(Vanessa's Pov)
Inside the crappy peddler, back to Birkwood from the borders of Winchester.
Moonlight glosses over the damp borders of Birkwood. As the peddler passes through Winchester's edge into the poverty-stricken buildings of Birkwood, adorned with mossy structures, the unbearable stench of rubbish drainage systems comes to life. I feel back at home.
The mechanical legs crank at every step – the clear difference between the peddlers owned by the Birkwood stations and Winchester stations is already becoming evident. And the price differences justify it.
The Fox is seated right next to me, his small size against my shoulders. It's a duo seat, but he barely has space with my size. He's holding onto the seat, attempting not to slide out of it. His blue eyes stay fixed straight ahead of him. And he's smoking, just like the few drunk passengers inside the public peddler.
"Are you going to keep staring at me all day?" The fox suddenly shifts his blue eyes toward me. I keep unfazed, not hindered by his sarcastic comments.
I'd rather not fuck a fox half my size. I think it, but I don't verbalize it. I'd rather not hurt the partner on the first day.
"I was just thinking, sweetheart," I repeat his own flirtatious comment.
The fox chuckles, and it forms into a cough of smoke. "What, honey?" He barely squeaks the words out of his snout. I don't chuckle at his cough. I'm not an asshole like him. I'm the only serious one here.
"What do you really think of the Eldritch and this entire case? Do they really exist? To what extent?" I barrage him with my questions. "Do you really, and I mean, do you actually think that there were these immensely powerful beings descending by blood all these years after that revered Eldritch War that took place two and a half millennia ago?"
Renoir puffs out another cloud of smoke from his cigar. The way he smokes, I wonder how he never runs out of his supply of cigars.
"It's a difficult question to answer," Renoir's eyes shift towards mine, his thin-slit, sly eyes suddenly feeling a bit serious. "A question about the Elders that shaped this world. A question for which the answer exists at the center of this universe, Wolfie. How do we even answer it?"
"Why are you suddenly serious?" I feel suspicious now. "Are you one of the Eldritch too?"
Renoir chuckles. "I wonder what gave me off. My obviously Eldritch aura that surrounds my entire being? My mind-bending powers, which I've used my entire life to make easy money?"
I shake my head. He's too sarcastic.
"I just don't want to be in the dark about this case. The way you and Butch interact, it seems I'm left completely oblivious to the knowledge that you two have on the Eldritch and this entire scenario. While I'm just here to tag along for my deductive skills? Or maybe I'm just the sword. I don't know Butch's ulterior motive, I just know he's to be trusted with his judgment."
"Hm." Renoir's eyes turn forth once again. It's strange to always look down with him next to me. I cannot have a proper look at his face without looking down. It's quite the exceptional height difference between us.
"And how does this frog assassin help with this –"
"The Eldritch is a force that's been driven by unbound laws since the beginning of time, as they say." Renoir's words suddenly break me off. "Only written and spoken facts about the Eldritch are that they somehow consume an inkling of power of the universe, that the religious folk believe to be stolen from the Elders, a deity that we can't even see, but worship. Stupid, really."
I look at him, my curiosity piquing. There's something so knowledgeable about his tone, like he knows things we don't. Only if it wasn't for that preposterous half-French, half-English accent that utters these words. But it's growing on me.
"I believe the Eldritch is a science," he continues. "It's just that our animal minds have not yet improved to understand it, or we haven't reached that point in life to get it, you know. Maybe Elders do exist – in some divine plain. But I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all this happening, somewhere. It can't just be some Eldritch energy granted by some holy being, you know."
I bite my lip, wondering about his words. "It's –" I'm at a loss for words as my mind wanders around the concept he just introduced. "You seem to be surprisingly knowledgeable for your despicable looks, Monsieur Renard."
"Hehe, I just happened to pick up the skill to read a lot of books throughout my life. Nothing more than that, Madame Louve."
The only French he spoke cleanly are those two words to me. Suddenly, he feels like a better French Fox.
