Ultima: Witches' Night

by Rufus T. Serenity

Nine "monsters" are going to the City of Devils, a city in a Realm where monsters rule and humanity is a second-class species. They must save the downtrodden humans while also obtaining this Realm's alliance against an evil greater than any before. It is Witches' Night, a time of dark portents. Will they succeed despite the odds against them? The first story for a shared universe!

7. An Ankh-Morporkian Werewolf in LA!

Hello everyone! Before beginning, I would just like to say thanks to all of you who read and (hopefully) reviewed this story's previous chapters! Thank you so much!

In this chapter, we will see how the Society's doggy duo will deal with this dominion's dastardly deputized degenerates! Or, in non-alliteration speak…what the werewolves, Angua and Jack, will do against LA's wolfmen cops. Lol

Here's the explanation of this chapter's title. It's a reference to the 1981 horror-comedy classic An American Werewolf in London. Not much else to say about that aside from I like the fact that I managed to keep the first location listed off starting with an A while the second begins with a L. I just thought that was neat. Lol

Before getting to the chapter, let's go over the reviews of the last chapter!

Gucci Mane LaFlare: Yup, no Internet would blow! Happy you liked Drakken and N'Kantu. And you'll just have to see about Sarah Bellum's plan! HAHAHAHHA!

DoktorK: DAMN! That review got a HUGE laugh out of me. At the risk of invoking an outdated meme...you win the Internet! lol

Here is the sixth chapter of Ultima: Witches Night: An Ankh-Morporkian Werewolf in LA

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(9 months AGE, Realm 82, near 77th Street Station, April 30th 1957, 9:05 PM)

The first leg of journey that began at Nick Moss' house for the two werewolves from other Realms had been different for each of them. For Jack Russell, it was largely uneventful. Nothing more than a ride in a taxi that took them the bulk of the way to their destination, the police station on 77th Street. Something he had done many times before.

But for Angua, it was an ordeal the likes of which she had only experienced once before. And it had been an experience she wasn't too keen on repeating. Despite her best efforts, the strain must have been noticeable because Jack abruptly asked the driver to pull over. The headless horseman behind the wheel complied and the duo exited the taxicab. The vehicle had made unusually good time even in the famously bad traffic of Los Angeles. The male werewolf paid the driver with some of the local currency that had been amongst the monster repellents in his backpack before he took stock of their situation. There was still some distance to walk but the lion's share of the traveling had been completed.

Angua didn't mind the walk, even if it was in a city.

She hated cities. She hated how close she was to everyone else. How there was little chance of them escaping her in such a labyrinth of a location if she ever lost control. How there was always so much noise. How there were so many smells that always filled the air, the bulk of which were not exactly pleasant in the nose. All of those things were still here in this foreign city but her current state made her mercifully numb to them for once.

Her nerves were frayed as her brain felt like it was jogging miles behind the rest of her. Though difficult, that first experience with such speeds allowed her to shake this feeling off after not too long. But at the same time she had to fight the urge to literally shake it off, like a dog that had just come inside after being in a downpour of Biblical proportions.

She chided herself for such a notion, and for getting so surprised by a mundane occurrence. Such things were to be expected. After all, she had learned about them.

Angua had read the Research (four novels) about the Realm she was going to visit quite dutifully, despite the inherent challenge it often produced. One of the main reasons was because of all of those foreign terms and concepts mentioned so often. Many of the terms, most of which she inferred were unexplained because most reading them would be familiar with what was hinted at, didn't fully make sense but she picked up on the meaning of most by context clues and comparisons to what she was familiar with.

Words like "Earth," "America," "Cadillac," "World War II," and even "Los Angeles."

Though she often didn't truly grasp what they were until after first discovering them, one detail did suggest itself most vividly. This Realm was technologically superior to her own, seeming at least a century or two ahead of hers when it came to industrial achievements. The thing they had just left being a good example. A mechanical cart devoid of steed carried on rubber wheels that emitted noxious black smoke that sped along at speeds surpassing any of the horse cabs, sedan chairs, or troll taxis in her current home city. Angua herself had only traveled as fast as these metallic vehicles could go once before, and that had required the assistance of the wizards of Unseen University to achieve. A transparent horse made of light and air that hadn't existed before had pulled them at speeds most on the Disc couldn't even grasp while their cart's wheels had spun hovering above the road.

They had actually traveled over sixty miles per hour!

Angua shuttered to imagine such speeds in her city's traffic which operated on the belief that right of way was the prerogative of the heaviest vehicle or the gobbiest driver. Though from the outside that probably sounded at least a little batty, where she was from such a mentality was so commonplace as to be the unchallenged norm of thought.

She lived in Ankh-Morpork—the fetid, vibrant heart of the Discworld. A metropolis that defined the word 'teeming' in the same way that spoiled milk defined 'rancid.' A city that never slept, though this was maybe to make sure your gold was still there in the morning. A city as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day and as loud as a curse in a cathedral. A city that had no fire department out of a sound fear that if there were a job of fighting fires, the firefighters would constantly make more fires to insure they always had work.

But similar to her experiences when first arriving in Ankh-Morpork, having a basic idea of the imagined unknown didn't quite prepare you for the reality of it in-person.

As was often the case, it had been the smells that had hit her first, in some cases like a punch that almost sent her reeling. Even in her human form, many of the odors drifting through her sophisticated nose were overpowering. The main fragrance was a heavy, miasmic aroma that smelled more uniformly oily and metallic than the decidedly more commingled fusion of organic and inorganic odors radiating from Ankh-Morpork.

Many of the sights around her were fantastical, hard to wrap her head around, but not as hard as it should have been. Thanks to reading the Research, the Watchman who was in fact a woman had some idea of what kinds of creatures would be roaming in this Realm. She was used to seeing living creatures that couldn't pass for a normal human. After all, for seven nights every month, she fell into that category more than any vampire or zombie ever could. But even with those preparations assisting her, these new beings were still more jarring for her than she had assumed they would be. The biggest factor was the many different kinds of creatures living in one place, many of which shockingly had no analog in her native Realm. The variety managed to even surpass that of Ankh-Morpork, the Disc's melting pot. The flat world balanced on the quartet of elephants' shoulders which themselves were balanced atop Great A'Tuin's meteor pockmarked shell didn't have eyeballs over three feet tall or blokes with an insect's head. Despite that, eventually she managed to accept their unique natures. The life on Disc trained her well for letting the strange roll off her back, at least after a minute to grasp that people missing their heads or man-sized killer vegetables were among those trying to get by the same as anyone else.

Angua found richer earth to till by comparing this city's population not to where she currently lived, but rather where she was from. The general situation in this city, monsters coexisting in a tense and fragile but ultimately stable balance, reminded Angua of her home, Überwald. The dwarfs, vampires and werewolves that ruled over (or under) different sections of that mostly lawless land had reached a similar sort of pact. Garlic wasn't grown, silver wasn't mined, and dwarfs were rarely targeted by the undead as they continued their ancient war with the trolls.

But of course, that excluded a minority species that was the majority on most of the Disc, humans. Just like in this city, in Überwald at best human beings would be left to fend for themselves in a harsh world and at worst they would take the fancy of the ruling monsters, as either entertainment or food or both. Angua knew that to be true from first hand experience. Not because she directly engaged in such callous brutalities but rather because her family was one of the top werewolf clans in Überwald. And to varying degrees, her family members still living there were staunch traditionalists.

In a sense, Angua knew that her history with her family wasn't that unique or special. No matter their particular species, the different kinds of undead living on the Discworld had several things they all shared in common. One example was how Happy Families wasn't a popular game with them. Even so, she wondered if most of the vampires, zombies, and other kinds had a history so thorny it could be mistaken for a rosebush.

Each member of her family seemed to embody a possible fate for her. None of them were pleasant. Her father was more wolf than man, spending more time in his pawed form and keeping most traits of a dog even while on two legs. Her mother was an ignorant, cruel snob. Her younger sister was simply dead, killed for simply being what she was born as. One brother was a champion sheep-dog in another country and her other brother...

The other brother, Wolfgang, was what Angua feared most. Not the brother himself, though. As scary and powerful as he had been, Angua had always been able to send him away whimpering. She alone amongst her family had no fear of Wolfgang. No, what Angua was scared of was something far more fundamental and insidious. Not her brother…but becoming like her brother; of becoming an unhinged, bloodthirsty sadist. It was a plausible possibility that only reaffirmed some opinions Angua had formed.

Werewolves weren't nice. Hell, a generous description of the lot of them would have been to call them pretty dreadful. As a species, in Angua's mind, they all fully deserved the hatred they had accrued from both wolves and humans. Herself included.

What else could you think about a species that by its very nature desired dominance and bloodlust?

That had an ancient tradition of having wolves and humans hunted like dumb animals?

That had such unstable genetics that you could never know how much a litter of pups, even hypothetically with a human father, would be man and how much would be wolf?

That couldn't enter even a minor disagreement without wanting to tear another person's throat out?

