"Chapter 4 or Giving some more to the protagonist's companion, just so we don't have to take so many guesses at what constitutes that character"

There's knocking at my door. I'm at home right now lounging on my futon while I have a handful of browser windows skimming through conspiracy Reddit-threads and the public ZPD records of released criminals. I switch the browser window to an RPG from a generation or two ago (so it's not super intensive on my PC) and check the clock; 9:18 pm. Maybe it's Sean and he's here to tell me I was wrong about worrying. I mean, I sort of want him to be right, but I sort of also want him to be wrong. That might be bad… Anyway, I get up and answer the door. And lo and behold, it is, indeed, Sean that stands behind the door with a Snarlbucks tall-cup in one hoof and a paper bag (also branded with Snarlbucks) in the other hoof.

I wasn't really expecting him to come up here. Usually when there's counseling sessions, he lets me come over to his place for it. "Hey Sean," I greet.

"Hey Frank," replies the sheep. "You got my message, right?"

I nod, stepping aside to let Sean walk into my house. "Sure. Boss said I… I could take a sick-day today so we can do our-our, uh… usual thing." The sheep walks in and takes a seat on the futon, sipping at his joe and setting the paper bag next to my laptop. Please don't press the home key, Sean. PLEASE. "Didn't think you'd be okay with doing an early session, though. I mean… In hindsight, it's… not really likely for me to see important mammals l-like… uh…" I trail off as I stare into my closet, deciding on a flannel to wear. I want to just say 'I saw Dawn Bellwether and I think I want to hold a conversation with her' with the same ease I had a few days ago, but it's always easier to say things when you have a level of distance (like a phone call or an email). Trying to say it now while Sean, who I need to reiterate is a SHEEP, is within physical arms-reach just seems like a whole other kind of ordeal.

Sean chuckles, "It's not that unlikely, lad. Gazelle is a native to Zootopia, if I recall right; she's not too hard to find around the city. Oh, and I grabbed a snack for you, too. Thought you'd want it."

Snack? I don't usually get those, unless I'm having a breakdown or something. … That's not a good sign. I turn around, having picked a blue-and-yellow flannel to wear over my lime-green t-shirt, and plop down on the futon a bit away from Sean. "Alright. I just thought it'd be better to talk it all out when you had free time or talk-therapy time on Fridays." I grab my phone and earbuds and put them in their places on me, along with sliding the laptop to me and shutting the screen closed. I then go to peek in the bag; a bready and cooked-meat smell arose from the bag's contents.

"I got some foul looks for it, but I got you some Cricket Kolaches for the road." That's real sweet of him. I may not like going around Snarlbucks, but they at least have a passable bakery.

I pull one out and take a bite into the kolache. "For the road?" I ask.

He nods, patting my shoulder and getting up from the futon. "Right. I was going to take us to my flat and talk things out there, unless you'd rather stay here. I brought the recording stuff for documenting, if you want to stay here."

… Huh… I kind of want to stay here, but I don't want Sean to think I'm getting obsessed. Sean told me before that I should try to be out and about more, and I sort of do that with the weekend walks that I do. "I don't know. I mean… No thanks, we-we can go to your place."

Sean is already at the door. "Alright. Me car's downstairs at the front of the building. Have everything?"

"Yep." Sean begins walking out from my apartment. I follow behind with the kolaches, finishing the one I already pulled out.

Sean and I step down the stairs to the building lobby (I live on the second-floor of an okay apartment complex). The receptionist, a camel in a spotted dress and sweater, fills in a ledger. Without looking up from the digital spreadsheets on the computer, she greets, "Hello Shawn. Hello Frank." Oh right. Not sure if I've said this before or not, but I pronounce Sean's name like the way he spells it out, but everyone else usually just uses the 'Shawn' pronunciation.

Sean waves a hoof to her. "Pleasant day to you, Miss Malhoof." He nudges me with his elbow and whispers to me, "Don't forget to say hi."

