La Guitarrista
Chapter 2
[Nocturne of Rebirth]
There was something about the dead of night that brought both serenity, and chaos in its stillness. Its cool, calming embrace lulled cities to sleep and gave the promise of a new day soon.
The swirl of stars amidst the darkness and ambient, silver light generally brought peace to all who could see the heavens. And for eons, many, many mammals would sing solace to the silent moon. It would always shine within her eyes.
Yet amidst this tranquility, this... beauty, there were still those whose only purpose was to use the night as a shroud for their misdeeds. Their use of the time would be for greedy gains of gold and valuables of others until the rise of the sun unveiled their cover. It forever shone within his eyes.
And with both serenity and chaos, the mortified gazelle galloped down the sidewalk with her guitar clutched desperately within her hooves.
NONONONONO! her thoughts screamed with each hurried, terrified step.
She couldn't remember the last time she actually had to run for anything other than high school track. Being surrounded by bodyguards, waiting staff, and crew really didn't allow her to do much other than a weekly exercise routine, and that was mostly Zoombaah and dance practice.
This, however-
*BEEP* "Watch it, lady!"
-was difficult in comparison; cardio wasn't her thing.
Narrowly avoiding what was at least the third car in the past four blocks, Gazelle didn't slow her pace. She didn't know what had become of the villainous thief, but she didn't dare look back either.
I killed him... I killed him!
The glossy blur of faded red neon and flash of off-colour headlights was all that she could see in passing aside from the occasional obscuring of her whimsical, hazard causing hair.
"G-gotta-" She cried out the words, unable to finish the sentence when she rounded the next corner.
Somewhere in the haze of her mind, she vaguely knew where she was. While she hadn't walked the streets of this sub-district much at all, having to pass through here kept the directions fresh in her memory.
Down Thistle Drive and take a left at Barbed Street, head straight into Cactus Court, and then Palm Spring is a block away.
The instructions she gave herself were simple to follow and hard to understand. With her lungs burning and the sickening feeling of blood seeping down to her skin from her short fur, it left her thoughts in a perpetual state of panic.
Even the light whisper of chords from her instrument was enough to drive her further into madness. When she took a corner too narrow and clipped into the rough brick walling, the echo of wood against brick caused her to jump and yell.
And while every note she sang was like that of an angel with horns, this was akin to a warrior's battle cry; this too shocked her as it was unfamiliar.
Now with each stride becoming leaps and bounds, Gazelle tore down the sidewalk with reckless abandon. If it weren't for her holding her guitar, both of her hooves would have taken on lives of their own; hopefully one would find a reprieve in 'LaLa Land' while the other was in purgatory at least.
The unbidden clamour of her cries were as a siren in the night. Though very few would hear or care to hear as sleep undertook many of the city's citizens, to her it was nothing short of a cry for help.
Still, as she continued to traverse a path of sheer memory and hope, there was a little light just ahead of her. Nearly tripping over her dress several times as the thing wasn't exactly built for running, she identified the light as one she somewhat recognized.
Dashing past the landmark and thankful that it was at the entrance to the Palm Spring Park, she nimbly (and clumsily) ran through the welcoming gate; the cold, eerie, and uneven clop of her hind hooves was the only sound to welcome her.
Not only did the sound make her feel uncomfortable along with the nausea of her assault gnawing at her, but the sheer chill of the atmosphere nipped at her heels. Sahara Square was harsh both day ad night, her brush tail was about the only thing that would stay warm for a little while.
So here and now, Gazelle ran across the cool pavement of the park. She didn't have any clue as to 'where' she was supposed to meet here exactly, but she only hoped that the cops - or more so another thief or worse - wouldn't show up to greet her.
There! Her eyes caught sight of a nearby palm tree. It was one of the hundred or so scattered about and was surrounded by drought resistant grass.
So taking a turn off the path, she ambled towards the tree of refuge. With every crunch of frosted grass, her finely tuned hearing drew horrid imaginations. Gotta hide, gotta hide! And hide she would, at least until she was safe.
While in her state of duress and stumbling in low light, she failed to notice the park bench she bumped into.
Even when she heard the faint sound of tearing and lurched forward, she didn't stop; she couldn't be bothered by it now, nothing would hinder her from reaching her goal. She got up, struggling to do so as her body ached from fear, and trudged her way to the tree.
