Remmy deals with childish temperaments at the local library.
Though to be fair, I guess that comes with the territory. Libraries are pretty much the same wherever you go. They're one of those stubborn relics from the past like newspapers or pay phones, refusing to disappear even as technology gets better. Which is a damn good thing right now, because I really need to look something up and I exceeded my cell phone's monthly data cap on the first of the month.
...And today is only the second.
Look, I didn't have a choice. Nobody willingly downgrades to the ultra-cheap 4GB-a-month data plan, but I'm kind of between jobs. Gotta tighten my belt. If making my rent payment on time means no bingeing ZooTube videos on my phone, that's a small price to pay. Besides, the library's within walking distance from home, and it's free for everyone to use. It's not gonna kill me to get out of my apartment for a little while.
And I mean, it's actually sorta cool here, in a 'nostalgic-for-junior-high' way. Case in point, I'm pretty sure I see one of the Wilbur Worm books on the shelf full of 'staff picks'. God, that takes me back. I remember writing a book report on that series when I was in third grade!
I'm soaking up the atmosphere when I glance up, and for the first time, I notice there's a bunch of banners strung along the walls, and even between bookshelves. They all have cutesy sayings like 'BOOKS ARE FUN!' and 'Read! Know! Grow!'. They're obviously homemade, using materials like you'd see out of a classroom -- construction paper, markers, glitter and paste -- but the art and lettering are so much better than what the average kid's capable of. You can tell that whoever made these put a lot of work into them.
Now I'm grinning at the thought of Martina running laps around an oversized sheet of construction paper, drawing a border with crayons and markers. Come to think of it, I wonder if the little stoat works here along with her brother. I know she's always doing fundraisers for the library down at Packer's, but I don't think I've ever thought to ask if she's actually employed here? Eh, something to bring up next time I see her, I guess.
As I approach the front desk, I spot a familiar, orange-furred, bush-tailed vixen standing at the checkout station. Her pointy snout's resting flat on the smooth surface of the counter, her arms dangling loosely at her sides as she carries on a conversation with the librarian himself.
"...haven't heard anything yet," Charlie mumbles, ears laying flat against the top of her head. "Though I'm confessedly not as... patient in this particular matter as I'd prefer to be."
"I'm tellin' you, don't sweat it. You read that article I left out for you this morning?" Marty replies as he finishes stamping a hardback book nearly as big as he is. "They said a hundred fuckin' percent, Charlie. A hundred percent! Good as already done."
She huffs frustratedly through her nose, sending a few scraps of paper fluttering across the polished wood. I'm half-expecting him to gripe her out for it, but he just gathers them all up without even flinching.
"Always a margin for error."
"Hey. C'mon," the stoat grunts back, muscling the hardback off the table and onto a cart full of other books. "Y'know it's okay to believe in good things, Charlie. You'll see."
The fox furrows her brow, studying him as he works for several long moments before finally nodding -- which is actually pretty cute to watch with her chin tapping on the smooth countertop.
"Mm." She finally pushes back and straightens her too-heavy sweater off with both paws. "Maybe you're right. Perhaps a little optimism isn't unwarranted."
"That's the spirit," Marty says approvingly before turning on his heel and coming face-to-face with me. "Ah. Great. Speaking of unwarranted..."
"Nice to see you too, Marty," I reply, extending my hoof to him for a shake. "Hi, Charlie."
She clasps her paws behind herself and dips her head in polite greeting.
"Cormo," she hums pleasantly as she saunters toward the door, her tailtip brushing slowly and deliberately around the backs of my bare legs as she passes by.
Meanwhile, Marty's looking at my outstretched hoof like I've just tried to offer him a scoop of fresh manure.
"What're you doing here, g-- Cormo?" he groans, pinching the bridge of his muzzle. "I know it ain't to renew your library card. That ain't due for another eight and a half months."
I let my hoof drop to my side, quietly choosing to ignore the fact he apparently has that information memorized.
