The Warmbloods: Save Rock and Roll
Prologue
I suppose that sometimes, we get what we deserve. Karma is a devious bastard, and takes no prisoners. More often than not, however, when life throws us a curveball, it comes in an unexpected form and often ends up messing up our entire system, our entire routine. Often, we get served a plate of hatred and bigotry that we don't deserve, and we're told over and over again to believe that we deserved what we got. It's drilled into our minds, a casting call for the new religion.
Sometimes, I have a hard time believing that I didn't deserve what I got. It often takes me a while to fully comprehend things, to actually see where everything went so wrong.
I suppose it started with her. Mayoress Swinton. Zootopia's pride and joy. She ran a campaign fueled by hate and old stereotypes. At the time, I was convinced that it would never work, that peace and love would win out. I was wrong, as I so often am. At the time of the election, only three months had passed since my band, The Warmbloods, released our last studio album. It had received critical acclaim, and had surpassed dozens of records easily. I was riding on a cloud.
Only two months prior to the election, or one month after the release of the album, Judy received a large announcement. We were working together, comrades in the blue uniform. I enjoyed police work, more than I can say. It was hard work, but it felt undeniably good to know that you were making a difference in the community. Plus, being a police officer meant that I didn't have to deal with the constant pressures of fame, which was a definite plus. Fame does bad things to mammals. Just ask Mayoress Swinton. Police work was my life, and I had left music- rock and roll- behind me. It was a sweet ending to a lengthy saga.
The announcement which Judy received came from our Police Chief Bogo. He had elected her for a special position, a six month training in a city far away from Zootopia. The training would allow her to become a special agent and undertake cases far more difficult than she was currently. In his words: "You'll be solving Night Howler Cases every other day."
It was a big step, one which only Bogo could have made her take. She talked about it to me, saying that she didn't want to leave, but I could see that her heart was elsewhere. I wanted her to be happy, so I told her to do it. On the day she left for Gnu York City (the site of the training,) she decided that we needed to put our relationship on hiatus. I was stunned, and unquestionably angry. However, I also knew it wasn't a breakup. Long distance relationships are hard, and it was probably the right choice. She had told me that we would MuzzleTime every night and just pick up where we had left off when she got back. It sounded, as painful as it was, like it would work. I agreed to it.
One month after Judy left, the campaigning for Mayor of Zootopia kicked into high gear. Both candidates- Swinton and a tiger who's name I can barely pronounce- announced their platforms and explained what they would do if elected. I saw Swinton's platform and almost threw up in my mouth. Her entire campaign was based on hate. Specifically, she went after the two groups which she could deflect the most hate onto easily- interspecies couples and predators who had been previously convicted of a crime, sentenced, and had completed their sentencing. Among her most prominent ideas was the dream of a set of laws which she called "The Perfect Trifecta." The idea comprised a set of three laws. Hidden in their backgrounds were the following basic rules:
- Interspecies couples may not adopt children.
- Previously Convicted Predators will be considered for shock collars.
- Previously Convicted Predators will undergo job inspections by which the state of their wellbeing may be determined and their fitness to do their jobs assessed. (In other words- they spy on you while you work and give you a surprise firing.)
On one particularly bad night, I ranted to Judy about the laws. She was sympathetic, but explained that she thought I was wrong. Those laws would never pass, and the laws about Previously Convicted Predators had some fair points. I don't exactly remember why I started yelling. I did. She did too. Then she told me that she wanted me to never talk to her again. To leave her alone. Then she hung up on me.
One month later, things got really bad.
I hadn't talked to Judy in a month. I was becoming angrier and angrier. Swinton got elected by a landslide, absolutely crushing the competition. One week after that, all three of the "Perfect Trifecta" laws passed by an even larger landslide. I was disgusted.
Then the attacks started.
An enormous spree of hate crimes spread across the city like wildfire in the days following the passing of the "Perfect Trifecta" laws. Attacks mostly against predators, which should have been expected. I was more concerned about myself. At one point, I had been convicted for petty theft. I was going to have to wear a shock collar. I was going to lose my job. Chief Bogo was fairly cool about it, and promised me that he wouldn't let that happen. I believed him. At midnight, precisely eighteen days after Mayoress Swinton's election, I received a call. My cousin and his wife had been killed in a hate attack. They were 24 and 29, respectively.
