[b]Lion:[/b]

“Nobody’s made.” He says, looking for his security team and absolutely unable to find them. “Hey!” He shouts, but he can’t see that his guard’s buried under about four warm bodies right now, Eli sitting atop the pile and chewing on a giant pretzel. “Limited detail my-”

He had to bring a limited detail because he didn’t even want his security team knowing too much about this. He chose a lion because it’s how he’s seen himself since he was six years old, it’s what he drew himself to be when his primary school teachers asked them to do self portraits. He got told from the youngest age it wasn’t just a harmless self-image thing but a profound symptom of mental illness, and he has hated that part of himself since, and he projects that hate on everyone that freely expresses the same thing. He has to exercise hating these people to be able to keep repressing it in himself, and he takes to that exercise with vigor. 

Except he still wants this and he hates that too. Just, deep hatred and shame.

Of course, the problem is that his response to those feelings was to become a prominent reactionary politician, an ideology defined by pure cowardice. It takes courage to unbox those feelings, find love in the people around you like this, and in finding that love for others find love for yourself. All you need to take political office is fear. He was never going to answer any of Red’s questions. 

Fortunately he doesn’t have to. Reverse Google image search of his way-too-expensive personalized lion suit can bring up his private anonymous forum accounts where he’s still a coward. He’s not even in Nazifur groups because his anonymous accounts are too scared to admit his politics to these people. 

Pope raises an eyebrow at Red as he shares all this on his phone, while Red pins the Governor and gets nothing but a string of hate and denials from him that are frankly too boring and tedious to repeat. Hollow rage covering shame the whole time he’s watching Red get shown his web history. 

“Now here’s my question,” he asks Red, “When this makes the front page tonight, how do I angle it? I don’t want people to get the idea that all bigots are just in the closet themselves, it’s a bad message. It’s finding a way to blame furries for people hating furries.” He raises an eyebrow at her captive. “It will destroy this one, though, and a win’s a win.” 

The dude spits on Pope’s face. Pope just smiles wider at Red, because you’ve got an audience now who are filming this on their phones from all angles. 

Don’t worry about the assault charges you’ll get for this, even though Red’s being recorded too. There is absolutely no way, even a little bit, this guy will ever be able to take this to court. Red is super-duper going to get charged, but those charges will get dropped before they ever become a problem for her. 

[b]Panther:[/b]

The black panther is wearing a heavy brown leather jacket and a green beret when she opens the door - and that’s all she’s wearing. She stands tall, with narrow shoulders and sleek cat’s fur reflecting the light in long white pools along her predatory angles. The digitigrade legs she’s committed to serve two purposes; For the appearance of an arms dealer she looks like she’s always about to break out into a flat sprint, even when standing completely still. For the purposes of Green breathing hot and heavy, it’s as flattering for what it does to her butt as a pair of stiletto heels. 

Her voice is deep, her accent heavy and urban. Not in the racially coded sense of the word, but in that inflection of speaking that comes to so many children of the poor inner cities everywhere. It contrasts against rural poverty, which gives the tenor something bored and disaffected, or reckless and manic. The accent I mean is full of cautious swagger, baiting and retreating, alternating between trying to test for ambushes and bait you into one. It’s a way of speaking that sees cleverness as a kind of power, and power ultimately as a means of violence. 

That is the voice that says to Green; “We don’t have an appointment.” She looks to Green again, and turns, leaving the door open. Her flicking tail comes an inch away from brushing Green’s face as she turns. “Close the door behind you, and help me set up. Show me the biggest crime you never got caught for, and we might be able to talk.” 

She’s not being unusually trusting, or taking an instant liking to Green. She just clocks that Green is going to recognize all the implicit threats without her needing to make them explicit.

Like, yeah, is her question a trust fall exercise that obviously gives her blackmail material? Sure! Is going into this arm’s dealer room and closing the very well soundproofed door behind you and then acting cagey about it any better? Fuck around and find out! 

[b]Crystal:[/b]

She’s naked in her penthouse again, gone even is the diaphanous gown. There’s no lewd intentions here, it’s just that feeling of extreme comfort and openness that leads you to being able to leave the bathroom door open sometimes. More than that, it’s an expression to Pink of how much she doesn’t plan on leaving the penthouse again for the night, of having anyone over. She’s entrenched, here. 

She moves to the penthouse kitchen and thinks. The cupboards and fridge have enough to give her options for three days, but not so much she should be stuck thinking about what to have like she is - but she’s been thinking for a few minutes now. 

“Pink?” Crystal calls out. “Would you like to learn how to make something other than sandwiches?” 

It was a funny, harmless quirk until now, actually a charming recurring bit. But if the bit has made Pink sad… well, that’s another thing, isn’t it?

There’s no pity in her eyes, her voice, no suggestion this is a thing she thinks needs ‘fixing’. Instead there’s a pleading there - Please. I owe you this.