"I'm... here for a book?" I ask warily, glancing at Charlie out of the corner of my eye, watching as her tail swishes from side to side with each silent step. "That's okay, right?"
"Uh, I guess?" he replies, mocking my fake, confused tone. "I assume you don't need me to hold your hand, so just try not to make a mess. I'm way too busy to be dealing with your shit today."
"Great." I force a smile. "Appreciate it, Marty."
Rolling his eyes, he climbs down from the counter and ducks into a back room marked 'Staff Only'. I run a hoof through my wool as I watch him leave. So much for being a 'civil' servant, am I right?
...Wait, that one was actually pretty clever.
I pull a small notepad from the pocket of my shorts, withdrawing the pen from its coiled wire binding.
Civil... servant.
Nice.
Okay, this is getting old fast.
I've spent the last half-hour looking for even a single book on interior design, and I can't find anything. And no, it's not that the books I'm pulling back are too dated or too high-brow. I mean I literally can't find anything at all in these stupid note cards. No matter how many times they showed us how to use it while I was in school, I never did get the whole Ewey Decimal thing. Shit's complicated as hell, and besides, computers automate everything anyway. This is one relic I wish they would get rid of.
I've exhausted every keyword I can think of: apartment, furniture, decorating... hell, I even looked for books on feng shui. Zip, nada, fuck all.
Unfortunately, I realize what this means. I'd really hoped I could avoid having to ask Marty for help. While he isn't in the worst mood I've ever seen him in, the less contact I have with him the better. Y'know, for keeping the peace and all. Still, unless I want this to be a wasted trip, there's no avoiding him.
"Fuckin' fantastic," I mutter as I shove the bundle of index cards back into their drawer. I mean, neatly shove them. I did say I wasn't going to make a mess.
Making my way back up to the librarian's desk, I see Marty's emerged from his staff room cocoon while I was busy trying and failing at card divination. He's slowly shoving an oversized cart full of books across the library. I'm surprised he can even move it, seeing as how it's sized for a mammal bigger than he is. He can barely see over the top of the thing, but that's not stopping him. Gotta admire his persistence, I guess.
I approach the cart, waving to get his attention.
"Hey, Marty?" I cautiously prod, knowing he's been trying to avoid me.
"Yeah," he grunts, stopping to wipe the sweat off his brow.
"You busy?"
"What do you think?" he gestures to the cart without missing a beat, in his typical grouchy tone. Though, there's a bit of something else in it, too. Even as prickly as he usually is, I can hear it. "I gotta ton of shit to do today, so unless there's something you really need--"
"Well, if you're that busy," I interject, "is there anything I can help you with?"
That gets his attention. And to be honest, mine too. I'm just as surprised to hear myself extending the offer as he apparently is to be hearing it. He looks up at me, his eyes kind of bugging out, jaw hanging slack. He's making this weird sort of face that's equal parts confused and in pain. Like he's just stubbed his toe while trying to remember where he left his car keys.
"Nah. I'm fine," he replies dismissively.
"Yeah? You sure?" I persist. "You seem kinda... overwhelmed today. And you said you were super busy, so..."
He scoffs, clearly annoyed. "What, you think I can't do my job? Listen, muttonhead--"
"Hey, I might be a muttonhead, but that doesn't mean I can't read," I interrupt.
"Fuck's that got to do with--"
Without saying a word, I jab a hoof at the sign hanging off the counter behind him: 'VOLUNTEERS NEEDED'. Marty turns, sees what I'm pointing at, and rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with the gesture.
"Look, I don't have anywhere I gotta be right now," I continue, downplaying his frustration while trying not to sound patronizing. "And that cart's gotta weigh a ton. At least lemme help you push it to where it needs to go."
There's this weird feeling of clarity in my head right now. I originally just meant to call his bluff, like I figured he was just blowing me off? But as I'm doubling down, seeing all the shit he's got on his plate, I think I actually mean it? Like I said, it's not like I got anywhere else to be.
