Copyright notice: Disney is not mine. The Disney characters are not mine. I am scum compared to the Disney Company.

Dramatis Personae

Belle saw the note before it had even left Mowgli's hand. The constant twirlings of his pencil showed an unusually prolific spurt of energy he rarely showed towards multiplication tables. Eyebrow arched, she watched as he meticulously folded the sheet of looseleaf and passed it over to Huey. The receiver stole a glance at her while she pretended to be grading assignments, then quickly snuck the note into the crease of his textbook. Carefully, he unfolded the piece of paper and almost simultaneously stifled what would have been a pronounced guffaw.

She sighed inwardly, hating this part of the job. Succumb to the role of disciplinarian or let the students get away with a minor infraction that could potentially lead to greater disobedience?

An audible snicker from Louie cemented her decision. Without looking up from her papers, Belle announced, "Louie, you've just given the entire class the privilege of writing a five-page essay on the importance of the geo-political climate during the last days of Tsarist Russia unless I have that note in my hand in the next 10 seconds."

She got the desired result. As the rest of the class shot dagger eyes at the culprit, Louie tripped over his webbed feet scrambling to get to her desk within the time limit. He arrived, breathless and more worried than she had ever seen a student. "Ms. Belle, I really don't think you should look at that," he quacked in a low voice, hesitantly giving her the note.

Taking the paper away from resisting hands, she frowned, appraising her student. "Now I'm going to have to open it, Louie. If it's something that you don't want the teacher to see, the last place you should share it is in class."

"But I didn't write-"

"But you received it, and you read it. And because of that, I need you to stay after class." Looking up, she added, "Mowgli, Huey, that goes for you as well."

An ashen-faced Mowgli and a reddening Huey nodded their horrified assent as Louie came trudging back to their corner. All three of them immediately returned to their schoolwork, never looking up as their classmates pelted them with questioning eyes.

At her desk, Belle sighed, then began to unfold the incriminating sheet of paper. What met her eyes was not the sophomoric joke or cootie-laden drivel she expected. Instead, a crudely drawn figure of herself lay on the crumpled page, her body replete with jaguar spots, fangs, and a striped tail. A caption above it scrawled, "Maybe he'll think I'm hot now." On the margin of the paper was the faint erased outline of Beast's face with oversized hearts for his eyes.

She wasn't sure how long she stared at the note, but she knew she had better stop when she felt her cheeks radiating heat. Refraining from tearing it up in front of her class, she slid it into the top drawer of her desk and busied herself with grading the long division homework she had been working on previously. But the numbers kept floating off and on the sheets; her concentration shot, she simply resorted to thumbing through the lessons plans for the next day and longing for the end of the current day so she could go home and curl up with…a mug of tea and A Midsummer Night's Dream.

The end-of-the-day bell couldn't sound sweeter when it rang later, its knell rich in promising undertones. As most of the students filed out, Belle smiled and returned their quizzes that most had passed with flying colors. After Simba and Nala finally scampered out with big grins on their faces and tests firmly clamped in their mouths, Belle's smile faded and she turned her attention to the rabble-rousers.

The three of them had cleared their desks and were sitting very still, not even looking at each other for reassurance. Each knew they would find none.

Belle walked over to her desk and grabbed the note. Slowly, she walked around to the front and leaned on the desk, her skirt flowing down the chiseled woodwork. She looked at them for a long, solid minute before asking Mowgli, "Why were you writing notes today in class?"

He looked up at her from his still fingers and evenly replied, "I was bored."

The countless hours she had spent creating new lesson plans weighed on her as she shook her head. "At least you're being honest," she sighed.

"I'm not good at multiplying things."

"Mowgli, that's not a reason for disrupting the rest of class."

"I didn't mean to- I just wanted to share a joke with my friends."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to share a joke. But everyone should be laughing then, not just a few of you."

"You're not laughing, Ms. Belle, are you?"

"No, Mowgli. I'm not."

A meek, "I'm sorry," came the last reply.

She straightened up, looking at the three, at their petulant faces, at their wide round eyes, and couldn't tell if they were genuinely remorseful or just sorry they had been caught. Deciding on the latter, Belle took a moment to weigh sentencing before telling them, "You three know better, so I'm not going to accept a simple apology. What I would like instead is for each of you to write a paper about what makes a joke funny, and why they can be misinterpreted. And it should be two pages long. Single spaced."

There was no groaning. Instead, they simply collected their books and sulked out of the classroom, leaving Belle alone with thoughts that she refused to dwell upon. Sinking down into her swivel chair, Belle opened the drawer with the crammed note and opened it again, wondering what was circulating about her behind her back that even the kids were picking up on.

"Darling?"