Practically slamming her back against the palm tree, she tried (and failed) to calm her breathing; she still sounded like a running engine. The little click of her horns against the bark became a slow, shadowy ambiance to her usual symphony.
Her mind started to wander. Okay... you hit the guy, and he's dead. She looked down to her hooves, tattered dress, and guitar. Each was stained with blood that she could only see thanks to the sliver of moonlight beaming down upon her. Y-you've got b-bloo-ood... on... on your hooves-
She didn't get much farther than that as every possible image popped into her head: prison cells, prison inmates... prison showers. Her teeth clenched at the idea, she was going to lose it when the ZPD showed up; she was a pretty face, but an ugly crier.
Her throat seized, she started to slide down the tree; every bristle of her tail was ruffled and her hoof weakly held the guitar in place. She had never experienced this before in her life: a panic attack. But now seemed like the time for that, a mental breakdown, and everything else before she was hauled off forever; the voice of a humble star, silenced forever.
With a few tears starting to fall, she heard a small, faint noise from just beyond the tree.
IT'S THE COPS! her every thought shouted, unable to prepare her for the cuffing, reading of rights and mug shot.
But after a moment... she didn't hear 'You're under arrest' or 'Hooves where I can see them', and she didn't know if that was good.
In fact, it may have been worse. THEY'RE BACK TO FINISH THE JOB! her thoughts screamed, switching gears and forcing her to grip her improvised weapon.
Breath erratic and heart rate increased, she hefted the guitar and shouldered it in one quick motion; she waited. Though her limbs protested in fear, and her horns scraped against the palm tree's bark, she stood as still as she could.
In her preparation for battle, she didn't hear a sound. Don't let them get you, don' let them get you-
Cold... that's how she felt then. And it wasn't just from the atmosphere as it was always just above freezing at night in Sahara Square. But she felt as if someone was watching her, poised to strike when she let her guard down.
Not again. she told herself, steeling her nerves as best as she could.
There was a rustle in the grass, her teary eyes opened and she tore away from the tree. With the weapon held aloft and ready to crash down on her new found foe, Gazelle lurched forward with as much strength as she could muster. She began wildly swinging; no rhythm to her dance, no melody in her moves, no grace in her steps.
"No te lo permitiré!" she shouted, taking blind shuffles forward all while fighting away her would-be attacker. Her muscles ached and groaned when she went for a wide swing; they screamed for her to stop when she leapt forward and came down with an overhead attack.
Throughout her blatant assault, she never once heard the voice of any enemy. It was only her shouting that she heard aside from the misplayed strummings of her prized guitar.
Within moments her body gave out. Exhausted from the physical strain of flailing around and running, Gazelle let her form fall. She let the guitar loose from her grip, using it to prop her up as she heaved and scanned around for who she managed to take down. And when she saw that neither body nor mammal was around, she was both terrified and confused.
Huffing and clutching her pendant tightly, she caught her breath. Maybe it was the wind? she thought.
"Yo, Zel!"
Not the wind!
She pivoted, hooves expertly gliding across the weapon like a maestro about to perform their concerto; her second wind renewed her. She would not let this be her finale, her swan song; an elegiac to her setting sun on such a day.
NO! She would fight to the bitter end!
But the moment she took her stance to defend herself, she stopped. For just a few feet away, she spotted a little critter scurry through the tall grass. Its large ears and barely visible tawny fur - much like her own, but of a far shorter coat - made her relax, if only a bit. And not only that, the voice used to call her was absolutely familiar.
"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec toi?!" came a gruff, accented shout. Its deep bellow plucked the strings of her heart. She felt terrible about raising a weapon against who she would consider probably her best friend.
She went to apologize. "Pequeño," her voice, hoarse from running and drained from the events that transpired, was the complete opposite of his. "I'm sorry. I-i... thought you were someone else and-"
"You 'bout attacked me!" came the sharp interruption, the grass parting to reveal a little fox with fangs barred and a gaze that could turn away a much larger predator.
Finnick casually strode towards her, head held high and ear tips nearly touching the ground. His usual black bowling shirt with a single red pinstripe was covered with a heavy spring jacket due to the chill of the district at night.
And much like Gazelle, his amber-gold eyes shone deeply under the slowly languishing moon. He was like her in many, many ways aside from their species. One thing that made them different, however, was the fact that he was currently livid.