That couldn't be around the smell of freshly spilled blood when the moon was at its strongest each month without risking changing into their more obviously feral shape?

That even with the level of self-control and a consciously vegetarian diet, Angua would still wake up some mornings with bloody chicken feathers between her teeth? That even after doing everything she could conceivably do to avoid it there was no way she could convince herself that it wouldn't be something other than chicken feathers?

Every fiber of logic and reason within her told Angua that others were to be avoided like a plague. And yet she found herself drawn to helping others despite years of hard missions. That was what led her to Machi and Toru, even after failing to connect with them many times. The two young women were so sweet and innocent that they provoked something to alight in her chest that she assumed she had been born without. Parental instincts. The blonde had never entertained the notion of being a mother. She didn't want to subject another living creature to the hardships that she had been forced to endure. But for reasons she couldn't explain, she had a desire to help and protect the two Japanese girls.

Such ideas were selfish and dangerous, the werewolf believed deep down. It would be better for everyone if she just stopped trying. She knew that, believed that. It wouldn't hurt as much when her very nature sabotaged her attempt to create something more substantial. At least, that was what she told herself. That had always been her go-to response, but events over the past couple of years found her in uncharted territory.

It all changed when she joined the Night Watch, mostly just because she needed a job and nothing more. But she had gotten so much more out of it than thirty-eight dollars a month. Years of loneliness and wandering and fleeing anyone who discovered her true nature eventually grew into a stable life with a job she was good at, even if in a city she hated. For the first time ever, there were people who knew she was a werewolf and didn't run away in terror or try to kill her. Oh sure, most of her fellow Watchmen were terrified of her and occasionally would make insensitive jokes behind her back, but that was preferred over what she had left. She even had a few friends…and something more.

Thinking of that "something more" allowed her to escape her endless despair. It was someone who had managed to get past all of her typical defenses and failings, even if those same admirable qualities occasionally annoyed her to the point of snapping at him.

Just thinking about him filled her with so many happy yet conflicted emotions.

Captain Carrot.

She thought her human boyfriend would love this place. The history and architecture fan would have had a field day in such a unique location that was completely unconnected to any of the history of his own Realm he had long since committed to memory. The feeling of pleasantness left her as she thought of how the six foot tall human raised by dwarfs had his request to join her rejected. Once the situation of this Realm was explained to him, he understood. But that didn't erase the initial hurt look on his face from her mind, as charming as that look had been in its own puppy-dog kind of way.

Then again, that matched the man himself. Captain Carrot had such an effortless sincere charisma bordering on messianic that even people who he was arresting or absolutely hated the very concept of law and order obeyed him. Almost as great was a sense of literalness that encouraged one to devise a new word for "exactness" because "literal" seemed woefully inadequate in any other context. If asked, "What's up," Captain Carrot would probably respond, without any trace of irony, "the ceiling tile, the rafters, the roof tile," and so on until he watched the void of outer space unless told to stop before that.

That second quirk of his personality made him odd, but the first was infinitely stranger. Pretty much anyone who interacted with Carrot was caught in an invisible river current stronger than gravity itself that made them want to conform to his vision of the world. For most, this was simply due to that messianic charisma. But for Angua it was different.

She did love him. He was kind without thinking about it. He did good things because he decided to do them, not because he was measuring up to something. His genuine interest in people made them feel interesting. With no sinister motive he made people feel better about themselves, and want to be better. He was so simple and honest, though he could use nastiness or manipulative cunning when required as if it were a retractable claw.

But it went deeper than that.

Angua's canine qualities didn't end with her aversion to bathing or her occasional increase in nipples. Though she spent most of her time in human form, she wasn't human. She was a werewolf, a wolf that lived with people, or rather, in her particular case, with one person. And she knew the term for a wolf that lives with a person.

A dog.

And she knew the term for the human who lived with a dog.

A master.

If he whistled, she would come running.

It was as much a part of her very nature as a werewolf as much as changing during a full moon or even breathing. If she had been human, she was sure she would hate this feature with her full being. But as a werewolf, she was indifferent to it, and mostly accepted it. In the same way that every person must make peace with the fact they will one day die.

She knew the truth of it but she didn't like others pointing it out, or using it against her.

Especially when she thought that being Carrot's dog was the best thing she could be.

Her thoughts soon drifted to how much she would have loved for Carrot personally to be here, it was partially because of the desire to have more familiar faces around. That might have helped lessen the lead weight that had settled in her belly at the task before her. A surprisingly high number of her fellow Night Watchmen were in this Realm, but with different teams all across this strange world. The same applied for civilian monsters from not just Ankh-Morpork but other regions of the Disc. Apparently werewolves, zombies, vampires, banshees, boogeymen, ghosts, gorgons, ghouls, golems, and other species known as "undead" (or in the golems' case "unalive") that could be trusted on a mission like this and who would be willing to help were hard to come by. They were needed elsewhere. She understood that.

All the same, though most of them wouldn't have been allowed to come here due to being either human or human enough, Angua would have liked being here with Carrot, or Cheri, or Vimes, or Nobbs…well, maybe not Nobbs.

She was still shocked that so shortly after first contact was made between the Discworld and the Society, she had been reached out to by name. But when explained to her, she understood. She was not only a cop and a werewolf, but also one who was reasonable and capable, with no overpowering prejudice towards humans. A rare combination, it seemed. And an almost perfect fit for a vital task. The gods knew she would need to be at her best for what laid before her.

Angua had to do her best to curry the favor of a pack of specist, misogynistic, bully-like wolfmen. The purpose of this was to make the evacuation of this Realm's humans go over smoothly, to get the official assistance of the city's native law enforcement to remove victims of the oppression perpetrated. No one had any delusions about how unlikely this was to work. Angua wondered if they were unsuccessful, what would the Society do? Would they use some drastic, and even potentially violent, means to ensure they got what they wanted? Hopefully, she thought, it would be unnecessary to find out.

However, from the Research she had read, the wolfmen reminded her too much of her brother. That would make her task hard. And some of that was due to her being a werewolf and not a wolfman, or rather, a wolf woman. The term "wolfman" was still an odd one to her. Wolfmen did exist on the Disc. But though they had a different name, they were still technically werewolves. They were just reverse werewolves; in wolf form most of the month but in human form for the week of the full moon. If the cops they were going to meet were like that, things would go so much easier. For one thing, they would probably not need much more than some biscuits and tummy-rubs to get what they wanted. And more importantly, there wouldn't be any inherent stigmas to deal with.

Apparently there was tension between the wolfmen and werewolves of this Realm. Still, the hope was her being a cop would balance out her lack of perpetual body hair in their eyes. And if it wasn't, that was the reason Jack Russell was here. A seven-foot tall werewolf who looked like a wolfman would hopefully help defuse any hostile tensions.

Her face was ,as it often was as she viewed the city and dwelled on the dark locales of her past, a mask. A copper's mask.

"You know, I'm from Los Angeles," Jack Russell said conversationally with no apparent purpose as they could faintly see the building they had been told was the police station.

"Really?" Angua asked half-heartedly as she surveyed the surroundings. Though it had improved since joining the Watch, her reserves of small talk, never very liquid, quickly dried up.

"Oh yeah. I mean sure. It's not exactly the same. This place is about five decades before my time and the inhabitants of my LA aren't quite so Thriller meets Raymond Chandler."

"I see."

"When I was first getting used to being a werewolf, before I could keep my human side intact in this form, I hated the city. I hated the blaring car horns and the rush of oncoming traffic. And I'd always want to go to the forest, thinking it was my home."

"Home is where the heart is."

"The city had this overpowering smell that just made me want to get away from it."

"I've noticed that too."

"And people always kept trying to trap or shoot me. With one guy who actually tried to hunt me like it was The Most Dangerous Game."

"Right?"

"Obviously, that didn't work."

"Obviously."

"But that was nothing compared to the alligator head that kept coming out of my ass."

"That would be most problematic."

He watched her face. Small furrows formed on Angua's brow as the ears nudged the brain. She blinked. "What alligator?" she asked, stopping, noticing Jack's smug grin.

"You know, it's the guy who usually gets caught not really listening." Jack saw a bit of anger flare up on Angua's face, so he added before she could start scolding him, "You were miles away, Angua. In your native Realm, I expect."

Her annoyance left her in a long sigh. "Yes, I was."

"This ain't my first rodeo with other monsters like myself. N'Kantu's proof of that. We've gotta have our heads clear and in sync to succeed. So, what's bothering you?" The taller werewolf asked, his voice and face conveying sincere concern for his teammate. And she couldn't smell any attempt at deception either.

"Lots of things," the blonde answered vaguely. Then she saw the look on Jack's face, a look that showed he wouldn't accept such a lacking answer. She sighed again in preparation. "Mostly it's that my track record isn't good with this sort of thing. I was involved with a diplomatic mission once before, and there had been a higher number of dead bodies than the norm, I assume."

"Oh, is that all," Jack said grinning, trying to make light of that bombshell.

