I'd never been in it before, and I honestly don't know what I was expecting from Ozzy's apartment. A few dozen blacklight posters of Jim Boarison, maybe? Some half-stashed paraphernalia. A worn-in sofa, some old pizza and takeout boxes, probably a video game console. I don't know. That kind of thing.

Not this.

Man, and I thought my apartment was sparsely decorated. There's basically nothing here. It wouldn't be hard to convince me Ozzy had just moved in. Or was just moving out.

First off, no video games. And no TV. Not even a couch. The whole apartment is empty and blank, nothing like the hyena that owns it.

It's a tiny one-room deal -- got a bathroom, but not even a separate bedroom. A bare mattress lies flat on the floor, near one of the corners. A handful of empty aluminum soda cans are strewn around it on the poured concrete floor, and within arm's reach is the radiator, strung with a cord of narrow, colored lightbulbs, like you'd see for festivals and holidays. Looks like that's the only thing in the whole apartment that's plugged in, and the only light beside the ceiling fixture. Which actually makes me realize there's not even a fridge in here. I thought those came with the unit.

There's not much else. A pair of shoeboxes sit by the door, and a half-crumpled cardboard box with some loose clothes spilling out. Then of course there's a stand for Ozzy's guitar. I've never looked too closely at the instrument before, but it's gotta be the most expensive thing in the room. The way it's built, one side curves up, and the whole thing's got a design that makes me think of goat horns. It must've been worth something once, given the unique build. It's pretty well-loved now, red finish worn down along the neck and around the frets. There's even a spot near the strings that I can tell Ozzy rests his paw on when he plays, just because it's the least glossy spot.

"Nice digs," I sniff, brushing my shirt.

"Yeah, yeah," Ozzy chuckles, elbowing my woolly midsection. "Sorry I ain't exactly puttin' on the Kitz down here."

I breathe out my nose and shrug back. "It is kinda bare."

"Well I don't do a lot of entertainin', plus I spend most of my time out and about. Not all of us likes stayin' cooped up all night."

He cradles the little box of mementos I brought over, brushing dark fingers across its surface as he sits down on his mattress, then pats the threadbare sheets to suggest I do the same. It's a little awkward, with how low it is to the ground, but I join him.

"Can't believe you found it," he marvels, looking like he's paying it too much respect to even open it.

"I can't either," I admit, and that's the truth. I mean, it was total luck. I pretty much just bumbled my way into it.

With a soft, kinda respectful nod, he uses a claw to flick open the lockbox's latch and slowly begins sifting through the contents. I watch, on the edge of my seat, as he twirls Kenny's sunglasses around on one finger with a lopsided grin. I have to admit, I'm a little excited to see all this stuff through Ozzy's more "experienced" eye. It's kinda like watching a movie you've never seen before, then talking to someone who's seen it a million times and can tell you all sorts of trivia and insight and stuff you might've missed.

Honestly, insight's something I could really use right now. My head's still spinning trying to come to grips with this whole Kenny thing. What a game-changer. I mean, fuck, he wasn't just a prey species, he was a llama. What are the fucking odds of that? Another life, we could'a been wool-brothers. I wonder if we'd have gotten along. Though, I guess someone else would've had to move out instead. And who could I do without? Honestly, short list. Even as much as I might be having trouble with Anneke right now, I wouldn't want to imagine her gone. Doubly so 'cause it'd mean Wolt would go with her, probably. I couldn't get rid of Avo, Al, Charlie... definitely not Ozzy. And Marty, I mean -- even if he'd been gone, wouldn't that mean I'd have moved in with Charlie? And who knows what that would be like. I was in her apartment like, one time, and it was uh. Memorable. Does she go around the house naked often? Marty didn't seem fazed by it. But -- eh, then again, wouldn't that leave Marty in prison? Even I wouldn't wish that on the little grape-flavored grouch.

Oh and man, you want to talk about game-changers -- how about that swimsuit photo of Betty?

Like, was Kenny into her, then? Was she into him?

Were they a couple?

Does that mean Betty's a... preyophile?

Fuck, if she is, that sorta puts that time she shaved my wool in a different light. And come to think of it, it looks like Kenny worked at Clippership's, so there's gotta be a connection there. And what about the time I ran into Betty and Avo at Pandora's? I wrote it off then as just me getting hazed, but now I almost wonder if she was flirting with me. Not to mention all the little call-outs to me every time I pass by her apartment building?

"Hey, Oz," I ask, drumming my hooftips on my lap. "Do you know if Betty's got, like, a boyfriend or anything?"

"If she does, I ain't heard about it," he replies with a smile. "Lemme guess. You askin' 'for a friend'?"

