Sometimes, sickness could be a real bitch.
Dante screwed up his eyes and his nose twitched, wrinkling the red and white of his muzzle. His head pitched back before the fox sneezed so thunderously that his head slammed into the wall he was leaning against, hard.
He straightened his position on the bed and groaned, trying to alternate between massaging the now bruised back portion of his skull, and the throbbing in his temples. Ears flattened, the fox waited until his bleary eyes refocused before sniffing and returning his glare to the raccoon sitting at the foot of the bed.
"No, there is no way in-"he was cut off midsentence by another body-wracking sneeze, "hell, that you're doing this." Though he meant it as a growl, the deflated statement sounded more like a wheeze.
Facing him, expression even, Sly sat on the opposite end of the bed, hands clasped behind his back. He'd been at this for nearly twenty minutes. Through his neutral tone, Dante could hear the frustration in his reply.
"I hardly think that this is your decision to make, sweetheart." Whether or not the last bit had been said with intentional bite, neither could tell, but Dante's fever sweat-matted fur bristled and he leaned forward, jabbing a shaky hand at the Cooper.
"Anything that has to do with your safety is a concern of mine." The sheer conviction and sudden ferocious clarity in Dante's illness-weakened voice actually stopped Sly short. The raccoon paused for a second and seemed to reconsider his words.
"Dante…Love, there's nothing to worry about." He said slowly, deliberately, "Bentley and I have gone over everything; every last air duct and alarm system. We have our plan down to the last detail, we have a backup plan, and a backup plan for that too. Escape routes for our escape routes, every contingency, we have covered!"
"Dante, I was a thief for years. Some go to say that I was the best. But how can I even live up to that honor, whether its mine or not to claim, if I don't reach for it?" he held out his hands, fingers splayed wide, a gesture of pleading. "I've seen every trick the Cops and other criminals have in their books, and have outdone them all, I've seen everything they could throw at me. "
A surge of feverish intensity flooded Dante's voice "But what happens when you meet something you haven't seen before? What then Sly? Yeah, you were a thief for a long time before you met me, but you didn't have a husband who was put into mortal agony whenever he couldn't keep you away from harm then either." He locked eyes with the Raccoon's, brilliant green boring into subdued brown. "I'd rather die than see you hurt."
If anyone else would have heard the fox then, not one could doubt the honesty of his words.
For a long moment, both sat in silence, each unwilling to break the gaze between them. Ultimately, it was Sly who desisted. Looking briefly at the ceiling of their shared bedroom, Sly tucked his chin to his collarbone and let out a slow, dejected sigh.
Looking up "I suppose I'm not going to change you're mind about the heist then?" he said with an air of resignation.
Dante snapped up one eyebrow in surprise then grinned smugly. "You're not going, not without me. It's obvious that I'm not going to go like this, and we both know that if you tried, I'd have you downed before you got out the door." With that, he crossed his muscular arms and leaned back against the wall, expression like that of a child who had just got his way.
Sly pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if he were pondering a great mystery. "Hmmm, well, I suppose I could just put sleeping medicine in your tea and go off on the heist and be back before you even woke up. Seeing as that's what you did to me when you went and got that necklace for me, it seems only fair."
Dante snorted, "That was different; and you're welcome for that too, you don't know how hard it was to get an exact replica made." He grinned cockily, "And I'm sure you mean, drug this tea?" He gestured to a steaming cup sitting on a bed table next to him. "The tea that I bought from the store myself, brewed personally, and have kept a sharp eye on the whole time? Not likely."
To emphasize the declaration, the fox picked up the cup and gulped down the entire contents in one swallow. He smiled like a self-satisfied cat at Sly.
When the Cooper simply returned the smile, Dante's front of confidence faltered. "Are you sure?" the raccoon said sweetly.
Dante began to sweat; he went over everything in his mind. Buying the tea, alone; brewing it in the kitchen, kettle double-checked and rinsed with water while alone; pouring the drink into a white cup with a red-stripe along the rim-
His eyes bulged open and he nearly lost hold of the teacup in the speed that he frantically brought it before his eyes: A white cup, with a green stripe.
He gaped in stupefied horror at his husband, who finally unfurled his arms from behind his back. In one hand he held the teacup from before, in the other, an empty vial of what was unmistakably surgical grade sleep agent.
Dante tried to speak, but his tongue failed him. Across from him, Sly gave a delicate wave of the cup and his smile widened. "You know, you should really be more observant when you share a house with a master thief." He said in a chastising tone, waggling a finger at his husband.
Mind reeling, the fox gasped and tried to stand, but found his legs horrifyingly numb. And that numbness was rapidly spreading up his body. His arms failed him and he slumped flat on the bed.
Innocently, Sly sauntered over to him and patted the top of his head sympathetically before simply saying "Payback, Dante. Sweet dreams."
Beneath him, the fox made a sound between a growl and a snore, "Wh-When I wake up, yew, are sho dea- " In the middle of his threat, Dante's eyes rolled up into his head and closed, his body going limp on the bed.
Chuckling to himself, Sly reached under the bed and retrieved the red knapsack and leg pouch he wore in the field, strapping them on his body. Turning back to the fox, Sly bent and kissed his forehead lightly.