"First I see you run here, and then hide by a tree like you stole somethin', and then you-" his sneer was cut short by the prey mammal making a beeline towards him. Within seconds, she had abandoned the guitar, knelt down to pick up the flailing fox firmly in her hooves, and drew him desperately in her embrace.
"Fin! Something terrible happened!" she sobbed, tears slowly dripping down her cheek as the fox struggled to break free. "It was horrible... there was so much blood."
Not understanding a word she was saying - due to lack of oxygen and her suddenly speaking her native tongue - Finnick continued his effort to break free from the gazelle's immense grasp. Only when he took in a deep whiff of her scent did he recognize the familiar stench of blood; his ears rose.
Halting his own escape, he tilted his head as much as he could to the sobbing doe. "Zel, what happened?" he asked, his usually gruff tone no more than the hush of a kit.
She didn't respond to his question, she only shuddered and held him closer; he didn't dare try to move.
It took maybe a minute or so before her grip loosened and he could at least feel his arms again. Despite being small of stature, he was not the fragile little fox many saw him as. And when he could wriggle free, he landed on the sidewalk and looked up at her.
Instantly, his jaw dropped as he was horrified at her appearance: tattered dress, jewelry intact, matted spots under her eyes, broken guitar, and red literally everywhere.
Finnick curled his paw in anger, yet none of it was directed at her. Quand je trouverai le gars qui a fait ça, je-
His thoughts were interrupted when the scent of blood filled his nostril again. "Why are you covered in blood?" he asked, a subtle hint of compassion under the chastising tone.
The sudden realization came to her, sickening her to the core. "I-I-it's not mine!" she belted out, standng up and stretching her hooves to wave in protest. Only the moment she did so did she see the tint of red that caused her another wave of sorrow and guilt.
Truthfully, Finnick heard that excuse from plenty of mammals before, her included. It was always 'not theirs' when it came time to answer the police. Never worked, though. But this time, Finnick refused to take any answer other than that. Not hers, huh? Then who tried to kill her?
Out of the two, he was the one that was stoic, introverted and had a darker sense of humor. He knew he could be a bit undermining - anyone that worked with Nick had to be - but he somehow always managed to make her laugh when they were together. But not this time, she was on the verge of crying her eyes out at what happened; he couldn't stand it when she cried.
So sighing and resigning himself to chauffeur her around to safety, Finnick approached carefully. A prey mammal she may be, but when she's stuck in a stupor, holding a weapon (that she tried to beat him with) and terrified, he needed to have his wits about him.
"Zel," he cooed, watching her slowly lean her tear-filled eyes toward him. Girl what happened to you, he questioned as he reached up a paw to the tattered hem of her dress. He started to pull, hoping to lead her away from here and get her to a place where she could at least feel safer (and warmer) than out in the open; there were a lot of crazy mammals that roamed the streets.
The moment he pulled, he felt a slight resistance in her steps. Angrily turning up to the distraught doe, he reaffirmed his stance. "We gotta go before you freeze yo' tail off! C'mon!"
As if finally getting it, the doe nodded a little and picked up her guitar. Whether defensively or because she couldn't leave it behind, she didn't know.
Finnick strode ahead, he formulated a plan with each little step. It's too cold out here for her, he told himself. At least the van'll keep her warm. Can't drop her off at the Palm lookin' like that either.
Through his musings, he meandered around various obstacles. Carefully stepping by signs and taking moments to see if anyone would dare approach them. Though he guessed that they wouldn't as nobody goes to a park at night for good reasons.
Once he reached the gate to the park, he smiled a little. He was greeted by none other than a landmark that the famed star had created by accident: The Dancing Light.
What appeared to be a simple, tall, luminescent, and reddish purple lamp post had become a small city wonder in a day. To many, it was a beacon of the park, the place to go to take a picture rather than any trail they had.
Gazelle's incident in nicknaming the thing was because she said that it 'looked like the same colour of jam she had for her toast one morning', and then someone misheard her say 'It looks like a jam lamp' and they started dancing... she joined them.
Sighing at the memory of him being there, Finnick turned to the vehicle just beyond the landmark. It was an old beat-up van with a mini mural of two wolves from a romance story on it.
Glad that he made it back, he trudged forward until he reached the back of the vehicle. Pausing to keep her just a few feet away, he let go of her and hiked his way to the driver's side door. "Le travail n'est jamais fini," he mumbled, taking out his keys and hopping up to the modified lock near the bottom of the door.