"Yeah, all right, fine." Conceding, Marty steps back and throws his paws in the air. "Knock yourself out. They're reference books, so they go in the reference section. Just wheel 'em over and I'll come shelve them myself in a minute."
I nod, gripping the cart's handles and giving it a test push. Even though it's fairly heavy, the cart rolls easily enough. "Okay, and where's the reference section?"
Smirking, he points over my shoulder to the center of the library, where a huge sign reading 'REFERENCE' dangles from the ceiling, flapping in the air-conditioner breeze.
"...Right, got it," I sigh as I begin wrangling the book trolley.
"Where do you keep the light bulbs in a library?"
Marty glances up from his clipboard, eyebrows knitted.
"...I don't know, Cormo," he groans. "Where do you keep the light bulbs in a library?"
"No, I mean -- I'm not making a joke. One of the floor lamps over there burned out. That lady saw me pushing the cart and asked me if I worked here," I explain, pointing to the sitting area where an older canine has her nose pressed tight against the pages of her book.
In spite of clearly being stressed, Marty smirks. "You working here?" he laughs. "That'll be the fuckin' day!"
"Yeah, it's a fuckin' laugh riot. Can you quit busting my balls and just tell me where they are?"
"Yeah, arright. There's some in the closet behind the counter. I need to finish taking inventory here and then I'll go get one."
"Nah, I already promised her I'd do something about it," I reply, heading over to the front desk and pushing the little half-door thing aside to let myself behind the counter. "This closet over here, right?"
"Hey, that area's for staff only!" Marty gawps as I throw open the first door I see. Whoops, looks like it's full of filing cabinets. This must not be it then. "You're not supposed to be back there!"
"It's fine, I'm a volunteer," I smug at him, shutting the door and moving onto the next one. "Let's see what's behind door number two-- ah, here we go."
You can tell a control freak like Marty's in charge here because even the most mundane of places -- the fucking supply closet -- is meticulously organized and impeccably sorted. Every single thing on the shelves is clearly labeled and stacked in neat piles and orderly rows. In no time at all, I've found the light bulbs. I pluck one from the box and shut the door before turning around to see a smiling, heavyset brown bear in business clothes waiting patiently at the counter.
"Hi, excuse me? I was wondering if you could direct me to the reference section?" he asks.
"Sure thing." I point helpfully to the same section Marty showed me not fifteen minutes ago. "Right over there, just underneath that sign."
See, I'm learning!
He turns and looks over his shoulder, then lets out a barking laugh. "Well I'll be! How the heck'd I miss that?"
"Don't worry, it's not just you," I smile, glancing over at Marty. He's shaking his head at me in disgust. "Same thing happened to me on my first day too."
"Oh, well, that makes me feel better then. Thanks, son!"
"No problem."
As soon as the bear walks off, I calmly step around the counter with the light bulb in my hoof, waving to the canine lady still struggling to read in the dim corner of the open room. She smiles and waves back as Marty and I head her way. At this point I can't tell whether I'm supposed to be following him or he's following me.
"So what was that you were saying about 'that'll be the fuckin' day'?" I whisper to him with a shit-eating grin.
"You don't work here."
"Right, I'm just volunteering," I reply with all the pomp I can muster, unscrewing the bad bulb from the lamp. "I can--"
"Oh, dear!"
Unfortunately, just as I get it most of the way undone, it shatters in my stiff hooves and I find myself staring down at the broken glass on the carpet with a dumb look on my face, like I'm eight years old all over again and I've just knocked over mom's favorite vase.
Marty though, he doesn't miss a beat.
Without a word, he plucks the bulb from my other hoof, clambers up the side table, finishes unscrewing the broken bulb, and pops the fresh one in. It clicks on, lighting up the dark section of the reading area.
"How's that, ma'am? Any better?"
