Judy Hopps

"Try Carroty Yum-Yums! With Carrot-y Yum-Yums in eve-ry bite!"

The corny old jingle blares through the radio. Me and my siblings used to sing it all the time when we were little, and even as my sisters nod along to the tune I can't help but feel just a little embarrassed that I used to like it. I really don't want to turn into one of those city girls who outgrows her old home, but after living in Zootopia for almost a year I'd forgotten how simple things could be back on the farm.

"Carroty Yum-Yums! Comes in Original, Cinnamon, Nutty Crunch, and now in Maple Sugar flavor!"

I sift through the gym bag filled with the spices I'd brought. I'd always been under the impression that spices were expensive, but Benjy was able to recommend a wholesaler in Tigriatown. A sack full of cardamom, a few pounds of cinnamon, and a good pack of cloves... whew. Still cost a hundred bucks, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought. This should last at least the week.

The chai recipe that Danny taught me had been a big hit last night. In fact, mom and dad were thinking of putting it on the regular drink menu. It's nice being able to bring something back from the City for the family. Bunnyburrow isn't the rural backwater Nick thinks it is, but it always can use a little poke now and again to show what's fashionable these days.

"So..." Stacy shoots me a mischievous smile as she breaks the cardamom pods open in the mortar. The two of us look the most similar out of the rest of our littermates, with her gray fur and blue eyes. "What does he sleep in? Does he go in the buff?"

"Boxers," I say as I blitz the cinnamon and cloves in the coffee grinder. For the Kaplans, pre-ground would never do. They'd insisted that you always have to grind whole spices, preferably after toasting them, to get the best flavor.

Dixie looks up at me. She resembles dad the most, with her brown eyes and brown fur. She's a bit stocky like him, too. Which is good, since she handles a lot of the mechanical repair on the farm.

"And how is it you know that?" she asks.

The heat suddenly rises to my face, and I turn on the coffee grinder again. You don't have to reduce it to a powder, but right now I just need the sound of the motor whirring to drown out my embarrassment.

Not that it gets Stacey to keep her stupid mouth shut.

"Oh come on, you can't expect them to have NOT slept together by now..."

Clover rolls her eyes as she whisks mashed bananas into the soy milk. "Oh god, here we go."

Stacey giggles, "Don't tell me you wouldn't. That tail of his... mmm I wanna just wrap myself in it. And he's just so... sleek. And streamlined. You saw how he moved darting to first base last night."

Some of the teenage kits had invited Nick to play baseball with them last night, after he had some time to recover. Even though cards and pool are usually more Nick's thing, training at the Academy had filled him out a bit. He'd been able to hold his own pretty well on the field.

"I swear Judy," Clover huffs, "You're gonna ruin this family. Stacey was already halfway to going predo even before you brought Nick home."

Dixie just shakes her head and chuckles, "Well I gotta admit I had my doubts, but seeing him out on the field last night..."

"Not you too!"

"What I was saying," Dixie continues, glaring at Clover as she sifts the flour, "Was that Nick is really great with the kids. Honestly, I felt my heart leap into my throat when I watched that fox chasing Oscar down to tag him, but he's just so gentle with everyone."

I have to admit, even I was a little bit startled. I've seen Nick chase down perps. He's not quite as fast as a rabbit of course, but when he hunkers down and runs he looks like a sharp red bullet with his pointed muzzle piercing the air. Plus when he moves his tail right he can turn on a dime, which is something us bunnies aren't quite built for. If we want to change directions quick we need to ricochet off of something.

Seeing him dart after the kits had brought up a primitive little edge of fear, but I'm still working on that. It's easy to say you're perfectly fine with foxes and other predators, but the past few months have taught me that it takes a constant, conscious effort to fend off that instinctive fear of fangs an claws and the mammals they're attached to.

