All right, here's the deal with this thing!
The good folks over at Zootopia News Network decided to run a challenge throughout November as part of National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo, aptly named NaZoWriMo in this case, because of course it is. The prompt? Write a 50,000-word (at least) Zootopia fanfic in November, then post it at the end of the month/first day of December.
I sit here and think, "YEAH, SURE, WHY NOT?" And of course, I neglect that voice in the back of my mind that's all, "Hey, stupid, you realize November is your busiest month at work, right?" I work in a field where year-end content is king, and that's been my life for the past month, leaving very little time to write much of anything.
I tried anyway. Didn't come close to finishing. But hey, I'm tossing it out there anyway – what's done, that is. The rest (everything past chapter six) will come when everything calms the heck down around here.
And until then, I hope this story, as always, is Not The Worst!
Before we begin: I'll probably toss a mention of the NaZoWriMo challenge's final post once that's up, because I think y'all should check out the work other writers put together for this thing; I suppose that would be up sometime in the coming days. ALSO, the initial opening scene of this story came from listening to Japandroids' "The Nights of Wine and Roses" on an abusing-the-repeat-button basis (lol, fireworks!). Decided to pay homage to that by naming the story after something else off that phenomenal album.
Continuous Thunder
The night everything changes, there are fireworks in the sky.
They sparkle, glisten, flicker every which way, stretching like umbrellas of brilliant multi-colored light over the city skyline.
Thunderous booms accompany each flash, rumbling and reverberating through every building, each edifice the city has mustered since its inception like continuous thunder. The ground shakes, the walls quake as though their structures might crumble at any moment, leaving broken rubble in their wake.
Residents come outside to watch. It is not every day Zootopia receives a show like this. The high-rising skyscrapers are enough, as are the lilting spotlights, the palm tree-like grand hotel, the glimmering harbor that creates its shores. There is often a fireworks display to commemorate the city's founding, the very day – or so it is claimed, though early records were often unpredictable and undependable, relying on guesswork more often than gruff, self-serious historians would prefer – predator and prey came together, joined appendages and decided, against tall odds, that they would try to make things work.
And oh, how these explosions in the nighttime sky surround them! On Zootopia Day, city officials set off a dazzling display in the harbor by Outback Island, with just one spot to which collective, sightseeing attentions need to be focused. But these fireworks, they are everywhere – Outback Island, Sahara Square, even near the looming, ominous mountains beyond the city. One can turn in a complete circle and never miss a moment of action.
Boom! Crash! Hiss!
Judy Hopps has only been up on the rooftop of the Grand Pangolin Arms, her apartment building, once before. It was an exploratory mission then; she, newly moved to Zootopia and marginally bored on a weekend during which she had no shift at the Zootopia Police Department, found the ladder on the top floor that led to the roof of the six-story building and clambered up, simply because she could.
She soon discovered that she was far from the only tenant who went up there, some with a fair amount of frequency on warm summer nights such as that one, when the sun had set after an arid day that saw fire hydrants across the town wrenched open to provide sweet watery relief in the streets everywhere from downtown to the Marshlands.
Tonight she expects herself to be far from the only occupant there, and she is right – the young, engaged-to-be-married otter couple upstairs sits atop a giant heavy-duty air conditioner, arms wrapped around each other in a delicate embrace at which Judy has to remind herself not to gawk. A middle-aged tiger with whom the rabbit has exchanged occasional niceties in the hallway or on the front stoop is there too, his legs dangling over the edge of the building, solemnly glancing up into the dark blue sky as the normally concealed clouds above them are highlighted like portentous wisps of smoke after each flash of light.
Briefly she wonders if he would like company, but leaves him to his reverie.
Soon she is like them, gaze toward the stars, taking in every crackle with charmed gratification as she takes her place on a brick ledge that leads into a long chute on one end – probably used for garbage, she thinks, but the smell, if so, is nonexistent.
