackling. He slices it into thin strips and begins layering it into a tortilla before adding tomato, lettuce, and couple dollops of some kind of white sauce to top it off. Nesting it in foil, he passes the taco over to me.

"That'll be three bucks," he says, and I happily fork the money over with a couple extra dollars as a tip. "Hey, thanks, dude."

"No, thank you," I respond, accepting it gratefully, almost reverently. The other bystanders in line look kind of awed themselves, and even when I step aside to let them up, the line doesn't move forward to take my place at the counter. Even Neil looks like he's daring me to take a bite. At this point, it'd be an insult to the chef not to. With a shrug, I sink my flat teeth into it -- and instantly I feel like I've died and gone to heaven. Man alive, and I say this with full conviction: fuck bug meat.

Okay, well, I don't actually mean that -- bug meat's like a dietary staple for me -- but holy shit, I've gotta look up the nearest fish store (is there even such a thing as a fish store?) and learn how to prepare this at home. The crust is so flaky and buttery, and the fish itself is like... it's soft, almost melts in my mouth, but still there's so much substance to it. That's it. It's substantial. It's hearty. Hearty in a way even Betty's thick vegetable soup isn't. And the sauce! The sauce is better than even firefly sauce, and I thought that stuff was amazing. The fresh vegetables serve as like, a palate cleanser, and -- fuckin' listen to me. I sound like those ascot-wearing pretentious assholes foodies on TV who use words like "couscous" and "toothsome" and "deconstructed". Nobody real talks that way, so I'll just say that this thing is amazing. I'm torn between downing it in two gulps and ordering more, or savoring the one I've got and making it last.

"Hey c'mon! You're holdin' up the--" someone about five spots down starts to say, only to be interrupted by literally everyone in front of him INCLUDING Neil.

"Fuck you, this is magical!" To my surprise, the snarky wolf's waving him off. "It's like watching a pup take his first steps."

Another voice chimes in. "Holy shit, is this a sheep going savage?"

"Nah, prey don't go savage," Neil replies, leaning against the counter. "How is it, Remmy? Though I got a feeling I already know."

"Mmmhmm." I inhale the rest of my food before wiping my hooves on my shirt, eyes watering. "Fuckin' aces. I'll definitely be back."

"Yeah, you know you will," he chuckles.

It feels good to get out and stretch my legs. I've been a little mopey lately, so getting a change of scenery really has helped lift my mood. I've missed hitting up all my usual haunts, and it's always nice to discover new ones, too. Finding out about little hole-in-the-wall places like Packer's, the deli, or Neil's food truck. Those little high notes that give me something to look forward to rather than dread. Even the alley court Ozzy took me to has really turned out to be a hidden gem. In fact, I've found myself going out of my way to swing by there on my way to and from work -- something about the wall art there really fuckin' does it for me. If I could rip it off that wall and hang it in my living room, you'd damn well better believe I would. And even now, as I wander these streets like some hobo, I keep finding new graffiti that looks like it should be hanging in a museum. If Ozzy hadn't pointed it out, I'd still think they were murals.

I'm admiring a new piece: a solid-white, uncolored cat vandal with rollerblades posed dramatically against a sea of green, yellow, and orange spraypaint cans and tags. And as I'm taking in this street art, it suddenly occurs to me that I don't actually know where I'm going. I'm not going to work, and the gym's probably at peak hours right now based on what Avo told me. Somehow, my legs are moving with purpose but my brain's been asleep at the wheel. I don't actually recognize this area at all. Shit. I might actually be lost. All I really wanted to just get a little fresh air before I went to make amends with Al, but I guess the truth is I'm just not ready to face him yet.

A loud, abrupt noise like a gunshot ringing out nearby causes me to jump, and instantly I press flat against a nearby wall. A few seconds later it goes off again, then again, then again. Like there's a rhythm to it. After my heart slides out of my throat and back into my chest, I listen closely, realizing I recognize that sound; it is in fact a gun, but one that fires nails, not bullets. Turns out I'm near a construction site.