I was busy eating, but I do wave to her with the paw holding my bag of Snarlbucks snacks, rattling the pastries (do kolaches count as pastries?) in the paper. Mrs. Malhoof looks up at me. I hope I'm not looking dumb. She doesn't say anything for a moment, but then she sighs and shakes her head. "Rent's due at the end of the month, Frank. Don't forget."

"I- Y-Yes Mrs. Malhoof." Yeah, Moushira Malhoof (that's what she said was her full name when I first moved in here) is my landlady. Exceptionally patient, and I sometimes feel like she was a school teacher for little pups or foals or whatever. I hated school as a pup, but then again, I'm pretty sure most children hate school for one reason or another. With that, the camel returns to going over the building paperwork (and also what I think is the sound of Solitaire being played) and Sean whistles for my attention. He's at the door out from the lobby. I follow him out and hop into the passenger seat, getting out another kolache and nibbling at it. "I think I have the cash saved up for rent. Maybe after the official stuff for counseling, could you… uh…"

"Bank?"

"Yeah. We should head to the bank." The engine of Sean's car rumbles to life. His car is a sedan, of course; one of the newer models from maybe a year or less back. The back seat had a couple books, some paper folders, and a duffle bag with a plastic shield sticking out. The sedan lurches from the parking lot and we hit the road. I turn back around and face forward, making sure my seatbelt is on. "Hey Sean, I… have a question."

"I'll answer as I can, lad."

I hold up my arms to emphasize my question. "Why is it that, like… We all call what's on my arms paws, but also call it hands? And then, why is it you have what's called hands, but it's called hooves and not paws?"

"Eh, it boils down to semantics, Franky. All paws are hands, not all hands are paws. All hooves are hands, not all hands are hooves. Et cetera, et cetera. It's why a bunch of mammals are called people; keeping a broad term to include all the various species that might be in a group makes it easier to address a multitude."

"Huh. Okay. Just… uh… Just wanted to ask." I pull out a kolache and take a bite out of it. "Y'know. It just popped up and I didn't know if there was an answer or not."

Sean adjusts the radio frequency while I stare out the window at the passing pedestrians. The sheep replies, "Not a problem, Frank. Conversation is good to have, and I think you're getting better at it."

I wonder if who I thought was Dawn Bellwether is out today, or tonight, technically. Sheep are diurnal, for the most part. Sean's a perfect example of it. He's drinking a lot of the coffee he brought, and it'll probably be empty less than half-way to the Meadowlands area. Although, that sheep I saw twice now seemed pretty awake at night, the last I saw. Maybe she has coffee. Sean tells me that coffee is generally the only way he can function at night without feeling sleep-deprived. I never did like coffee, though; way too bitter, even when it's mixed with other food or drinks. She might be around if I look hard enough, but we're already in the middle of Savana Central.

The sedan comes to a stop; there's a red light up above. I take another bite of kolache and mumble with a muzzle of food, "So, how's, uh… What's going on with you, outside of work?"

"Oh, you know, lad. The usual thing. I go meet with me friends from the pub and mess around with LARP. Why do you ask?"

"Well, your gear was in back, so… I was thinking you were doing that or preparing to do that."

"Right-o. The guys at the pub were running a game last week, and I shook things up by being the Support for a change. I was bottom of the score, but I had some good moments of getting me mates back to fighting and carrying the team."

"You usually do the… uh…" I start to tap my claws along the door-side as I think. "Oh! The, uh… the Tank, if I recall."

"Yep. I'd still Tank, but I can at least say I've tried my hand at being more than Meat-Shield the Raging."

"So, what'd you call yourself as the Support? C-Cleric Horn?"

He scoffs, "You wish, laddy. I actually just went with Jim."

I stared at him with that sort of 'are-you-serious' look that I normally get on the receiving end. "… Jim."

"Aye. Jim. That's all she wrote."

I indulge in being facetious for a bit and blurt, "That's some real fantasy, if I've ever heard it!" The two of us begin to laugh at the anti-climactic nature of Sean's in-game name.