Startled, Belle immediately crumpled the sheet and discreetly tossed it into the wastebasket, then looked up. Gaston leaned in the doorway of the schoolhouse, his broad figure darkened in the silhouette against the midday sunlight outside. He strode into the room, gallant face puzzled. "Is everything all right?"

Forcing a smile, she nodded. "Just meting out a couple of reprimands. Let me grab my cloak."

Gaston wasn't buying it. "My love, you seem distracted," he said, stepping around the desk and starting to massage Belle's neck. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?"

The hundreds of responses that could have sprung out of her lips failed to meet them. She looked up at her beau, continued the smile, and happily lied, "Nothing that would interest you…unless mathematics have suddenly become your forte."

He laughed, a hearty guffaw. "Of course not! In that case, would you like to get going?"

"Yes," she replied, genuinely relieved. "I'll be right back." She stood and walked to the adjoining room where her cloak and books lay.

While she was gone, Gaston picked up the paper he saw Belle throw away earlier and looked it over. His jaw locked and fists tightened, but he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. Rather, he balled it up and shoved it into his coat pocket, safe from prying eyes, to be contemplated upon later.

Belle returned, fastening her cloak over her shoulders. "I'm afraid I won't be very good company tonight," she apologized, gesturing to all of the ungraded homework assignments.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about those, darling. Apparently, there's a Town Hall meeting tonight."

"Really?"

"Everyone's supposed to come."

"What's it about?"

"Don't know. But it sounded important."

As they walked out of the schoolhouse, Belle looked down at the stack of papers in her bag. "Then I suppose these can just wait one more night," she declared, suddenly enjoying the end of the school day and the prospect of an evening filled with adult conversations.

Well, more or less.

The red Fairlane sped down the deserted urban street, leaving behind a trail of exhaust in its wake. The radio inside crackled with a sadistic mirth.

"Late night again, Maza?"

Elisa picked up the CB and growled a short, "Knock it off, Matt."

"Is that a fair way to treat your partner?"

"When my partner's butting into my personal life, yes."

"Hey, c'mon. It's not like I asked what you and Goliath were doing up-"

"Want me to dock your pay?"

"We get paid for babysitting?"

"By the minute, partner."

"Really?" There was a short pause over the radio. "Do they just send it directly to workmen's comp?"

"Pension, actually."

"Ah. Mystery solved. Immortals never retire. No wonder we never seen a dime."

Elisa laughed, then yawned. She had got to get used to this routine. Staying up til dawn was only something for the weekends now, and Tuesday mornings were not, unfortunately, the weekend. Waking up five minutes before a shift started was not the best way to go about work.

Not that she regretted the circumstances that caused her late rising. She briefly let herself remember the events of the previous night, of the wind tangible between her fingertips, of Goliath-

"-somewhere in Cape Suzette. Who plotted these streets, anyway?"

"What was that, Matt?"

"I'm somewhere over in Cape Suzette, trying to get to Higher for Hire."

"Just keep going till you hit the coast and start driving north."

"So why aren't you here?"

"You're the one who got the short end of the straw. And you don't like going over to the Pride Lands."

"If they let me drive my car anywhere near that blasted rock of theirs…"

"Would you like someone mowing over your rosebushes?"

"No."

"Same thing."

A sigh blew over the radio. "Whatever. Head north?"

"Yeah. Hey, what do you think the meeting's about?"

"Beats me. Though it's been a long time since I've seen Mickey that somber."

"Not since the trial."

"Right."

Silence drifted over the wavelengths. Elisa watched at the familiar cityscape of some idealized New York slowly gave way to the long plains grasses and spindly trees of the Pride Lands. Almost instantaneous transportation was definitely a plus when running late.

"So I take it we're going to be running crowd control tonight."

"Along with the clan…and the others…"

"Swell…there it is."

"Found it, Bluestone?"

"Yeah…I'd probably better not park on the dock."

"Not unless you want a waterlogged car. Talk to you in a few."

Elisa rolled to a stop on the savanna dirt, well out of the shadow of Pride Rock. She wasn't too wild about having to walk a good half-mile when her car was perfectly serviceable, either, but she respected the reasons it was so. If a helicopter routinely circled her apartment every morning after her shift ended, she wouldn't be too happy with its presence, either. Besides, walking was good exercise and an excellent way to wake up her still-sluggish body.

Glancing behind as she walked towards the monolith, the city skyline had already faded away, replaced by the distant wintry slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro. She briefly wondered what a trek up that mountain might be like, but then immediately dismissed that notion as the only way to do it would be at night as the only companion she would have wanted to take that journey with would be viable during the dark hours.

A quiet rustle in the grasses ahead brought her attention back to the present. Anticipating what was coming, she steeled herself as a ball of fluff suddenly sprung up from the hidden ground at her midsection. The impact knocked her flat on her back, but she quickly sat up, grabbed the forelimbs of the attacking fluff ball and folded them into his chest, incapacitating the attack.

