In the wake of Bellwether's arrest, Remmy takes stock of a changed city.
I'm so tired that I can't see straight, but I'm so wired I can't sleep straight either. I don't know the skinny, haggard ram staring back at me in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. I don't recognize that pale skin, those bloodshot eyes, those jet-black rings hanging just below the sockets. All I know is that he looks like a fucking mess.
As I begin sweeping the wool around me into a dust pan, I try yet again to take stock of my situation. Speaking logically, I haven't got anything to be afraid of. There's no reason I should be singled out or targeted. I mean, I'm guiltless in all of this -- just because all the conspirators were sheep doesn't mean all sheep were in on it. I may be a ram, but my neighbors can't lump me in like that. They gotta know that. They do know that, right? I mean, I know this looks bad, but if I just keep my head down, this whole fucking crisis should blow over soon. Stands to reason the worst is past us already, isn't it?
If there's one thing I've learned through all this, it's that logic and reason get tossed in the trunk once fear takes the wheel.
I mean, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this lingering feeling of dread is my ironic punishment, because I was somehow complicit in the Great Sheep Deception. But I feel as much like a victim here as anyone else -- yeah, preds had it rough during the savage epidemic, sure, but it was more of a shared, spread out fear. This is different -- everyone's waking up to a Zootopia where sheep specifically masterminded a conspiracy to send modern society kicking and screaming all the way back to the Stone Age. It doesn't take a fucking behavioral analyst to figure out that both predators and prey are gonna resent us.
So much for "prey solidarity".
Being blunt, there's nobody on the face of the planet that I hate more right now than Dawn Bellwether. I'm not alone, either. Probably half of Zootopia's calling for her head on a pike. Everyone involved in the "crime of the century" was a motherfucking sheep, and here I am, balls-deep in the middle of enemy territory, wearing the wrong team's colors.
Looking around my apartment, I let out an antsy, frustrated bleat. I've dusted and polished every piece of furniture in here, cleaned my kitchen, cleaned my bathroom twice, alphabetized all eight of my DVDs, installed a year's worth of system updates on my phone, and shaved my wool down to stubble. I'm out of shit to distract myself with. I can't fucking hole up in my apartment forever -- it's gonna be super obvious that I'm hiding, and that'll just draw more attention my way. Not to mention, I'll run out of food and resources. No, I've got to at least put in some kind of showing. Test the waters, do some damage assessment.
...of course, I'll also need to be able to step outside my front door without immediately getting lynched by an angry, pitchfork-wielding mob. I don't think my neighbors are gonna go after me -- but then again, I also wouldn't have thought my lion gym buddy would maul a homemade sheep in the middle of the fucking street.
Fuck. I'm never gonna get that image out of my head, am I.
Brushing a few loose curls of feather-soft wool from my prickly, stubbly belly, I stumble over to my dresser and start rifling through my clothes. I need something baggy, something that'll hide my build. Gotta make it a little less obvious that I'm a ram when I go out. A hoodie and sweatpants should work. Emphasis on 'should'.
I've never been happier to be hornless; all I gotta do is run some pomade through my headwool, slick it back, and hide it under the hood. Slipping on a pair of cheap sunglasses to hide my eyes, I stand in front of the mirror again, looking myself over as objectively as I can manage.
It's not perfect, and I'm sure not gonna pass for a predator, but at the very least, I could be any random ungulate. This'll have to do.
Well, one foot in front of the other. Gathering my things into my pockets, I head over to my front door and begin unfastening all of my locks and latches. Prying loose the kitchen chair wedged under my doorknob, I set it aside. With a deep breath I tentatively poke my head out into the upstairs hall.
The building itself's quieted down considerably. Good sign. The walls are lined neatly with trash bags full of discarded takeout containers and empty beer cans. Seems almost everyone finally crashed after staying up all night -- all day, whatever -- celebrating their victory. I thought the block party was loud; the revelry over this was deafening. My ears are still ringing.
And yet, it looks like everyone must've had a good time. Nightly parties aren't normal when most of the tenants are struggling to make ends meet. Even that standoffish wolf looks like he had company over, judging by the pile of pizza boxes outside his apartment. Either that, or the dude's got a hell of an appetite.