I raise my hooves in mock surrender, chuckling. "Arright, man, just curious, that's all."

Ozzy laughs softly to himself as he pulls out the little bag of stones, sort of half-juggling them back and forth in his paws like he's playing with a hacky sack.

"Man, these bring back some memories!"

I shift a little on his mattress to get a better look at them. "Did you guys go fishing or something?"

"Naw, we went to the beach."

Ahh. Probably explains where that pic of Betty came from, too. "I didn't even know there was a beach anywhere near here."

"Oh, there ain't. We had to bus all the way out to the Canal District. Avo and Annie pitched it to Al as a 'Pack teambuilding exercise'," he says, making quotes with his fingers.

"Hah! I'm actually surprised to find out he'd go for something like that," I muse.

"Mighta helped that Velvet chimed in an' let slip she was the captain of the girls' volleyball team in high school and was itchin' to play again."

Not gonna lie, the thought of Velvet sprinting across the sand in a clingy swimsuit and spiking a volleyball with a fierce look on her face is actually pretty cute. I chastise myself for a second for entertaining the thought -- after all, Velvet's not just a taken woman, she's the Alpha's.

...But now I'm imagining her and Charlie squaring off against Avo and Annie, and then Betty in that two-piece, and...

"So, uh," I cough, reeling myself in, "her and Al were both kind of athletic in high school, huh? Makes sense, they're both in really great shape."

"Tell me about it. Al especially. Dude's fuckin' jacked," Ozzy says, holding his arms out at his side like he's imitating the Alpha's physique. "Anyway, that's how it was. A bunch of us went up to the beach for the weekend. And y'know how Marty is. He gets it in his head to fuck with Kenny a little."

"Sounds like Marty," I nod.

"So he tells Kenny, he goes 'girls love a guy who can skip stones'. And he just feeds him this whole crock'a shit he says he got from some book, 'bout how it's all 'romantic'."

"Yep. Definitely sounds like Marty." I can't wipe this stupid grin off my face at the thought of trying to skip stones with hooves. These things are just not made for that kind of finesse. "Still, the beach? I mean, don't you usually skip stones at like, a pond or something? Calm water?"

"Well yeah," he replies, looking back to me with this 'no duh' smirk, "that's kinda the joke. And if you're doin' it at the beach, you'd prolly at least wait 'til there ain't any huge waves."

I sit back, propping myself against the bare wall with a cushion of wool. "But not Kenny."

His eyes light up a little and that smile of his just gets bigger. "Yeah nah, Marty told him he'd get more 'torque' with waves."

I'm starting to get an idea of where this is going. "Fucking hell. Even I know better than that."

"Hey, I guess he figured, go big or go home, y'know? So Kenny's just standin' there in front of Big B, hurlin' every rock he can get his hooves on at the waves, flexin' and actin' cool." Ozzy's got his paws up, the little baggie of stones clenched tight in one as he excitedly acts out the scene. "And he's startin' to get more'n more pissed 'cause, no shit, they ain't skippin'."

The hyena wipes his mouth a little, his giggle fit gradually coming under control. He puts the baggie down, gesturing with both paws.

"So Kenny, y'know, he rightly catches on that he's been had, as he was bound to. And he just stomps over, grabs Marty by his tail, and fuckin' slingshots his ass right at the water -- and damned if the little guy didn't skip like a fuckin' stone."

I bust out laughing at the mental image of a flailing Marty being hurled across the water, and Ozzy's quick to join me. Man, why couldn't they have gotten a picture of that? That shit would be my phone's wallpaper in a heartbeat!!

"Finally figured out the 'torque', huh?" I cackle.

"I'unno, the life vest probably helped a lot there," he wheezes.

"I can't decide whether to poke fun at him for being paranoid enough to wear a life vest to the beach, or being smart enough."

Ozzy sniffs, calming down a little. He places both his dark paws on the box, and in just that brief pause, his smile fades gradually, and the laugh on his lips dies into a sort of sigh.

"He still inhaled a lot of water."

I blink, sensing the change in tone. "Who, Marty?"

"...Broke two bones in his tail."

I don't move from my position slouched against the wall, not really wanting to move. I wasn't really expecting--

"Was he okay?"

Setting the little bag of stones aside, Ozzy thumbs through without answering and pulls out a couple of the chomped-on guitar picks, rolling his eyes at them. It's this good-natured, wry sort of look, and I already can tell there's another story here.

"Kenny play, too? Someone realized too late that they look better than they taste?" I joke.

He shakes his head, smiling sorta halfway. "Nah, they're mine. I just chew 'em a little when I'm thinking, s'all."

