AMBASSADOR PILE OF SHIT

October 8th, xxxx

How could you do this to us? They treat us like animals!

I had no choice—

There's always a choice, Mother!

Is there?

AUTUMN HAVE DRAGGED A pile of shit to his doorstep—a pile of shit with the face of a mustached squirrel, the body of a pot and the eyes of a sunken condescending addict, Precious thinks as he stares at the rubbish pouring out of the representative's mouth.

Ambassador, as the Consul says.

Human-Werewolf Ambassador. But Precious knows the term is wrong. They don't have an ambassador representing their interests in the Consul. Therefore, the right term should be Human Government Representative or as he likes to call it, Ambassador pile of shit.

That term isn't nice but neither is the utter crap out his mouth. Even Nuka, mild-mannered, enthusiastic Nuka scowls and grits his teeth as he jots down the Terms and Conditions the human government orders of them.

Nothing unusual here.

Since last year, unbeknownst to the Pack, Precious has been fielding, damn right stalling the Consul's outrageous requests. It started off that way—a request—until it became a cleverly disguised threat of violence, blackmail and manipulation.

It isn't enough the pieces of shit are bleeding them dry, they want the very thing the 1943 Elimination of Werewolf Indoctrination Treaty aimed to prevent.

The taking of children as lab rats. Children.

Over his dead body, he'd reacted. That got the Consul mad, just frothing at the mouth in anger. Then, a copy of the treaty's amendment came with this pile of shit three months ago to show him the several discrepancies found in the treaty.

Ambiguously worded clauses indicating that when 'long-distance taming of the wild' isn't cutting it, they have all the right to 'assimilate the young into respectable and civilized adults' for the 'betterment and advancement of society towards a great civilization'.

It hadn't been his best work but Precious had gone absolutely feral on the ambassador snarling bloody murder that unfortunately proved the Consul's point of 'any sign of danger the young might endure, immediate evacuation would be implemented to ensure their safety'.

Goddess is he pissed off.

The Ambassador ran to the Consul, reported the 'grave danger he was in' and 'believes the Alpha is abusing his power'—fucking bastard used abusing.

The Consul are savages in slippery smiles and carefully coded words throwing the Alphas an olive branch. Invited them to the Children Boarding Facility, an inconspicuous building in the medical heart of the city to show them—in good faith—that they (the Consul) have the children's best interests at heart.

Fast forward right now.

The Elders have been briefed of the sticky situation but leaves it to him to decide. Now they trust his judgement. The Elders and Nuka are aware. The shocked pale secretary, to his credit contains his disgust and diligently jots notes.

Precious and the pile of shit have been discussing—more like the pile of shit have been trying to bulldoze him to fold to the Consul's demands.

So far, he's keeping strong. This headache with the Consul and the Blue Sun Pack are doing his head in. Unfortunately, the pile of shit will be a guest for three days before leaving.

Precious will make him leave with no good news. Let him hassle another Pack. Goddess, they are all shit. Experimenting—sorry, forgive his language—studying on children.

It is a grey matter when the Pack ships their blood to the facility for research but it's a completely dark shit to stuff the children in a boarding facility for who knows how long.

How to explain to their parents is another issue. He'd been skirting on the fine grey line for seven years now, dodging the obsidian.

Guess the time is now.

Making a show of checking his watch, Precious interrupts the ambassador's passionate tirade.

"It is getting rather late for breakfast, Ambassador. Breakfast has been arranged for you in the Breakfast Parlour. It won't eat itself."

The Breakfast Parlour is the Ambassador's board. A regular guest room.

"I am not hungry, Mr. North. There is still a workload to go through."

A glance at the mound of work on his desk is like lemons to his mood. Sour.

"I insist, Mr. Ambassador," he stands and gestures to Nuka ready to play perfect host. "You can not work without sustenance," at his insistence, the Ambassador begrudgingly heaves himself up, agreeing with him by adding,

"It is true. Besides, we have three more days. Good news isn't running away."

