Leroy's deep voice rumbled a reply, and Jacquez listened with some genuine interest. The husky knew his father? Of course it seemed obvious that some canines were raised by the parents who had created them, but it did not seem to be the norm in this day and age. The king had no parents whatsoever, or so he believed, since his memory was a blank after his first shift. Ruri's parents had only stuck around long enough to see that their daughter was blind, before they abandoned her. Parenthood was a funny thing -- for some, it meant their entire lives would change. For others, it meant they would never change one bit.
"Have you decided to be like your father, then?" he asked nonchalantly, lounging in the threshold of the chamber. For most it was a weighted question, but again, the collie-dog had no basis of comparison. He was certainly not a father himself, nor had he ever had a semblance of a male role model. He chuckled as his packmate did, responding in kind, "They'll be true pack members all right, the best of both worlds." This would probably be the most comfortable place to live that those pups would ever have, since there were so many hybrids and mongrels to grow up with. Anywhere else they would be viewed as an oddity at the very least.
A king and his castle, indeed. Jac was about to comment, but then Leroy's face lit up at the thought of snow, and Jacquez felt his own spirits sink. He needed a drink. The one-armed man pushed off from the doorway, striding towards the old couch and flouncing atop it. He crossed his legs before him as the creaky springs protested his weight, claws snagging the sealed bottle nearby. It was obviously Leroy's, and perhaps he had been saving it for later, but Jacquez had commandeered it for himself, holding it in one hand and picking at the top with his sharp teeth.
"This winter business seems wholly unnecessary," he growled as he caught the cork betwixt his fangs, opening the bottle with an audible 'pop'. "If it's cold enough for the very leaves to fall off of trees, why does winter have to be colder? What is the purpose of snow?" He curled his tail about his lean haunches, tipping his muzzle to the ceiling as he swigged the first gulp of liquor. He was going to have to brew more moonshine if he was to drink his way through the cold Canadian seasons.