November 2nd, xxxx
DIVIDE AND CONQUER AS old as time herself.
Divide, separate, pounce. It's what wolves do to their enemy Pack. Pick one out—could be the weakest, strongest or the Alpha and then tear them from limb to limb.
Lone wolves die alone.
No one is dying here, Alpha North thinks grimly, the words before him dancing like dizzying stars for what felt like five hours but a surreptitious glance at the clock on the wall tells him he has been here for a little over two hours reading the revised 1943 Amendment in the presence of a Consul member.
The member, a Oumar Timothy decked in a navy blue shit, clean shaven, brown hair shaved to his scalp—long but clean fingernails, fingers evident of occasional priming.
Alpha North, upon his arrival was escorted by Oumar through a carpeted lobby to an otherwise tiled, unoccupied room as bright and airy as the day outside.
Pleasantries brief, refreshments served, the nature of their meeting announced by a small wide hipped woman sitting by a computer, the last thing she'd typed in two hours ago were their names and now, she's sitting there bored and dozing.
Mr. Timothy rubs at his eye, a thoroughly blank expression on his face that this Alpha couldn't guess his thoughts concerning his demands. Not a tick or a discomfort out of place.
The parchment in his hand is not so different from the others the Consul has sent, the only difference it being the original document. At this point, he's waiting for Oumar to be done so they can (verbally) continue their business.
He's interested in how the other Alphas will respond to the demands of the Consul, their own terms and conditions. This is the wrong thing to think but the Packs can afford to send some children away.
His can't. Their population is barely enough as it is, taking the children at the rate their going, it's only matter of decades before the North Star becomes lesser and no more.
According to the parchment in his hand, the Consul promises to modernize their little village in exchange. Technology for children. Oh, and the annual monetary reward for every year the children spends away from their home.
Oumar clears his throat forcefully that wakes up the dozing secretary suddenly alert and erect, fingers positioned. Tapping his crossed knee, Oumar begins.
"Mr. North, have you been given a tour of the boarding facility?"
He has. Twice actually. The first time was spent listening to a smiling doctor sell him the wonders of the facility touring him around the children's wing.
The second time was a monotonous doctor compare the experiments on children to the samples the Pack donate. What's boggling about all this is the children aren't replacement for the donation. They are an addition, an appendage, a second clause.
"I have."
"Then you must know that the Consul bare none of you harm. For us humans, werewolves exist in fiction but their superhuman properties is a source of interest for us. It'll be pointless to aggravate our neighbours."
Oumar is saying everything for nothing.
"We humans have a saying: children are the leaders of tomorrow and I'm sure Mr.North, your kind agrees. Your version" he shakes the document in the air, "is well thought of but hinders true growth."
Taking from the plate of butterscotch biscuits, Oumar chews, swallows while North takes a sip from the bitter coffee served.
"You are right, Mr. Timothy. Our people strongly believe children are the leaders of tomorrow. And as such, if they are taken, how will they lead our people tomorrow?"
"I take offense at that word, taken—"
"You didn't answer the question. If our children grow without our guidance, without our teachings, without our culture, how will they lead us in the future?"
Silence. Taking the mug, Oumar bores pensive eyes on him as he drinks. Cradling the mug in a hand speaks up.
"Did you know that in the past when kings are just little boys, they go abroad for their studies? They learn in a different environment with different people in a culture vastly different to theirs and when they come back home to lead their people are the better for the nuanced perspective."
"The major difference is there won't be an education. Or is that what you're calling scientific experimentation?"
Timothy has put his foot in his mouth. Realizing his mistake, he shifts uncomfortably on the cream leather sofa, clearing his throat and pointedly avoiding the eyebrow raise of the secretary.
"The children will be taken care of," he says, trying a different approach. "You think of us as the bad guys but surely you understand the danger of leaving these kids to their own devices right?"
"What do you mean by that? Are you insinuating they're neglected?"
"Oh, no no no, I don't mean that. Not at all. You're aware that though most humans are blind to the existence of werewolves, your ancient enemies aren't," by his seething silence, Oumar smiles and explains. "Werewolf hunters."
"We haven't had a problem with them for ages—"
"Because the Consul, the government know the contrast between friend and foe. We ensure neither parties meet for it will be catastrophic for everyone involved. Especially the children."
"Mr. Timothy—"
"The question really is, does the North Star regard the Consul as friends? It wouldn't look good for the Consul if our neighbours don't appreciate our friendship."
Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't growl. Don't ball your fists. Don't glow red. Don't grind your teeth. Exhale and inhale through your nose. Don't glower. Don't glare.
The bastard continues. "But the Consul is generous. We have heard your concerns and would act accordingly, Mr. North."
Dropping the mug, Oumar rises and North hastily does to, accepting the outstretched handshake and when the man slightly winced, he loosens his grip but doesn't wipe off the smile. The man returns it barely, if only not to lose face.