I open the lid to the coffee grinder a little too early, and a fine mist of powdered spices drifts up. The smell of freshly ground cinnamon and cloves is woody and sweet. "Oh he's great with kids. We've actually been bringing this kit on police ride-alongs with us, and Nick's just such a sweetheart with him. You really should hear the two banter. It's almost like they're brothers."

"Is he still asleep?" Dixie asks, pouring the flour into the stand mixer. "We could use his help on the potato station."

"Nick's nocturnal. Just let him sleep in a little," I say, dumping the powdered spices into the pot. Stacy pours in the cardamom.

"Can you really trust him though? I mean, you did say he used to be a con artist, right?" says Clover.

I knew that if anyone was going to give me any trouble it was gonna be Clover. She's the second youngest in our litter, but she's probably the most old-fashioned when it comes to some things. Honestly, if she weren't my littermate I'd probably have some much harsher words for her.

"He used to be a con artist. I trust Nick with my life, sis," I tell her firmly. "And he's saved me more than once."

"I still can't believe he did that," Stacey sighs, "It sounds just like something out of a movie, y'know? Him telling you he won't leave your side when you're hurt, and... Oh Judy, you've got to tell us what it felt like having his fangs on you."

She wraps her arms around herself, smiling happily, while Clover lets out a disgusted snort..

As flirtatious as Stacey is I didn't expect she'd get so smitten with Nick. And honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about her new thing for foxes. On the one paw, a little more inter-species acceptance would be great. But on the other, well... there certainly are things I'd had to learn when I got into a relationship with a fox. I might just have to pull Stacey aside and have a really embarrassing and personal conversation with her.

"Weren't you scared?" says Clover.

I nearly jump a foot in the air, startled when I suddenly think that Clover's somehow read my mind and was asking about me and Nick's first night together. They really need to cover these things in high school Health classes.

My brain races, trying to backtrack to our conversation.

"W-well, I'd be lying if I said I was completely comfortable with it but..." my face must be so red. I kinda regret volunteering for breakfast duty now. "It was much more exciting than it was scary. I mean I had to focus more on getting Bellwether to fess up everything while I recorded her."

I still think back to that. Not just the excitement of snagging Bellwether in her confession, but the feeling of Nick's fangs on me. The scream I'd belted out was partially real, but when Nick withdrew with that coy smile of his... gosh I just wanted to kiss him then.

It would be nice if he'd gently bite me again, honestly. In bed that is, just to add a little thrill to it. He's just so restrained and careful about hurting me otherwise. Never in a million years did I think I'd ever consider doing predplay, but Stacey's right. Nick does have this sexy, dangerous edge to him that makes him seem like such a bad boy on the surface, even though I know that deep down he wouldn't hurt a fly. Eugh. I hate to admit it, but I'm smitten.

"You should stay a little longer, Judy. The Carrot Days Festival is just around the corner. It'd be nice to show Nick how lively things can get around here," Dixie winks. "He'll be sure to win you something nice at the shooting gallery."

"Oooh I wish I could," I say as I fill the pot and turn up the heat. "But the ZIA's coming in the following week to set up a task force. It's why we're visiting now... once we start working on the case with them..." I cross my fingers, hoping desperately that I get picked. "We won't be able to visit at all for a while."

"I think I heard about that!" Clover pipes up, finally looking a bit cheerful. She must be just as glad as I am to move away from the subject of predophilia and interspecies relations. "They say Jack Savage is coming back to the City!"

"What, you really think he exists?" Dixie flicks the stand mixer on to whisk the pancake batter.

"I wonder what species he is. I'm guessing a big cat, like a panther or a tiger," Stacey sighs, slipping into a whole new fantasy.

"I dunno, if he isn't just some rumor I'd guess polar bear," says Dixie, "I can't imagine anything more intimidating than that."

"He could be a prey mammal. An elk or antelope maybe," Clover offers after mulling it over for a bit. "The whole 'Savage' moniker could just be a way to throw people off of his real identity."