Maybe I'm overexaggerating things in my mind. Maybe it's not as bad as I thought. Maybe they're all just happy to have the weight off their shoulders. I know I would be. These last few months have been fucking miserable on all of us. For them, the bad days are behind them at last. Meanwhile, I feel like I've got a target on my back. In a way, I'm envious of everyone here. I would've much rather spent the night celebrating. Instead I spent it hiding under my bed, feverishly hoping that nobody would kick my door in and drag me downstairs for a pummeling.
Pulling my hood a little lower over my head, I slowly make my way toward the staircase, tip-toeing down the steps one at a time. The downstairs TV's buzzing away with talking heads and news chatter, but it looks like the only mammal around is a lone hyena sitting anxiously at the edge of the sofa.
We lock eyes as I alight at the bottom landing, holding each others' gazes for far too long. I start to say something to Ozzy, but he manages to beat me to the punch.
"Woolly B," he rasps. "Been wonderin' when you'd turn up."
Unlike yesterday with my stinging zinger aimed at Marty, I'm not in the frame of mind for clever banter this time. I swallow and nod, sticking my hooves in my pockets. I'm already losing faith in this disguise if someone like Ozzy was able to spot me immediately.
"Take it you saw the news...?" I cautiously venture.
"Figure everyone musta by now. Some real crazy shit," he agrees, staring up at me with a hollow look in his eyes. "Mammals coulda fuckin' died, you know. I'm kinda floored nobody did."
"Yeah." That's all I got. I walk into the room, grasping for something, anything to say as he peers at me. Usually he's got a quip or a joke, something to serve as an icebreaker. Now it's just dead air. "Lucky that they didn't, I guess. Thank god nobody got hurt, right?"
Instead of replying, he pushes his paws against the seat cushions and slowly forces himself onto his feet. At the side of the sofa, there's a dented-up guitar case covered in duct tape; he hefts it by the handle and slings it over his shoulder with an odd reverence.
I figure now's as good a time as any for an olive branch. I need to make sure I'm on good terms with everyone here. I've recently been inducted, formally, as the first sheep member of this little local "Pack". So I figure we've gotta come together and unite as a Pack -- no, as Zootopians.
"Hey, Ozzy," I offer, "I was thinking, you know, with the good news, about maybe heading out, grabbing a bite. You wanna come with? My treat--"
"Man, I's-- yeah, I dunno man," Ozzy interrupts with an almost pained expression, brushing past me to head down the hall to his own apartment. "Lemme just -- I think I got uh, something I really oughta take care of right now..."
"No, it's-- I get you." I don't, actually. I'm shocked to see him turning down free food -- I didn't get the feeling he was well-off enough that he could afford to. "Uh... another time, then?"
"Yeah, maybe," he replies noncommittally, giving me a weird look as he fumbles with his keys in the lock. Even as he pushes through the entryway to his room, he refuses to break eye contact with me until the door clicks shut.
I shove my head into my hooves, exhaling heavily as I try to wrap my brain around what's going on here. Even during the night that I fucking unloaded on Ozzy in front of Al and Velvet, he managed to handle the worst of it with a smile. I've gone off on him personally a couple times, actually -- and he always bounces back like he's made of rubber.
Twirling the drawstrings of my hoodie idly, I look out the lobby window at the street in front of me. Sure, it looks peaceful enough out there during the day, but if a carefree guy like Ozzy is this fucking uncomfortable I'm not liking my odds.
Turning around, I trudge back up the stairs as my sleep-deprived mind hastily tries to scrape together a Plan B.
Ozzy's not the only one who's been rattled to his core by this ordeal.
I find my thoughts drifting back to the night Pandora went savage -- no, let's call it what it is: she didn't "go savage", she was singled out. Attacked. That night, Charlie and I talked together in the wake of the chaos. It was only for a few minutes -- I was so focused on my not-a-date with Anneke that I couldn't spare her much time -- but the whole encounter lodged itself firmly in the back of my brain. She's the kind of fox who normally seems like she has everything comfortably under control. But I remember how she looked, and I've never seen her so... shit, I don't even know if there's a word to describe it. Frail? Timid?
...prey-like?
She talked to me about Pandora, and how she was experiencing grief. Despite the nature of their "business", Charlie told me that it felt more like the loss of a friend than a client, made worse by her having very few she even counts as friends to begin with.