"It was my family who made most of those bodies dead," She explained further. "And the wolfmen we are going to see, they remind me of my brother, who was the worst of the bunch. And I don't know if I'm going to be able to do what needs to be done, save so many people for whom the Society is their only hope."

"Oh…" The Werewolf-By-Night didn't have anything further to add. Angua smiled sardonically. That self-deprecating smirk forced Jack to shake his head and try again. "Listen…that is bad. But…I'm gonna need you on your A-game in this place."

Interest erased Angua's self-mocking grin. "And why is that, Mr. Russell?" she asked.

"Please, call me Jack," The male werewolf said with an accommodating expression. "And I'll need your help because I can have something of a temper."

"Is that so, J—Jack?"

"Oh yeah, and I might need some help keeping my cool in there with the bunch of human-hating pigs in wolves' clothing that we both know they are."

Angua nodded her head in understanding. "That does seem to be what they are, yes. But perhaps the Research is…at least a little askew? It is from a human perspective, after all." She said, dwelling once again on the past, not with her family or boyfriend, but her boss.

The female werewolf considered how she had been so wrong in how her initial perception of Sam Vimes had been, how what seemed to be a bitter, specist, washed-out old drunk turned out to be a more complicated man. Their relationship had been subtly antagonistic until she learned how wrong she was. More trails and time together started to smooth out those early kinks. Then it turned into a kind of cynical camaraderie between fellow bastards. And then, thankfully it became something more, something that was hard to pin down. It was recognizing in another person the difficult traits you knew in yourself and hoping against hope that some of their saving graces could be found in you, too. Due to how ultimately she had misjudged the man, the female werewolf had been trying to avoid making the kind of grand negative assumptions that came so easily to her.

Besides, even ignoring that, she chose to not mention how she could have quite the nasty temper herself, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to rein in her teammate if she needed to.

"Sure," Jack conceded. "But can you say with a straight face that you actually believe that?"

Another smirk was sent his way, though this time it wasn't self-deprecating. "I suppose not." Angua admitted. Acknowledging defeat in a context she didn't mind losing too much, with the wolf instinct for infallible dominance easily repressed by her rationale, the blonde turned her gaze and saw they were right outside where they needed to go. The 77th Street Station, the headquarters of the LAPD. She flashed past her doubts and dreads. "Let's just get in there, get it done, and get out, shall we?" she asked determinedly.

Jack nodded in approval. "Sounds good to me." He added. "We can handle anything."

Fighting back against her cynicism, Angua succeeded in believing that, if only a little.

They could handle anything!

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(9 months AGE, Realm 82, 77th Street Station, April 30th 1957, 11:35 PM)

The werewolves were starting to question if that was indeed the case.

As an officer of the law and an occasional superhero, both of the werewolves from other Realms were used to adversity. Whether it was criminals to be brought to justice or a big monster that needed to be punched in the face, they knew how to tough it out. However, despite their shared proclamations outside, they each found their limits being tested by the most insidious foe of all. The one they couldn't possibly handle above all else.

Waiting.

The two had been occupying the same seats in the waiting area of the police station for what had been over two hours. They had decoded the motive for this a while ago and knew they couldn't act because of it.

Not knowing what Jack was focusing on during that time, Angua found herself taking in the entirety of the space around them. Of what she saw, the only true overlap between the 77th Street Station of the LAPD and the various Watch Houses in Ankh-Morpork was the general commotion of the police force dealing with all sorts of things, many of which seemed to involve shouting. The differences were far more numerous and noteworthy. The interior's architecture, the overall cleaner design devoid of much wood or grit, the fact that most of those present were wolfmen with their wolf side exposed or not instead of myriad sentient species…and the biggest difference, this place didn't smell like socks.

Apart from that, the smells were what one might imagine besides an excess of dog musk. One of the odors not smelt often but strong enough that it still made an impression jogged her memory. It was as acrid as acid, particularly noteworthy given the generally organic smells of this station. Every time she smelled it, she would look up and see the same thing. It was a glint of metal hanging from a wolfman's hips. She saw what looked like a short set of Panpipes that had been restricted to six notes and welded to a metallic stick. Though they were different from the one example she had seen in her own realm, the research allowed the female werewolf to determine what exactly she was looking at.

Of the words that Angua had initial difficulty grasping, the most relevant one was "gun." Soon enough she figured out it was how they spelled the word "gonne." That realization did not fill her with joy or hope. She remembered when she encountered the gonne, shortly after she first joined the Night Watch. If it hadn't been for the fact that the bullets fired weren't silver, she would have died after that encounter. Horror not often felt had congealed in her core when she learned that not only were gonnes commonplace here, but some of them could fire hundreds of bullets every minute. Crossbows were bad enough! The only, marginal, silver lining was that the holstered weapons seen were like the gonne she had dealt with, only having six bullets at a time. She had at first wondered if the gonnes here also had minds of their own which inspired a greater desire for violence. Then she deduced that wasn't the case, or at least not that directly. Any greater inspiration for violence handling the gonnes here wasn't enhanced by any kind of magic, it seemed. That notion didn't make her feel any better.

Angua thought back to what she had said to Cheri once: 'Everyone's got troubles in the Watch. Normal people don't become policemen.' The gods of the Disc knew that most of the beings of various species and states of technical life in the Night Watch had quirks that made them about as applicable to civilian life in Ankh-Morpork as a jellyfish would be in a blast furnace. She alone was proof of that claim. But no matter their differences and defects, the one thing that they all shared was a sincere desire to do their jobs to help any in need. As Carrot frequently said in one way or another, that was the essential point.

It wasn't just the lack of a socky smell that showed the difference between this police headquarters and the one she was used to. More importantly, there was the vibe of the actual cops. Her sense of smell wasn't nearly as acute as it would be in her wolf form but it was still able to detect the undercurrents being cycled through the air filled with shouts. There was anger, tension, and a feral pack mentality as devoid of compassion as could be. She couldn't detect much desire to actually help those who they were assigned to protect. This place looked like what the Night Watch might have been without Carrot or Vimes.

Such lofty musings helped distract Angua from how they had been subtly stonewalled. She and Jack each resisted the urge to go to the front desk and inquire about what was taking so long. Given the clout of the Society, which they knew was at least known to monsters at the level of this major city's police chief, they assumed they would be seen quickly. That wasn't the case.

A more optimistic being would have written this off as the primary force for keeping order in a large Metropolitan population center being quite busy doing that difficult job.

And that view would have been easy to endorse, if it wasn't for things like the occasional cop glancing over to the sitting pair. They were standing around, trying to look nonchalant. Angua noted how, like the coppers from her Realm, the police here were not very good at that. Faces that were currently in human guise but appearing to be either racked with pocks or in desperate need of a shave were straining, very visibly attempting to repress laughter. The werewolves knew what this was, a petty act of retribution for this situation, a protest of needing to meet with the Society. They were being made to wait as long as possible in the hopes they would just leave, hopefully feeling like fools. It was a song and dance that Angua had encountered many times before in Ankh-Morpork, most often from the Guilds who tended to treat the Night Watch as a resilient irritant. But the most egregious example was when she and Vimes had waited for hours to meet with a particular band of dwarfs who were staunchly committed to the old ways of their culture. She now fully understood how Vimes felt at the deliberate discourtesy of that meeting.

In retrospect, this wasn't surprising. They knew, based off the Research and that rare but misleadingly named thing called common sense, that most monsters of this Realm would not be keen on breaking their isolationist views, in particular with a group that just so happened to be made of mostly humans. That knowledge spurred them to weather out the storm of avoidance to hopefully help the masses here in need.

Such noble resolve began to waver as the second hour approached. Jack had been about to complain to the front desk when at long last a wolfman shambled his way to them. Like most of the police officers around, he was in his human form. Despite that, his wolf nature was very much on the surface and barely contained by his current human exterior. He was taller than Angua but shorter than Jack, with a body of solid muscle encased in a cheap navy blue suit that was riddled with thick creases. A matching hat adored his head. As he approached, the wolfman brought a finger to his mouth to pick something out of his teeth, showing he had irregularly shaped teeth and an underbite. While flicking a small piece of chewed up meat away from him, his brown gaze turned towards the werewolves. His cheeks were pockmarked with thick five o'clock shadow filling out random sections of face as if they were aged weeds that had withered to a sickly brown but refused to die. Even with all of those potentially obscuring facial features, his disdain was transparent.

Once he was standing right in front of them, the duo noticed a few more details that weren't discernable from a distance. The tie around his thick neck looked like a clip-on tie. He had egg on his lapel and breath that slapped you in the face from across the room. And his eyes had a shine to them at odd angles. That occasionally glimmering dull brown gaze shifted between the two Society team members before the wolfman spoke up with a rumbling and smoky voice.

"You the…uh, Society people?" He asked, with no preamble or formal introduction.

"Yes," Jack spoke up, hiding his annoyance at the disrespect. "You the Police Chief?"