The fennec fox was no fool by any means. Having an unlocked anything meant that he was inviting thieves into his life. He had plenty of that already, and couldn't afford another one.
When he opened the door and leapt inside, Finnick made his way to the back of the van. Passing by the clutter of loose newspapers, empty cans and other such things littering a small couch, he popped open the back doors to see Gazelle simply standing there and staring into space.
He was a little more worried now. Her usual bright and bubbly demeanor was reduced to a shadow of itself. Always talking, singing and dancing, the gazelle before him was none of those things. She was distraught, dismal and covered in blood.
I might have to call out tomorrow, he thought, pondering over the plethora of things that may have occurred to her. Definitely have to keep her with me overnight, his ears perked up at his sudden realization and he shook off the thought without a second notice; he had to get her to safety.
"Zel." he called in a hushed tone as to not startle her, but she near jumped anyway.
"Ah! Que! No llego tarde al ensayo!"
The doe clutched the guitar for dear life and frantically looked around, snapped out of her stupor. It didn't take her long before her eyes fell upon her rather annoyed fennec friend.
He tapped his feet and rubbed his ears as she nervously chuckled. She could tell that he wasn't amused.
Not wanting to waste more time, he thumbed toward the small space in the van. "Get in," he commanded, walking forward and hopping into the driver's seat. Worried he was, but she wasn't going to just stand there like a deer in headlights all night.
Blinking a few times and feeling a bitter chill of cold wind brush past her, Gazelle crouched a little and made her way in. It was always awkward for her to sit in the van, her horns barely cleared the door, and her larger body frame nearly contorted when she crawled in and pulled her guitar with her.
Bloody, cold, and cramped, she shut the van door as the vehicle roared to life. The doe had never been more thankful and more stressed in her life. She wanted to say something, but Finnick beat her to it.
"Wanna tell me what happened?" he asked calmly.
The hum of ventilation was the only ambiance she received as the crack of engine exhaust warned them of moving forward. Feeling slightly warm air hit her, Gazelle breathed and shuddered.
Her mind played the scene over and over again as if to mock her. The song, the dance, the love in her heart... the alley, the thief... the blood.
Breathing heavily and looking down at her hooves, she awkwardly tried to shuffle away from them, shuffling around newspaper and the small bean bag couch there before her horns scraped against the wall.
There, her tears refused to keep themselves from the open air anymore; her lungs threatened to collapse on themselves.
"I-" she sobbed, reaching up to her horns and scratching them. "I-"
The second he saw what she was doing, he nearly stopped the vehicle. "ZEL! Stop doin' that to yo' horns! You gonna mess 'em up!"
It was a nervous tic she had. Either waxing and stripping her horns or scraping them against things. And while she never showed this in public, he knew it was bad for her as the action could leave them brittle beyond repair.
Eyes pinned on her when she stopped, Finnick couldn't help but pity her, she was always cheerful. But whatever happened to her was tragic, she didn't even bother looking at him. Definitely an attack. But who'd be after her? he thought, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. The tatters on her dress and the blood were clear signs of that; a low growl emitted from his chest when he played the scenario in his mind.
The flash of green light urged him onward and he carefully took a left turn onto Thicket Lane. Nearing his destination more and more, he thought of what to do when he got back. Were other mammals after her? Would they know where she'd be? Did he have everything she needed to stay the night?
He nearly pulled the brake lever when he thought the last part, but decided against it as they were doing 40 in a 35. Slightly speeding, he didn't want to startle the distraught doe any more than needed.
So when he finally came to the long stretch of road down a somewhat rundown neighborhood, Finnick had solidified a plan. Parking street side in an unused space, the fox pulled the brakes and shut off the car. Almost immediately, he could feel the chill of the night air hit him. Gotta get the vents insulated again.
Pocketing the car keys, he took a deep breath before shuffling to the back of the van. From the little he could see with moonlight hitting the tinted window, Gazelle was idly sitting, staring blankly into nothingness.
Whatever happened to her, he figured, was bad; really, really bad.
He quickly stepped over the amalgam mess that he had in the back of the car and whatever little junk she displaced in her fit of panic. Taking care to crawl around and not disturb her too much, he unlatched the popped open the door and a cool breeze wafted in.
Noticing her shiver and the night air chilling both of their breaths, he hugged his jacket a little more. "Alright', Zel. We're here."