"You do a lot of deep thinking?" I don't mean it as some passive aggressive insult, so I try to make sure the way I ask doesn't sound sarcastic.

"Here and there. Song lyrics and stuff. But even I got my serious moments too, y'know." He sets the picks aside, and sticks one claw up to interrupt. "Despite my best efforts."

"Hey, did you really get jumped?"

I slap my hooves over my mouth, and Ozzy kinda glances over at me.

"I'm sorry. That's-- I-- that's a fucked up thing to just ask about outta the blue."

"It's ancient history by now," he shrugs, smiling effortlessly. "Don't worry about it. I don't."

I wrap my arms around my knees, clasping my hooves as I kind of rock back and forth quietly on his mattress with this dumb smile on my face. Ozzy's just such an upbeat guy to be around. I honestly wonder how such a genuinely nice guy ended up here, in this sort of situation. Doesn't seem fair to me. The empty apartment, struggling to get by, the constant meetings with Velvet. For whatever all that's about.

Actually, come to think of it, I haven't really thought to ask.

"Hey, Ozzy?" I prompt after a moment. "I got somethin' else I wanna ask you. Serious question. If--"

"Woolly B," he interrupts, his voice suddenly harder than I've ever heard it.

I stop cold. "What?"

He turns to me really slowly, eyes wide, and without even looking, draws the racy swimsuit photo of Betty out between two fingers.

"...You weren't lookin' at this, were you?" His 'serious' act cracks quickly as his smile tugs itself wide across his face.

I can feel myself turning red, but I shrug and try to laugh it off. "Well it's not like I closed my eyes while I was goin' through it!"

He laughs back, flipping the photo back around and looking it over himself. "You shouldn'ta been lookin' through it at all!"

The more he laughs, the more I want to laugh, and that just makes him laugh more, and so now we're both grinning like the idiots we so clearly are. "Ozzy, c'mon man, I'm not made of stone!"

"Look, look, look," he tries to stop us both, making 'calm down' gestures with his free paw, "Just... arright. Let's just not tell mama wolf about this one, okay? I won't tell her you saw this if you won't."

"Deal," I agree immediately.

He goes back to picking through the rest of Kenny's stash, shuffling through the deck of playing cards and tapping lazily at the buttons on the broken game machine. He gets to the red rabbit-shaped keyring, which he looks at for a long, quiet moment without even a hint of a smile.

Then all of a sudden he just throws it back inside, shuts the box, and tosses the whole thing rather roughly onto the ground next to his mattress.

"Rem, thanks again for droppin' this by," he says, picking his guitar up as he stands, nudging the box against the wall with his foot.

I glance up. "Done already?"

"For now," he replies, giving his guitar an affectionate strum. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he turns to me. "I'm thinkin' I might head out, maybe go perform for a bit, blow off some steam."

My late night feels like it's getting later. Which is weird because usually I'm wide awake at this hour, but I guess being jobless has started shifting me back to my old diurnal schedule. It's a shame, since honestly, I kinda like being nocturnal, and besides, I don't really feel like heading back to my apartment just yet. Just kind of hanging out sounds nice right now.

"You mind if I come with you?" I ask, standing up and following him over to the front door. "Of course, if you'd rather be alone--"

"What, really? I figured you'd be ready t'crash. Yeah, man, if you're up for it, then c'mon! I can always use some company." He slaps his paw down on my shoulder, all smiles. "I know a great place just up the street to play."

I straighten out my shirt and follow him out the door. "I'm in. Lead the way!"

 

Turns out Ozzy's "great place" is somewhere I've never been before: a place near the commercial row at the end of Pack, near where a bunch of chain stores meet what could generously be called the local main street. It's a little better kept than most of the area, though maybe with a bit more graffiti.

I can see why he'd want to play here. It's well-lit, there's some clean-enough benches to sit at, and of course, plenty of foot traffic. Some of the shops and restaurants here I've never really noticed before stand out, so I make a mental note to get out and explore this side more.

I mean, who knew Pack Street had a GameHop? I haven't been in one of those since I was a kid. The windows are packed so dense with bright poster ads for all the newest PreyStation games that I can't even see inside. And just next door's a Wok Softly? Damn, it's been ages since I had a good bowl of noodles. I can smell the bug meat sizzling even from here. And up the road's one of those discount clothing stores that sells off-the-rack suits and businesswear. I make a special note of that one, since it probably wouldn't hurt to invest in a nice shirt for my next job interview.

Setting an empty coffee can beside one of the sidewalk benches, Ozzy takes a seat and begins tuning his guitar and playing a few test chords. Even to my amateur ear, it sounds damn good. I realize now it's been a while since I heard him play last. I do remember he's pretty good.