The wolfman laughed hard, almost leaning forward while clutching his muscular sides. "Oh man, that's a good one!" He chuckled a few more times. "No, I'm not him. He's busy. He said you'd talk to me. Gave me authority to speak for the whole department." His pockmarked face showed a fleeting scowl at that, with him probably hating this as much as the Society team. They didn't know that he had literally drawn the short straw on being the cop who was forced to interact with them. The wolfman hid all of that behind a nasty grin. "You should be honored. Detective Garou."

Both Angua and Jack rose to their feet. They almost felt their anger overpower them. Two hours of waiting, followed by not even talking to the person—er, the wolfman in charge...being spat on would be less of an insult.

"We were told we would speak to Police Chief Alfred Wolfe!" Angua insisted.

Garou's face conveyed his vindictive discourtesy. "Too bad, toots." He grumbled. "He ain't available. You don't like that, the door's over there. Feel free to use it." He waited a few moments, hoping they would use the door. They didn't. He flared his aggravation. "Fine then. What are you called, anyway?"

"Jack Russell," the Werewolf-by-Night offered.

Garou laughed. "Of all the names you could have picked, you just picked a dog breed?"

Jack weathered the petty mocking easily. "Name I was born with. Didn't pick it." He showed a big grin. Gaoru's face showed shock that this wolfman would stay with his birth name, especially one as stupid as that. "Unlike you, apparently. Why would you pick a name like 'Garou,' anyway?" His tone implying at best a pathetic idiocy.

The wolfman wasn't sure how to take that question before settling on being pissed off about it even if he didn't truly have a good reason. But before he could convey that, the other Society teammate spoke up.

"Captain Angua of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch." The blonde spoke up confidently.

That confidence didn't waver as Garou laughed the loudest he had yet. Several of the wolfmen hovering around the discussion joined him in their mocking merriment. "Oh, oh man...that's rich!" The detective hollered. "What is that, a city name or something? It sounds like a mummy naming what I had for lunch the other day! Hahahaha!"

Angua said nothing as the wolfmen laughed. She kept the fact that a "morpork" was a species of small owl native to her Realm to herself. The same went for how in Überwald,

"morpork" sounded basically the same as the region's word for a kind of ladies' underpants. Jack was equally silent, thankfully. If they reacted badly to every insult, they would get nowhere. And though she was in human form, with a far weaker nose, Angua found the smell of egg jogging her memory. Garou began to remind her of Captain Quirke of Ankh-Morpork's Day Watch. A man who wasn't truly evil simply because he lacked the imagination required to transcend a low-grade kind of unpleasantness, who recoiled from an assault on strength but attacked weakened without mercy. In short, he was a bully. Eventually the laughter ceased, the cops running out of steam.

"So, what can I do for you, Miss?" Garou asked, focusing on the woman.

"Captain," Angua corrected.

"What?" Garou asked, sincerely confused.

"Captain," Angua repeated. "Not Miss. I am on duty as a Captain and I do not have any sex while I am on duty." She added, without a hint of humor in her voice. Clearly without a hint. Neither Jack nor Garou knew how to comment. The absence of anybody saying anything was palpable. Sometimes silence was the loudest form of communication.

Growing tired of the awkwardness, Garou chose to break the silence. "What are you, lady?" He asked, before gesturing to Jack. "He's a wolfman if I've even seen one, but what are you?"

Angua repressed the urge to point out that Jack was in actuality a werewolf. Instead, she merely stated, "I'm a werewolf, Detective." She saw Garou's face flex in irritation on instinct, proof of the bad blood between the two kinds of lycanthrope lawmen spoken of in the Research she knew. She had a response ready for this development. "If you dislike the idea of talking to a werewolf, consider that at least I'm not a vampire."

That comment earned the woman a reluctant yet sincere nod. Wolfmen hated werewolves, but one thing they hated much more were blood-sucking leeches with their obviously phony Transylvanian accents and constant attempts to free arrested monsters. That hatred of vampires seemed true to wolf-people both in this Realm and Angua's own.

"So you're a werewolf, uh?" asked Garou.

"That is what I just said, yes."

Garou blinked for a moment. Again, with words as simple as could be and no telling facial tics or vocal tone, she had said something so perplexing. He attempted to puzzle out if Angua had just been flippant with him. The woman Watchman had a style of sarcasm so subtle that even people who were masters of picking up on details like that were often left unsure about her intention when speaking to them.

It took a few seconds for Garou to shake off the impulse to figure that out. He then looked Angua up and down several times, openly appraising her figure and features. "If you are a werewolf, then prove it." He said. A new kind of dark light shined in his eyes.

Angua looked at him for a moment. "Very well. I shall go into a empty office and—"

"Oh no." The Wolfman said as he shook his head. A massive toothy smile appeared while the dark light in his unblinking, leering gaze intensified. "If you are gonna prove it, you're going to do it right here, doll."

A few of the wolfmen gathered around turned more blatantly in their direction as they started to snigger and lick their lips. One or two actually repressed unleashing wolf-whistles. Without much more than a slightly widened stare forward, Angua realized what these wolfmen were hoping for. She remembered reading that werewolves in this Realm would strip down and transform into their lupine forms without any embarrassment or decorum. Angua had nearly dropped the book she learned that from when discovering that. Apparently these cops expected the same from her, stripping down with no preamble. Yet another example of how this Realm was different from her own; one of the top ten survival tips on the Discworld was to never piss off a werewolf. Not so here.

She took a single long deep breath, resisting the urge to look at their throats or slam any of them against the wall. Jack began protesting this when Angua cut him off. "That will not be happening, Detective. I like wearing clothes and not being naked in front of others." She said quite civilly, though with an unyielding bluntness hidden in that civility.

"You're naked in your wolf form," Garou pointed out, earning a nod of agreement from a few of the nearly salivating spectators. "Seems the same to me."

The female werewolf in the room full of wolfmen repressed an embittered sigh, having heard that line before. "Be that as it may, Detective," Angua said, "I shall not be getting naked for you today."

Garou glared at Angua, attempting to force her to bow to his perfectly reasonable demand. The woman didn't so much as flinch and returned his challenging stare. No one could turn their eyes away from the standoff to look and see how much time had passed. After much laborious inactivity, one of those involved looked away, admitting defeat.

Disappointment replaced the dark light in Garou's eyes. He grumbled as the wolfmen who had gathered around suddenly found their eyes wandering to other locations, each realizing they wouldn't be getting a free show after all. "Then why should I believe that you're a werewolf?" He asked.

"You'll just have to take my word for it, I'm afraid." Angua commented passively. "Unless of course you've got some silver lying around." She added, her face and voice again lacking any revealing tells. "Then I'm sure you'd be readily convinced."

The air was tense yet again as no one said anything for a while. All were clueless as to what would happen next. Garou clearly wasn't happy, and though they hid it very well it was obvious that the two Society representatives were just as displeased. But everyone knew that nothing bad enough had happened to warrant ending this interaction prematurely. There had been no threats and no violent actions. Both sides had higher ups that wanted this meeting to occur for their own reasons. And they each knew that.

"Dames," Garou finally said with a bitter mournful swaying of his head from side to side, silently saying he reluctantly dropped the topic of seeing such a beautiful woman naked. "In the old days, you knew your place."

"And what place is that?" Angua asked, subtly sarcastic, though she already knew.

"Not at the damn table with the men, I'll tell you that!" Garou snapped, catching onto the female werewolf's tone this time. That triggered his body's transformation. Within an instant brown fur sprouted from every piece of visible skin and teeth jutted out from a now simian jaw. As Angua had read about these wolfmen, she had wondered something: had the writer ever actually seen a wolf? Because the appearances described for this monster species weren't like wolves, even wolves in humanoid form. Instead, her mind's eye had envisioned beings that were more ape in appearance. She was proven right. The only two features of this being that screamed wolf to her were his dog-like scent and his eyes, which flashed a bright unnatural shade of yellow similar to that of Discworld's werewolves when incensed. "Just because you're a monster doesn't mean you deserve it!" Garou added. "Next thing you know, you'll be wearing slacks and growing beards!"

Angua was half-tempted to bring up Cheri Littlebottom, a Night Watchmen dwarf who wore dresses off-duty but had a thick, bushy beard. She was one of the few female Discworld dwarfs who publicly proclaimed herself as a she. As amusing as Garou's reaction might have been, she chose against that, opting instead for more relevant words.

"Detective Garou," she said, her voice pushing out her annoyance and bitterness towards this being, "This is the Century of the Fruit-Bat—er, I mean the twentieth century." She chided herself for slipping up like that, though you wouldn't have known that by looking at her. "I can't believe that you would think like that. Such views have no value."

"No value, uh?" Garou asked with a raised eyebrow. "How can someone who ain't even from around here possibly know that?"

"Because I know of Beth Gevaudan," Angua responded, hoping that the name of a good female PI of this Realm would be enough to prove her point. Angua feared being forced to declare Beth as either a werewolf or a wolf-woman. She didn't know for sure. The Research didn't specify which species Beth was.

Judging by Garou's face though, which was human looking again, that wouldn't be needed.

"We should begin our meeting proper," Angua stated, repressing the urge to find out if wolfmen were as durable as her Realm's werewolves for the most recent time so far.