In a lot of ways, I can relate. I don't really have "friends" either. I do have acquaintances, sure, I've got gym buddies -- but I don't have friends. Real friends. Friends to go see movies with, to go shopping with, whatever. Real friends hang out, they live their lives together.
Me? My life consists of waking up, eating, working, and sleeping. Rinse and repeat, day in and day out. I've been so fucking focused on getting out of my shitty apartment on Pack Street that I don't have a fucking idea of what it's like to have a social life anymore. I haven't since I moved away from home and into this place.
Sure, thinking back to some of the escapades I've had with my neighbors, it's been almost like hanging out. Like the block party where Ozzy saved me from that drunk asshole of a bear, or that one time I played a prank on Marty and tricked him into gluing cotton balls to himself. Avo and Betty busting my chops at Pandora's, the road trip I went on with Wolter. After it's all said and done, though, we go our separate ways, and I don't feel like I'm friends with any of 'em.
My eyes sweep the hall, looking at the aftermath of the afterparty. Everyone freed up to live their lives, finally. Getting back to normal after all this time. Meanwhile, my new "normal" is a bad dream I can't wake up from.
Yes, it's true that I don't have any friends -- but I do have the Pack, and if anyone'll understand what's going through my mind, I get the feeling Charlie will. She's smart. Calculated, logical. Not the type to get swept up in emotion. She'll know I'm not to blame for all of this.
I linger outside the door to the apartment next to mine. I heard Marty leave this morning, probably headed to work at the library, so I don't need to worry about facing him just yet. That means Charlie's home alone. With a hesitant nod, I reach up to the knocker and click it a few times.
Before I can pull my hoof away, the latches rattle and the door opens a few inches -- just enough for a thin, pointy snout to peek its way out.
"Cormo," Charlie rasps by way of greeting, eyes narrowed to squints as she sniffs at me. "You seem... different."
"Oh, uh..." I look down at myself, plucking at the fabric of my baggy hoodie. "I sheared."
"...no, that's not it," she says at length, refusing to elaborate further. "I'm glad you stopped by."
That perks me up a little. "You are? Really?"
Her snout wags up and down. "Mm. Saves me the trouble of having to drop this off."
A thin paw comes through the door, pushing something into my hooves. I look down to see I'm holding an old shirt of mine, freshly laundered and folded up neatly.
The shirt she 'borrowed' when she spent the night.
Now, admittedly, it wasn't what it sounds like. A strange move from a strange fox, one I never quite understood, but it ended with movies and pizza, so I never thought that badly of it. God, I'd forgotten she even still had this, but I guess she just never gave it back.
Until now.
"I'm-- why are you giving this to me?" I wring the fabric in my hooves. I've never felt so uncomfortable to get something returned.
She doesn't hesitate to answer. "You told me you wanted it back."
"Why now, though?" I bite my lip hard, already blurting out the question I'm not even sure I want answered.
And yet I'm a little surprised to find she doesn't. After a pause, she taps the doorframe with her claws. "Was there something you wanted?"
"I was hoping I could talk to you." I wait a moment, giving her a chance to respond. Nothing. "Um, about -- well, about a lot of things. This whole savage thing, and, uh..."
I trail off awkwardly as her muzzle dips low, pointed down towards the ground. I can see one of her blue eyes opened wide, peering up at me through the gap between the door and the doorframe.
"How shall I put this," she murmurs, low. "It would not be... socially advantageous for me to be seen with you, right now."
Stiffening, I look down at her.
"What does that mean?" I gawk, motioning around the hallway. "There's nobody around!"
"In my line of work, someone's always watching what you're doing."
I gesture uselessly a moment longer, but my arms fall limply to my sides. "After everything that's going on, though?"
"...I have a prior engagement I need to get to."
A prior engagement? I'm breaking down out here! Can't you call it off for someone in need? "You can't make time for me?"
"It doesn't feel good, does it?"
I feel like I've just been punched in the chest.
"Charlie, c'mon," I quietly plead, voice shaky. "I'm in a rough spot right now. I need someone to just, y'know -- to talk to. Isn't that what the Pack is for?"
She breaks eye contact, staring at the floor for a few seconds, before sighing and closing the door on me.