The ride goes on to be rather quiet (or as quiet as listening to Def Leopard and Bon Jovi in a sedan at night is) all the way into the Meadowlands area. Sean's place is around here. We park at a quaint home with a big front-yard, keeping in line with the neighborhood's rustic aesthetic. I'm kind of reminded of that one buddy-cop/comedy flick Sean showed me one time. It was pretty funny, and it had good action. Anyway, I hop out from the sedan; Sean gets out, also.

"I'll get the door. Think you could get my gear?"

"Sure. It's fair trade for the free snack." I open up the back-door, shove the shield back into the bag, zip it up, and then carry the duffel bag over my shoulder. "You want the papers, too?!" I shout to Sean. He's over at his door fiddling with probably his keys.

Across the lawn at Sean's door, the sheep bleats back, "I'll get the papers, Frank!"

Alright. I leave the door open and walk on over to the porch of Sean's home. Passing through the living room, I drop the bag of prop-weapons at the foot of his recliner. Nearby is a big couch; big enough for maybe a tiger or a lion. Not a bear, though. I don't think Sean's ever had a bear here.

Sean shuts the front door, having brought in the papers and books from his car. "Alright, lad. I'll get me things put away, and then we can get on with the official part of therapy." He sets one of the books and a stack of papers on the recliner seat. He asks, "Think you can wait here while I get the recorder?"

I nod, sitting down on the couch while Sean takes the rest of his things up a stairwell. My tails wagging; maybe now, Sean will give me a chance about who I think might be Bellwether. … Actually, in retrospect, I don't think there are other ewes that look like the ex-mayor. Sean hasn't seen any, and I certainly haven't. I should be right, but I haven't found anything credible to back me up.

Sean arrives back with a boxy, plastic recorder a little smaller than the size of my head (barring the snout). The sheep gives me a funny look, but shrugs and goes to the recliner, setting the book and papers in his lap. With a press of the recording button, the things we say are now for the record he's required to keep for his job. "Date is the fifth of August in 2020. Shawn Lamvor to counsel client Franklin Barker. On record for archival to Meadowland Counseling Firm."

"Another day, another form to fill," I remark with a small smile.

"Right. It's a part of the job, as much as it drains on many a poor mammal." Sean sighs, getting comfy in his recliner and propping a leg up on his knee. I curl up on my side, laying on the couch. "Anyway, is there anything on your mind that you were wanting to tell me before we start?"

"Well, uh…" Should I tell him about it again? He probably wouldn't believe me. Or maybe he would? I don't know for sure. I mumble, "… there's… uh… I-I've been… I think there's someone I need to find."

"And was there anyone who told you to do it?"

"… the-... there isn't anyone," I stutter, shaking my head. "Just-Just something I wanted to do. Not even, uh… Not even the voices. I've been taking my medicine, s-so it can't be that."

Sean gives me a raised eyebrow. "Well, alright. Can you tell me who?"

"But I said no one told me to do it."

"I know. I meant can you tell me who you're looking for."

Oh. "Oh…" He probably remembers the call I gave the day before yesterday; he just wants to see if I remember what I said. I stutter, "It's… erm… I-I-I mean, they-they don't show up often. I-I only saw them, like… twwwwiiiiiiice… Twice. Yes, I-I saw them tw- only twice. Th-They were… uh… busy, but okay…"

"Right. And they are…"

I can't tell him; not with the recorder going. I'd probably get screwed over by big-wigs giving orders about… Hell if I know. Maybe they want to make money off the medical research market. Sean would be forced to obey and I'd be left out to dry. Oh God, what about Sean? He'd probably get screwed over worse than me!

The sheep notices my shaking (I was doing it again) and gets out a pair of white boards and markers, handing one of each to me. He jots down something, and then says, "If it's someone you've met before, you can tell me." He holds up the board, and it reads, [Tell me on marker]

I think I get it now. We've actually done this before whenever I've felt particularly embarrassed about talking to Sean about things. "Oh, uh… A-Alright. Sure. That-That works," I mumble, uncapping my marker and keeping the white board nearby. Should I tell him? Will he believe me? I really don't know… I hope he does. It seemed like he did a few days ago, but he was in bed at the time. This is the only way to do it. "It's… It's a little embarrassing, but I thought it was one of… I ain't sure, but I think it was my third-grade math teacher." I hold up my board to Sean, which it should say, [Dawn Bellwether] on it.