"So, any requests?" he asks of me, his lone audience member so far. "How 'bout somethin' upbeat, a real crowd-pleaser. Get their feet tappin'."

"Start off strong, huh?" Rubbing my chin, I mull it over. A song everyone knows... maybe like an anthem? Those are usually party favorites. "You know 'Mr. Brighteyes'?"

"Who doesn't? Not my pick for solo guitar and a wailer, though," he shrugs, testing a few chords. "Didn't figure you for the type to listen to The Maulers, though. Weren't you like, three when that song first came out?"

I look down at my Kings of Lion shirt, then back up at him, making a face.

"All right, grandpa. And how old are you?"

"I got a graveyard hand, I got a tombstone mind," His black lips split into a giggling grin and he strums out a strangely familiar set of notes, singing his answer back in a scratchy voice. "Yeah I'm just 21 and I don't mind dyin'."

"The Woolies?"

He cocks his head, ears flopping to one side, and slaps his knee. "Not bad. Didn't take you for a garage-psychedelic sorta guy. 'Cuz that's my lifeblood right there."

"Hey man, I got varied tastes." I nod appreciatively. "Are you really 21?"

"And some change."

"Damn."

"So," he stretches, flicking a claw over the strings, "what else y'know?"

"Well let's see, what else is good from around that era and is, at least, genre-adjacent?" I tap a hoof to my chin, trying not to show my excitement at finally being able to flaunt a little of the music fan in me. "You know 'Psychotic Reaction' by Mount Five?"

He licks his teeth, leaning back, and squints at me. "Arright, you got my attention. Spit it out, you got any other favorite nuggets?"

"Well we already covered how I feel about 'Woolly Bully', but uh... lessee." I rack my mind for appropriate songs, counting them off on my hoof. "'Codine', 'Can't Seem to Make You Mine', 'Just Like Me', 'Too Much to Dream', 'Fight Fire', oh, and definitely 'Baby Please Don't Go' -- really anything by The Ramboy Dukes."

"Shit, Rem." I can see his tail wagging excitedly, and he nods repeatedly. "And here I was thinkin' you were a square."

"Oh, I totally am. Ninety fuckin' degrees on all sides," I affirm, sitting on the bench with a chuckle. "But I had a friend pass me a few albums in middle school and I was never the same."

He breathes out through his nose, smiling, and shakes his head. "Guess those shirts you been wearin' ain't hand-me-downs after all."

"Look, I've heard you playing 'Little Bit o' Soul', so I knew what kinda stuff would impress you." I try not to act smug, but kicking back on the bench as the crowds go by, I can't help but indulge. "But honestly I'm into all kinds of stuff. Meles Meles, of course -- I actually have a signed copy of Paper Tiger Gods... I listened to a lot of Black Sable, or at least, their early stuff. Fur Fighters, ooh -- Uncage the Elephant, caught a live performance a few years back."

"Man, I've only ever been to one concert, and it was to see Modest Me."

"No shit! How were they live?"

"I don't know dude, I was fuckin' out of it," Ozzy manages through sudden laughter. "I was barely paying attention and I was only there 'cause I snuck in anyway. Am I boring you?"

"What? No, why?"

"You been:" He snaps and points to himself, faking a yawn. "Since we set up. S'all."

"Nah, nah. Just tired I guess. I've been up for a while."

"Hey, y'can head back if you want. Get some shut-eye."

"Yeah, when I'm ready," I smirk, clapping my hooves. "Let's quit draggin' and get to it, huh? I'm gonna officially request 'Last Time Around' by the Del-Vets."

"On it like a sonnet," he nods, straightening up his guitar. "All I'm gonna ask is you don't sit too close to the cup, or folks'll feel awkward chippin' in."

I hop to the bench on the other side of him, patting him on the shoulder as I cross. "Got it. Knock 'em dead."

 

Ozzy plays through a few songs and I listen, but it's hard to sit still while he's rocking, so I end up leaned against a lamppost at a respectful distance while mammals come and go up the street. To my surprise, a fair number of them do toss change or the occasional bill into his coffee can. It's not a killing by any means, but I know Ozzy doesn't do this strictly for the money. I think if he wanted to, he'd be up past daybreak, playing his heart out because it's who he is. He's a mammal with his own style.

I notice the way he holds his guitar isn't really like the way most musicians I've seen. Despite his wild, crazy nature, he's so gentle with it. He doesn't slap the strings or bang the side of the body like so many wannabe rockers would. I get the feeling that even if he could, he'd never pull a Pete Townshound and smash one of the things. Even the careful way he uses that chewed up pick shows this odd sort of respect for it. Makes me wonder how long he's had the thing. He's not much older than me, so it can't have been that long.