Nestling into her chair with a nod, the lady resumes reading her book.
"Much, dear. Thank you, you've both been very helpful."
Turning back to Marty, I tap my hooves together.
"...I'll get the dustpan."
"Forget it, I got this," he mumbles, hopping back to the floor with enough care to avoid the shards of glass. "If you really want to help, I got something a little more your speed, anyway."
"The 'Storytime Book Cub'?" I squint at the dry-erase board outlining all of the upcoming activities at the library, just to make sure I'm reading it right. "Shouldn't that say 'Book Club'?"
"Ain't you ever heard of a play on words?" Marty frowns.
...Isn't a play on words supposed to be clever?
"Sure, okay. So what do you need me to do here?"
His face softens a little as he runs a paw along the edges of the bookcase full of kids' titles. Picture books, short stories, and even some beat-up comics line the well-worn oak shelves. There really aren't as many kids' books here as there were at the library I went to when I was young, but given the neighborhood, I'm surprised they've got any at all.
"Morning or night, rain or shine, you always make room for storytime," he says in an odd, almost sing-song kind of way. "That's our motto. Unfortunately, my assistant's out on maternity leave, and I'm having to take care of her share of the work."
"Does she usually do the whole storytime thing?" I ask.
"Nope. I do."
Wait, is he... smiling?
"...I see," I reply, not really sure of what else to say. It's rare to see Marty acting so, I dunno... I don't want to say nice. More like non-hostile? Anyway, I don't want to ruin it.
"Since she usually handles tutoring the high schoolers, today that's my job. And since I obviously can't be in two places at once, that means I'm gonna miss storytime."
"What subject do you have to tutor? Anything I can help with?"
"Advanced calculus."
"Y'know, I always loved storytime," I cough.
"Well, it's simple enough," Marty says, tone immediately switching back to stern. "I'll let you pick something to read. It lasts for an hour, and remember, these are little kids, so try to pick something appropriate. No fantasy wish fulfillment harem strongman shit."
"Who reads that? Are you saying I read that?"
The shrimpy stoat shoots me a smirk and a sarcastic shrug. "Look, can you handle it or not?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I got this," I reply confidently, whacking my chest with my fist. My hoof makes a soft plomf noise as it hits my thick wool.
He rolls his eyes again as he turns to leave, but this time it's more amused than disgusted. I watch as he plods off in the direction of the supply closet, leaving me alone in the kids' section.
Well then, I guess we should see what I have to work with.
I grab a book off the shelf at random, take one look at the cover, and immediately return it. I don't know how young these kids are, but I figure they aren't Happy Hoppy Learns the Alphabet young. Slippy Snail's Sad Day also gets a hard pass, since the last thing I want is a bunch of crying kids. I dig a little deeper and find a book about a young rhino who wants to be a sorcerer, which actually looks pretty interesting until I realize it's over six hundred pages long.
The choose-your-own adventure books don't make the cut for similar reasons; I need something that we can get through in one sitting. On the other end of the length spectrum, comic books aren't even an option. I can't imagine trying to read one to a group. And don't even get me started on this kids' joke book. I don't think I'd enjoy being a stand-up comic cracking off terrible joke after terrible joke for an hour straight. I got enough laughs for one lifetime during my sheep lecture thing.
Maybe I'm overthinking it. I mean, I realize I'm only reading a story to some kids, but I really don't want to screw this up. Last thing I want is to reinforce the idea in Marty's mind that I'm a total fuckup. Maybe I should just go with something like a picture book? After all, Marty did say these are little kids...
Reshelving everything I've pulled out so far, I turn my attention to the row of picture books. These are already showing more promise -- for one, there's a bunch to choose from, and for two, they all look pretty easy to read. I pick up one with a brightly-colored cover and skim the blurb on the back, only to laugh out loud when I see it's about a fox who's a master thief.
I guess art really does imitate life.