Simba wriggled, tail slashing wildly, but the cub knew when he was beaten. "Aw, man," he groaned, slipping out of her lap as Elisa stood, brushing dirt and grass off her backside. "Did you hear me coming?"

"Just barely, little guy," Elisa answered truthfully. "You definitely kept me on my toes."

"I was trying to keep you on the ground."

"Which is hardly the place where she belongs, Simba."

Both whirled around to see Mufasa and Taka standing behind them. Mufasa was trying hard to look stern, but the corners of his muzzle kept twitching upwards. His brother wore an apologetic smile, scarred green eyes quietly mirthful. "Good day, Detective," Taka greeted.

Grass-stained and dirt-streaked, Elisa dipped a quick, respectful bow towards the two adult lions. The overabundance of princes and princesses was one thing, but not showing any sort of deference to a 500-pound lion seemed kind of stupid. "Everyone get home okay?" she asked after straightening herself out.

Mufasa nodded, now breaking into a full-blown fatherly grin. "They did, Elisa, thank you. And thank Lexington again for creating that access pad. It's helped immensely with their grades."

"I gotta B+ on my last test!" Simba chimed in.

Elisa smiled. "Congratulations, little guy."

Simba beamed, pleased to catch the praise of the adults. "Thanks."

Looking back up, Elisa began, "So have you two heard about the meeting?"

"Yes," Mufasa answered, some of the smile fading away. "Zazu told us about it before the children came back home."

"Any idea what it's about, Detective?" Taka asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Judging by how reserved Mickey acted, I'm not expecting a barrel of laughs tonight."

"Do you think it might be about the Exiles?" Mufasa posed, lowering his voice to a quiet rumble. Simba looked up at his father, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

She shrugged. "I have ho idea. I doubt that he would get everyone together for an update, unless they had somehow broken free. But I think we'd already know if they had."

"Yes, they did seem to have a remarkable propensity for announcing their whereabouts," Taka said, frowning at the memories conjured.

Not liking how the subject had turned, Mufasa quickly changed subjects, noticing the worry starting to spread across Simba's face. "Will you and the clan be patrolling tonight then?"

"Oh yes. Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't."

"And it's a job widely respected and appreciated."

"Thanks."

The king nodded. "We should probably let you get back to your duties."

Glancing at her watch, Elisa agreed. "Yeah. I still gotta get over to France and Maui and I'm kinda running late."

"Then we should definitely let you go. We shall see you tonight, Elisa."

"Yep…see you tonight."

Getting back into her car, Elisa tried to shake the foreboding mood settling down on her. Thinking about the Exiles never did anyone any good, but as the front line of defense for Animasia, it was a subject that she routinely had to consider. Luckily, as she was pulling away, her radio started crackling again. "You there yet, Maza?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Nothing much. Just didn't feel like turning on the tape deck. Hey, did Simba mention if there was any trouble in school today?"

"No. Why?"

"Oh, Baloo and Rebecca were hollering up a storm at Mowgli when I came in. Kit just thought it was about some note that was caught, but it seemed a bit more serious than that."

"Bluestone, you know it's a sad day when our lives revolve around the gossip from a classroom."

Pause. "That's so terribly true it's not even funny."

"Where are you off to now?"

"Duckburg."

"Enjoy."

"What about you?"

"The castle, then off to the island and back over to the Eyrie."

"Just be careful around that little space punk."

"Stitch is harmless."

"He bit me."

"Matt, you stepped on his ear."

"He bit me."

Elisa sighed. "You want to meet at the hall around 6:30 and go over the patrol areas?"

"Sounds great. What time is sunset tonight?"

"About seven."

"And the meeting's at 7:30?"

"Yeah."

"Perfect. See you then, Maza."

"Bye Matt."

Sinking back into the seat of the car, Elisa drove in silence as the long amber grasses quickly grew shorter and verdant. Two more stops before heading back home…and what sounded like a very full night ahead.

There it was.

There it was again.

Again.

No.

Sheltered in his ancient baobab, Rafiki heard the tumbling of the sky through the leaves, the voices that it carried, the souls it passed through.

Today, it was not a good sound.

The voices were muddled, deceit behind words of promise, sadnesses so permeating the old one gasped beneath their enormity.

But he couldn't hear those words, didn't know who suffered, how many, how few. Didn't know how to help those he had no sense of.

And so, grabbing a handful of leaves off his roof, crushing them in his cracked hands, and mixing their sap with the juice of a blood gourd, he began to divine the secrets hidden from him, scattering the mixture upon the floor of his tree, waiting for the signs to show themselves.

And almost hoping they wouldn't come.