Stepping around the corner of the building I'm at, I can't believe my eyes.

Speak of the fucking devil.

Standing in the thick of a construction site at a lot across the street is the big white wolf himself, wearing a hard hat and an orange vest. Scurrying all along the ground by Al's feet are several smaller mammals -- stoats, ferrets, even a ground squirrel, all in matching construction gear. In his arms is a bundle of rebar piled high all the way up to his chin. He's lumbering along at a steady pace, dumping the load on the ground halfway across the site before going back to get more. As he does, however, a tinny, feedback-filled voice I can't quite make out bursts to life. Al stops midway, ears lowering ever so slightly against his head as he turns around.

The ground squirrel is shouting something at him with a megaphone. Between his high-pitched voice and the poor sound quality, I'm having trouble catching everything he says. But Al nods quietly, and without a word walks back over to the rebar and picks the entire stack up again only to move it a few measly inches over. It's really weird seeing him taking orders from someone else.

I watch from behind a trash can as this continues for several minutes -- the ground squirrel shouts something out, Al nods and complies. He's just standing there fuckin' taking shit off this wiry little fuck like I've never seen him do before. You know, the ALPHA -- the guy that runs the whole show around here. I guess it makes sense. Pack rules may count for a lot at home, but at a paid job, nobody's gonna give a shit what your rank is unless it's in the company. Sweat's pouring off of him in buckets, and his clothes are streaked in mud and concrete powder. He looks tired, but he doesn't stop once to take a break. Doesn't complain. Every so often I even catch him starting to raise his muzzle to the sky, only to quickly lower it again.

Seems the smaller animals have got him hauling their building materials around, while they drive their construction equipment. There's a dinky little backhoe that looks like something you'd see in a toy shop, and an equally pitiful miniature crane at the top of the building they're working on. A weasel in a road roller with a drum about as big as a rolling pin smooths out a pile of dirt, while a mouse drives a bulldozer around that looks more suited to demolishing sandcastles than clearing land. I'm not kidding when I say the lollipup's toy airplane would fit right alongside their machinery. Something appears to be missing from their assortment, though, and I can't put my hooftip on it.

And then it hits me like a brick to the teeth.

Forklift. That thing I drive every day at work. They don't have one -- Al's their fucking forklift.

I feel my cheeks burning as I watch. Sure as shit, that's exactly what he's doing. Picking up stacks and pallets of equipment and transferring it to different places at the construction site, picking stuff off one level and shifting it up or down to another. Like a forklift operator would do. They're using him like he's a fucking appliance and he's not saying a damn word. Just "yes sir", "no sir", "right away sir". I don't know what this feeling is that's hitting me out of nowhere, but my face is hot and my nose is running. Gotta be some leftover sinus issues from my recent sickness. Yeah. That's it.

I grit my teeth, dragging my muzzle down the back of my sleeve as I turn away. I've seen more than enough here.

Hooves in my pockets, I find myself drifting back towards home the same way I came. The charge in the air, the pleasant thrill's gone. I can't get the image of what I saw back there out of my head. That scene's gonna be with me for a while to come. Right now I'm just trying to focus on retracing my steps. I'm still on Pack, so even if I'm lost, it's not gonna be too hard finding my way home. Worst case scenario, I just ask someone.

A sudden, shrill whistle cuts the silence, causing me to shake loose from my thoughts. Looking up, I spot the source of the noise seated at a nearby sidewalk cafe table -- a tigress dressed in a button-up blouse and a pair of cutoff pants.

"Li'l lamb!" she shouts, a grin on her face. "I thought I recognized you! C'mere!"

Blinking, it takes me a couple of seconds to place her. Ahhh, Dora -- or rather, Pandora. She's eating alone, a glass of wine and a mostly-finished plate laid out in front of her. Wandering over to her table, I give her a polite nod and a nervous smile.