Making a mental note to check that one out before I leave, I get back to picking through the stack. A cute story about an elephant trying to eat the world's biggest sandwich, but it's only a few pages long. I don't think I could stretch it over an hour. Same for this book about a tiger riding a bicycle. I have to choose wisely here. I want to make a good impression, after all, and I'm trying to help out a friend.
Well, help out Marty, anyway.
And at last, right there, beneath a book about a wolf mail carrier trying to deliver a letter, I find what may just be the perfect answer.
The Sheep Who Wouldn't Sleep.
I quickly flip through it, nodding to myself. The main character's a sheep who tries everything but still can't fall asleep, so he eventually ends up counting himself. Cute. Length looks solid -- not too short, not too long. The writing seems easy enough for kids to follow. Good quality illustrations, and the book's size is big, so I can hold it up for them to see. And hell, since I'm a sheep too, I could act out the scenes for them. They'd like that, right?
Like I said, I gotta choose carefully.
This'll be perfect.
Oh wow. I don't know how many kids I was expecting, but it sure wasn't several dozen.
The conference room's absolutely packed with kids of all species and sizes gathered round. Pups, cubs, kits, you name it. Not all predators, either. There are actually a few prey kids as well, even if they're far from the majority. In fact, there are so many kids here we ran out of seats and a few of them are seated cross-legged on the floor. Meanwhile, here I am with a book in my hooves, sitting on a little wooden stool at the front of everything, all eyes on me, as I pretend to be a wolf.
Compared to right now, the stupid seminar I gave for my neighbors seems like no big deal.
"So -- acHEM -- the horrible winds blew, and blew, and blew." I pause halfway through reading to make a whooshing noise with my mouth, flapping the pages of the book. "...But the Mailwolf wouldn't turn back."
Immediately a paw shoots up.
"That's a tornado, right?" a pudgy bear boy in a set of overalls and a baseball cap says. "I saw one before, a real one!"
"Um! Um, my mom told us, if there's ever a tornado, we have to go into this special room under our house," a bespectacled hyena girl says through a mouthful of braces. "So he could go in... in something like that...?"
"The Mailwolf can't hide," a wolf pup beside her interrupts. "That's stupid! If he did, he'd get fired!"
"Nuh uh! He'd get hurt really bad! My mom said!"
"Hmm. Well, I think there's more to it than that," I offer before an argument can break out. "I think the Mailwolf's got another reason besides not wanting to be fired."
He huffs, clearly not having any of it. Sorry, Mailwolf. I tried to vouch for you, but I guess this unbeliever's just gonna have to find out for himself. Turning the page, I show off the illustration of the Mailwolf standing in front of a tornado, letters trailing out of his bag.
"Knew it," the bear cub says, smug.
"He's losing his mail!" a pup at my feet cries out. That unbridled enthusiasm, reacting to the story as if the characters were physically in the room with you? It's contagious. I smile broadly, soaking up their enthralled reactions.
"Yeah, he is!"
"He's losing 'em!"
The hyena girl's eyes go wide, amplified by her oversized bottle-glass lenses. "That looks... um! That's bad! He's gonna get in trouble!"
"The Mailwolf was in trouble. He knew that there was no way he'd be able to get past the tornado by himself," I continue.
"I told you!" the hyena girl pipes up again, as if explaining to the rest of the room. "That'd be -- that's... that's, that's -- um! Um! Nobody should ever go near a tornado! You should just hide and wait for an adult to tell you it's gone away!"
I stifle a laugh. That last bit sounds like it was drilled into her.
"Now, everyone, the Mailwolf is a trained professional," I insist, drawing a few chuckles, mostly from the parents. "I'm sure he's got a plan. Anyone want to guess what his plan is?"
"He puts the tornado out with water!" a wolf girl excitedly yips, her tail wagging so hard it thumps the floor.
"...I think that's what you do with fire, sweetie," her mom replies, scrunching up her fair, reddish-brown face as she stands against the wall in the back of the room. "How do you put out a tornado, anyway...?"