Shaking, and barely seeing in the small space, Gazelle looked out into the open from the van door.
It was quiet, calm and peaceful despite the look of an old worn neighborhood. Trash was littering the street here and there, and there was a single car that sat on cement blocks. What few trees there were mostly bare and specs of grass threatened to shoot forth from every crack in the sidewalk.
It was an unfamiliar sight to her - run-down neighborhoods were peppered here and there throughout the city - however, wherever this was, it was someplace that she had ever thought to go. But before she could question it, the tiny clack of claws hitting pavement drew her attention.
She watched a large pair of ears saunter to the foot of a stone stairway surrounded by an iron fence.
"C'mon," said Finnick. "And close the door behind you."
Nodding and not wanting to stay in a cramped position, Gazelle did just what the fox said. Scrambling to get her guitar out, she clutched it close to her for whatever little warmth it could provide despite the cold strings bracing her fur.
The moment she shut the door and saw her cold breath, she pondered something, "W-where are we going?"
The little fox was already halfway up the stairs. It had been somewhat difficult to navigate, but he always managed. "My apartment," he said flatly, pulling out his other set of keys and putting them in the keyhole designed for his species size.
Gazelle raised a brow. Taking a look at the apartment complex, it was more suited for mammals her size, and a little taller, maybe. Not only that but... didn't he-
"Your apartment?" she questioned, shivering and stepping forward. "You... live here?" she asked again in disbelief, getting a nod from the fox who sighed and pushed the medium sized mammal's door open. "I thought you lived in your van?"
Truthfully, she did think that from all the times they hung out. Whether just relaxing, eating, or playing music, they had always done so with the use of his vehicle. He never mentioned an apartment.
Finnick, who had been looking towards the door, took in a deep breath. "Uh... yeah, I live here," he admitted. "Have been for a while. It ain't much, but it's alight."
Taken aback by this revelation, Gazelle wondered how safe this place was considering the neighborhood. Sure, she knew Finnick wasn't a mammal to be trifled with, but could it really be that good of a place?
She never got to ask as she watched the fox take a small hop to get inside and wave her forward. It took her a moment to realize this, but when she did step inside the building it was a little less chilly.
It was somewhat dimly lit, but she could see the fox shuffle his way down the hall. Old, cracked linoleum flooring and faded fluorescent lighting welcomed her along with the muffled shouts of neighbors. It smelled a little musty and she could see that faded walls needed a bit of a paint job.
She stopped when she heard the click of another door open followed by a loud, ominous creek. Her guitar at the ready, the doe watched the little fox disappear behind a door her size before he called to her, "This is my place, down here. Watch yo' horns on the way down."
Not wanting to be left alone in the hallway, Gazelle quickly pried the door open more and headed in, quietly closing it behind her. She nearly tripped when she realized that it was a step downward. Quien construye escaleras detras de una puerta? she thought, taking measured steps down and adjusting her eyesight to the dark.
No more than three steps were taken before several lights came on and she could see the rest of the way. She looked up and down to see if her horns would clear the ceiling; they did.
Sighing and fixating her sight on the dim, ambient lighting, she walked down the staircase to see Finnick removing his jacket and tossing it into a small cardboard box. He paced around the small room and she got a good look at what he called home.
Like Finnick said, it wasn't much, not by a long shot, but it was still something; nothing compared to what she was used to, but still alright.
Being something of a studio apartment for medium sized mammals, she got a glimpse of his life. Hard stone floor with several plush rugs here and there. What part wasn't either bare or cushioned was cluttered with bundles of newspaper.
A few stray, swinging light fixtures that she needed to watch out for lest she (maybe) electrocuted herself by stabbing them with her horns that had a reputation all their own.
Much like the hallway upstairs, the paint was faded, but he had a few posters here and there of famous singers: Jerry Vole, Martin Gaye, Leopard Seal, Lukas Bearham. She didn't see a poster of her, though; she shrugged.
He had a decent looking - albeit medium mammal sized - couch that sat across from a stand with a wall-mounted TV. How he got it down there was beyond her, but she had known the little guy to be far stronger than he looked; he even told her once he carried around an 80lb popsicle, he only weighed two or three pounds himself.
A mini fridge was tucked into a corner next to a large chest of drawers along with several wall-mounted shelves. A dusty ash tray and small paraphernalia littered the shelf. And while she couldn't tell what much of it was, a picture frame was clear as day.