Hmm.

"Hey Oz," I sit myself down on the curb next to him once his song concludes and the nearby onlookers have finished their sparse round of applause. "How old are the twins?"

"Uh, let's see," he muses, idly flicking his pick up and down the strings. "I dunno about Annie, but Wolt's 18, so... yeah, 18."

I choke on air. "Sorry, what?"

He throws his shaggy arm around me. "Yeah man, and you're 19, right? Figures we're all about the same age. Probably why we all get on so well, yeah?"

I blink repeatedly. "Anneke is 18?"

"And some change," he chuckles.

"Fuck!"

"What?"

"I-- I don't know!" I clap my hooves to my forehead. "I thought she was like, at least in her twenties?"

He giggles so much he has to stop and take a breath, elbowing me in my puffy middle. "Y'know, I'm pretty sure she thought that about you."

I gotta admit, that wasn't what I was expecting to hear. "Man, maybe I'm just bad at reading ages."

"Okay," he leans back a little, stretching. His tone makes me think he took my confession as a challenge. "How old do you think Charlie is?"

I chew my tongue, incredibly self conscious of any possible answer. "Uh, I dunno. Thirty? Thirty two?"

He wheezes between his teeth. Obviously my answer is funny. "How 'bout Al?"

"Thirty... three?"

That gets him laughing even harder.

"What?! I told you I'm not good at this!"

"'Thirty three'!!" he cackles, kicking his feet out like he's being tickled.

"Oh shut up!" I huff, grinning.

He snorts and sniffles, just trying to calm himself down, but keeps on giggling between brief, idle riffs on his instrument.

"Let's get back to the music," I try to sound upset, but I'm too obviously smiling.

"Okay, okay," he waves his paw around in the air, nodding. "You know 'Open Up Your Door' by Richard and the Young Lions?"

"Yeah, I'm down. Hit it up, music man."

He wags a finger at me. "No no no, song like that, I gotta have me a backup singer."

"Forget it."

"C'mon!"

"No! I can't sing to save my life!"

"Rem."

I cough and hold my arms out, pleading. "Ozzy, I'm tellin' you, nails on a chalkboard man! I couldn't carry a tune with a bucket!"

"You got a song in your heart. All the music you listen to, you gotta have picked something up." He gives me an encouraging grin. "Just for the one song."

"Fine, fuck it," I toss my hooves in the air.

"Hey, that's the spirit!" The shaggy musician brings his guitar up, steadying himself to play. "I'll lead. You just back me up."

"Let's get this shitshow on the road, I guess."

He strums out the intro and I brace myself.

"Sorry in advance for the donations this is gonna cost you," I mutter, blushing already.

 

When it's all over, I'm leaning on the hyena's shoulder, sweating and red from embarrassment. I think I got a few looks from the passing crowd.

"I mean..." Ozzy winces.

"I warned you, man!"

"I've heard worse," he finally says, after I've had time to sort of catch my breath.

"Don't spare my feelings, Ozzy."

"No, I have!"

"Yeah?" I glance up and wipe off my face. "Who?"

"Avo," he answers instantly.

"No way."

"Y'know Ewexsie and the Banshees?" He snaps, pointing a finger at me. "Like that. Except more off-key."

"I'll be sure to hold it over her next time I see her." Boy, I bet she'll love that. Not very often I get some kind of embarrasing dirt on her. "That have anything to do with her being Omega? Was she in the Pack long?"

Ozzy scratches his thick, scruffy neck, lost in thought. "Dunno. She was in when I joined."

"When was that?"

"Couple years ago? Not all that long, in the big scheme."

"Huh." I don't know what I expected, honestly. Never really stopped to think about anyone else's induction. "So you probably weren't the last one in, before me."

"Nah, the twins were in just a few months before you moved in."

"That recent!"

He wags his tail, shifting to rest his guitar against the bench. "For sure. They moved in from Bunnyburrow around that time and as soon as they found out about it, they pretty much made Al let 'em in."

"So Kenny was already in at that point, yeah? Means they joined right before he left?" There's still so much I want to know about him. "Were you guys close? I figure with the picks, you two must've jammed together a lot."

Ozzy's tail abruptly stops wagging, and I can see him kinda biting his tongue as he pulls his guitar right back into his lap.

"Hey -- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" I stammer, fumbling to recover the mood I've just soured. "You guys must really miss him, huh?"

He taps his guitar tentatively, then lets out a long sigh.

"Some folks, you know, you'd just as soon like to put behind you." He mutters, batting at the shaggy fur of his chest with a look of visible distaste. "Might find that's somethin' of a common sentiment, 'round here."

I sit up sharply, almost double-taking that last line.