I can feel my stomach flop. First Ozzy, then Charlie. Everyone's going to shun me at this rate.
...or not. I hear the sudden sound of latches rattling, followed by her apartment door swinging open. Still, she makes no move to step aside or invite me in.
"I'm sparing you a consideration," she says, clasping her paws together in her typical way, "but I ask that you keep it brief."
Ordinarily I'd be pissed off at getting the bum's rush after everything I've done for her, but right now I'm just elated that there's some kind of a dialogue between us, and so I immediately start gushing. Everything just flows out of my head like so many pent-up worries.
"I haven't slept at all. I've been on pins and needles ever since that whole bombshell dropped yesterday." Jerking my head down the hallway, I let out a flustered, uneven sigh. "And I-- I came to see you because I know you're street-smart about this stuff. You've got, uh, connections."
She raises an eyebrow, one paw on the doorknob. "'Connections.'"
"What I mean is, you hear shit nobody else does," I hastily clarify. "Y'know. Word on the street? Be honest with me -- how fucked over am I?"
Relaxing her shoulders slightly, she wraps her huge, puffy tail around her legs, fiddling with some of the fur at the tip.
"If you want me to be honest with you, I think you need to calm down."
"...what?"
"Most everyone -- and I'm referring to not just Pack Street, but the city at large -- is elated right now," she replies, slouching against the doorframe. "Your usage of the word 'bombshell' is interesting to me, because as far as I could discern, yesterday's revelation was good news."
"No, no, right, I get that," I stammer. "I mean -- of course that makes sense."
"The looming question on everyone's mind has been answered, Cormo. You mentioned 'connections' and 'word on the street'? Right now, the general consensus is that life goes on."
I feel myself letting go of a breath I didn't even know I'd been sucking in. Shoving my hooves into the pockets of my hoodie just so I stop fidgeting with them like a moron, I nod, listening to everything she has to say.
"The mother in the building next door who works two jobs doesn't have to worry anymore about 'turning savage'." Charlie tilts her head, her neck popping audibly as she stares at me. "She can sleep easier knowing she won't wake up one day and maul her own pup."
"Right. Because 'turning savage' was never a real thing in the first place."
"Mm. The looming threat that gnawed at this city was nothing but a phantom. The true danger is now behind bars. The fog's lifted. And because it's lifted, you can expect things to return to status quo." She tilts her head, looking at me kind of lopsided. "And to that extent, you also should be able to sleep easier."
"I already feel better just talking to y--" A sudden flicker in her eyes causes my words to choke out. "--talking about it."
She nods slightly, peering down the hall past me. "Just don't make waves. Don't do anything to raise ire for a while, maintain a low profile. You seem capable of going to ground, for a sheep."
"Just hope it blows over," I nod in understanding.
"Was that all you wanted to talk to me about? I was being honest about having a prior engagement, and I really should be going as soon as possible."
"Actually, uh, there was something else," I admit. "Has... anyone said anything about me? Like, the Pack, I mean?"
I watch as she seems to be considering her reply, almost like she's rolling the words around in her mouth to get a taste for them. "Your name has come up a few times, yes," she answers evasively.
"...in what way?" I prompt. You're not gonna dodge the question that easily, Charlie. "Hey. I'm asking because I want to know if I'm a marked mammal. I think that's a fair question."
"Cormo, you'll forgive me if I find it exceedingly difficult to imagine anyone here raising a hand, claw, or paw against the sad-eyed sheep who tried to share his world with everyone over a platter of street tacos."
I'm surprised to find that there's a lump growing in my throat. I'd already forgotten about my stupid little "seminar" from just a few days ago -- well, more like I'd put it out of my mind. I never would've thought it'd have an effect on them after how poorly it went, but I'm genuinely glad to hear I made a good impression.
...for once.
I start to push forward past the threshold to hug her, but before I can make it even half a step she turns and collects a bundle wrapped in paper from the kitchen counter, tucking it under her arm. I stop cold as she brushes past me out into the hallway.
"Cormo, I'm sorry. I really can't stay any longer. I've got plans tonight."
"Wait, Charlie!" I start as she shuts the door behind herself. "Is that it? Isn't there anything else you can help me with?"