"Pretty sure you can't," I chuckle. "Any other guesses?"
"He runs really fast and jumps over it," a rabbit boy suggests, planting his paws to his chest bravely. "I could jump over it, easy!"
"What! That tornado's as big as a building!" his friend laughs, causing a wave of giggling to sweep the room. "You can't jump over a building!"
I patiently flip to and reveal the next picture, which takes up both pages of the book, showing the Mailwolf hitching a ride in an old-fashioned biplane being piloted by another wolf.
"The brave Mailwolf called his friend, the Airwolf, for help. And using the Airwolf's plane, they flew so high up they were able to go over the tornado." I clear my throat and affect the deepest growl I can manage (which isn't much). "'Thanks for the help, Airwolf!'"
There's a chorus of 'oohs' and 'whoas' as I present the art showing the two high-flying wolves. I feel like I should probably put some kind of disclaimer out there right now about how trying to fly around a tornado is incredibly stupid and dangerous, but I don't want to ruin the moment. I just hope this doesn't inspire any of these kids to grow up to be pilots.
The talkative hyena girl straightens her glasses, putting herself out there once more. Clearly the kind of kid who feels the need to comment on everything. "The plane is really cool! Planes go really high up in the air."
"I still could'a jumped it," the rabbit sulks.
Scoffing, the bear cub leans back in his chair. "Pfft. Whatever."
"It wath really thmart to askth his friend for help," a ferret girl observes through her bulky retainer.
"Yep. These wolves are really smart," I reply. "They know it's better to work together, as a team. Does anyone here know what a team of wolves is called?"
The response around the room is immediate, and enthusiastic. "A PACK!!"
Man, that feels good. It's easy to feel smart in a room full of children.
"That's right," I grin, turning the page and readying my 'wolf voice' again. "Once they had flown to safety, the Mailwolf said--"
The sound of the door in the back of the room quietly opening draws my attention, and I instinctively look up to see a familiar silhouette lingering in the entryway. A tall, well-built black-furred wolf walks inside with a tiny pup at her hip, who bears a single white-patterned streak on his dark coat. Betty nods wordlessly to me as she lets the pup down, who wastes no time in hurrying up to sit up front by me, lollipop in mouth and toy car in paw.
"Said what? What did he say?" the hyena girl urges.
"Yeah, Mr. Remmy! What did he say?" the bear cub asks.
"Finish the story!"
"Yeah, finish!!"
I find myself faltering. "I, uh..."
Nervously, I look up at Betty, who gives me a silent, approving nod as she leans against the back wall, arms folded.
Well. Here goes nothing, I guess.
"'No tornado is terrible enough to stop the Mighty Mailwolf, because I made a promise! And I'm a wolf of my word!'" I growl in my absolute best attempt at sounding like Al. Which ends up kind of sounding more like a confused, angry bleat. But what do you know -- the kids eat it up anyway, cheering me on. I glance back at Betty, who I'm expecting to be doubled over in laughter, but instead she just kind of watches, a half-smile at her lips.
The black pup bounces excitedly, instantly invested, even though he missed the entire first half of the story. "Keep going!"
Chuckling, I flip slowly to the next page. "Well, the tornado was gone, but you'll never believe what happened next..."
In the end, we wound up going well over the hour-long mark for storytime. Note to self: never, ever underestimate the willingness of kids to chime in. I could've probably gotten away with an even shorter book. Though I'm pretty sure, based on the energy in the room, that the one I picked was a winner. Hell, even the grown-ups seemed to enjoy the story, and that's saying something.
Speaking of grown-ups, almost everyone's filed out of the conference room except for me and Betty. She stands beside the low snack table nearby, nursing a cup of leftover lemonade, watching protectively as her pup plays by the front of the room with a few of the other kids still waiting to be picked up. Meanwhile, I'm in the process of gathering up the folding chairs to return to their place in the corner. I'm just about finished moving them when Marty walks into the room with a stack of papers in his arms.