I keep quiet, smiling to myself as my sisters go on. The fact that Jack Savage is a rabbit is kind of an open secret in the ZPD. It's kind of a small miracle that this little fact seems to have been kept from the public record all this time, but then again the ZIA spreads plenty of false narratives and rumors as counterintelligence. Apparently his species was uncovered when he had to work with the police for one of his missions a few years back, though only Bogo and a few higher-ups really know who he is and what he looks like.

My heart skips a beat at the thought of meeting him finally. Another bunny in a field where bigger, brawnier mammals dominated. We even use the same firearm model... the RGS-14. Heck, it'd originally been designed specifically for him! I hope he's nice.

Listening to my sisters speculate on Savage's species I begin to wonder what he looks like. What color is his coat? Does he have a pattern? His name makes me think of a stoic black bunny, with hard gold eyes like a cat's. He's sleek, dangerous, maybe standing aloof beneath a lamppost on a moonlit night...

The buzz from my cellphone interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh!" I say as I check who's calling me. "Sorry, I need to take this. Stacey can you watch the chai?" I dash out of the kitchen and down the hall.

It's not that I don't like the idea of Fru Fru calling me. I am, after all, her child's godmother. But the idea of having to explain how I became linked to a family with Mr. Big's... background... would've been too much. They're already easing into accepting Nick into the fold. Having to tell them about how I became friends with a crime boss, or worse, lying about it, would be too much.

"Hi Fru Fru!" I say cheerfully as I answer the phone. "It's great to hear from you!"

"Oh Judyyyy!" she squeals, "How's the family? They good with Nick right now?"

"Better than expected actually! I mean things were a little bumpy at first, but my siblings have really taken to him. And well, my parents are definitely trying!" Mom had been managing about as well as my older brothers and sisters, though Dad still seems like he's in a state of shock.

"Well, I just wanted to call and tell you that I'll be heading out of town for a few months, so we won't be seeing much of each other. I mean, it's not like we'll be seeing each other much anyway, if the rumors about the ZIA are true..."

I can't help but stand a little straighter when she says that. It's a bit of an awkward balancing act already, with me as a cop and yet being on such good terms with one of the major crime bosses in Zootopia. Turns out though that Mr. Big had kept things clean enough that the Mayor, the City Council, and the ZPD were all willing to look the other way. Unlike other mobs that wanted a piece of the City, Mr. Big was civil. And his presence helped keep all the other criminal elements in check.

"I... I shouldn't ask but..." I swallow. Mr. Big was smart enough to not ask me for any favors, and he'd never put me in a predicament before. But if he was leaving Zootopia because of the ZIA, that likely meant he's done something that was worthy of a crackdown.

I want to hit myself. I can't believe I hadn't thought of how this might complicate things. Bogo knows of my connection to Mr. Big, and I've been pretty good about remaining neutral so far. But if Savage's team learned about it I might be disqualified from consideration for his task force. Or worse, I might just get tangled up in...

"Oh no no! It's nothing like that! Daddy isn't afraid of the ZIA. He's... he's worried about something else, Judy. Something he won't tell me."

I wish I could breathe a sigh of relief at that, but there's a sharp prickle of fear in Fru Fru's voice.

"Fru Fru... are you okay? Are things safe for you?"

"I'm fiiine Judy, really! And so is Little Judy!" she squeaks, "Just... be careful all right? Everyone's bein' real moody right now, and there's been a lotta whispering in the Family. They aren't filling me in, but I know it's something dangerous. So stay safe."

When I hang up I lean against the wall. Around the corner I can hear my sisters still chatting, when one of them yelps. Buster had walked in apparently, shirtless and hungry as usual coming in from his morning jog. They're yelling at him to put on some damn clothes, and to keep his sweaty paws away from the food.

I head off to wake up Nick, giggling a little at the banter even as the suspicious weight of the news settles on me. As much as I'd missed being home, we need to talk about possibly ending our vacation a little early.