Garou again didn't look pleased but not much more than previously. The sniggering of nearby officers at him having been so easily outwitted by a woman didn't help, though that may have helped with what he did next. "Fine." He pointed a thumb to a nearby office room. "We can talk in there. But it might not do you any good if you want privacy. Wolfmen have got great ears."

Angua didn't think that was true but kept that to herself. Instead, she merely said, "We shall take our chances."

The trio proceeded into the empty room as Garou closed the door behind them. The office was larger than the duo would have expected, taking up about the space of two bedrooms. The only noteworthy features within it were a desk with some chairs in front of it and many scattered papers and pens on it. Everyone present chose to stand, on the defensive.

"Let's get to the knitty-gritty, little pups," Garou said firmly, attempting to take control of his meeting, and he hoped to end this whole farce as soon as inhumanly possible. "You want us to help you out with whatever you want to do here. We don't want to do that. And I've heard you aren't allowed to make us help you. So why should we?"

A silence shared between Angua and Jack confirmed what the vulgar wolfman had said. They had been ordered to do whatever they could to ensure the cooperation of the LAPD aside from using violence or direct intimidation to do so. Despite the presence of the Organization, many beings were iffy on the Society, seeing them as just another villainous collective that simply didn't openly broadcast their authoritarian intentions. It wasn't just about opposing the Organization; it was also about proving the Society was better than them, for both practical and moral reasons. Usually, that wasn't too difficult a barrier since most beings and Realms were fairly civil and reasonable given the situation. But this Realm, with having a status quo that directly opposed many key tenets of the Society like acceptance of different others and the betterment of all sentient life forms, in particular with what the duo would attempt to demand…they knew this was going to be an uphill battle on a hill made of syrup and rusty knives in the best-case scenario.

"How about because of the fact that the Organization could come around and they wouldn't even bother to ask for your help? They would just take it and much more." Jack said, hoping that fear of a bigger threat would help Garou see reason.

The wolfman did flinch for a second, confirming that the higher-ups of this Realm at least believed what they had been told and shown about the Society's great enemy in earlier meetings. But as quickly as it had appeared, the fear left the face that currently looked like a man's. "Y—yeah," Garou admitted with a sight stutter, before regaining control. "But from what I've been told, those guys are really far away with a lot of your allies between them and us. Hell, that big war your guys went on and on about ain't even happening around here. So they ain't gonna be threatening us anytime soon, boy."

Garou's face was impossibly smug. The only thing that pissed off the werewolves more than that look was the knowledge that he was completely correct in his broad assessment. Many Realms already allied to the Society separated this Realm from the front lines of the open battlefield on which the Organization and Society were currently in all-out war. Simple omni-versial geography had spared this Realm that unrivaled destructive pain. But that meant that fear of the Organization showing up on their doorstep wasn't a viable tactic. And apparently the monsters in-charge, despite their staunch isolationism, knew that. Both Jack and Angua had been hoping for the opposite, since they each understood that had been their best chance in persuading a Realm that actively rejected compassion.

Of the two werewolves, it was Jack who looked the more disheartened by this reveal. Angua was certainly broken up about it, but she had realized something Jack hadn't. The fact they were talking to Garou might allow them to salvage this seemingly doomed situation. The Research offered hints that might have been enough to force his hand.

Pleased at his words being right on the mark, Garou broke the silence he created. "I got to know something," he said. "Why would a pair of monsters like yourselves even work with this Society anyway? Sounds like what those damn commies in Russia are trying. And why ain't you sticking by your own kind?"

"I can't speak for the commies," Jack said, "but I can speak for me."

"Oh, and what do you say?" asked Garou, his voice as contemptuous as could be.

"No one should be chained." The Werewolf-by-Night said simply.

Garou laughed at that. "I don't see any chains here." He looked around the room a few times with overt theatricality, a mockingly playful expression on his pockmarked face.

"I'm not surprised." Jack said neutrally, attempting to ignore the teasing, finding it hard. "But I'd wager the humans out there in this city would disagree with you on that."

Garou uttered a sound somewhere between a sarcastic laugh and growl of irritation. The playfulness had receded as rapidly as it had appeared. "What cop worth their salt would give a rat's ass what some bait thinks?" He asked no one in particular.

"Bait?" Jack said after a moment, his voice gravelly. He nodded his head heavily as a growl escaped his maw. "I knew you called people bait, but to actually hear you say it…" The sentence trailed off in disgust.

"What's the manner? That upset you?" Garou inquired most mockingly. Jack remained silent, realizing his truthful answer would encourage the wolfman even more. Sadly for the Werewolf-by-Night, it seemed that Garou was more than able to encourage himself. He saw a moment of weakness, and attacked it for all it was worth within the limits imposed on him by his Police Chief. "Well too bad, pal! That's the way things are around here and nothing will change that. Meat-sticks are right where they belong, in the gutter feeding off our scraps!" He proclaimed. "You come up here whining about the meat-sticks but you ignore the monsters of this city. They flourish under our protection!"

The tallest figure in the room fought to repress a grin. Garou had given him a way to strike back without even knowing it. "Oh yeah," Jack began, almost casual in tone, "then what about Sarah Bellum? Or does having a crime lord running rampant a part of your notion of protecting this city? If it is, then I feel sorry for the folks outside this station."

Much like earlier when mentioning the Organization, Garou's annoyingly cocky swagger cracked for a moment at the reference to one of the only two crime lords the LAPD hadn't taken down. Angua knew that this wasn't just for that reason, but a more personal one as well.

Just like before, Garou recovered quickly. "We'll nail the brain eventually. Don't you worry about that." His voice showed the least confidence since this conversation started. The Society duo took some delight in that.

"Listen," Jack began, struggling to push that joy out of his voice, "I know this dog and pony show is your rodeo. But that doesn't mean I can't complain about the smell."

Garou growled at that, before he had a moment of clarity. "How'd you know about Bellum, doggy-boy?" he asked. "Wolfe didn't tell the previous Society guys about her." He then pointed to Angua. "And how'd the skirt over there know about Gevaudan?"

Angua watched as Jack kept up his poker face admirably. "We've got our ways, Garou," the taller lycanthrope said and let it go at that.

The female werewolf mused on the necessity of that artful dodging. As much as she was chafing under the Society's guidelines to play nice with obvious jackasses who wouldn't be receptive to that, it was reassuring to know that the Society wasn't stupidly moral. When first contact had been made with this Realm, the Society had tweaked their protocol slightly. Usually when establishing contact with a new Realm, they revealed the full scope of the Great Epiphany, how every Realm was a work of fiction somewhere else that the Society already knew about. This was usually to encourage a sense of friendship and commonality from the start by showing that everyone was in the same boat but they could make sure the uncharted waters could be guided through together. But for the select few Realms that the initial research showed would be problematic to negotiate with, that information was kept a secret, as a way to help get the desired outcome by having an advantage over their opposition by knowing all their secrets without them knowing how.

This strategy's most successful implementation came when dealing with the Realm containing Star Wars during the Clone Wars, with it being one of the key reasons why Darth Sidious was exposed and the Jedi Order was saved from near extinction.

"I think you should tell me how you know so much about us," Garou said threateningly.

"No, I don't think I need to," Jack commented, his voice and face as unmoving as a wall.

Garou took a few purposeful steps closer to the Werewolf-by-Night. "I say you do, pup." He puffed out his chest and stood straight, while taking a few decisively deep breaths.

The current of air in the room had changed, suddenly crackling with latent electricity. The trio of wolf-like humanoids sensed this, and fought the urge to let it explode outward. But as the seconds ticked on, that desire to not unleash the storm was fading.

"You muscle types don't impress me." Said Jack casually, before giving the wolfman a dismissive visual appraisal. "I've met and beaten bigger than you, and I assume tougher."

"Keep talking like that and you'll find out!" Snapped Garou, his wolf-side fully exposed in an instant once again, his eyes shining a savage radioactive yellow and his brown fur popped out. His proceeding snarl sounded like someone ripping a car door in half. He moved himself to be right in front of Jack, one hand that now had claws subconsciously moving towards his pistol but not close enough to actually reach for the firearm.

"If you try to be top dog around me again one more time," Jack nearly growled, his patience shot, his face close enough to Garou's that his breath ruffled the lupine lawman's fur, "I swear on my mother's grave that I'll knock every tooth out of your mouth!"

"Don't mean much coming from a whore's grave!" snapped Garou, eager for a fight.

Angua could have sworn she heard the thread holding Jack back snap at that comment. She didn't know it, but Garou had hit a sensitive topic for the Werewolf-by-Night. She assumed it was the love many children had for their mothers, something she didn't have. Even so, she recognized what was about to happen and acted as fast as her body allowed.