"Hi again, Pandora," I respond, reaching my hoof out for a squeeze. Instead of gripping it like most of the other mammals around here do, she extends her claws and taps them against my hooftips in a sort of gentle pushing motion. It's the closest I've ever seen a pawed animal of any kind get to an ungulate-tap, the kind me and Velvet do. On the other hand, hooved mammals don't have claws, so I'm both impressed AND frightened.

"We didn't get much of a chance to talk last time, so I'm glad I ran into you." She breaks into a wide, sharp smile that heavily contrasts her half-lidded bedroom eyes. Taking a sip of her wine, she motions for me to be seated. "Can I get you an apéritif? I wanted to thank you and Foxtrot again for the help in procuring 'that' for me. I may very well be in need of another shipment soon, seeing as how I underestimated how popular of a product it'd be."

"Oh, no, no thanks. And really, no problem," I chuckle nervously, pulling my chair out from the table and sitting down across from her. "It was a lot of fun, but really, don't mention it. Like, to anyone."

"Mr. Marshmallow, I run a chain of stores that offer adult novelties and other items to be purchased on the sly!" she protests, feigning offense. "Discretion is more than JUST a company policy -- your secret is safe with me. Besides, the cops would be all over me if word got out, and not in the good way. I prefer my handcuffs to be fur-lined."

"Uuuggghh. That was terrible," I snort, making a little rimshot noise with my hooves on the table.

"Mm, thank you, thank you. I'll be here till Thursday. Try the fish," she jokes.

"I did, actually," I answer with a grin. "For the first time tonight, in fact -- from a little taco stand a guy I know runs. I've never had fish before, but it was really damn good."

"No kidding! Good for you; I don't know what I'd do without fish," she says, paw pressed to her chest theatrically. "You have to try it from Whiskers' Pub over in the Square. They serve fried cod with sliced, fried potatoes. Put a little malt vinegar on it and have you an ice-cold beer, and you'll forget all your troubles."

"Oh, that sounds incredible." I make a mental note to hit it up if ever on that side of town for anything. "I'll admit it, I could eat my way across Zootopia. I was surprised at how much more -- I dunno, 'pure' fish tasted than bug meat. Like, don't get me wrong, a burga's great and all. But this was like the difference between apples and apple-flavored candy."

"Oh, I agree completely," she nods, returning her attention to the remnants of her meal. "That's because it's not processed, like bug meat is. Bugs don't come in the shape of a patty, you know? So they have to grind them up, add fillers and binders and all that nonsense. 'Pure' is a good way of describing it -- fish is more... whole. What sort of fish was it?"

"Oh, uh, I didn't ask. How many different kinds are there? Are they not mostly the same?"

She laughs good-naturedly and shoots me an excited smile, resting her huge, warm paw on my hoof across the table. "Oh, my sweet, naive little marshmallow, there are many, many kinds and no, they are NOT mostly the same."

"Well hell, now I wish I'd asked."

She shifts back, nodding. "Mmh. You think you've just found the ultimate food, but you've only just gotten started. You have a WORLD of seafood ahead of you. Ah, what I wouldn't give to try tuna for the first time. Or swordfish. You'll have to come dine with me sometime. The reactions on your cute little face alone would be worth the price of the food."

"Dora, please!" I protest with a laugh, "If a beautiful woman takes me out for fish I might ask her to marry me on the spot."

She covers her mouth, giggling and flicking her ears involuntarily. "Mr. Marshmallow, you flatter me. Please, stay a while. Let me get you a digestif, at least."

She calls over the waiter, who doesn't look like he knows the term 'digestif' any more than I do, and before I know it, Dora and I are laughing over a few empty drinks.

"...well, for confidentiality reasons I'm not going to, you know, comment too much on my clientèle," Pandora continues, "But yes, those two are the best customers a girl like me could ask for. And I don't mean just in spending -- Wolter's nothing but polite whenever I see him, and Annie's a very thoughtful shopper. You'd be surprised at some of the types that come into an adult bookstore at three in the morning."