"I-- wh--" My hooves find their way to the wool of my pompadour, tussling it in confusion. "I was under the impression he was well-liked. I mean, the box -- seemed like a lot of good times in there."

"Well, sure, but who clips out an' saves all the bad memories?"

I'm not really sure of what to say. From everything I saw, it seemed like Kenny was really close with the rest of them. That photo of the whole Pack together, thick as thieves... he looked like he was such a good fit for them. He looked like a better fit than I ever could be. But I guess, like Ozzy's wild man demeanor versus the way he lovingly caresses his instrument, looks can be deceiving.

The more I think about it, though, the more I realize he's kind of always been that way. That night at the block party when that drunk bear kicked me literally to the curb, Ozzy was right there to save my ass without a second's hesitation. I've never seen him that angry before or since, but he looked like he was ready to throw down with that guy. All for the sake of some stranger who he'd just met. Not even a member of the Pack and he was stickin' his neck out for me.

For whatever bad taste Kenny left behind, within a couple minutes Ozzy's right back to tuning and strumming, all smiles as if nothing had ever happened. I slowly take a seat next to him on the bench, twiddling my hooftips absently.

"Hey Oz?"

He stops and side-eyes me, his head tilted to one side like always. "What's up, Rem?"

"Thanks for being cool, man."

He cough-laughs till he's almost out of breath, then shakes his head and gives me the biggest smile he's got. "Aw c'mon man, don't go all sappy on me here."

"Hey, I mean it. Let me be-- c'mon. Let me be just a little corny for once here, okay?" I slap him on the back, and use my other hoof to wave away his protests. "You're a good guy, man, and I'm glad to know you. So thanks. For y'know, everything."

Without another word he sweeps me up in a huge scruffy hug, squeezing like a compactor. When he sets me down, I'm pinched in the middle, and it takes a few seconds for my wool to puff back out.

"Arright, arright, that's as genuine as I can be at one time," I chuckle. "Let's get back to talkin' about other people's embarrassing details instead of my own. Like uh... ah, hey! Speakin' of Avo, what's up with that whole camshow thing? You know about that, right?"

"It's not really my thing, if that's what you're askin'," he responds, plucking loose wool from his shirt.

"Oh, get real." I sit up, scratching my chin. "Hey actually, on that note, you're not seein' anyone, are you?"

"Nope."

"Not a lot to go on, or...?"

His grin grows wider as he leans back. "You askin', or are you askin', Remmy?"

I blink. "I'm just tryin' to get to know you!"

"Yeah, I hear that one a lot," he laughs, winking hard enough to make me roll my eyes. "And I'm flattered -- maybe even a little curious -- but honestly, I'm not lookin' for a relationship right now. That's all. Still sorting some stuff out in my life."

"You mean like with Velvet?"

He clears his throat, plucking a string.

"Actually, about that, I still don't know what--" I start, only to be suddenly interrupted by my own stomach rumbling.

"Someone didn't get their protein," Ozzy snickers, elbowing me with another wink.

"Well, I did have a hot-bug earlier, but it didn't really carry me."

And checking my watch, I realize with some surprise that Ozzy and I have been out here shooting the shit and jamming for the crowds for over two hours.

I dust myself off, climbing to my hooves. "Okay, well, hold the fort. I'll be back."

"Aye-aye," he salutes.

 

I thought I saw another hot-bug stall on the way here, but when I retrace my steps, the streets are empty. Wok Softly's closed too, damn. With a shrug I start making my way around the block to see what else is open. Even as nocturnal as the residents of Pack Street are, and as hopping as it can get at night, I imagine a lot of the businesses mostly cater to diurnal schedules. Figures, that's what the majority of the city operates on. Still, there has to be someplace around here that's serving food, even if I gotta go to a gas station to get it.

Speaking of hot-bugs, that makes me think back to Leo, the vendor from earlier. I remember Al saying something about him formerly being in the Pack a long time ago. Which means he's not anymore. I wonder if his situation was like Kenny's, or if he left on better terms. Al seemed to like him anyway. Maybe he just had to move or something. Hard to imagine someone just... outgrowing all this. Then again, Al was also adamant about me getting things settled with Anneke so that he wouldn't lose one of us.

And right there, walking down the street in the middle of the night without even looking over my shoulder, humming some old proto-punk song from the 60s, it dawns on me, all of a sudden, that I don't want to leave Pack Street.

There was a time when I was clawing at the walls to put this place behind me. Now I'm... not. And I haven't been in a while, if I'm thinking about it. Probably not since Bellwether got arrested. Even when it was really rough here, I wasn't thinking "how soon can I move out?" I just... don't feel like the best way to handle my problems is to leave, anymore. Maybe it's because most of my problems are gone, now. I feel safer than I ever have here, happier. For the first time since I moved in, I even feel like I have friends.