She taps her phone and sends off a text to the fox. Join her, she says, if you can spend little enough time preening and spoiling your fur before the show is over.
He does not respond. Probably still in the shower.
That task complete, Judy's eyes are back on the fireworks and how they blanket the sky in a proud display of excess in the name of amusement. Briefly, her cop mind takes over and a dozen questions run through her mind – what was this celebrating? Did they file the proper permits? Who in the police department was undoubtedly supervising each firework-lit area right now, ensuring the safety of all?
"Judy," she whispers, waving a paw as though she is swatting away decidedly humorless thoughts about protocol and procedure that might otherwise envelop her. "Cool it."
As she is joined on the roof by a pair of zebra children who crane their necks to get a better look at the display, eyes wide with wonder and pointing out each and every magical detonation to each other, she feels her phone vibrate.
His only response? Three question marks.
She sighs. Nick Wilde has never been the most descriptive texter. But she considers it a fairly inconsequential flaw. Just occasionally irritating.
Judy is about to respond with some sort of a snarky response questioning the fox's ability to use context clues, but before she can type so much as one cry-laughing zoomoji, she hears him rustling up the ladder.
"Took you long enough, Slick," she greets him, swiveling her head to one side but not turning around completely, her ears listening for the approaching footsteps she knows very well to be the fox's; after all, her hearing is quite acute, and they have been partners on the force for a year now. "Not enough fluff in your—"
"Judy, what is this?"
Nick's tone is intensely serious, almost forcefully so, and it causes the bunny to consider him as he stands beside her: still dripping wet, a sleeveless, baggy white t-shirt pulled haphazardly over his body through which splotches of red can be seen as his soaked fur dampens the cloth, a pair of loose-fitting gym shorts that he only wears when he is planning on staying over. Not that Judy minds; his apartment is halfway across the city, and besides, she has a couch now.
Most of all, she notices his eyes: narrowed, almost unhinged, yet with another emotion she cannot quite pinpoint in that moment….
Oh, and he called her Judy. That was never a good sign.
"Nick," starts the rabbit, fumbling with her phone as she sets it off to the side and moves to stand. "What's – what's wrong?"
"Did you know about this?" He points into the sky, directly upward. Judy can see the explosions reflecting in his eyes, delicate bursts of light against the shiny whites of his eyes. "Did anyone? The ZPD? Is this something the city put on?"
And now she can tell the other sentiment held within his gaze: fear.
Nick Wilde, as far as she has been aware, does not scare easily. At least not in a way that elicits this response.
"I… I didn't," she sputters, her mouth agape as she reaches out a trembling paw. "And I don't know. I didn't hear a thing." Pausing, the bunny frowns. "Nick, this isn't like you. Is it… is it the fireworks?"
The fox rotates 360 degrees, one full turn as he glances around him into the sky, where the striking display continues.
"It is."
They stand in silence, save for the still-thundering booms that surround them, a sound Judy is now far less enamored with than she was before. Nick is breathing deeply – labored breaths, jagged, dazed. His usual self seems like a far-off memory, perhaps even an illusory construct.
"We have to go."
Judy places her paws on her hips. "Go… where?"
Their eyes lock. She is taken aback by the pleading look he gives her.
"Do you trust me?"
The bunny cannot say no to that. But even then –
She stamps her foot. "Nick, you can't just act like this without telling me what's going on. We need to…"
"Do you trust me?" he repeats, weightily, with the tiniest of cracks in his voice as he utters the final word.
"With my life."
It is not a lie. It is also not something she would rather have revealed in that moment. But it is true. She does, and it is something she has thought about often lately.
He takes her paw. It is warm against hers, though still a little wet.
"Then follow me."
As the fox and the rabbit shimmy down the ladder that leads back into the Grand Pangolin Arms, the fireworks crescendo into one enormous finale before concluding with one loud, final bang. There is a smell of roses in the air.