"All right, all right," I grin, leaning over the table, "Well c'mon, tell me something REALLY juicy. I'm sure you've got some great stories."

"You don't know the half of it," she giggles. "I could keep you here for hours, li'l lamb."

"Well? Go on, dish, I'm not going anywhere just yet," I prod. "C'mon, at least one. I can't be the biggest weirdo to have ever walked through your doors."

"Weirdo? You? A shy young man comes in and can't find the nerve to buy anything? Please, you don't even register." Wiping her lips on her napkin, she begins to drum her clawtips on the wrought-iron table to jog her memory.

I wipe my forehead in a gesture that's only partially for show. "Well, nice to know I won't be going down in history for that, at least."

She sniffs, looking up to the dark sky. "Let me see. A few years ago, the citywide ban on leashes and collars was lifted. That was from the days of the Byron Manifesto, of course."

I cringe. "Oh, I remember hearing about that when I was younger. Awful stuff."

"Dreadful business, indeed. But when it was overturned, my buying agent comes to me and goes -- 'Dora, leashes and collars are looking hot this season, let's order some.' And I'm like 'ahaha, what? No, no way, nobody's gonna buy those things'."

"Except of course, they did, didn't they?" I grin, already eager to see where this is going.

"Of course!" she agrees, forking her slice of after-dinner cake with gusto. "We put this small ad out online, you know -- we get a lot of web orders because, let's be real, nobody's going to come all the way to Pack Street from Tundratown JUST to buy a plain old dildo -- and we're advertising that we have collars and leashes for fantasy use. The collars we sell are for show only because of regulations. If you tug too tight, there's a hidden clip on the inside that pops it loose -- like uh, you know, like those clip-on ties the police wear."

"Yeah, you don't want someone choking themselves if they get a little too 'into it' -- last thing you need is a lawsuit."

"Yeah, exactly. I mean, I make pretty good money, but not nearly enough to feed a lawyer," she says with a laugh. "So we've got this ad out and within like, an hour, this guy and his girlfriend show up. Probably in their twenties and forties -- May-December couple, you know? They immediately go straight for the leashes and collars I'd just finished stocking and buy one of every color we've got. Because the female wants them to be 'coordinating' with various outfits."

"Wait wait, mammals don't wear those things in public, do they?" I interrupt.

She giggles excitedly, leaning forward right into my face and tracing her claw over my chin. "Oh, you sweet innocent little thing, you really don't know the first thing about true perversion, do you?"

"I'm a hooves-on learner," I shoot back with a grin. My cheeks flush immediately at my own quip. God, how much did I have to drink?

To my surprise, she purrs in response, sitting back. It's not something I've encountered often, but it's pretty clear what it means. She returns to her wine with a sly smirk. "You really ARE a predator at heart, li'l lamb."

"Excuse me," I murmur with a sheepish smile.

"Mm, but you haven't heard the best part -- right then and there, soon as he's paid up, he wraps the collar around his girl's neck and makes her crawl out on all fours, and it's at this time that I notice she's wearing a VERY short dress -- and that's it." Pandora flags the waiter over with a wink as my eyebrows rocket up my forehead. "I'm sure a lot of it was them getting off on the public humiliation aspect, you know. But I learned right then and there that I'd be seeing all types in this business."

Sounds like something Annie would do and oh shit I'm suddenly imagining Annie in a collar, being walked on a leash with her tail in the air.

As she begins to settle the check, she looks up at me in surprise. "Can I get you anything else for the night, marshmallow?"

"J-just some water," I reply, coughing. "I just got real thirsty all of a sudden."

My brief hello to Dora turned into a rather long chat, but we've both been enjoying ourselves so much I sort of lost track of the time. After she settles the bill (and refuses to let me chip in), we sit for a while and wrap up our conversation.