"How'd it go?" he asks, making his way over to me and Betty.
"Actually, I'd say it was a hit," I reply. "They really seemed into the story."
He visibly relaxes, dropping his stack of papers in a loose pile by his feet. "Good. That's good. What'd you pick?"
"The Wolf of His Word. You know it?"
"Yeah, Kat Looptail. Her books are classics. I grew up on a few of 'em myself." He looks me up and down, head cocked to one side like he's studying me. "I'm actually surprised. I figured for sure you'd have tried to read them some dumb fuckin' shit like Hairy Porker."
I mimic his showy eye-roll from earlier as I shove past both of them with my payload. "Geez. Thanks for the vote of no confidence."
"Tone it down, weasel," Betty yawns as I pass by her with the last couple of chairs. "I'd say he did all right by those kids. You looked like you were enjoying yourself out there, yarnball."
"Beats my last attempt at public speaking," I shrug, depositing the chairs in the pile with a pair of clanks. "As you may recall, that one didn't go so hot."
"I thought it was a fuckin' riot," Betty chuckles, pouring the last of the lemonade from the pitcher into a foam cup and passing it down to Marty. "Sorry, no grape-ade."
"EH HEH HEH HEH, Marty loves grape, eh heh heh so funny," he spits a sneering, fake laugh as he reluctantly takes the cup from her with both paws. "You can't blame me for thinking he could fuck up a children's book."
I'm restacking the books when I hear Betty's hushed voice again, over my shoulder.
"Fluff did you a favor. You need to reel it in a little. This hate-on or whatever you got for him. Keep it in check or we're gonna talk again." Her tone is low and steady, all business.
"He's not much of a civil servant after all, I guess," I quip smoothly.
"Are you kidding?" Marty blurts back in an exasperated whisper. "I have been! I have been on my best behavior today!"
She points, claw extended from her plastic cup. "That what this is?"
I turn to them, coughing into my fist to indicate my presence and let them know I can hear them.
"Guess he's not much of a civil servant," I quip extra smoothly.
"Oh for fuck's sake." Marty growls back at her, not even acknowledging me. "You're always giving me shit, Beta, and let's not pretend I don't know why. So if this about you an' me, fine, but don't make it about him. You'll excuse me if I got little patience for specists."
"He's not a specist," Betty fires back instantly.
"Thank you!" I sigh, relief and incredulity washing over me together.
"I mean, okay, he is," she takes a quick sip from her lemonade. "But that's not his main problem."
Oh for-- "Guys, I'm right here!"
"I think being specist is sure as fuck his main problem," the stoat argues, face puckering as he takes a swig from his lemonade.
Betty just shakes her head. "Nah. He's just self-centered. A fluffy little world all in his head. Specism's just a side effect of thinkin' it's all about him."
"I'm not either!" I stamp my hoof, then catch myself and lower my voice. "How am I self-centered?!"
Finally acknowledging me, the big black Beta wolf leans sideways a bit, nodding. "Arright, chew on this: Remember when you thought that pillow-sheep everyone was ripping on in the street was you, personally, instead of the ex-Mayor who was on the news and everyone hated?"
"Wh-"
A broad, easy grin splits across her face.
I can't even find the words. "You know Cliff."
"'Course I do," she smirks. "I used to babysit that chatty catty. Now, are you two gonna settle this or what?"
Finally, Marty sighs, turning back to me.
"Look, I got a lot of shit I was gonna say to you. But... I heard about what you did at the gym. My sister had a lot to say about you. So I'll cut it short." He pauses, tosses back the last of his lemonade like he's finishing a shot, and takes a deep breath. "I was wrong about you. I still think you got your head wrong about a lot of things, and I still don't really like you, but... well shit, I been saying from the start that actions speak louder than words, y'know? And how you gotta act the part. Well, I guess I'm not too proud to finally say it: you have been doin' that. So all that shit I was gonna say, I'm just gonna leave it."