He turned and started out the door, grabbing his Cane from its mount on the wall. He knew the fox would be very angry that next morning, but he would deal with that later. He needed this, even if Dante couldn't see it. He loved his husband more than anyone else in this world, but he had other obligations; to the rest of the Gang, and the family legacy his ancestors had left behind.
Striding through the kitchen and out the front door, he was bathed in afternoon sun and the throaty growl of a familiar automobile engine. He hopped into the back of the awaiting van, giving a quick thumbs-up to the hippo and Turtle inside before the vehicle gave an approving roar of its engines and sped away into the city beyond.
In one of Stembolti's commercial sectors, a line of warehouses stood dark and deserted on the banks of a wide river. In the light of the day, they would be the storage area of various goods entering and leaving the city before being transported to their destinations by truck. Tonight it would serve another purpose.
The street was completely deserted as Seyrei approached; the only sound his own boots on the concrete and the hushed gurgle of the river as it flowed in the darkness.
Whatever mercantile organization that maintained these warehouses was woefully under concerned with the security of their chattel Seyrei noted as he walked up to the door. Not a single guard patrolled the storehouses, and its owners had neglected to put any more deterrents to any intruders than a thin chain that secured the door shut. Almost incredulously he broke the chain and pulled the door open before stepping inside.
Stacked towers of crates and boxes towered to the ceiling near the back, but closer to the entrance, the floor was clear, and he moved over to that spot and divested his pack-a bag the size of his torso- and set it on the cold tile floor.
He adjusted the heavy travel coat he wore; the thing restricted his motion slightly, but he had grown used to the extra bulk in the forty years since he had obtained it. It could stop a knife short in its path, and offered better protection from gunshots than any bulletproof vest, not to mention it was utterly and stubbornly resistant to fire; a fact he had learned and was very grateful to discover. To him, the benefits outweighed the coat's inconveniences.
He bent down and opened the sack. From it he retrieved a knife with a heavily burnished leather grip. The eight and a quarter inch long blade shone a glossy black in the darkness, the cruelly sharp serrations running down the lower half of its length winked in the little light there was. Seyrei was no brute, and did not heavily favor fighting up close and personal, but the knife had proven itself to be invaluable in such situations, personally seeing off many a would-be criminal mastermind to the afterlife. He grasped the handle and squeezed it fondly before he fastened the knife to a mesh pocket on his chest.
Reaching back into the sack, he pulled out a cylindrical spool coiled with black flexible Ironcord-a fairly new innovation in restraining tech, the stuff was strong as any wristclamp, but was light as sewing thread, and capable of binding up criminals that exceeded "standard" police handcuffs.
Next he took a number of fat pen-shaped objects: Autoinjectors filled with the strongest fast-acting tranquilizers the various illicit chemists he contracted with could cook up.
Other, myriad items he removed from the sack until only a single remained. As he gazed at it, he reached a gloved forefinger out and brushed the silver surface. A thin grin cracked his dry lips, and he smiled.
XXXXX
After stashing the bag in some brush on the bank of the river, Seyrei fastened his coat buckles and hobbled back up to the street. Soles of his boots thumping against the road, he set off deeper into the city, the reassuring weight of his equipment hanging on his body, thin tail swishing as he went.
Taking out the little drinking flask in his pocket, he unscrewed the cap and took a deep draught. The Temperate night air felt highly refreshing on his face as he walked, and a wide toothy grin split his features. His innards churned with a morbid giddiness.
It was a sensation unlike any other, the anticipation that came during a hunt. It was unlike any drug or fleshly pleasure he'd ever experienced; one that set his blood boiling in his veins and fire in the center of his bones. He craved it. Damn near lived for it.
Cooper could make his little spouts about thievery being in his blood. He could care less what excuses the rat used. But hunting was part of who he was, something that was forged into his character as much as his need to breathe or sleep, and that connection spanned-not just to the start of his simple lineage, but to the first of his kind, when his first ancestors stepped out from the lowness of ferality.
There were few enough things Seyrei Russo could say he loved in this world, and apart from his Babba, God, and Vodka, he would gladly give any of those things away to remain able to hunt the criminals of the world.
Replacing the flask, he reached into another pocket and pulled out three identical rectangles of plastic, each adorned with the visage of a certain masked Raccoon, a bespectacled turtle, and a brawny hippo. As he walked, he began tossing each into the air, and snatching them before the hit the ground, juggling the three thin slabs.
Soon enough, the looming shape of the building that was his destination came into view in the far distance of the skyline. In the quiet night, he opened his mouth and began to sing as he walked.
"Ty kazala v ponedilok pidem razom po barvinok Ya pryishov tebe nema, Pidmanula, pidvela…"
Well, here we are, and aren't I embarrassed, eh? I suppose the moral of today is, don't ever trust a word I say when it comes to updates. I give you all my most sincere apologies and hope you enjoy this chapter. Next one will be when The Gang meet Seyrei for the first time. The song Seyrei starts to sing is a Ukrainian folk song called Pidmanula, Pidvela.
As always, most sincere thanks to Slylady for letting me use Dante. I hope I kept him in character for you!
Until next time.