Sean gave me this disbelieving look. I'm not crazy, and he knows I'm not crazy, so why is he looking at me like I am? "… That's… That's not too bad, lad. Did you speak to 'em or anything?" he asks, though his expression of doubt went against the tone of comfort he gave.

"… Y-yes. I did. Like, uh… Like the way you were telling me to do it; I tried making conversation. It-It didn't get anywhere, but, uh… it wasn't bad." I meant who I thought was miss Bellwether, not my third-grade math teacher. I don't even know if I've seen them or not. "…I-I didn't do the wrong thing, d-did I?"

Sean crosses his arms, but then drops it. He gets out his white board and writes out, [We'll talk after sesh]. "No, you did what you thought was right. That doesn't mean you had ill will," he sighs, putting down the board. "Anyway, we'll start off with a short and simple exercise for your cognitive recognition and mental focus. In other words, describe what you see. First card, number 1." The sheep reaches over and holds up a card (well, it's more like a panel or a Post-it note made for Rhinos) with a '1' on the back and an abstract image on the front. "Name three things about the picture, and please be specific."

It's a house. "Um… red walls. Brownish-red… It's got two stories, and… I-I think it also has a rabbit inside, through one of the windows."

"Good on ya, lad. Next is…" The new card has a 5 on the back and a different abstract on the front. "This. What's the details?"

It's a car. "View from the side… SUV for an… Elephant? Bear? Someone in the Large-Class of products."

"Alright. Anything else?"

"… uh… Yellow paint, and spinny hub-caps. Think also, l-like a… Big grill on the bumper."

Sean shrugs and gets a new card. It has a 32 on the back and… wait, this is actually one of the cards he made.

"Th-this isn't an abstract, like the others. This is just you dressed up." The sheep nods, gesturing for me to continue. "Okay… uh… You're wearing a plaid sk-… Kilt. Not a skirt, a kilt. You also have a… Well, y-you ain't got solepads or any footwear on, but you have a shirt with a puffy collar and cuffs. You don't look like this, usually."

Sean chuckles and puts the cards back. "I don't. It's only for the important family occasions, like a wedding or funeral."

I yawn and sit up. "Anything else?" I ask. I think one of my ears are flat on my head; feels like the right side.

"Just one last exercise, lad. Name a thing in the living room, and then name three things about it."

I glance at the hearth. I had a dream about Sean and his home a few weeks ago, but it hasn't come up since. It tends to just be the same as before. Maybe I'll see it again. I say, "Hearth. It's… brick laid, with a square opening. I see a log in there, but it looks fresh." I turn to face the sheep. "Were you going to light it up?"

He shrugs and goes over to the recorder. "Maybe later." The box clicks as the recording shuts off. "I thought to bust out the old cauldron and make Great-Gran's family stew. You can handle tubers and leafy plants, right?"

I've had his stew before, and it wasn't too bad. True to my species, I tend to just wolf down food given to me. It gets me a burnt roof of my mouth, but that's what waiting is for. I don't get up from the couch, just looking back at my board.

Sean tosses the recorder to his recliner and sits beside me, picking up the whiteboard with [Dawn Bellwether] across its front. "This still bugging you lad? Ol' Hellwether?"

"… Yeah. I swear, I saw her out there," I say, pointing out towards the outside to drive my point. "Out there! With-With, like… Others. Normal people just on the street."

Sean crosses his wooly arms. "Frank, you only just told me this two days ago. I also don't think Hellwether would've been as passive-aggressive at ya, like you say she was. More like just aggressive."

"I know what I saw, Sean!" I blurt. I'm already up off the couch and defensively glaring at my friend, but he didn't get up. "The ewe was out there, and I don't know if this is a sign for things to get weird and dangerous."

Sean's used to me getting like this, though I know I'm screwing up something right now. "Well, what do you want me to do? I'm a counselor, not a constable."