.

.

Tarquin Vash

"More wine?"

Sheila smiles, her sapphire eyes bright in contrast to her snow-white fur. "Well, when the district attorney offers, how can a vixen resist?"

"She doesn't," I grin, gesturing for the garcon. A tall moose with an elegant stride arrives at our table in three steps. He has to lean down to fill her glass with a chilled bottle of '83 Cotes du Rhodentes chablis, a bottle from my own collection. The maitre d' had offered to waive the uncorking fee, but I wouldn't allow it of course. Chances were he'd just omit it from the check, but if so I'd just have to tack that onto the tip.

Sheila had been skeptical at first. As a writer for Chomp magazine her staunch preference for pairing escargot with wine had always been champagne. Not that I have anything against it, but I knew from personal experience that the minerality of a good chablis was much better with these particular herb-fed snails. It had a sharper finish too, and it cut through the butter more effectively. That, and its fruity notes would work just as well with the poulet au riesling I'd planned for our entree.

I've been feeling a genuine connection with Sheila. She's smart and funny, with none of the self-deprecation that often came from having studied literature in college instead of something more directly career-oriented. She has such a wonderfully down-to-earth nature, yet is still perfectly comfortable with my more formal sensibilities.

Oh don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly comfortable going out for a burger and a beer just like anyone else, but when it comes down to it this is who I am. It's who I've been cultivated to be. The fine cuisine and expensive wines aren't merely some gauche and pretentious way of impressing her. It's simple honesty. Sheila knows it. And she likes it.

And I like her for it in return.

"So how much access do you have, Tarquin?" Sheila pulls a snail out from its shell with her fork, twisting it to keep too much of the herb butter from dripping off. "Not to get into crass talk about business, but I'd be an idiot if I didn't ask."

"Frankly, I appreciate crass business talk from a date to them playing coy about it," I shrug. "Besides there's no conflict of interest. I could get us a table at, say... Canard Bleu next week?"

Her eyes widen at the suggestion. "That's... there's a six-month waiting list!"

"They have a table they keep in reserve for high-profile guests. Being district attorney does open some doors. I'm just selective about taking them. You'd be surprised by the things I've been offered. Free meals, suits, even sports cars from those interested in getting on my good side."

"And you've rejected all of them?"

"Of course," I smile.

"The incorruptible Tarquin Vash..." she leans over. I start to wonder if she's just trying to give me a good view of her cleavage. "You really are the most honest fox in this city."

"I would credit the privilege of my upbringing more than any effort on my part." It was, after all, easy to stay on the good side of the law when you never had want of anything.

"Oh I'd say you get some personal credit at least. Somehow you didn't grow up to be a spoiled little shit."

"Oh I had my rebellious side, certainly," I reply, taking a sip of wine. The buttery richness of the sauce was like velvet on my tongue, and the chablis slit through it like a razor.

"Sounds like you were more interesting then."

I blink. "My dear, did you just call me boring?"

Sheila just smiles, swirling a finger around the rim of her glass, and lets out a giggle. "Oh I take it back. If anything it just makes you more fun to tease."

"Even better," I wink over my wine. "I like being teased."

Two hours later we're in the suite I'd bought for the night. Her mouth is on mine, and I can taste the lingering traces of raspberry mousse on her tongue. I want to be gentle, take my time and please her thoroughly on our first night together, but Sheila has other plans.

Her claws rake into my fur, leaving stinging trails along my back. Her body moves like water against mine, shifting and flowing, her snow-white fur grinding into my own cream-colored coat. I fumble for the condom on the dresser, but she brushes my paw aside.

"Don't worry, I'm safe..." she pants, "I'm safe..."

The musk of her heat fills my nose.