She stops halfway to the staircase, her tail swishing.
"In what way?"
Throwing my hooves in the air, I offer a weak plea. "I'm going through hell here, Charlie! C'mon!"
"If you're going through hell," she replies, placing her free paw on the banister as she begins descending the stairs, "keep going."
Somehow, that doesn't fill me with confidence.
A single heavy thump at my front door jolts me out of a half-slumber. Standing up from my couch, I rub my bleary eyes as I make my way across the room to see who it is. Even before I spot the patch of jet-black wolf fur through the peephole, the stench of cigarette smoke wafting in under the door is enough to instantly ID my visitor.
Opening the door for Betty, I offer her the most respectful nod I can muster.
"Remmy," she grunts by way of greeting. Uh-oh. No cutesy term of endearment like "yarn ball" or "fluff".
"...this isn't a social visit, is it."
Rather than replying, she sniffs around my apartment as she walks in, like she's checking to see what's changed since she was last here. I wonder if it's a canine thing, maybe some ages-old territorial instinct.
"Not gonna lie," she says, motioning pointedly for me to take a seat at the table, "you ain't winning any popularity contests for a while."
"I gathered as much, after talking to Charlie." I numbly sit as instructed, even though she herself remains standing. From past experience, I know better than to rock the boat. "She was in a hurry. Didn't seem to want anything to do with me."
"Get used to it," Betty mutters as she raises an unlit cigarette to her muzzle. Lifting her lighter, she starts to flick it before stopping abruptly halfway through the motion.
"I-- I don't mind if you smoke in here," I offer quietly. I do -- a lot, actually -- but right now I'll do anything to placate the Beta.
"That fuckin' thing does," she quips, pointing at my new smoke detector fitted onto the ceiling.
"...good point."
Pocketing her lighter but leaving the smoke in her mouth, she turns to me with folded arms and an uncharacteristically somber expression.
"I figured you'd heard the news, so I wanted to give you time to poke your head out on your own, before I came up knocking," she sighs. "Now that you have, I'll get right to it. Consider yourself on notice."
"On notice?"
Running a paw through her headscruff, she nods. "What I mean is things are gonna be uncomfortable for a while, so keep your eyes open. Shit might get ugly, but me'n Al will keep the peace until this all gets worked out."
The image of the big white Alpha wolf flashes into my mind, and I clack my hooves together in an automatic nervous response. "Is Al... mad at me?"
She props herself up against the table with one arm, looking around my apartment. "Did you shear again?"
"Betty."
The big black wolf breathes deeply, idly rolling her cigarette in her prominent teeth. "It was Al's idea to come talk to you in the first place."
"Really? He sent you?"
"He's not happy, which is why I'm here instead of him. But he's lookin' out for his own, which is why he sent anyone to begin with."
I close my mouth, unsure of what to say. She snorts in return, shaking her head at me.
"That's the Alpha for you. Whether any of us likes it or not, you're part of the Pack now. And that means we're responsible for seein' that you don't get your sorry ass beat. I know Al told you already, but if you play ball, we won't throw you to the wolves." She coughs. "...figure of speech."
Her tone alone tells me everything I need to know, so I immediately drop any further line of questioning about Al. "What can I do, then? To make it easier on everyone else?"
"Good. Asking the right questions." Craning her neck, she leans down low at me. "Your best move is getting out ahead of this. Get your face out there, make everyone know you're a part of this community. You hide away and folks'll get suspicious, or just think you don't care. Last thing you need to do right now is put walls up."
So, basically the opposite of what Charlie said? Great, that helps a lot.
"A lot of mammals are mad, but that doesn't mean they're mad at you. If you give a little courtesy, a little patience, they'll work through it in time. So I know this might be a tall order, but try bein' nice for a while."
"Yes ma'am."
"Folks around here will be fine, but just to be safe, you don't step outside without that whistle. World's full of nuts, and we all gotta be ready if one cracks," she adds. "You do still have it on you, right?"
I glance nervously at my kitchen drawer. "I do," I fudge. Close enough.
"Good. You fuckin' shower with that thing on if you gotta, as long as it keeps you from forgetting it."
She takes one last glance around my apartment before heading for my front door, apparently satisfied that she's met whatever condition Al laid out for her.
