Post by renard walt goyle on Feb 16, 2019 17:24:13 GMT -7
Apparently his stance on werewolves was interesting enough to have Ondina ordering another drink. That or she was bored to death and needed another to drown him out. Renard didn’t particularly care which it was, because he was going to talk about it regardless. Stopping him once he was on a tirade about the werewolf plague happening right under them would be like hopping into a Tube track and thinking you could stop an oncoming train. He knew the nuances and particulars of the laws surrounding werewolves and other beasts; that was his job. He also knew what would happen if the certain communities stepped out of line. The dogs were harder to control because there was an immeasurable amount of them out there and only the good ones turned themselves in for the registration list. But that also meant they were responsible for any of the bad ones that stepped out of line once they were in their areas, like the dog hotel. Those were the days Renard lived for, when he could slap them all with the law book and a pair of shackles for letting one of their own break out of the hotel during a moon and maul some poor woman or child to death. Doris wouldn’t see that coming at all. “Animals that have the ability to hide in plain sight,” Renard corrected her, pointing at her with the index finger of the hand holding his drink. “Vampires and centaurs sort of stick out, you might say. But the dogs?” he let out a short laugh, “There could be any number of them in here right now. Even good old Hans could be one.” Renard knew the bartender wasn’t a werewolf because he had seen the list of registered wolves in London. That and he was sure Donna wasn’t going to risk a liability like that. At least he hoped not.
“The story goes that Wolfsbane was supposed to be a cure,” Renard shrugged, “But you said it yourself, it’s just a suppressant, and not a very good one.” He had to give her that one, she knew what she was talking about. Whatever silly Ministry department she was located in had clearly taught her something, because Hogwarts certainly hadn’t done that. “Ondina, dear, I don’t need werewolves to get me through the day. If they all poofed out of existence, I’d move onto blood-suckers.” That was about as honest as he could be. Vampires weren’t nearly as bad as the pooches were, but they could be if they really wanted to. Typically they had a higher level of intelligence and kept to themselves, which worked for him. Less problems meant a better working relationship. Clearing his throat after taking a sip of his drink, Renard continued, “And that means I’d have to keep a shorter leash on you. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, would you?”