Ozzy's top of the list, of course -- I mean, hell, just look at us now. Once upon a time I couldn't stand the guy and now we're performing for strangers together like we're best buddies. And then that time I put in recently at Packer's with Martina, Cliff and Neil stands out. Wolter and I drove off together to Bunnyburrow and we ended up having a fucking ball. Avo gave me some cooking tips and offered to help fix up my place -- maybe I should ask her for some interior decorating help for Ozzy instead, because I think he needs it worse than I do. Hell, even Al bought me dinner tonight, and offered to go sort things out with my boss. And then he asked me for a favor. For Al, that's huge. I don't get the feeling Al asks anyone for anything. Fuck, there're times I've gotten the vibe he hated the sight of me, and now he trusts me.

That's a damn good feeling.

Yeah, Annie said she never wanted to see me again. But I know she's just hurting right now. You say things you don't mean when you're hurt. I know, because I've said some stupid shit, and recently, too. Fuck, it wasn't long ago that I'd have been happy to hear her say that. To give me an excuse, to strengthen my resolve to put Pack Street behind me for good. Now, I just want to make things right again between us. I think she deserves that much.

I think we all do.

I only notice the little cart in front of me when I nearly bump into it. Grilled cheese sandwiches from a street vendor? Not real cheese, of course, but... fuck, that sounds good right now. No one's even in line, and the wrinkled goat behind the grill smiles at me without saying anything.

Before I know it I'm hurrying along like a little kid leaving an ice cream parlor, two huge, wax paper-wrapped, deliciously melty grilled cheeses in my hooves. I bet Ozzy's gonna love this.

I'm just coming back into view of the bench I left him at when I see his audience is gone. In their place is a tall, muscular wall of a mammal wearing a police uniform.

Oh, fuck.

Whatever he is, an ox or something, he's right in Ozzy's face, towering over him and staring him down. I can't hear him from here, but I don't need to. His tough guy expression and confrontational body language says it all. I already know his type. Hell, anyone watching longer than five seconds probably would too. Brash, abrasive, domineering big-man-on-campus wannabe. Every bit the former high school jock that I once mistakenly pegged Al for, only this one's got a badge to hide behind.

In one of his hooves is Ozzy's coffee can, and I realize he's shaking him down. Fuckin' unbelievable. What, there aren't real crimes for you to be out stopping, so you've got to come to Pack and harass a local musician? Haven't met your fuckin' asshole quota this month?!

All this and Ozzy's still just smiling in his easy way.

By the time my brain catches up to my hooves, I've already dropped the sandwiches and stormed down the street, right towards the guy. This is bullshit. Literally. I'm not about to let my friend get railroaded by some third-rate member of the rubber gun squad with delusions of grandeur.

"Hey," I call out once I'm close enough he can hear me. "There some kind of problem here?"

"Remmy," Ozzy murmurs. His smile vanishes and he shakes his head, making a low, cutting gesture with his paw.

"This guy's my roommate," I quickly intervene. Well, close enough. His room is adjacent to mine. That counts. "You wanna tell me what you're hassling him over?"

"Noise complaint," the bull barks back at me. "Now back off and let me do my job."

"Who complained?"

"Don't be a smartass, kid," he grumbles. "Additionally -- and he should know this already, because I've had to tell him before -- public performing without a valid permit is illegal in Zootopia."

"The can's mine," I blurt out. "I keep my pocket change in it. He was just playing."

He flicks the tip can -- which I notice is now empty -- at me. "Then I should be writing you up for littering. So be a good citizen and put that where it belongs."

Yeah, how about right up your ass? Fucking prick. Gritting my teeth, I move forward slowly, but not intimidatingly, hooves raised. Just enough to get a little closer to Ozzy, who, for his part, is stone-faced serious right now. Charlie would be proud. Assuming she wouldn't just fry this guy with his own taser when he wasn't looking.

I cough, irritated, and continue to glare at the guy. "Look, why don't you just quit harassing my friend, and we'll all be on our way."

He shakes his head at me as he begins writing down what looks like a fucking grocery list of shit on his ticket pad -- no doubt sticking the screws to Ozzy on every technicality he can. There's no way in hell Ozzy would be able to pay any of that. I mean, the guy's out singing for strangers probably just to keep the lights on in an empty apartment.

I can feel my blood boiling and I raise my voice a little more. "Hey, cut him some slack, man."

