Chapter 3 - Rotten Food and a rotten feud.
Chapter 3 - Rotten Food and a rotten feud.
Author's Note : WATCH OUT - Minor swearing below.
The thought of Judy snapped him out of his trance and spurred him towards action. Judy was the only person who could do this to him, but also made him forget his depression.
A few quick taps on the screen of his smartphone, and a reply was formed.
"Sure thing Carrots. I'll come over and pick you up at your apartments by 4PM. Those blueberries better be as good as you say, because I could book you for lying to an Officer of the Law"
Moments before he clicked "Send", it hit him.
It was barely 5 in the morning, on a Sunday.
No one would be awake, no one should be either.
But then again, Judy wasn't anyone. She was the one bunny who could beat a rooster to announcing the arrival of dawn.
Nonetheless hesitation permeated his thoughts, he didn't want to awaken her, in the sliver of hope that she would actually be sleeping (as she should be).
Then began an internal struggle of sorts, weighing between 'she needs to sleep', 'I want to talk to her' and 'who am I kidding, she's Judy Hopps, she'd be awake reviewing some documents for work'. Eventually, Nick settled on a middle ground, he would send the text at 6AM.
Satisfied with his decision, Nick now had to do some cleaning and preparation. He supposed that he should begin with his morning ablutions, especially today : brushing his teeth, combing his fur, his signature Pawaiian dress shirt, 'matching' tie and some pants.
Judy was coming over, he wanted to dress to impress. To Nick, a dress shirt and tie impresses anyone. Also, he didn't have anything other than Pawaiian dress shirts and 'matching' ties that he got at reject clothing sales.
His stomach growled in hunger, but his excitement for later stopped him from considering any form of meal.
Distracting himself from his thoughts, he redirected his mind towards his rundown apartment. Looking around the room for a starting point for last minute interior design, he noticed his pile of clothes (the hygiene of which was questionable) ; a coffee table littered with random news articles, magazines, an occasional empty coffee cup and an unfinished sandwich from 2 nights before. "Those things got to go", muttered Nick to himself before getting to work.
The clothes were folded neatly and arranged orderly in his ancient creaky and musty closet. In said closet resided a row of practically identical Pawaiian shirts. Not that Nick was going to complain - it was at a bargain price for such quality dress shirts.
The coffee table was cleared, wiped clean, the trash was thrown and the magazines piled against a wall. Beside his tower of magazines stood his other tower of newspapers. Nick rarely collected newspapers. In fact he would've thrown them away. Except these few newspapers, which had Judy's face plastered on the headlines or any minor mention of his bunny friend in the news, and Nick made it a duty to collect it. Nick also collected the minor news section where he got Initiated into the Force. He loved to be recognised for the good reasons and the small column brought him no little measure of happiness and pride. Like a proud parent - something he didn't have. There was his mother who left him when he was 10. Father? Well... let's not get into that for the sake of the current good mood he was in.
Now that cleanliness and basic hygiene had been restored, he decided to give the house a little spring cleaning while he was at it : clearing his fridge, washing the dishes and taking out the trash; those were on the top of his to do list.
The fridge was a priority. Last time Judy came over she complained that his fridge was going to become a criminal offence soon. Nick wasn't to blame of course, he barely made his own food. The fridge was just part of the apartment deal. In fact the fridge was one of the contributors to his rent as his utilities bill was apparently over the contractual level. Thus, Nick had to fork out more cash to pay his own electricity bill or he'd lose the roof over his head.
The repetitive tones of an artificial xylophone cut through his thoughts.
A standard Zoony ringtone.
Washing his hands, Nick deftly answered his vibrating cell phone by the 2nd ring. He couldn't let it ring for the same reasons he couldn't allow his alarm to ring too - neighbours and that landlord.
"Nick? You haven't replied my message. It's 6AM, fox. Not like ya to not reply before the Sun's up", an all too familiar deep voice greeted the ears of the fox, causing it to prick up in response. He flopped on his multipurpose couch and exhaled a sigh of relief - he had forgotten to tell Fin about his plan for today - before deciding on a response.
"Hey-uh-Fin, I'm sorry about not replying. I don't think I'll take up your offer to hustle. I'm having Judy over later." The fox decided against lying to his old comrade.
There was an audible sigh on the other end of the phone from the Fennec.
"Nick, she hustled you twice! It ain't meaning you serve her. Look man, ya need to feed yerself too. That rent of yours ain't gonna pay itself-"
"Fin, hey man, I'm a cop now. I can't do this hustle business anymore-"
"That bunny, she got ya good."
Silence on both ends. Nick never turned down an offer from Fin. This the first time Nick actually couldn't say "Yes."
Breaking the awkward silence, "Fin, listen. I-I don't want to you to risk yourself by associating with me." Nick was after all a cop.
"You?"
"A cop, Fin. An officer of the law." Nick pleaded. He expected Fin of all people to get the message he was implying. Nick was a con artist and hustler turned cop. No one in their world of crime would ever accept association with such a fox : a turncoat, a snitch - a traitor. None in the world of lawfulness would do the same either : a criminal, a mockery of the law - a joke. He didn't want to drag Fin into his conflict with the two worlds.
"So what? No more hustling? No more Pawpsicles? No more red wood?"
The question hit Nick like a truck. Again, Nick has to admit Fin was making a point.
"No-", Nick began.
"Listen fox. I feel like you can't associate with me. Because good ol' foxy joined the side of the angels? Well, I hope you enjoy your Ranger Scouts." An angry tone stained the voice of the fennec.
Ranger Scouts.
That term only brought up hurt, pain and betrayal.
Betrayal - from the Junior Ranger Scouts of the past...
Betrayal - from Finnick.
"Duck you, Fin." snarled Nick in reply, before swiftly hanging up and tossing his phone on the coffee table.
The pain resurfaced.
That dream he tried to forget images flashed in his mind.
The heat of the argument subsiding and the cold pain of its consequences biting in.
His knees weakening, Nick fell onto the couch for support.
…
…
…
Don't let them see that they get to you.
Don't let them see that they get to you.
Don't let them see-
In this world, only 2 people knew Nicholas P. Wilde's darkest secret.
Mammals he trusted with his life.
Mammals that saved his life.
Mammals who were his life.
Mammals which accepted him.
There were 2.
Finnick and Judy Hopps.
Now, Nick felt - there was only one left.
Lying on his couch, he decided to send the draft reply he typed for Judy.
Floatzen, blueberries and Judy sounded good.
Right now however - a reprieve was needed.
AUTHOR'S NOTE :
I would like to extend my limitless gratitude and appreciation to :
u/7096661/littlemisscherrypie
for being a great friend and beta.