Ignoring the selfish sentiment, Precious forces out a smile. "My secretary will attend to you. Nuka, when Mr. Ambassador have settled in, bring over the materials."

"Of course, Alpha," Nuka shoots him a grateful smile before ushering the pile of shit out.

Bring in the materials is code for use me to get out of there as the pile of shit is notoriously known for being a nauseatingly demanding guest. They aren't the only one with codes.

No sooner had he slumped in his chair than he starts feeling stuffy, cramped. The warm tones of the bulbs snaked together like vines in the lantern-like box does nothing. (Cam calls it box-o chandelier)

Handmade by his Mother, the gleaming ever sturdy mahogany desk has had no scratches or peelings but his eyes traces blots of ink on the surface—the surface he can see under ever present paperwork—on the edges, on the legs courtsey of the stationary in its wooden box house, the telephone teetering on the edge but doesn't fall. Yet.

When his Mum had been the Alpha, he remembers her answering calls from the Pack, specifically from families, but him receiving calls directly from them has been sporadic at best. He guessed it's because his mother, unlike him had been outgoing but not friendly. Not that she'd been cold..

Warm, she'd been warm.

Him on the other hand isn't outgoing, distances himself but is friendly. When the Pack sees him, they see he's healthy and that's enough for them.

Their village might be modern but it's not exactly a beacon of technology. Security cameras, telephones, some cable television, a car and a school bus only used for school excursions outside of their village. No Pack blasts their existence to the humans. They prefer it that way. The Consul prefers it that way.

Leaning forward to pick up a file, he spots the inkpot mostly for show and used for formal penmanship reserved for very official functions—naming ceremonies, mating rituals, the start of a traditional community buffet et cetera, et cetera.

He takes a file only to toss it aside ticked off at their lack of power. North Star Pack. Smallest Pack in the area. A fodder for the big ones, the bigger ones. If children starts missing left and right, it'll become a problem. If they are not relocated, it becomes a problem.

Goddess, he needs fresh air.

Curtains drawn, it feels like night that Precious flashes back to bright blue light—the moon on his face three days ago. The east garden. A sight to behold. Intentionally, he casts his mind to cool blue eyes and he smiles—a real one this time at the image.

Kamil. Cool and collected unlike him, the massive bullshitter.

Eyes closed to the ceiling, thoughts wandering on pale blue eyes and a lake of flowers he doesn't hear Nuka come in. He jerks slightly when he's called, the bow of his mouth turnung into a scowl.

Be alert, Precious. Never relax, you hear me?

His Mother's constant warning. Camuel's constant nagging. The Elders bone of contention. He doesn't need anyone's reminder that he's partially deaf. Or just deaf, according to the Elders.

"Alpha North, don't take this the wrong way," Nuka starts, playing with his fingers but his eyes—hazel like Cam's but with blue flecks instead of golden—doesn't stray from him.

"But are we really giving him what he's asking?" Without waiting for an answer, he flares, gesticulating wildly. "We can't give him children! He's asking for children! That's—"

"Calm the fuck down and listen to me," he straightens, voice hard. "Get in touch with the Alphas secretaires. Tell them it's a Code Now and book appointments on the 10th and 11th."

He sees Nuka's expression. "They won't like it, it's impromptu I know but we can not wait around."

Nuka opens his mouth but closed it immediately and nods.

"Of course, whatever you say," a pause. "And the Ambassador? What will you do about him? Leave him here?"

Precious smiles. "Camuel has always wanted to take him off my hands."

Nuka's expression changes to dread.

"I'll be fine. Now go. Those irate secretaries won't yell at themselves."

Nuka nods again and leaves for the door.

"And Nuka?" waits until he turns around, Precious blasts him with a megawatts reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I have it under control."

"Of course, Alpha. We trust you."

Not a day goes by that he doesn't think about that.