Jack had stared at the riled-up wolfman for a moment before his fist tightened and his arm moved on its own, intent on knocking that furious look off of Garou's face. What happened next occurred within the time of a taken breath or two, just barely enough time for the human mind to process what occurred. For Jack such clarity didn't begin until his furry fist was suddenly being stopped mid-punch, by something soft yet very powerful. That tactile sensation removed the red cloud of rage that had been obscuring his vision. Looking down, he saw Angua now standing between him and Garou, one of her hands pressing against his own, keeping it in place. Her arm wavered and her face showed strain but she held his fist back regardless. Amidst the few logical thoughts he was capable of in his current state, Jack was impressed by his teammate's speed and strength. While he wasn't anywhere near the top of his Realm's pecking order, he was no slouch.

A silence that now felt at once both devoid of explosiveness but eager to ignite again lingered like a bad smell. The two Society teammates simply stared at each other, Jack regaining his faculties and Angua putting all of her effort into keeping him under control. In that void, Garou simply stood there with his mouth hanging open. For his many faults, Garou was a wolfman in his physical prime with honed reflexes. Even when dealing with trolls, ogres, or revenge-craving pumpkinheads, he could hold his own. He was always ready for a fight. That was what had frozen him in place. He was so shocked by the speed of the movements so close to his face he couldn't do much more than gape. Eventually, more negative emotions forced their way through his paralysis. "Everybody settle down," he rasped noncommittally, grumblingly, his face now conveying aggravation; annoyance at being caught with his pants down in front of a woman.

Both of the werewolves noticed how nothing in his tone or words implied any apology. To be expected, really, but in Jack's state that was enough to make him want to act again. His partner realized this as quickly as he did.

"Wait outside, Jack," Angua ordered, softly but firmly, as she removed her hand from Jack's still half-drawn fist and put it on the taller werewolf's chest.

The Werewolf-By-Night looked down at her for a moment or two before he nodded his head and without saying a word made his way out of the room. As he left he thought a trio of thoughts all at the exact same time. He thought of how happy he was that Angua was able to stop him from doing something stupid. He thought about how annoyed he was that Angua was able to stop him from doing something stupid. He thought about how unlucky Garou was to be in a room alone with Angua, and how much pleasure that gave.

"Some partner you've got there, lady." Garou said smugly, grinning quite pleased now that the bigger wolfman was gone. He was top dog again. After all, he was talking to just a woman. The detective chose to remain in his full wolfman form to show his dominance over this lady. "He was this close to screwing the pooch with his little temper tantrum."

"It's Captain, Detective Garou," Angua said, biting back hard against her mounting anger, presenting a commanding professionalism often lacking in the actual Night Watch. "And before we proceed let me make one thing perfectly clear. If you drag those close to us into this again, there will be severe consequences. Am I understood, Detective?"

Garou flinched for the briefest of moments at Angua's tone but then played it off as if nothing happened. "Sure," he agreed halfheartedly. "Whatever floats your boat, toots." His grin grew in size and zeal.

Angua understood what he was doing. He was mocking her. Garou knew she wanted to be addressed as a captain and not a woman, so he repeatedly did it, harming her to the best of his ability with the constraint of "playing nice." The werewolf's fingers inched as she clenched them closed tightly. Only the knowledge of her mission's importance in saving countless lives kept her from reacting to such blatant disrespect in her usual manner. After all, there was a reason why she, a beautiful young blonde, could wander the streets of Ankh-Morpork's seediest sections at midnight with no sense of concern.

The werewolf then decided to plot out her next course of action. She and Jack had been hoping that fear of the Origination would result in the LAPD agreeing to help. But they had been aware of the possibility of that option not working, so they had backups. Angua went through them one by one, hoping at least one would have an effect. She explained how joining the Society would improve the standard of living for every monster of this Realm through trade and commerce with other Realms, how it would give them access to knowledge and technology that would revolutionize and improve their lives, and how it could open the door for this Realm's problems finding previously impossible solutions.

Garou hadn't talked much during Angua's lecture. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, though she did have personal suspicions. And when the wolfman spoke up at long last, her gut feeling was proven to be right. "Lady, you aren't convincing me to help out your little out of town Communist cult." He explained bluntly. "You are exhausting the LAPD's goodwill."

"This is goodwill?"

"I'm still in this room with you, aren't I?"

Angua, for what was simply the latest in a distressingly long list of times over the course of this short dialogue, fought the urge to lash out at the insolence on display, or point out he was only in the room by way of technicality since he had never truly been listening or considering what she had to say. She debated an option or two before rejecting them. At least for the moment. She had another option; one she would freely admit probably wouldn't work. But it would be the right thing to do. It would be what Carrot would do.

"Do you know what the word 'policeman' means?" Angua asked.

Garou looked at her perplexed. "Of course I do. I'm a cop." He said, his confusion briefly overpowering the simmering anger that had been fueling him for the bulk of this meeting.

"It means 'man of the polis.' That's an old word for city."

"Man of the city?"

"Yes," Angua began, attempting to pull the same kind of unexplainable magic of swaying others to your point of view that her boyfriend had done countless times in situations more dire than this one. "The word polis also means polite too. In this case meaning that a man of the city should be polite, reflecting how people of a city should act. And not only that, but he should represent every citizen in that city fairly, regardless of their species or background. We might be different but we are both policemen, in a manner of speaking. We each are meant to uphold the law and protect the innocent from those who abuse it. If for no other reason that is why you should agree to help the Society, Detective."

A wave of embarrassment washed over Angua before she had finished the last word. There was a very good reason why she allowed her boyfriend to say that kind of stuff! With him, you believed it, even if you hadn't before. With her, she knew, not so much. All she could do was pray to the gods of the Disc, from Blind Io, Chief of the Gods, to Anoia, Goddess of Things That Get Stuck in Drawers. She wasn't too picky right now.

Garou was silent for a moment, seemingly actually considering what he had just heard. Fighting against her usual instincts, Angua dared to hope she had finally gotten through to him. Once again, reality crushed her hope as Garou started laughing yet again. "Lady, that's a riot! That sounds like the kind crud they make us say when we get sworn in. Ha!" The blonde took the mocking; hoping that would be the end of it. But it wasn't. Yet again, Garou had an insight that bordered on actually insightful. "Who said that junk?" he asked, before noticing Angua's confusion. "That pretty little speech didn't come from you. It was too clunky to be natural and you were clearly struggling with it the entire time. You ain't the lovey-dovey type, doll. That's as plain as the nose as your face. You got that from someone else who is. You've got no other plays so you're trying that now. But you don't want to tell me, do you?" That dark glint returned to Garou's brown eyes. "Well…if you don't tell me, I'm gonna leave this room right now, doll-face."

Angua paused, predicting where this information would lead. "Captain Carrot," she said.

"Carrot? His name is actually Carrot? A goddamn vegetable!? And here I thought a name couldn't get any dumber than Jack Russell? Hahahahaha!" Garou cackled deeply, laughing the hardest he had this entire time. "Based off what you said, I'd have pegged him for a fruit instead, but maybe he's both? He definitely sounds like a meat-stick."

Then he paused and looked at Angua, her expression was subtly different somehow. To the werewolf's horror, Garou had another rare moment of clarity, as shown by a growing grin. "Oh…are you—you are! You're dating that meat-stick! Or should I say fruit-stick? Ha!" He continued, like a train with a perpetual motion engine. "Got a thing for bait, eh? That's fine for a one-time thing but why keep seeing such an inferior creature, uh?" Angua didn't answer, so Garou kept talking. "Tell me, have you hen-pecked him into saying such crud or was he like that before you? I hope you at least keep him in his place, but for all I know you're nothing but his loyal lap dog. Shame a real monster couldn't have a fine looking dame like you as his little bitch. It's such a waste, really. This would all be so funny if it weren't so pathetic." He paused in momentary thought, one eyebrow raised. "Oh, what the hell, I'll laugh anyway! Hahahahahaha!"

Angua looked forward stone-faced. The world seemed to stand still and be silent save for that cruelly mocking chortling that pounded in her skull like an atomic powered jackhammer. She had taken all the petty insults and indignities in stride. She had restrained herself when he insulted her teammate's mother. She had attempted to be accommodating even as he stood in the way of countless innocent lives being saved. But the wolfman has just crossed a line that might as well have been ruled in blood.

How dare this bastard talk about Carrot like that!? How dare he talk about the truth of her being Carrot's dog as if it was something wrong and sick!? How dare he insult the thing that she felt made her worthwhile as a being!?

If she had been thinking clearly, she would have wondered if the gods of the Disc were playing one of their famously cruel jokes on her for their own fleeting amusement. But she wasn't thinking clearly. Though her form was human, her mind was becoming wolf.

The nascent claws strained under her fingernails. Angua found herself staring at Garou's throat. How easy it would be to...

A flash of radiant humanity burst through the quagmire of beastliness like an erupting volcano. The werewolf didn't know exactly what aspect of her human nature reclaimed her from the wolf's influence. She wanted to believe it was her love for Carrot or her compassion for the humans in this city. But based off the actual thought that she latched onto, the one that she immediately acted on, anger would be a more likely human aspect.

Without saying a word, Angua grabbed a nearby piece of paper and pen that had been among the disorganized contents of the desk. Continuing her silence, she wrote. Once she was finished, she handed the paper to Garou, who took it confused.