It was when she fully rounded the room that she heard the gruff coughings of the fox catch her attention. He stood on the couch, arms crossed and looking annoyed. While it wasn't the first time she had seen him this way, with her current state, it was the most terrifying.
"Alright, tell me what happened." asked Finnick, cutting to the real reason why they were there without hesitation.
The room fell silent for a moment; quiet enough that neither could hear even her breathing. Then, as if the dam in her mind was breaking, the doe slumped to the floor.
"I killed him, Fin." she said, her hooves trembling over the strings of her guitar as she blankly stared forward.
And as frustrated as he was that everything was going this way today, Fin couldn't fathom those four words that came to his massive ears.
He blinked. "What?!" he half shouted, half asked. That was not the answer he was expecting.
Gazelle took a shakey breath and weakly continued, "I-I was playing my guitar a-and... singing while walking d-down Torn Street."
That's how it usually starts with her, he thought. He remembered a time he nearly hit her with his van because she sang and danced her way into the middle of the street. Her ability to spontaneously break into a pseudo musical was uncanny, to say the least.
"There was this... this robber a-and I hit him..." she shuddered, the screams of the victim still fresh in her mind. She trembled as she clutched the little pendant barely hanging onto her neck. "You have to help me! If I go down..."
Unable to register what Finnick was saying, she retreated into her thoughts about prison life. She'd start with one of those tacky orange jumpsuits, completely out of fashion. Then she'd have to forge weapons out of soap and toothbrushes, join a gang and loiter menacingly in a corner during yard time. If she was caught alone in the shower she'd be shived, Or is it shanked? she wondered. Either way, jail life was about to be hers forever.
Unless...
"I-I can run away!" she mumbled, a faint, twitching smile forming. "I-i'll go to the... Nocturnal District? Yeah! Change my last name to... uh..." She was starting to lose it, Fin kept calling her. "La'Gñeb! Yeah, that'll work. Then I'll become a waitress at a restaurant a-and... and-"
"ZEL!"
Catching the fox merely just by her hoof, the doe deflated. "Fin... What do I do?" she asked, curling her legs under her and looking down. With what little shadow cast upon the carpet, all she could see was her life being swallowed by darkness.
The little fox thought hard for a moment. Self-defense, huh? he thought, rummaging through all the legal banter he knew. If it was self-defense during a burglary gone wrong and she escaped in panic, then (bearing a lawyer and her status) she'd likely be let go.
While still upset, he felt relieved that it'd be only a trial that she'd very likely win. If they needed a character witness, then he or anyone in Zootopia would vouch for her and, at worst, she would get community service.
Finnick chuckled a little. "Stay here."
His deep voice deadpanned throughout the small studio apartment and Gazelle could only blink. Through teary eyes, she saw the smug, nonchalant grin that her fox friend had.
"W-what?" she asked, her voice cracking and weak. His suggestion rolled around in her mind as if it was a completely foreign concept.
Finnick shrugged, stalwart in his answer. "I said stay here and sleep it off. It's a lot safer here, we'll check on things in the morning."
With his insistence, she wanted to argue, to find a better answer... but she couldn't. She couldn't think of a single thing that would help her situation other than following his advice.
Going outside was out of the question, it was dark and she almost got mugged when she was alone. She had already beaten some would be robber and when caught by the police, she'd be tried and jailed soon. But yet, while she could even try to, she'd be able to ease her mind even a little bit with a few hours of sleep.
A jittery, bleary sigh escaped her and she nodded to the fox. He responded in kind by pointing to one of top dresser drawers he had. "I got some spare clothes there."
Raising an inquisitive brow, Gazelle slowly rose. She let the guitar lean against the faded paint of the wall while she looked into the drawer. Sure enough, there was a set or two of clothes near her size.
While she took them out and found a (more or less snugly fitting) simple grey cotton dress, odd theories started to spring forth. "Why do you-"
"We got community bathrooms down the hall," he replied, hopping off the couch and padding his way to the mini fridge. She had wondered why she saw no other room here. "I got spare towels and the like in the drawer next to that."
Staring at him for a moment longer than she needed to, Gazelle took the hint and went about getting the rest of the rest of her stuff for a quick shower. She was thankful for the fox for letting her stay and having the means to accommodate her. Gazelle couldn't fathom what this moment would be like without him.