"Hey, Betty," I ask, standing up as she walks out.
"What, Cormo?" she grunts.
"Are we -- are we good? Like, the two of us, I mean?"
To my surprise, she gives me a smirk -- which I think's as close to a smile as I'm gonna get out of her. "Yeah, we're good. You've got a ways to go, but you're tryin' to play ball. I ain't gonna fault you for that."
Before I can reply, she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
To be honest, I'm surprised she was so... even about it. I figured Betty would be one of the first ones to jump on my back after everything. Hell, while Charlie and Ozzy were both evasive, things could be a lot worse with them. At least they were civil to me. Nobody tried to get in my face. Right now, I guess I can't ask for anything more.
Getting up from my seat, I stumble across my apartment and over to my bed, collapsing across the top of my mattress without even bothering to undress. My sheets feel damp and gross from sweat. Been a while since I washed 'em, but right now I couldn't care less. I finally feel like I can get some rest now that I know my door isn't getting kicked in any second.
The clock on my phone tells me two things: one, that I'm awake at a decent time, and two, I've missed half a dozen calls and voicemails. All of which are from my boss at the warehouse. Yeah, I'm in a real fucking hurry to get back to you, pal.
My nose is stuffy, I've got a nasty taste in the back of my mouth, and I feel like I'm boiling alive after having slept several hours in bulky clothes, so I strip off and climb into my shower. I crank the cold water to full blast in an effort to cool down and wake up. After just a few minutes, I'm definitely feeling more alert.
There's kind of a racket going on downstairs. I can just make out several voices loudly going at it over the sound of the lobby TV, but it doesn't sound like a fight so much as -- I don't know. Just a really loud, animated discussion? Maybe that's a good sign. I'm pretty sure I just heard Ozzy rip into a bout of laughter. Sounds like he's feeling better, and I'm glad to hear it. Obnoxious hyena-isms and all, I think I prefer him cackling to... whatever he was yesterday. Hurt.
Getting dressed quickly -- and foregoing the stupid disguise idea this time in favor of a tee and cargo shorts -- I gear up and make for the staircase. Between Charlie's advice and Betty's assurance that the Pack isn't going to turn on me, I've got no other way out but forward. Hiding myself away in my apartment until my bank account runs dry and I starve to death doesn't sound like a particularly good plan.
"'Months'? Shiiit, I think even years from now, I'm still not gonna quite believe this shit's actually over," Ozzy laughs as I begin making my way towards the lobby.
"God, I know," I can hear Avo echo in a tone of sincerity I rarely hear from the sarcastic jackal. "What a shitshow Zootopia's political system is. Two fucking criminal mayors in a row."
"Yeah, but at least Lionheart wasn't actively trying to kill us." That flat, scratchy voice can only be Anneke. She sounds more keyed-up tonight than usual. "Anyone mind if we fuckin' turn ZNN off? I can only take so much of the talking heads."
If one half of the aardwolf twins is here, that means her brother is probably here, too.
"Yeah, I'm bored to tears over here." Yep. Sure enough, there's Wolt.
"Fine," I hear Al grunt as the TV abruptly shuts off.
"Well you didn't hafta turn it off entirely," Annie grumbles, "just, y'know, offa the news and shit. I've had enough of fuckin' politics for one day."
"Yeah," Wolt drawls, "let's see if we've got some beach volleyball comin' up."
Anneke continues right over him. "Plus all the fucking 'prey victims' are turning my stomach. Cryin' how hard they've had it, while they're still wiping their mouths from months of spitting on us."
I stop halfway down, my hoof tightly gripping the rail. I'm only just now aware that I've been holding my breath. Pressing my back flat against the wall, I crane my neck to listen in. I know they can probably already smell me -- so I can't stay here long. Just long enough to get a feel for the atmosphere of the room.
The sudden twang of a guitar chord jolts me. "At least it's over, right?" Ozzy chuckles.
Anneke huffs, makes a dry, angry sort of scoff. "Yeah, and now that it's over it feels like most mammals are just goin' 'hey, we're not mad at you anymore! Lucky you! Why are you still mad?'. Like we're the ones who need forgiving!"