I look to the streets again, the nightlife of Birkwood blooming outside the peddler. Whores hang their tits out on balconies, calling for the nearest drunkard. The drunk husbands with two or three children look at them, their tongues hanging out of their snouts, like hungry dogs. Suddenly, I'm pulled back to reality.
The Fox next to me is no different. Matter of fact, we're heading towards the shelter of a known assassin, the Veneno, a famous poisonous frog that has killed many elites in the town. She just happens to be the female frog that Renoir had been fucking.
Then again, this whole case is messed up. I cannot make a choice against it. Butch's words.
"You might see a few controversial things in this case, Vanessa. I hired you for a reason. I know you're capable of a little immorality here and there. So, turn a blind eye once in a while." Those were Butch's words.
I look down at the fox again. My mind wants to see him differently, but he's disgusting no matter how you put it. And he's about to fuck the information out of this female frog. What am I even doing?
"Don't worry, Vanessa," he suddenly speaks out in a reassuring tone. "She won't kill you if I'm there. Only thing is, you'd have to wait outside a bit, probably."
"I can't interrogate her alongside you?"
"Well, you're the bad cop. I'm the confox who has been sleeping with her for a while now. Who do you think is the best for the job?"
I let out a disappointed growl and lie back in the bloated seat of the peddler. I can feel the inner metal workings of the seat uncomfortably pressed against my back. Miserable feeling.
Miserable damn case.
…
The fox and I get off the peddler at a very unnatural station, which I've never been to myself. Birkwood is a large area that covers about fifty percent of the capital of Aether; thirty percent of Aether is covered by Winchester, and the richest twenty percent is reserved for Luminaré. So, obviously, there are areas in which even I feel alienated.
"Stay right behind me if you want to follow along to have a look around, Wolfie. There'd be a lot of eyes on you anyway," Renoir says as he takes the lead and walks through a dark alleyway.
Most electric lanterns flicker in the street, and the smell of shit, piss, and leaking oil fills the air. The atmosphere's shittier than it is at the place where I live. It amazes me how the horribleness of this region keeps surprising me so often.
"Where are we even?" I ask, looking around at the greasy structures surrounding us. A familiar stench fills the air as we walk further into the dark alleyway towards the alley that's hidden behind all these buildings. "It smells like death here."
The fox chuckles. "Yeah, we call it Lilkers' Alley."
The noise of moans, little lustrous giggles, and haunting but lustful screams resonates as we step into the murky shadows cast by the flickering lanterns of Lilker's Alley.
And – Lilker? What kind of name is Lil – oh. Killer's Alley.
The slumrats here aren't as stupid as I might've thought. And all my years in the police department, I'd never known this shit place even existed. Let alone as "Lilker's Alley."
"Keep up, Vanessa. And don't stare at them like you wanna pick a fight. Not right now."
The fox hurries out of the shadows and into the dimly lit street. In the street, there are strange-looking people, and the street is a bit crowded also. Everyone's wearing leather attire, hoods, and some strange cloaks, even. A Rat in a cult-like white cloak pulls it down and stares at me with one of his remaining eyes.
I'm wearing the Birkwood police symbol on my back. It must be suffocating for them to tolerate a symbol of justice walking through their street. However, the grunts suddenly turn to reassuring whispers as they see the small Fox trotting in front of me.
"Oh, it's Renoir," says the rat in his snarky voice.
"Whatever floats his boat," says another.
I hasten my steps a little bit, closing in on Renoir. I'm alone here. I'm a skilled fighter – but in an alley of killers, even I might not survive in combat.
As Renoir climbs the steps of one of the buildings nearby, a deep and grumbling voice interrupts.
"Renoir."
Renoir pauses his silent steps and turns his head towards the voice. I turn slightly over my shoulder to see if he's too close to attack us.
"A cop? Really?" The voice asks, slightly annoyed.
I can see him now. He's leaning against the light pole before the building. He's a massive Bear with claw marks adorning most of his face. He's only wearing a tank top with leather pants, his beer belly poking out from beneath. He's a massive brute.
The fur in my tail puffs up as if to warn me.
"You know I can handle it, Lotto," Renoir smirks at the bear, his eyes thin slit in that crafty manner of his.