"That almost sounds like a compliment," I mutter with an awed tone that's only partially sarcastic. Marty's actually saying something nice about me. I wish I was recording this.
"It was an apology, at least," Betty nods. "Now I think you were about to thank him, too."
Marty grits his teeth, but nods in agreement all the same. "Yeah. Well. Anyway. Nice work today, I guess, Cormo."
I roll my eyes at the 'I guess'. Figure that's as grateful as he gets, so I just grunt in reply and begin breaking down the folding table now that it's no longer needed.
Turning his back to me, Marty looks up at our Beta.
"But seriously, I'm not gonna get any complaints from angry parents in the morning, am I?" he asks of her, voice low enough not to be overheard by the kids at the front of the room.
"Hey," I grumble.
"Fuck, Marty, seriously. Climb off him," Betty frustratedly growls back at the same low volume, her thick black tail swooshing lazily behind her. "Turns out he's good with kids."
The stoat hums, playing with his empty plastic cup. "Guess it makes sense. Not that far off from being one himself."
"He's young, but he's not that young," Betty argues quietly.
"Look at him, he's practically a pup! Sheepling. Whatever they're called. You can still see the baby fat around his face!"
I stop what I'm doing to turn around and glare at both of them. They're talking about me like I'm not even here. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I'm not swearing in front of the children. "Are you two fuckin' serious right now?"
"His wool's already turned white," Betty remarks, thumbing a claw at me. "Turns white with age. I think that was in the presentation, anyway."
"It wasn't," I huff.
"Hey, Cormo," Marty pipes up, as if I haven't heard everything already. "How old are you?"
"I'm almost twenty," I reply indignantly.
Both of their jaws drop as they stare at me, wide-eyed. Marty's the first to recover, tossing his cup in the nearby trash.
"You're nineteen."
"Yeah. I am."
"That explains so damn much," Betty finally manages. "Fuck."
"No shit. Charlie mentioned you dropped out of college, I didn't realize that was last fuckin' week," Marty breathes, eyebrows arched. "I had you figured for mid-twenties, at least. He really is just a dumb kid."
Betty's phone is out of her pocket and in her paws as she begins typing. "Shit. I don't think even Al had any idea."
Groaning, I throw my hooves in the air in exasperation.
"Yeah, okay, I'm young! Are you two gonna make a huge fuckin' deal about this?"
Next thing I know, I feel a vibrating buzz coming from my left hip pocket. I fish out my phone and see that there's a new text message, addressed to the Pack's 'important messages only' ZMS group.
(Betty) Twenty bucks says you can't guess how old [sheep emoji] is.
"Seriously?" I scoff, squinting at my screen. "...You'd better cut me in for half when you win."
"Keep dreaming," she laughs out loud, stowing her phone and sauntering over to the kids at front of the room. "Hey, ready to go, bucko? You did real good today."
"Yeah!" the little black pup cheers excitedly, reaching both paws up at Betty. "An' I made a new friend!"
She swoops down, nosing around his face and neck with playful 'bites' and exaggerated "arrh arr" noises that get him giggling. Finally she kisses him on the snout and hefts him up, holding him against her hip as she strolls to the door.
"Hey, I did good today too," I brag with a very self-aware laugh.
"You sure did," Betty coos back in her patronizing child-friendly tone, and without warning she suddenly shoves her face down at me, burying her snout in the puffy wool around my shoulders and nipping at my neck with play-bites.
Ah.
"Okay, bye bye," she says, encouraging her pup to wave as she ducks out of the room. "Play nice, you two."
I'm still standing there, bolted to the floor and blinking to reorient myself with reality when she walks out the door.
"Well, maybe I oughta have you come in to read next week, too" Marty relents, re-gathering his papers and sorting them onto the table.
"Yeah," I agree quickly. "Maybe you oughta."