"Preds got stomped on city-wide and now it's getting swept under the rug," Al murmurs, his low voice barely audible from my position. I'm really having to strain to hear him. "Lotta prey acting like they were the victims in this, but not one of them was targeted. Not once. History repeats itself."
"To me, it's like a fog's lifted," Avo says. "I can't even put it into words. I'm just -- at peace. Finally."
"Yeah, nah. I get you, totally. I've been trying to vent through my music, put what I'm feeling into a song." Stretching, Ozzy leans forward, just barely into my field of view. "But it's like, my head's a jumble right now. I try to write something down and my pen's all over the place. I'm so happy I could scream, you know?"
"Oh, I feel like I could scream too," Annie sighs.
"You, uh... you all right there, Annie?" Avo asks, sounding genuinely concerned. As much as she's capable of, anyway. "You're starting to kinda..."
"...nah, no. I'm fine. I'm okay."
"Okay well--"
"I mean, I guess it's just funny to see all these happy prey smiling and acting buddy-buddy -- like they just want to ignore the last few months," Anneke continues, cutting her off. She coughs, like a short, bitter bark. Almost an angry yap. "Fuck me. And you can't even blame Bellwether for everything. She just rode the fear wave to the top."
"I thought you were done talking about politics," Avo points out. "Any time you wanna stop, we can talk about boys or something."
"Oh, fuck off, Avo," Annie groans. "You know I'm right. It's like Al said, mammals are already trying to act like this never happened."
"Man, Annie, I hear ya. Really, I do," Ozzy chimes in with an off-tune strum of his guitar. "But sooner or later we're all gonna have to move on. 'Less of course you wanna be angry for the rest of your life."
"I'm thinkin' about it," she laughs back. "Live the rest of my life as a total asshole. Can't be that hard."
The room bursts out laughing and even I crack a grin. I decide that's my cue, since now seems like as good a time as any to insert myself into the conversation. Little self-deprecating humor to let them know I'm self-aware. I peel away from the wall, smooth my shirt out, and make my way down the steps into the lobby proper.
"It's harder than you think," I add with a smirk. "I'm an asshole most days, and I can tell you, it's exhausting."
To my surprise, nobody says anything as I enter the room. They all just kind of... stare at me. Immediately I'm looking down at myself, wondering if I spilled something on my shirt or if I butchered my trim job.
Al's seated on the couch with the twins at either side of him, wearing chalk-stained work clothes. Ozzy's sitting backwards in a wooden chair he's way too big for, draped over the backrest, while Avo's leaned against the door.
Anneke glares at me with a tight-lipped expression on her face, and kicking off the table, she deliberately stomps past me and up the stairs. Al murmurs something I can't quite hear to Wolt before standing up and following her out.
"I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up, cotton swab," Avo quips dryly, plucking the lollipop stick from her mouth and tossing it in the trash bin in the corner.
"Woolly B," Ozzy mutters, suddenly looking and sounding as uncomfortable as he did the other day. So much for moving on.
"Hey," I return, lamely.
Nobody answers.
How do you even break the ice in a situation like this? The whole world feels like it's upside down. I can't exactly chat about the weather.
"Great weather today," I cough. Great. Really fucking smooth. Fantastic. Good work Remmy, here's the Gnu-Bull Peace Prize for resolving all pred/prey relations in Zootopia forever.
"You can say that again," Wolt grins, stretching across the couch cushions, rolling over onto his back as he sprawls out. "Gray skies are clearin' up. Clouds are gone. Sunshine and clear stars as far as the eye can see. Talk about a brand new day, man."
Ozzy fidgets with his guitar, pretending to tune it, but winces when I look at him. I've been through a lot of shit the last few days, but somehow seeing that big dopey hyena flinch away from me cuts me deeper than the look on my boss's face when he told me to take a hike, or even the sight of those sheep in shackles on the news.
I can't live like this. And more than that, I don't want him to live like this.
I take a seat on the couch, in an empty spot at the end near Ozzy, but distanced enough to give him some space. Avo's probably glaring at me for not taking the hint and fucking off, but right now I don't care.
"Ozzy, man..." I don't really know where I'm going but in my typical way, I can't help but open my mouth. "I know things are weird right now, but I hope you know I wouldn't hurt you. I wouldn't hurt any of you guys."
Wolt sits up next to me. "Why would you hurt anyone?"