I should clear something up- my cousin was at risk. He was a red fox, and was in an interspecies relationship. Like me. Unlike me, however, he wasn't a cop. So when the murderers came knocking, he couldn't do jack shit about it.
The person on the phone explained to me that he had left a will. It made me sick to my stomach to know that. He understood, better than anyone else, that he might die. The will bequeathed my cousin's stepson into my care. Maxwell Johnson-Wilde was just one year old. The will informed me that I had to keep the kit for at least one week, and then I could opt to send him to Cub Protective Services. I agreed instantly.
One day after the cub appeared at my doorstep, I received a call. Two police officers from a different precinct arrived, and delivered what I would later realize was the final blow. They informed me that I was in an interspecies relationship, and that I was in control of a kit. I was "tainting" his brain. Thus, under the new laws, I would have to give him up into foster care, pay an obscenely large fine, and would be fired from my job. If I did not agree to those terms, I would be evicted from the city "until further notice."
"Evicted from the city" sounds insane, until you realize that upon her arrival in office, Swinton created a city-wide restraining order. I would be barred from contacting anyone on a list which would be given to me, and I could not enter the city or else I would face legal action.
I don't honestly understand why I chose to fight. I never fought hard in my life. I took the path of least resistance, and it generally worked out for me. But this time, something just blew up inside of me. I couldn't take this. I was going to get this kit out of here, if I had to do die doing it. I wasn't going to give him up into the hell that was foster care.
I called Finnick, I called Henry, I called James. I explained what had happened. They were at my side within the hour. I had twenty four hours to get out.
"We're coming with you." Finnick had said.
"Where to?" I was crying, tears of anger, the small artic fox kit- all that was left of my cousin's legacy- screaming in my arms. "We have nowhere to go."
"We'll figure it out." Henry comforted. I didn't believe him. We loaded the guitars and drum kit into Finnick's van. I called my mom, explained what had happened. I called Bogo, told him to not expect me into work soon. And then we left.
For most mammals, that would be it. The world had proven to me again and again over the course of those four months that it didn't want me. I was scum, cursed to be whatever they told me I was. I hated that, hated it more than I can say. I was lost, adrift at sea. I clutched out as turmoil was all around me, desperate to find something to keep me sane.
I found music.
We ended up in Chipawgo. It's pretty much the music capitol of the world, an endless melting pot of different genres and styles. Almost no one survives trying to make it as a musician in Chipawgo. There's so many people trying to do it, only a few ever get good. I don't know how we did what we did. Sometimes, when I think back on it as I do now, certain memories stand out at me.
Eating Ramen for two weeks.
Sacrificing my own meals so that the kit could eat.
Buying two one bedroom apartments and splitting them between the five of us.
Playing a show every other night just to pay the rent.
Going hungry and without power.
Not having hot water to the showers.
Playing on blown out speakers in dingy bars.
The anger.
I'm still angry. But I'm less angry now. Chipawgo is about to give us our shot, our chance to make a name for ourselves and become not just a little band, popular only in Zootopia and the surrounding region, but international superstars. Yesterday, I got a call telling me that a report came out, detailing what Swinton did to me. I don't know what's going to happen.
No, no. Wherever I go, go. Trouble seems to follow. I only plugged in to-
I remember that song lyric. It always seems to help me, even in my darkest hour. We came back from the edge of the abyss. We can do anything. We're the Warmbloods.
…
I open my eyes. The peeling paint on the roof of the apartment does little to distract from the implications that come crashing down on me.
One week. There's one week until the festival.
I sit up in bed, knowing I'm not going to go to sleep again. I hear the heavy breaths coming from below me. James sleeps on the floor, having refused to take the bed tonight. There's a spare mattress down there which makes the small apartment around me feel even more cramped. My calloused paw finds the small, cheap, faux-gold locket with the picture of Judy which I keep, hanging around the neck of my candy apple red Fender Stratomouser. She probably doesn't even remember me. Probably hates me for running away. Maybe the report will change things, but I haven't seen what it looks like yet. I pop the locket open and stare at the picture for a full thirty seconds.
Max looks at me from inside of his crib. I stand up, giving him a faint smile.
"Come on, bud. Let's get ready. We've got a long few days ahead of us."
Save
Rock
And
Roll.
A/N: This may be a fairly short story. It might even end here, depending on whether or not you guys want to read more. It will also take second priority to "The Road Trip" for about a week, but then that one will be complete and this one will be top priority. I'm interested to hear what you think. Thank you for reading. Stay chill.
NJ