Few things shock me. A lawyer can't, after all, afford to be taken by surprise. Yet I'd underestimated Sheila's ferocity in the bedroom, and she's on me like an animal. We press our paws together, interlacing our fingers. Our tails intertwine. Her blue eyes sparkle, her mouth curves into a pleased smile. We're only on our third date, but already we're making love as if we've been doing it for years. As if we've long known all the sweet spots on each other's bodies.

There's none of that slow, gentle exploration when mammals embrace for the first time. There's no mature, sober talk about our likes or dislikes before we get into it. We're connecting on something deeper, more primal, and somehow we've slipped into the same fiery rhythm together.

I'm holding her body against mine, shuddering at the sensation of being inside her. She's so hot inside, yet her fur is so silky and cool. My paws slide up and down her back, feeling the fine, lean muscles of her shoulders and, as I go lower, the soft curves of her hips. She arches her head back, giving the inside of my ear one long lick as she moves, bouncing gently on my waist.

It leaves me shuddering.

And then with one heavy press I let out a sharp hiss. She slips around me completely, and we hold each other tight and ride out that sweet crest together.

Panting into each other's ears we give one final squeeze, and finally pull away from one another. Sheila's sitting comfortably in my lap as she presses me back into the sheets, giving me one last kiss before she sits back up. Her paws run through my chestfur, admiring my coat. After a few long moments, allowing our breathing to taper off gradually, she speaks in a low purr, tracing a finger along my sternum.

"What are you thinking about, Tarquin?"

"Trying to think up a conversation piece that doesn't just include complimenting your body," I smile. "Afraid I'm failing in that regard."

"What? Are you saying that I'm so beautiful that it drives your excellent mind to distraction?"

"Precisely. Do avoid the courtroom, my dear. If you were ever around when I have to present a case I'm afraid you might just tank my career."

Sheila giggles, and it's such a rich, playful sound that I barely hear the door opening with a click.

I'm confused for a moment... I'm sure I'd put the sign up to ward off the housekeeper. Yet Sheila has only a moment to turn her head around to look at who'd just entered when the pop of a silenced gun cracks through the room.

The bullet exits with a spray of blood and brain matter, snow-white fur and skin spread outward like the petals of a rosebud in bloom. Sheila falls against me, mouth half-open, jaw still twitching. Blood spills in hot, scarlet pulses from the twin wounds in her skull. Those sapphire eyes of hers, so bright with her laughter just moments ago, stare blankly into he distance.

"Ahh! AAAAH!"

The wails filling the room are shrill, mangled to a staccato with shock and terror. For a moment it fails to register in my mind that Sheila is dead: that this sweet, beautiful, brilliant vixen is now lying inert over me. But then the figure slips in, still holding the gun. Wisps of smoke curl from the tip of the silencer.

"N-no please! Please!" I squeal. In my nakedness, with the corpse of my lover sprawled over me and the blood soaking into the sheets, all formality and dignity have fled. "I don't want to die! P-please! I d-don't want to die!"

"Shhh..." the fox says, so gently, so sweetly, that I'm almost convinced I might just live through this encounter. He's sleek, and his bone-white fur matches perfectly with his suit. His coloring is so pristine that he almost seems invisible against the snowy carpet and walls. His mouth is curved in an amused, almost boyish smile, and there's a playfulness in his sky-blue eyes. Lean and handsome, he could've almost been a twin brother to Sheila, if it weren't for the gun in his paw and the nonchalance of having just committed a murder.

"District Attorney Tarquin Vash..." he says in silky, cheerful voice. "The Incorruptible, they call you. Well, they said the same of Rodentspierre, did they not?"

And then his free paw reaches down between my legs. I let out a squeak, and my heels scrape the sheets as I writhe. He squeezes me down there, kneading gently with warm fingers.

"Ah. Just knotted her I see. Must be quite inconvenient for you. No matter, this will keep you here just long enough for us to speak."

Two other figures slip in behind him.