"I wouldn't," I insist.
He makes an odd, sour expression and idly scratches himself through his shorts. "No shit. And I wouldn't kick you in the nuts. But I don't go around starting conversations about it."
"He's talking about the news," Avo interjects dryly. "Because Bellwether and her goons were all sheep."
"So what?" Wolt sniffs, fixing his scruffy hair with both paws. "Pretty sure cotton candy over here wasn't one of the guys in the police photos."
"Sharp eye. But it doesn't matter," the jackal returns, shaking her head. "There's gonna be--"
"There's gonna be a lot of hard feelings after all this." I'm surprised to find those words coming out of my own mouth. Even Avo looks at me, a little surprised. "And they're justified. A lot of mammals aren't going to know who to trust. You guys just had the rug pulled out from under you. I know how you feel."
Avo sharply cuts back in with a noise like a growl, unwrapping another lollipop from her pocket. "No, you don't."
The room's dead quiet for a second. My hooves feel weightless as they rest on my knees. Somewhere, way off in the distance, I can swear I hear a howl going up.
"No, you're right," I nod, staring down at myself. "I don't know how you feel. But it probably sucks. And I'm sorry."
"You didn't do anything," Wolter corrects, folding his arms. It sounds like that was directed at Avo, but I don't feel like looking up at her.
"No, I mean, I'm not apologizing, I'm just trying to show some basic sympathy, I guess."
Avo paces up to me, stopping in front of the couch. I feel like all I can do is stare at her feet, but finally I wrench my head up and force myself to meet her eyes. There's none of her usual snark behind her expression. It's dull, somehow. Flat eyes, humorless frown. Like there's no energy at all.
"Basic sympathy's a good first step. So I guess at least you're trying."
I can't really think of anything to say to that -- so for a change, I don't try to. She doesn't seem to want anything else, though, so she nods once and heads up the stairs to her room.
"Catch you around, Omega."
And then there were three.
"And I thought Annie was in a hurry to leave," I mumble.
"Eh. Don't hold it against my sister." Wolt hops off the couch to stretch, arms over his head. "She's really hurting right now. She needs some time to work through this."
I nod dumbly. "I think everyone does, right now."
"Nah, fuck that," the aardwolf wrinkles up his snout, like he's just caught a bad smell. "The whole city just got a new lease on life. No more savage panic, no more fear, no more violence. We've got more to smile about than ever!"
"Easy for you to say," I sigh bitterly. "You've got Annie to lean on. I don't have anyone."
"You got us!" Ozzy suddenly howls, slapping me on the back so hard I stumble off the couch and onto my hooves. He grabs me around the shoulder with his shaggy arms and squeezes me in close, hugging me with an unrestrained and wild energy. "You got the Pack! And starting now, I don't care what anyone says. That's good enough for me!"
"Hell yeah," Wolt hums, slapping my other shoulder. "We're all honorary wolves, aren't we? So we're all in it together. That's like, Pack 101, man."
My face is hot and I can't seem to meet their eyes. All I can do is kinda mutter. "You guys are great."
The hyena gives me a playful shove. "And you're treating us to Bug Burga."
"Yeah, okay. I mean, yeah. I said I would," I manage. "Let's do it. You guys hungry now?"
"Sure," Wolt nods, quickly turning to clamber up the stairs. "Lemme just check on Anna real quick before we head out."
I rub my face with my sleeve, breathing deeply, shakily. I don't know what's wrong with me. My ears are pounding. I guess it's that kind of morning. A lot to take in.
"You oughta go easy with those clippers, Remmy," Ozzy smirks, patting my chest with the back of his paw.
"Huh?" I blink down at myself, then look back up to him. He's got a big, broad smile on his face, that sort of easy grin he always wears when I see him out playing.
"Yeah, for real. You look good in the fluff. I think it suits you better."
My hooves find their way to my pockets. I pat my wallet. What's one more dip for friends?
"Y'know, this all kinda reminds me of something someone told me once," Ozzy muses, scratching his immense, shaggy neck.
"What's that?" I sniff.
"Sometimes things ain't as bad as they look from outside."
He slings his guitar over his shoulder, throwing a wide grin down at me.
"And you're not outside, 'less you wanna be."