She felt sick enough to her stomach with the various spats of blood caking her once beautiful red dress, so a change to blue would be a little calming to her nerves. Not that it matters much, she said to herself, ears falling and hooves twitching as they brushed against her new clothes. I'll be wearing orange starting tomorrow for the rest of my life.
Grabbing everything she needed, she carefully meandered her way around the lights and hoofed her way up the stairs, mindful of the ceiling and taking note to remember the step down when she came back in.
Hearing the door creak shut while staying unlocked for her, Finnick swiftly went to work. He needed a distraction to get Gazelle up and out of the room for a moment while he made his next move. Not even taking the time to think of the number as his muscle memory knew it, he hit the talk button on his cell phone.
He ain't gonna like this. he thought, hearing the phone ring once... twice and three times before a grumble was heard on the line.
"Shut it, NICK!" was the first thing out of his mouth as he knew... he knew that, despite the other fox's shift from hustles to patrols, Nick was still annoying to some degree. He'd pester him about his height and age as he looked like a child. Oftentimes, he wanted to simply strangle Nick, even when that bunny partner of his (Judy) was around.
When he heard nothing on the line but a sharp yawn, he continued. "I got a-" This is Nick... he reminded himself, I can't risk Zel being caught up an' havin' the police here. "A tip..."
What he heard next somewhat startled him, but didn't surprise him. A sharp, fake breath taken in by the fox; it meant only that he was going to tease him. "They allowed you to valet park someone else's car?" Nick said in faux elation. Fin could see the smug grin plastered on the renards muzzle. "Good for you, big guy. Gotta earn that diaper."
Just before the hyena like cackling could begin, he grumbled. "It's..." Images of nearly every mammal he knew passed through his mind. And only a pawful of them seemed able to aid his stand in the situation. "It's Neil, again."
There was a pause, dead silence on the line; the fennec fox smirked. "Oh?" whispered a voice, concerned as it lost all hint of playfulness.
"Yeah," Fin acknowledged. "Said he saw a body on Thorn."
There was a rustle, the sound of toes clicking against hardwood flooring. "A tip, huh? Alright, I'll call it in as anonymous. Is he okay?"
It was at times like this that Fin was grateful for a few things. One, that Nick could be serious, and two, that he knew everybody.
"Shook up."
A mumble of agreement was all the confirmation he needed. Then, another yawn, "Well, I gotta go. Carrots and I have an early shift in a few hours." At least the bunny can set you straight, Slic- "Don't stay up too late past your bedtime, bud."
Annoyed, Finnick abruptly hung up. He didn't need to hear more snark.
Noticing time on his screen flashed a chilling 1 AM, the fox scratched his ears sleepily. Yeah, callin' in sick. Can't miss too many days, though.
He placed his phone back on the table and marched his way to the dresser. Opening the bottom drawer, he hopped in and quickly changed his clothes. He didn't have much in the line of bed wear - one outfit in fact - and the chilling air wasn't something that he liked, especially for his ears.
So ambling into the grey elephant costume, Finnick pulled the hoodie's ear covers over his own and felt slightly warmer. A contented and tired yawn escaped him. He scratched a little itch on his shoulder.
Take the day off, take her back home and check on that perp, he listed off mentally, balling his paw at the guy that attempted to assault his friend. In a matter of a second flat, he looked over to the abandoned acoustic guitar that Gazelle used to protect herself as well as nearly kill him.
The sheen and shimmer of its wooden surface was tainted with dried spots of blood and held cracks where it was once flawless. A single string had popped and it looked a little bent, but still in somewhat working condition.
You really did a number on that guy, huh Zel? he mused under a whistle. While he knew she was obviously talented - all of Zootopia knew - to be able to defend herself with such an instrument was awkward. Aint no such thing as a fair fight.
Curiously gazing over it, his massive ears flickered to a faint sound. The creak of his door slowly filled the room, alerting him to the stairwell. It shut far quicker than it was opened and then the click of locks, uneven steps, muttered words, and gentle taps of hooves all echoed at once.
Taking a quick whiff of the air, he could smell the familiar scent of one of the shampoo's he usually used. A smile appeared on his muzzle.
When he saw Gazelle - blue sweatpants, and grey shirt that hugged her form - he froze. Her graceful form was untainted by the crude smelling blood and tattered clothing she previously wore. Those garments hung loosely, cautiously from her hooves as she looked around silently. Her dazzling amber gold eyes stared fearfully at his.