"It's been a pleasure getting to know you," she purrs, standing gracefully.

I nod, smiling. "Likewise. I have some things I should probably stop procrastinating over, but it's a small world -- I'm sure I'll see you around soon."

"Before we part ways, at least allow me to indulge in something I've been meaning to do anyway," she says. Pandora motions for me to follow her, so with a shrug I begin trailing her down the sidewalk. Al's probably not home yet anyway, so I have no reason to be anywhere specific at the moment. We walk about half a block before the sounds of a muffled bassline and electronic music begin to fade into my ears, and it suddenly clicks in my head.

Of course I ran into her. Makes sense she'd be eating near where she works.

As we walk up to the front door of Pandora's Box, I find myself getting cold hooves. The toned, towering tigress doesn't notice my hesitation and tosses the door open, heading straight to the back of the shop. A large-screen TV in the lobby is blaring an adult movie with a number of males gathered around watching approvingly -- looks like it's some kind of parody. I don't recognize the actress in it, but a paw-written sign next to the screen reads "Tonight: Amateur Blinkie Hoggs' Video Debut ~ A Pandora's Box Exclusive" in very flowery writing. Gulping, I quickly turn away before I get any more uncomfortable.

Fortunately, Avo isn't working tonight, and there's no Betty in the immediate vicinity. I do, however, know one of the guys crowded around the screen, but Wolt's too busy salivating over Ms. Hoggs' freshly-glazed hamhocks to spare me even a first glance.

"All set, li'l lamb," Pandora beams as she comes walking from behind one of the aisles, a paper bag with a folded scrap of tissue covering its opening. "Since you weren't able to take me up on my discount offer last time, I wanted you to at least have something as a thanks for everything... and maybe an incentive to come back sometime."

"Chumming the waters?" I laugh nervously, accepting the bag with a dip of my head.

"Ah, a fish analogy, too," she grins, leaning against the counter. "Oh, marshmallow. If only you were about twice as tall."

"I don't mind," I return quietly, "the view's lovely at any height."

She suddenly kneels down, kissing me on the snout. "You're a sweetheart. Do keep me posted on your seafood explorations."

"Yeah, sure thing," I chuckle, blushing as I clutch the shopping bag's handles. At least she used a discreet bag instead of one emblazoned with her logo. "Really, though... thank you for the gift, Pandora. I'm sure I'll, uh, appreciate it."

"My pleasure. Tell Avo I said 'hi' if you see her."

"Will do."

What a visit. I never expected to hit it off so well with anyone around here, and definitely not a hulking tigress-turned-smut-peddler like Pandora. I think I needed that. She's not quite my type, but I can see myself becoming fast friends with her for sure. For someone who owns a store jam-packed with obscure porn and pool noodle dildos, she's surprisingly level-headed, and that's a pretty nice trait to have for a Pack Street resident. I can see why Wolt and Annie are regulars here, and for once, I don't think it's solely for the lewd material.

Tucking my bag under my arm, I decide to hurry on home. It's not too terribly far from here, and the last thing I want is for one of my neighbors to stop me and frisk me for whatever I've got. I'd never hear the end of it.

It's well into the late morning when the lobby door swings open, jarring me awake. I guess I must've dozed off sitting on the couch, waiting for Al to get home. Sleeping off the drinks maybe. Had a few more than I realized. At least I remembered to put the gift bag away in my room first.

I can hear heavy footfalls trudging inside, followed by the sound of paws scraping against the floor mat. Straightening in my seat, I turn my focus to the entrance of the apartment building, hooves clasped over my stomach. Al tiredly shuffles inside. Thick, dark circles hang under his eyes. His usual white fur is smudged with mud and debris from the job site. There's an alarming red stain that's about ankle-height on his jeans, and a visible bandage strip wrapped around his foot.

He takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe slowly as if he's in the middle of meditating, and for the briefest second, his shoulders shudder. He's obviously just trying to calm the fuck down after the night he's had. I don't blame him at all -- sure, my boss isn't a saint, but I've got a hell of a great job compared to what I saw Al going through. How he's able to put up with that and keep his calm is beyond me.

As he throws his coat over the back of the lobby couch, he looks up and notices me for the first time, freezing in place. I figure he'd have smelled me long before walking in, but his nose is caked thick with dirt and dust. His eyes narrow to slits and he stands over me, staring coldly.

"Move."

He doesn't break eye contact, but I sure do. Working up all the nerve I have left, I stand up from my seat, pressing my hooftips together.

"Al," I ask, hesitantly, my voice cracking just a little. "Could I -- I'm s-- can I talk with you for just a second?"

His lips curl, but instead of a toothy growl, all he offers is a tired frown.

"You really want to do this right now, when I just got home," he rumbles. It's not spoken as a question or an inquiry. It's more like a statement. Or maybe a challenge. He's challenging me, daring me to step out of line again. Daring me to say something stupid so he can punch my fucking skull in. I'm all but shaking with fear, but I've got to do this. Walking very slowly with my head lowered in submission, I stop just a foot or so away from him.

I don't look up. I don't dare look up. I can hear his breathing. It's labored, raspy. Like he's winded. Like he's just run a marathon. His arms fold, and I recite the lines I've been rehearsing on and off in my head for most of the night.

"I just -- Al, look, I want. I wanted to, to say that I'm really sorry for my -- for what I've said, and what I've done. It was disrespectful and -- well, it was just shitty on my part. I'm sorry." I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to force the rest of the words out.

The wolf sighs, folding his arms slowly. "Do you even know what the problem is, or are you just apologizing because you're scared?"

"I mean -- partly because I'm scared, yeah," I admit, "But still. I had no right to say those things to you, especially in your territory. Especially in front of everyone else. I understand now that you were just trying to -- to settle it all quickly, and I should've let you. I could make a million excuses or reasons why I did it but I did it, and that's on me. I'm sorry, and I also apologize for whatever trouble I caused you and Vel-- uh, Ms. Roe."

He's quiet for a second, then scratches his nose with the claw on his thumb and sniffs. "Comin' to me was good. And I ain't gonna beat the point into you if you're already on it. But words are cheap. You want to settle things, we can't be doin' like this moving forward. Get me?"

I nod instantly. "Yes. And it won't happen again. Ever."

He doesn't say anything else, and at this point I feel like expounding on it would just be stammering to fill the radio silence.

Every instinct in me is screaming in my ears to run, to run and never look back. I shove all of that to the back of my mind, trying not to think about what'll happen if I DO run. Fear conquers the greater fear. I clamp my eyes shut, turning my head up to point at the ceiling like I've seen the other wolves do. My knees are knocking as I expose my throat -- my fucking neck -- to him in a bid for his approval. I can just barely bring myself to open my eyes as my heart pounds away in my chest.

He doesn't say anything. It's just silence. It's hard to see from this angle, and I can't quite figure out that look on his face. Surprise? And then I feel his breath on my neck. He's sniffing at me. I wrench my eyes shut at the feeling. One bite and I'm dead. I'm the fish in a street taco at this point. I can't even move. Finally the longest few seconds of my life are over, and with a puff of air from his nose, he straightens up again.

"I'm surprised," Al says, looking at me with an unreadable expression. I don't know what going through his mind -- but based on how calm he looks, it's not anger. "I was right about you, though. You really do have a fuckin' set of stones on you."

"A-are we good...?" I bleat.

He holds my gaze for a while, then folds his arms again, looking around the room slowly. Finally, he nods.

"Yeah." Al looks back at me, making firm eye contact. "Yeah, we're good."

A wave of relief crashes down on me like I've been thrown under a waterfall. I can feel my spine literally decompressing from how tense I've been. Even Al looks like he's taken a load off.