"Boy, tell me you're not stupid enough to try interfering with an official police investigation. Because I know Flock when I see it. You're about two seconds from heading downtown in cuffs, so why don't you run along now and quit poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

I scoff, my wool bristling at his choice of nickname. This guy's like, mid-twenties at the oldest. I ain't your fucking boy, asshole, and we all know nothing about this looks official!!

Suddenly, his pen in his hoof snaps like a twig. The cop turns his head to look at me, the incredulous glare on his face visible from even behind his shades. Even Ozzy's staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

"What the FUCK did you just call me?!" he snorts at me, dragging one of his hooves against the concrete in a very typical bovine display of intimidation.

Ah. Did I say that last bit out loud...?

Well, if he wants to play rough, then fuck it. Might as well lay it out.

He thrusts his hoof at me, baring blunt teeth. "I am gonna blink, and if you're not halfway down the block when I open my eyes, I am gonna take both of you for a ride in the back of my car."

I step a little closer to Ozzy, but I don't give up even a single inch of ground.

"You do," I return, my tone dry, "And I guarantee you will never work in this city again."

He glares, lowering his sunglasses. "Are you threatening me?"

I reach into my pocket and he suddenly jolts, putting his hoof on his taser. Is he for fucking real??

I scoff, unimpressed, and slowly draw out my wallet, passing him my ID, which he accepts with some visible confusion.

"Do you know who Judge Cormo is? Savannah Central, Second District?"

I fold my arms, and he glances up at me over his shades.

"Yeah. That's my dad."

He glances down to my ID again, then back to my face, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head as his eyes start to widen.

"So please, officer, I would love to see you explain to him that you were the only cop in your precinct dumb enough to drag his only son in in cuffs, because he caught you slipping a suspect's cash into your own pocket."

Officer ox leans back, standing up straight, and pushes his sunglasses back up his face. He wordlessly hands my ID back, then straightens his tie.

"I have better things to do than waste my time with a couple troublemaking smartasses," he waves us off, dismissively, turning back to his car. "You're both lucky I don't have all night chasing every delinquent I see. Consider this a warning."

And like that, he climbs in, slams the door, and peels off.

When I turn away from the street and back to Ozzy, he's shooting me this wide-eyed look, his jaw hanging slack, like he hasn't even moved.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "Holy shit!"

"Well, taken care of, I think," I shrug, smiling as nonchalantly as I can.

He slaps his knees, still half-stunned. "Damn dude! Like-- shit, I didn't know your dad was a judge, man!"

I can't hold the facade. My eyes are wide, I'm grinning so hard my face hurts, and all of a sudden the laughter's coming out of me so hard and fast I'm having trouble breathing. Also, my heart is going like four thousand miles an hour.

"Ha ha ha he's not," I blurt, manic. "I just made that shit up. I'm not even related to the guy, it's just a common last name for sheep!"

The shaken hyena stares at me for a minute, jaw practically on the floor, and all of a sudden he just bursts out laughing like he's a fucking explosion of chuckles. He's slapping the curb with his palm, howling and gasping, tugging at his shirt like he doesn't even know what to do with his paws.

I can't help but join him.

We just laugh and laugh till we're crying. Like it's the funniest thing that's ever happened to us. Maybe it is. I get about three false starts where I think I'm good, but halfway through wiping my face with my sleeve Ozzy just screams with laughter again and all of a sudden I'm back in it.

 

I don't know how long passes. But there's finally a point where we're done -- at least for now. He's got his guitar slung and he stands up beside me, but for a minute, I'm still just watching the street, thinking.

So when he addresses me in a real quiet voice, I almost don't realize he's talking to me at first.

"Hey, Rem." It sounds important.

I nod up at him, slowly. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for that. I mean it. You didn't have to. But, uh." He takes a deep breath, standing real still and staring off down the row, into the distance. "I figure, y'know. After everything-- It's not easy, but if you really wanna know, I owe y'that much, I figure. So... y'know. If you wanna ask, I'll tell you."

I stare up at him. He doesn't meet my eye.

"Okay," I nod again.

He lowers his head, staring at the pavement.

"Ozzy?"

"...Yeah?"

I stand up, patting him on the back, and gesture the opposite way down the street.

"Since I dropped the sandwiches I was gonna bring us," I shrug, sheepishly, "You wanna like, hit up Bug Burga on the way back, instead? My treat, since you got your earnings snagged."

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes kinda twinkling, and smiles a crooked smile at me.

"Yeah, man," he laughs once, sniffing. "Yeah. Right on. Let's go."

"Cool," I grin back. "But you owe me a request next time we're jamming. I'm gonna make you sing some bubblegum ruminant-pop shit, you watch."

"Only if you sing it with me," he chuckles, ruffling the wool on my head as we head for home.

"Twist my arm, why don't you."