"I'm sure you'll appreciate my discretion," she said, her tone sweet and considerate. "Don't want your fellow officers to hear that. Wolfmen have got great ears, you know."

The wolfman didn't know what was going on but he definitely didn't like it. Not one bit. He started to read the piece of paper.

Garou stared at the werewolf's handwriting for quite some time. At least part of this was due to the Ankh-Morpork way of writing words. Oh, the words were recognizable enough, often looking like someone wrote down the words as they sounded, not how they were traditionally written. It was vaguely similar to Middle English, the 'forsooth' heavy dialect of pretentious playwrights in frilly collars who had the necessary literary skills to back it up. The words often replaced i's with y's and had prosthetic e's at the ends of words like "all," "you", "wish," "for", and "gold" (which, incidentally, could've been thought of as a crude motto for the cruder city, everyone in Ankh-Morpork wished for gold). These and other misspellings reflected an archaic alphabet that was functional despite its failings. Like the sloth, by all rights it should have been rendered extinct for its innumerable deficiencies but it kept soldiering on anyway mostly due to the alternatives of written information on the Disc being even more cumbersome for communication. At least the Ankh-Morpork alphabet didn't take an entire day's time to write a single sentence about how pretty the flowers were through indecipherable pictographs.

As the wolfman's eyes read, their color changed. Radioactive yellow shifted to natural brown in direct relation to them widening and filling with visceral horror. The fur covering his face receded, denying him any residual intimidation factor. He was now just a man staring at a piece of paper, nothing more.

It was an unspoken truth that every cop on the LAPD had skeletons in their closet. Garou included. But all of that meant nothing as he read the contents of his own. Two statements stuck out, causing the others to blur into irrelevance. The affair he was having on his wife with a siren chorus girl. What happened to his former partner Phil Moon.

It was all there. Somehow this woman he had never known of before knew his darkest secrets. And had the power to utterly ruin him if she so chose to. It made him shiver.

When he looked up, Angua's previously neutral eyes flashed a dark brightness.

"H—how...?" He began, limply. "How did...?"

"The how isn't important." Angua responded, her voice just as nice as before. "What is far more interesting is the what."

"What...?"

"Exactly!" The female werewolf cheered with delight. "As in, 'what will happen if that becomes known?' An interesting question, yes?" She flashed a new radiant smile that filled him with more terror than any barring of fangs ever could.

That smile held strong as Garou was doing considerable mental gymnastics, looking for a way out of this situation. She could all but see his thought process displayed on his face. First, out of instinct, he had considered killing her to keep her quiet. But as fast that wolf-inspired idea came, it left. No doubt he remembered Jack was right outside, and that there were other Society people elsewhere who would retaliate if she didn't come back. He then cycled through a few lesser ideas that died so fast that Angua couldn't even hazard a guess as to what they were. It felt so good to see Garou be this boned and know it. Eventually, his face conveyed what he would do, the thing he hated more than any other.

"What do you want?" Garou asked, morose, knowing he was beaten.

"I'm so glad you asked!" Angua said cheerfully with a big, lovely smile on her lips. Her voice was full of singsong sarcasm thick as syrup and sharp as steel. "Not much, really. Just the full cooperation of this police force to assist in any Society related endeavors."

"Like what?"

"Like, oh well, off the top of my head," Angua began, her voice now having a more pronounced mocking edge to it. "Things like protecting our various teams from any attack by the citizens of this Realm, helping us gather local intelligence, and…" she paused with purpose, "assistance in helping evacuate any humans who wish to leave this Realm."

The wolfman reeled back as if punched in the face, almost staggering backwards. "Eh-wha—what!?" He stammered brokenly, almost like a gravelly version of Nick Moss. "That's not—no—no way! Not going to ha—happen!" He knew he was shouting but he couldn't stop himself. This bitch had crossed a line! "You will not take them away! If—If they go—go, what will there be for monsters who want to turn someone!?"

"I don't know, if we're being truthful," Angua admitted, her voice as calm as Garou's was decidedly not. She shrugged. "I suppose they'll just have to make do. A little self-control works wonders."

The wolfman looked at her like, well, like she was a monster. "You—you're crazy!" He shouted, a manic glaze in his eyes.

"Just a bit, I suspect. Runs in the family, it does."

Garou had had just about enough of this. "You can take that idea and shove it up your a—!"

"I don't have to take that kind of language, thank you!" Angua roared, her cheerful smile gone in an instant. The look on Garou's face said he would have traded anything in the world for that vaguely condescending sarcasm over the savagery tearing through this woman's vocal cords. The wolf in her clamored for blood, for finishing off a wounded foe.

She threw her head back and growled; a soft and quite low growl, but a growl nevertheless. It was the first wolf-like sound uttered since arriving at this police station. As before, her growls, however soft, had this funny way of being heard on a complex little waveform that went right down the spinal column where it pressed an ancient button marked Primal Terror. She had used this trick to great effect against many, even on her own family. The contrast of such a bestial sound coming from an attractive woman was as jarring as jagged tin on the ear. Adding to this effect was another smile. It was a friendly smile. That is to say, her mouth turned up at the corners and all of her teeth were visible. Her incisors seemed slightly longer and sharper than a human's teeth should be. Then the smile vanished behind a lowered lip. And the room felt like a meat freezer.

"I tried to be civil, to be humane. But I knew it was foolish. You can't reason with creatures…like…you!" Angua declared with a thunder so far unseen, with that last part hissed between her teeth, which felt awkward in her human maw. The wolf was clawing its way through, making the act of speech more difficult. Her stance was a poised, fight-or-flight posture, as if the whole body was eager to unwind and "flight" wasn't an option.

Garou gawked at the beautiful woman as if she might be a creature escaping from his most horrifying nightmare. This wasn't how werewolves from around here acted.

"Like my father. My motherrrrr and…brrrrrrothEERRR! You can't fight them fair. You must…end them." The look in Angua's eyes had been as cold and dark as a black hole. But then, at those last few words, they had changed. Now she had the bright yellow eyes.

She started to advance on the cruel and cocky cop. Her fingers flexed as she did so. They were itching to rend and tear. As she had told Cheri before, it wasn't that she didn't want to kill and eat others. It was that she wanted to but didn't. A lifetime of self-control ensured she never had. But that didn't mean the want was any less, especially right now.

"Tell me...you will do... what I want...you to do! SAYY—hrwr—IT!" she hissed through her teeth, a fresh growling accompaniment heaped onto her words with each new step.

Garou had fought during the Night War, getting a generous portion of PTSD and a lingering hatred of humans for his trouble. He had seen combat. And he kept seeing combat on the streets of LA against all manner of organized crime's enforcers. But the look on Angua's face made him feel like he was whipped every time he stared at it. He shrank back on reflex, backing up each time he stubbornly tried to return her gaze.

"Tell me...NOWWWW! Or will you...face me? Can you...—hrrrrrrwrrrwrrr—face ME!"

In a desperate flight from the werewolf from another Realm, Garou backed himself to the wall on the other end of the room. Entreaties of whatever sort tried to thrust themselves through his stricken voice box and past his no longer pointed teeth. But none succeeded. Once his back hit the wall, he unthinkingly tried to force himself through the solid object. He didn't have long to attempt this until Angua had reached him, ready for the fatal blow.

"Agree to my demands!" Angua growled, her face right in front of Garou's. It was quivering and absolutely drenched with sweat. His eyes darted around frantically. "Know…your place! I can smell...your FEARRR! It's...overwhelming! Tell me…you will...SUBMIT. Then I'll...go. Or do you need...a real reason to be...afraid...of ME!?"

The final word came out as a roar just barely able to retain enough humanity to be coherent. It made Garou wish he were a ghost, already dead. But he wasn't. Not yet.

Out the corner of his eyes, he noticed Angua's hands, which were now right by his face, as slender and feminine as ever…until they weren't.

Angua had often come across the misinformed in her Realm when it came to werewolves. Along with wolfsbane, the most common error came in their perceptions of the transformation. Most envisioned it as an agonizingly painful ordeal full of stretching and grunting and rolling around on the floor as you gradually grew more hair and got more nipples. But at least for werewolves on the Disc, that wasn't how it went. Instead, it was a bit like a full-body sneeze, complete in the blink of an eye with no suffering involved.

But…that didn't mean it was devoid of the horror other such transformations produced. In both shapes, human and wolf, the werewolf was capable of being witnessed no problem. But those various middle stages, the anxious build-up to the big achoo, during which the corporal form couldn't really decide what exactly it wanted to be and drastically changed its mind often…well, that was a sight that shouldn't be seen on a full stomach. That was part of the reason why she refused to transform in anyone's sight as much as not wanting to be naked in front of them. Almost as much as her fear of losing control, she feared that if anyone, even Carrot, saw her in the shapes she occupied on the way through her two optional forms, they would never want to see her again in any form.

Angua rarely if ever used that sudden moment of morphological inexactitude as a weapon. But exceptions could be made.