Now's my chance. Thinking quickly, I reach my hoof out for the secret pawshake in the same way that Avo taught me -- something I've been doing on and off in my spare time over the last day or so, practicing it to get it right. I want him to know that I'm going to learn their culture -- it's not fair that they always have to meet me on my terms. If this'll help smooth relations, then I'm going for it.

"Shake?" I ask, making sure my hoof is presented properly. Upright, palm towards the ceiling. And I gotta ask, make sure he wants it. "You wanna shake?"

Al stops, squinting at me with a suddenly incredulous expression. "What the FUCK," he practically whispers.

Sweat begins to trickle down my head as he studies me, like I'm trying to trick him. Oh, fuck. I did it wrong. That's gotta be it. Was it palm down? Hoof too high? Too low? I'm shorter than him-- do I need to stand on my hooftips so that he doesn't have to stoop to my height? Is it a sign of disrespect if I don't meet him at his height, or -- is this a, wait, no. No, no! Fuck, shit, FUCK! What did I screw up this time?! I was so close!

Al stares at me with a look of unbridled incredulity and disgust, then tilts head and looks around the room in bewilderment like he's on a hidden camera show. Without warning, his muzzle splits wide, and he starts to laugh his ass off, squeezing his paw into a fist. I'm completely caught off-guard and back up a couple steps, but man, whatever he finds funny about my fuckup has him in stitches. I can't tell if this is a good sign, or if this is the last straw -- him snapping right before he goes postal and guts me.

"Ahahaha! Oh, fuckin' WOW," Al booms, leaning against the lobby desk for support as he belly laughs. I'm fucking terrified right now -- I've really stepped in it. Seeing Al smile like this is always a scary thing. I should've just gone with a normal shake but no, I had to get fuckin' fancy and do some insider thing as a complete outsider.

And then I turn to see the staircase, and like the last puzzle piece snapping into place, it all makes sense.

Avo's standing there, leaned over the railing with wide, dinnerplate eyes and a muzzle split open in the biggest open-mouthed, shit-eating, dicksucking smile I've ever seen. She's got literal fucking tears of joy in her eyes. And wouldn't you fucking know it, perched on her shoulder like a damned parakeet is Marty, who looks just as entertained by all of this.

She set me up.

"You're a fucking monster," I murmur while the three of them roar with laughter, once again trying to bury myself in my non-existent wool to hide my embarrassment. Well, monster's putting it lightly -- there's another word that comes to mind for her, but I don't think I'll be using that one again any time soon.

"Alright, gather round. Before we get started with the festivities, y'all need to listen up," Al says with a jovial, cheerful smile. I'm not sure I'm liking this horrifying mirror universe Pack Street I've just found myself in. I'm wondering if I preferred it more when we all hated each other. Charlie, the twins, Marty, Ozzy, Avo -- fuckin' everyone's here for whatever announcement he's about to make. Even Betty, who's just coming through the door now. She must've ran over here as soon as she was called. A few large pizzas have just been delivered and laid out on the lobby table, with garlic breadsticks and a couple of two-liters of grape soda (thanks, Marty).

"Big dog's got a big announcement to make," Ozzy wheeze-laughs, unscrewing one of the bottles of soda to begin pouring into party cups. "And Marty fuckin' went for the purple shit again."

"You all seemed to like it last time," Marty retorts, having since shifted from Avo's shoulder to a stack of books on the coffee table. "I wasn't gonna rock the boat, but whatever. There's a vending machine in the corner for you picky pieces of crap."

"I'll make this brief because the game's on in five minutes," Al continues. "Our resident grazer made his first big steps today."

"Did he get laid, finally?" Betty quips as she lights up in the lobby.

"Not the case," Charlie replies with a shake of her head. "He still smells like--"

"You were saying, Al?" I interject hotly, glaring at her as a wave of chuckles sweeps the room.