"Allow me to introduce my companions." He raises one paw to a red fox. His eyes are stern and joyless, almost dead. "To my left is Jacob Frisk. And this..." he says, indicating another fox. His fur is black as pitch, his face crisscrossed by pale scars. "Is Mr. Smythe."

"Y-you're..." I whimper.

"Sebastian Dusk. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vash."

"Th-the Smiler..."

It comes out in a mewling sob, and for a moment I'm convinced that I'm about to die. But his grin merely widens, and his eyes glitter, those sky-blue pupils bright and laughing. "Ah! So you've heard of me. Well... then you know of my employer."

"R-Rufin-" Just as I begin to stutter though, Sebastian places a finger on my nose.

"Mongrel lips such as yours defile his noble name," he says. Though the words carry a deadly threat, his tone remains hauntingly pleasant. "You will refer to him as 'The Prince.'"

Long ago, when I was a kit still ignorant of the world, his true name was one that was spoken in hushed tones, if at all. It'd been a darker age in Zootopia's history, one in which the old blood was finally fading from prominence, when the rise of telecommunications sparked the dream of connecting mammals in a way that they never had been before. The small were being elevated, the aristocracies of old being cast down. It was a time when silent wars raged beneath the optimism of a new age of equality, when the encroaching millennium heralded change. It was a time when the old gods, in their fury, sought to depose the idolatry of the new.

I'd only known of this fox on paper, as a boogeyman consigned to the annals of history. But now his herald sits beside me in the flesh, accepting a pawkerchief from the one he'd called Jacob Frisk. He wipes the mingled juices of my lovemaking from his fingers.

"This was a demonstration, Mr. Vash," Sebastian says in a lilting, almost singsong voice. "To show you how serious we are. Many in this city have forgotten that The Prince casts a long shadow, and I have come to give you a reminder. Are we understood?"

I want to be brave. I want to tell him that, as the District Attorney of the greatest city in the world, I will see justice done. Yet even though Sheila's dead I can still feel her lingering heartbeat against my chest. The sheer horror of feeling her corpse on me, still warm, still twitching, has sapped all the courage from my spirit.

"Wh... what do you want?" I whimper.

"Jacob?" he says, addressing the red fox. Jacob slides a paw into his jacket, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He sets it on the nightstand.

"These are the names of twenty-one mammals whose sentences or prosecutions will need to be vacated."

Reaching over with trembling fingers I unfold the paper. The names are scribed in a neat paw, but as I scan the page my eyes widen more and more.

"Th... that's not possible!" I plead. "My prosecutors have been working on these cases for months! And the... the system needs me to work through the courts, the mayor... there's so much that needs to be approved and cross-checked..."

The scarred black fox unsheathes a curved dagger, and at the sight of it I'm about to start pleading for my life when Sebastian gestures him away.

"You're a clever fox," Sebastian says. The perpetual smile along that white muzzle is deadly, like a knife drawn across a pale throat. "I have every confidence that you'll find shortcuts through the maze of Zootopian bureaucracy. Besides, the mammals in question were selected quite carefully. Most of them have mitigating circumstances working in their favor."

"It's not that simple!" I try to insist. But Sebastian ignores my protests, and continues as if I haven't spoken whatsoever.

"If they are not freed within two weeks, our second encounter will be much less pleasant, and much more final. But if you obey like a good little pet..." I finch when he reaches out, cupping my face with both paws. The pistol he holds presses against my cheek, and the muzzle is warm like the body of a live adder. Sebastian pulls me forward then. He smells faintly of fabric softener and catnip.

"Obey," he says brightly, "and the Prince will consider you family. The Vulpes Sanguinis takes care of its own."

He stands up then, straightening his jacket. "Now, I do believe you've relaxed enough. Don't worry, my good tod. Jacob and Mr. Smythe here will take care of the body. Have a good evening."

Without a word the black fox and the red one pull Sheila from me. I slip free from her easily now, and as they wrap her up in the sheets the warmth of her grows cold and clammy on my loins.