"Hm. Fair enough." The Bear continues to lean against the pole, taking a massive puff of smoke from his uncannily large pipe.
Renoir opens the doors to the strange building in front of me. I avert my eyes from the Bear and hurry up the stairs and in through the doors, right behind him.
Inside the hallways, as expected, there are a dozen Animagi just making out in there. Renoir simply steps over a goat and a sheep couple that's on the floor, hastily eating each other's lips. I follow alongside him and hop over their body.
"Keep up, Wolfie," Renoir says, hurrying up the stairs.
Strange, devilish words written on walls, some even painted in old blood. The folk here live like their most animalistic forms, I guess. I don't look too long. I just glance at the surroundings for a few seconds, but I notice the things even at a glimpse. It's haunting here.
It lives up to its name.
"Why did I even come here?" I blurt out as we reach the third floor up the staircase.
Renoir laughs, a wild and foxy howl. "I told you, sweetheart. You're too sweet and decorated in justice for this place," he turns over his shoulder, his eyes driving over the badges in my coat.
I almost feel guilty for being an officer of justice. I guess it is an effect of this haunting alley. It makes you question your own morality. Or is it just the Fox walking in front of me?
We walk through the corridor on the highest floor. There's no difference from the first floor to this. Shameless Animagi making out with each other in the hallway itself. Some sheep are near stripping naked. She's too horny, she can't hold back any longer – even if an officer is walking by.
"We're here," Renoir announces, suddenly pausing his steps in front of a door. The door has many scratch marks on it. I don't question it.
"Finally," I breathe out a sigh of relief. "So, I wait outside till you ask the questions, right?"
"Well –" Renoir winces as he knocks thrice on the door. "It might take a bit."
"A bit? And you want me to stay in this hellhole for how long?"
"Just a little while. Overnight, perhaps. You can find awfully cheap places around here, by the way. And you can sleep on the pub tables for free. Chances are, you'd be busy enjoying the night. Not a lot of sleep when there's so much nightlife around here."
I stare at him, half in confusion, half in fear. "You want me to stay with these weirdos? Junkies, whores, and killers?"
"Well, yes. That's about it." The Fox shrugs. I grit my teeth, incapable of bearing the thought.
"Your friends are already eying me like they want to kill me, you idiot. You think they'd let a cop like me just wander about in their murder bay?"
"They saw you with me, Vanessa. They'll treat you alright. Trust me. No one who knows me would judge my actions — except for a very few."
"What? You're not even sure –"
The door creaks open, and Renoir's eyes suddenly rush back to the person within the chamber. I'm still staring at him in confusion and anger.
"Hey, Roma," the Fox speaks, in a very sultry tone. A sudden change of tone, as if he's talking her through it.
"Hey, Reno~ and please, before you speak," I see the poisonous Frog's webbed hands reach out towards Renoir's snout. Her finger pauses, only inches away from Renoir's nose – the deadly poison almost dripping on it.
"Yes," Renoir answers, even before she asks her question. "I brought the antidote." The fox snatches a glowing white vial out of his shirt pocket. He waves it at the female Frog inside.
"You're such a good Fox~" The poisonous finger touches his nose and slowly slides down to the fox's lips, making Renoir taste the poison. And I'm beside him – unable to look away.
Renoir turns his head for a glance at me. "Have a good night, Vannessa–" Just as he finishes his words, a lengthy purple tongue wraps around his neck and his mouth and pulls him straight in, smashing the door closed.
I stand out there in the hallway by myself. The Fox and the Frog inside bang against the door thunderously, and the answer to my prior question comes to mind. I can tell how the claw marks appeared on the door now.
"Mmm~ mmmgh~ slow down, I have to take the vial first~ or I'll die in 2 minutes~" Renoir barely manages to muffle out the words.
"Two minutes is a long time! And who's that out the door, your new whore~?"
"Just a friend~ fuck." Renoir's voice breaks off.
The two fall to the wooden floor loudly, and I hear their bodies rolling around there. I shake my head and turn around. My life was miserable as it was, but I did not know it still had a way to go.
What the fuck am I going to do till he's done?