Al nods. "Let's not beat around the bush. You all know what happened a couple weeks ago, no point rehashing it. There was a lot of shit going down that day. I ain't putting it all on Remmy, but he sure did his share."

The crowd chuckles, and though he's smirking too, Al waves his hand to silence them and continues. "Everyone fucks up. But today, Remmy here finished settling his debts." He claps me on the shoulder roughly enough that I almost faceplant into the table, but he's grinning. "And he even taught me a new secret pawshake."

I facehoof as Avo, Marty, and Al burst into laughter. Ozzy joins in as well, even though he probably doesn't have any clue of what the hell they're talking about.

"But seriously, it takes guts to admit when you've done wrong. Takes CHARACTER. And Remmy here stuck his neck out -- literally -- just to make peace. So today's a celebration. Cormo, you're now an honorary member of the Pack."

Blinking, I look up at Al, as do a few of the others.

"Really?" I quietly ask.

"Wait, you serious?" Wolt drawls with a lazy yawn as he flips one of the pizza boxes open with his foot. "He's not a wolf."

"Neither are you. Marty and Ozzy sure ain't either and here they are. And hell, this woolly bastard eats meat, same as you and me, right? So hell, I say he's as much a carnivore as any of us!" Al nearly roars out. To my surprise, Ozzy and the twins let out a cheer, raising their cups in a toast.

I'm thrilled -- I'm more happy to have all this stuff with Al behind me, and sure, I hoped for a good outcome, but I definitely didn't expect a party. My cheeks are red. All the attention is a little much to handle.

"Guys, please," I wave, magnanimously, "Really, you didn't have to do all this for me."

"We didn't," Al replies immediately. "Like I said, big game tonight."

"...oh."

"Yeah, what, did you think we ordered pizzas just because you said 'sorry for being a dick'?" Avo grins.

"Well I--"

"We didn't," Anneke chimes in.

"Okay."

"We didn't," Avo echoes in affirmation.

I cough, blushing further. "No, I got it. Right."

"We didn't," Wolt agrees.

"We didn't," Anneke says. Again.

I offer a fake, aggravated smile. "Guys. No, yeah, I get it. Please."

"So this an official decree then, Al?" Betty asks, arms folded. At first I think she's being sarcastic, but something in her face seems to suggest otherwise.

"Yeah. Yeah, this is for real," he says, nodding the affirmative to her.

"'Bout fuckin' time," she replies. "Let's eat, then. I haven't had anything since last night."

Al reaches into the box to take the first and biggest slice of pizza, and after he does Betty goes in second. At that point it's a free-for-all, with Avo waiting patiently until everyone else has loaded their plates.

"By the way, uh, Al -- do I get a position?" I ask as I hoof a piece of pizza onto my plate. "Or like -- a rank or something? I mean, there's the alpha/beta thing -- where do I fit in?"

"Oh, good point," Al says with his mouth full as he flicks the TV on. "Avo, congrats. You're no longer the Omega."

Blinking in surprise, Avo turns and looks at him with -- like, I'm not sure what it is. Glee? Incredulity? She's clearly taken aback. "What, really? You really mean that, Al?"

"Yeeeeep. Cormo, you're the new O. Welcome to the pack." He flops into one of the chairs as the screen crackles to life to begin playing the ZFL pre-game anthem.

Before I can say anything, Avo swipes my pizza off my plate, whipping her cell phone out of her pocket with her free paw. She eagerly heads for the front door, cackling madly to herself, her tail wagging like a spring door-stopper.

"Cliff? Hey, go get Neil and -- well, wake him up, I don't give a FFFFUUUUCK," she laughs, kicking the lobby door open with her heel. "Both of you meet me at Pandora's Box in fifteen minutes, I'm buyin'. Mama got herself a promotion."

"So Remmy's the new Omega, huh? I guess that means business as usual?" Annie remarks with a wicked smile as I look down at my empty paper plate.