"Fin," she said softly. "w-what should I do with-"
Gesturing towards the ruined dress and cringing, Gazelle stifled a little gag. She recalled the hot shower she just took, feeling the sickening sting of blood as it washed away under the scalding water. It wasn't too bad, though, the refreshing feeling that came with the shower helped relax her as well as Finnick's odd 'cocoanut aloe vera' soap.
Though she still felt miserable inside, having a little more of a clear head helped her nerves.
The fox shook his head. "There's a... uh," looking around for something to distract him from her directly, he thought of what he could say. There were no trash bags her size to fit the old clothes in, he didn't have much in the way of useable materials to wrap it in. But then again, there was-
"I got a jar or two by the tv," he said, thumbing towards it and remembering his hustling days. "Just stuff it in there til' mornin'."
Nodding and shuffling forward, Gazelle found the jars he was talking about. Nearly his size, and with simple lids, she unscrewed one and started to put the ruined dress in. However... the moment she started, her lip quivered and her eyes began to gloss.
Guilt instantly gripped her. "Fin," she asked quietly; hooves tapping against the glass, desperate for an answer. "W-what do you think will h-happen when-"
The fox grit his teeth, he wouldn't stand for her to be upset like this. "Zel, listen," he knew full well that was one of her weakest points: actually listening. Still, her ears swiveled between her broken sobs. "What you did was in self-defense. We'll sort this stuff out in the morning and..." he rubbed the nape of his neck under the elephant suit. I can't let her know I called in a tip. "I'm sure it's alright. The police patrol that place at night,"
It was her turn to completely freeze. Police?! If they found any evidence that she was behind the attack, would they barge in and arrest her on the spot? What would they do to Fin?!
In all of this, she went to press the question further, but Finnick beat her to an answer. "So just trust me. Since you were attacked, they'd understand," he said confidently, though inwardly he could only hope he was right.
Seeing her relax a little, he yawned stiffly. "So just take the couch, and sleep it off."
Turning around to the couch and seeing the single cushion and spread sheet, Gazelle shoved the rest of the dress into the jar and weakly walked over. Careful of not hitting her horns on the dangling lights, she sat down and huffed before finally laying her head on the pillow. She felt tired both mentally and physically when she wrapped the blanket around her.
Slowly, her breaths evened and she recalled the one mammal that would ever help her like this. "Goodnight, Fin..." she said, nearly a whisper as she did so. "Thank you."
She didn't know how quickly he fell asleep, but she didn't get a response. The swirl of thoughts that mixed and mingled in her mind slowly parted way to the welcoming darkness of sleep.
Yet while she drifted off, Finnick stared up at the dim lights and thought, No problem, Zel... just glad you're here. And just like that, he closed his eyes and a dreamless rest overtook him.
Heya, welcome to the A/N section
[Translations]
Because we're growing in language, we're gonna be doing just this ^_^
"No te lo permitiré!" [Spanish/English] "I won't let you!"
"Pequeño," [Spanish/English] "Little one,"
"Ah! Que! No llego tarde al ensayo!" [Spanish/English] "Ah! What! I'm not late for rehearsal!"
Quien construye escaleras detras de una puerta? [Spanish/English] Who builds stairs behind a door?
"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec toi?" [French/English] "What is wrong with you?!"
Quand je trouverai le gars qui a fait ça, je- [French/English] When I find the guy that did this I-
Le travail n'est jamais fini.
[French/English] Work ain't never done.
We have a bit to say before you leave.
Dancing Lunar Wolves:
Hey all, DLW here ^^ I hope you're enjoying the story cause Hawner and Reader have me locked away in a basement tower while Senestran guards it! Send. HELP! Also send nachoes! I'm pretty hungry... *writes away*
Hawner:
As Hawner didn't know what to say, go give him a visit and a hug ^_^
-DLW
Senestran:
I hope this little cliffhanger make you all eat your fingernails and a few phalanges too :-p
Let's savor this new part of our funny story and like Fin would say : "Amusez-vous bande de naze, ou je vous arrache la tête!"
ReaderNo31142:
Well, it's about time :P
[Updates]
If you'd like to see more of what's going on for "La Guitarrista", please look on my DA page under journals as 'Snippets' of future content and chapters will appear ever so often.
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Let the music flow!
-DLW