Lord Arctos looked up as I stepped tentatively into his office. His long-nosed face an unreadable mask, he pointed a curved claw at the middle of the room.
I moved to stand where he’d indicated, and he turned back to his paperwork.
This was going to be a good one.
He continued working, letting me stew. Pen held awkwardly in his huge right paw, he carefully scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. Flipped to another and signed again. Then, he pressed too hard and snapped the pen. With an annoyed huff he dumped the bits in a bin filled with broken pens and shook fragments of plastic from his thick, dark fur.
All pretense of work abandoned, he reared up from his chair to tower at his full height. At seven foot tall and weighing in at over a thousand pounds he was hard to tailor for, but he’d managed. An immaculate suit made his feral nature more acceptable for the boardroom.
When the newly minted Lawmen heard the old hands call Lord Arctos ‘the Bear’, they got bent out of shape. They started going on about speciesism, discrimination and disrespect. The old hands had to calm them down and explain; it wasn’t a slur, it was a title. One earned in battle and blood, through some of the hardest times the city had ever seen. When you found yourself in a tough spot it was the Bear you wanted at your back. Experience and strength made him a formidable foe for criminals and city councilors alike. As long as you were in the right, he’d defend you to his last breath.
And if you were in the wrong, the Bear would deliver your mauling personally.
“Tell me, Champion Reynolds.” He walked around to stand in front of me, glowering down with his beady black eyes. “Exactly what have you achieved since we spoke last?”
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