"I don't know for sure! Prove to me, in some way, that I'm right or wrong. L-like, stake out places and help me know if this really is her and if there's anything she's doing."

"I'm a counselor, not a copper, lad. I already said this. Besides, why do YOU think you're wanting to know this?"

"I just do!" I exclaim, "It's for peace of mind, okay? I already did some research on this, lightly."

"Dare I ask who your sources of information were, besides just ZPD? Perhaps a couple kook-conspiracy-makers that lurk in the dark side of Reddit?"

He had me there. I didn't have much to go on besides just gut-feeling and hear-say. I plop back on the couch and sprawl long-ways on it, replying, "… O-okay, granted I did look up a few of the latter… B-but hear me out! Some of the… less extreme ones actually had compelling info that Bellwether was released a month or so ago. The rest kinda…"

"Go on, lad. I'll let you finish."

"They… also say she's going to poison the weather machines to make rain cause the whole Night Howler stuff again…"

"… You don't believe that last bit, do you, laddy?" asks Sean.

"Ob-Obviously not! But even so, I want to know what's going on for myself! I at least want to be sure that the immediate future isn't going to have another terror event happen, l-like when she was running the city. She's probably bad, but I want to be certain that she's not as bad as everyone says she is. No one is pure evil, right?"

He shrugs and agrees, "Right; but all the same, I don't want you hurting yourself over nothing. Sometimes, it's just better to ignore it. You can do that already, so it might be better that you let this slide and not worry about it."

"But what if I'm right?"

"Well, then you were right about it and it's better not to invoke whatever chip might be on her shoulder still."

"Can we at least see if she's out there? I want peace of mind about this. Maybe she's changed for the better and no one knows it yet."

"Your accounts of her talking with you don't seem like she's over her hate of anyone with sharp teeth."

"Come on, man. Just-just humor me. Ask around or check files or something. You can do that, right?"

"I work for a private firm to talk to people with mental sickness. I can't just whip out a folder and have an extensive dossier on Hellwether and her issues."

"But… But you know people that can, right?"

"… I work for a private firm! PRIVATE, not GOVERNMENT. Even then, I don't get to pull psych-profiles out me ass at the drop of a hat." Damn… I slump and shrink away from my counselor, ears flattened against my head. He slides over and puts a hooved arm over my shoulder. "I'm sorry, lad, but I'm just one ram. If it helps you, I'll try to keep me eyes out for any suspicious sheep. Should Hellwether be spotted, I'll let you know."

I look over to him. "Promise?"

"I promise, lad. Swear it so."

"… Alright."

He pats me on the back and gets off the couch. "Chin up, Frank. I'm not mad," says the ram, giving me a smile of forgiving.

I still think I did something wrong. I just hope this won't go poorly. "I know you ain't mad, but you seem more… Disappointed."

"About what?" I don't answer, just getting off the couch and staring over at the hearth. "Look, just ease up, lad. How about some music to lift your spirits?"

Music? "Which kind?"

"Whatever helps you feel better, Franklin."

Hmm… Maybe a happy-sounding song can help. "Alright. I… There'll be something I'll like." Sean nods and leads the way over to the upstairs recording room.

Sean's recording room was really just a study converted over to house a crap load of wires, a couple guitars and basses, a pretty extensive drum kit (for me), and a few microphones. In the leftmost back-corner of the room was Sean's physical collection of music. I went over to that immediately and skimmed through the vinyl and glass discs. Pathera, Led Zepplin, Sheep Trick, Def Leopard, Metallica, ACDC… No, this isn't it. I skip a shelf and find the next section. Beagles, Fleetwood Yac, Wham!- Okay, I think Wham! will do. I pull the box for the little album; Sean's tuning his bass-tar (it's a ten-string beast strung with the wires of a 4-stringer Bass and a 6-stringer Guitar, the latter being a hard instrument even for the paw-given). I hand him the album and tell him, "How about this?"

He picks up the box and looks over the song list. "Looks good here, lad. Which song?"

"How about 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go'?"

He responds with the first five notes of the song and a big grin, to which I give a smile in kind and get to the drums.