There was a…noise. No, not a noise; it was too soft and strange to be one. Rather it was the suggestion of a sound that was truly more akin to a change in the texture of the air.

A logical impossibility occurred. The wolf flared up. Her hands changed…and paws appeared. It was as if the human shape became small and the wolf shape became bigger, in the same space, at the same time, with a moment of horrible distortion as the two forms passed through one another. Then, the human shape suppressed the wolf shape.

Though it was quick as a flash and devoid of pain, the appearance of that shift invoked the most visceral and primal of disgusts, even from another creature that was himself a similar beast. To fully appreciate the nauseating effect of seeing such a transformation from a werewolf of the Disc, imagine the feeling of seeing your parents naked having sex, but far worse. Garou's brain threw up its nonexistent hands and decided to re-boot.

His mind was naught but a void that might one day achieve the suggestion of a thought until a sensation brought him back to a reality that he didn't want to live in anymore. Growls from the blonde woman with glowing yellow eyes were heard and felt on his sweat-soaked skin like charging bulls. He knew many things in that precise moment without a word needing to be said.

She wouldn't repeat herself, she wanted an answer, and she wanted it now.

A minute passed. Angua's face remained unchanged. Garou's hadn't.

"Ha—have I got a ch—choice, uh, Miss?" Garou finally forced out of frightened lips.

In the space of a few taken breaths, the bestial savagery left the blonde's beautiful face. Her eyes lost their supernatural amber luster. A smile like her previous friendly one appeared. "Let's say—you have a kind of choice." Angua paused a moment, her gaze sharpened even as her smile remained unchanged. "And that's Captain, Detective."

Garou looked like he had been slapped, then looked slightly to the right at the floor. "R—right...Captain...I agree, we'll help the Society teams and…" He paused for a bit, not wanting to say it, but the look of expectation on the blonde's face showed that he had to "...The LAPD will help protect any me- humans, that want to leave." He quickly corrected himself, while Jack was the one who said he hated the terms monsters gave humans, Garou didn't want to risk angering the werewolf in front of him any more than he already did.

"Jolly good!" Angua exclaimed while smoothly backing away from the still tense wolfman, clapping her hands together with mirth. Garou's eyes wouldn't leave those hands. "I suspected you would see reason eventually. We will start bright and early tomorrow morning with our collaboration. I think we should call it an evening. But before I go, do you have anything you would like to say to me, Detective Garou?"

There were many things he wanted to stay, each more profane and violent than the last. But he held his tongue, nearly being forced to bite on it to hold it down. But he had to say something to even the score. Eventually, after many internal debates, he chose an insult that he hoped would hurt the most without provoking any reprisals. "You are a worse bitch than the werewolves in Beverly Hills! You're an insult to monsters everywhere!" Garou shouted with as much venom and hate as possible.

"I knew there was some part of myself that I liked." Angua said, smiling such a sweet smile, not missing a beat, her intentions once again unfathomable behind her grin. She then turned towards the door and was about to reach for the knob when she abruptly stopped. "Oh, and Detective? One last thing, if I may." Turning around, she faced Garou.

"You see," Angua started. "Werewolves where I'm from can heal amazingly well from just about anything that isn't sliver or fire. We can take many point-blank lead bullets, have our heads smashed against rocks to the point where we can't move anymore, or even fall down waterfalls hundreds of feet tall with nothing but white water and rocks for miles afterwards. If I ever hear you've insulted Captain Carrot or treated any human being unfairly again, I will see if werewolves, or should I say wolfmen, from around here are quite as resilient." She hadn't stopped smiling. "Have a good night, Detective."

That beautiful smile was still on her face as Angua walked out of the room. She had a thought at that moment. She had never said she wouldn't expose Garou after the mission was done. He had been too overwhelmed and beaten to even think of bringing that up. Even so, Angua knew she wouldn't expose him. There would be no need to. As was the norm for the Society when encountering a Realm that hadn't already discovered the true nature of things, after their interactions were complete they would give this Realm access to the works of fiction that covered their reality. Garou's secrets would be known to all soon enough. But not so soon that it would mess up with saving the humans here.

She rode on the high of that vile bully being ruined as she reached Jack, who had been waiting not too far outside of the door. He was a little unnerved. "Uh...everything okay?" He delicately asked. "I started to hear some shouting."

"Oh, everything's fine. Thank you though for your concern." Angua answered happily.

Jack didn't know what had gone on in that room after he left but he had an impression of what it had been. "Did he...agree to have the LAPD help us out?"

"Most assuredly. After a little discussion, he saw that it would be beneficial for all if he and these other officers of the law helped the Society out."

"Oh...well, uh...good then."

"Indeed! I was worried for nothing, it turns out." She started to walk through the station, ignoring all the stunned stares of not just the police force but also the criminals either in jail cells or being arrested, save two rattled wolfmen who were yelling at the cop sitting at the podium about some redheaded giantess who had scared them half to death without any provocation. "Now then, let's head back to Nick's house so we can—"

Angua's words were cut off as a line of phones started to shout their mechanical trill throughout the station. The confused silences transformed into chaos as receptionists started to shout out that a lot of citizens, mostly human, reporting a warzone suddenly exploding to violent life. Amidst the din of clashing voices and information, one couplet of words kept being repeated over and over again, the location of the abrupt chaos.

Juniper Street.

Angua turned her gaze and saw Garou was now in the main room of the station. He had a pitiful, pistol-whipped look on his face. To his credit, he already pieced together what was about to happen next. Something he never would have done without the blackmail.

The blonde werewolf showed another smile that could warm the hearts of almost anyone, her voice pleasant. "It appears we will not be waiting until morning, Detective."

---

And that was the sixth true chapter of this story! As always, I hope you liked it.

Similar to Giganta and N'Kantu in the previous two chapters, the start of this chapter is partially an exposition dump regarding the main character. I hope you can forgive this but I knew most if not all of you would be aware of Angua's backstory and Realm. Given how interesting both are, I couldn't allow that! Lol

So, how does the Discworld seem based off of what Angua's thoughts and backstory convey? Does it sound strange but awesome or just strange?

I highly recommend Discworld! It's rapidly become one of my personal favorites! But having said that, I would offer a suggestion to those starting out with it. DON'T read it chronologically! The first few books, while not bad, aren't reflective of the overall quality of the series…its clear that Pratchett had the gist of Discworld hashed out but wasn't quite able to convey his vision effectively until around the fourth book of the series. Don't worry about being lost. These books are generally self-contained and any truly needed references to previous entries are explained in the novels themselves. My recommendations for what books to start with are either "Mort," "Reaper Man," "Men At Arms," "Moving Pictures," or "Small Gods."

From the get-go, even before reading the books she was featured in, I wanted to use Angua. Not really sure why. Maybe it was my love of Discworld and wanting to use it here? But either way, after reading them, I KNEW I made a good decision! Angua is an interesting character with a surprising level of depth and a unique perspective on things. I can't recall another piece of fiction that depicts werewolves of having struggles fully like hers. Some have similar elements but none are carbon copies. And what makes all the more interesting is that Pratchett rarely ever spells it out. A lot of Angua's depth is conveyed through subtle nuance, so much so that if we never got any sections from her perspective she would be near impossible to get a read on! lol For example…when have you seen a werewolf who had to grapple with not just her potential for savagery but also her paradoxical desire to submit to a worthy human? You know, like a dog?

One of the first and most enjoyable parts of this chapter to write out was the back and forth between Angua and Jack before they entered the police station. It just flowed so easily given the personalities of the characters and it was a useful means of making Angua expose her concerns, or at least a mere fraction of them to Jack.

To those of you who might be wondering, yes, Garou and the LAPD of this series are just as horrible as I portray them here! The majority of monsters share their mindsets, in particular in regards to their views of humanity. So, did you like reading Garou, or at least did you like when Angua put him in his place?

When I sought out to write this story, I didn't really have any themes in mind. But a few kind of developed as a natural extension of the plot points and character arcs. Notice how Angua in this chapter and Bobo in the previous managed to succeed…through blackmail or fear, tactics that are usually portrayed as villainous. But here, they are pretty much the only ways that these situations could have been resolved without violence. And it's the Society doing these things, the "good guys." This theme will be developed more in future stories but the Society has its edges, and sometimes those edges are truly necessary. What do you think of this theme?

To those of you paying attention…yes, there was a Star Wars reference in this chapter! Actually, it's not really a reference, it's more like a reveal of that Realm's new status quo. One where Darth Sidious was exposed before the Clone Wars ended and where the Jedi Order survived due to the Society's involvement. Is this a story that you would like to see play out?

So, that's it for the sixth chapter of this story! Remember, if you give this chapter at least ten reviews, then you'll get chapter seven sooner! If not, then you have to wait two weeks. In the next chapter, you'll see how things are going back at Nick's place, a heart to heart between a cynic and a war veteran with trauma, and a meta part of a fan rap complication for an anime series that can be found on YouTube!

Until next time, please read, REVIEW, favor, follow, spread the word, and REVIEW!