Part 1

Nowadays…

The gardens, topiary, and manor of Pride Rock, the King family estate, were meticulously maintained and guarded by the Gévaudans - a family of hyenas preceded by their reputation some several decades prior as brigands and malcontents. Their favor amongst the hyena and predator community at large (thus, any protections afforded to them by proxy) was decimated during the killing sprees of Prima Gévaudan - a troubled youth whose carnal methods of zooicide cast a blight upon hyenas across the city and neighboring territories for generations yet to come. Prima remains institutionalized, her insanity deemed nigh incurable while the Gévaudans remain sullied by her sins against nature but have since benefitted from a long-standing association with the reputable King family (namely, in the direct employ of the younger King patriarch, Tycho, and namely as his legal counsel and bodyguards). Not all Gévaudans reside at Pride Rock, as it so happens, only those who still adhere to the ties of trust initially established.

"…And if Uncle Memphis deems you worthy," Vanessa, the only daughter of Tycho and Zoë King and something akin to a (begrudging) upper management position of the King household, explained during her tour for the new hospice nurse, "then you can keep the keycard and WiFi permissions. If you want, you can live on the estate; there's a room up on the second floor-"

"Not the third floor," interjected "Nuke", the oldest from Tycho's side, as he swung around on an ornate pole of the banister leading up (an artistic style based on a late Deco-Sylvan Period, characterized by intricate, nature-inspired designs smoothed into a continuous and often spiraling pattern; most of the estate shared the style), "that's where we of the family live… and the godcubs too, I guess, whenever they're over."

Vanessa addressed her brother critically (seemingly her default for most things, especially him), arms crossed over what would certainly be considered a rebellious, gothic ensemble if it didn't cost more than the average teenager's entire wardrobe. "Finally out of your den, Nuke? I was about to call search-and-rescue."

"Only for my required two hours; thought I'd go check out that bouncy house the hyenas put up in the backyard," he grumbled and then hopped onto the banister's generous curl at the very end to sit up and lean in towards Lanny with a curt sniff, "But then I smelled fresh meat. Kinda big, aren't you?" Nuke wondered.

"He's Lanny Wild, one of the dockworkers," Vanessa explained with a dismissive flick of her paw in a gesture to the tawny titan, "Orphaned, amnesia, got his nursing degree, and now here he is. Mom says it's 'setting a good example' for the others, I guess."

The scraggly-furred lion with his scarce black mane (more the signs of long-lasting fire damage than any lack of genetics) seemed to look on with some haughty contempt and amusement, legs kicking some in their tight, zipper-riddled pants as he observed Lanny, "Not sure what Aunt Sarah expects to get out of you that the top-of-their-field professional Dad flew in couldn't, but you don't smell like a dockworker, at least," he snickered, "Think you being a lion will help? Good luck with that. Where is Mother, anyway? I wanted to tell her about that fieldmouse tech startup I got for her," he said with an almost neurotic glee, "Took me a few days but I'm nothing if not persistent-

Vanessa advanced on him, "You were supposed to look for orphaned cubs up for adoption, Nuke, and since you didn't answer your phone she went out to choose one herself." The sullen lioness tightened the arms crossed on her chest, "She took one look at Little Orphan Lanny's bio and nearly gushed, 'Ohh, I want one!'."

"What!" Nuke about choked, sparing a glare at the still adjacent, still quiet Nurse Wild, "She wanted that for herself? But she already has two perfectly accomplished cubs right here!"

"Adopting an orphaned lion cub would be 'excellent publicity'," she guessed with a shrug, "Daddy okayed it so we'll have a new brother, pretty soon."

The mention of a brother nearly set Nuke's facial tick into overdrive, launching volleys of accusatory daggers at the larger lion all the while. He then swiped at the nurse's headwear to spitefully point out, "Don't you know it's rude to wear a hat inside?"

Lanny clutched the cap protectively, leaning back with a pursing of his lips as he peered from beneath the bill. "Thing is," he then beseeched with a plaintive cringe, "a giraffe dropped gum on my head yesterday and now I've got this huge bald spot…"

Nuke snickered, spurted, and then laughed, sliding down and adjusting his black shirt with a bright, neon orange nuclear symbol-skull combination logo as though he wore a jacket. "Well, sounds like your luck is starting off on the wrong paw, Lanny, but don't worry… it can't possibly get worse from here," he leered and strutted on past, "By the way, where's Dad at?"

"You know exactly where Daddy is," Vanessa answered with a roll of her eyes, "He and Aunt Sarah are in the teleconference room, running the company non-stop as they have been for the past month."

"Oh, yeah…" he nodded and then continued on his way, pointing to the new nurse as he did, "Two-hundred says he doesn't last the week, Vansy!"

"You're on!" she called back, paws at her skirted hips. When her brother was out of sight and earshot, she leaned up towards the larger lion, "You'd had better make it to the weekend, got it?"

He grunted and nodded, even swallowing a bit as he made every effort to avoid her sharp gaze. Lanny adjusted the hat again as he dutifully followed the lioness upstairs, knowing better than anyone how betas should act in the presence of an alpha and how well its proper use deflected suspicion. Exquisite portraits of King family members (as well as Sarah's side of the family), both past and present, decorated the walls leading up into the spacious living area of the second floor, mixed amongst pieces of artists ranging from Rambrandt to Andy Warthog. Memphis and Sarah King stood in majesty, he cut from solid amber, it seemed, and she molded from clay formed in the planet's very heart; their depictions cowed the humble dockworker-turned-nurse as he dared tilt back the obscuring bill of his cap to look upon them, if only for an instant, before hurrying on his way.

"That's Grandpa Ahab and Grandma Ursula," Vanessa soon pointed out, noticing how Lanny lingered on one portrait in particular, "You can see where Daddy got his rich, raven-black mane," she then explained, almost revered. Though the color certainly matched Tycho's without a doubt, it was the wave, the thickness, and the abundance which resembled Memphis to a tee. "They're retired to some foreign beach."

"He's… pretty big," Lanny simply stated.

"No kidding," she dismissed, "Mom says he has a bit of Barbary in him, from the prehistoric gene pool, same as mammoths, dire wolves, and ground sloths; Daddy says it skips a generation and that's why he likes to tease Uncle Memphis about being someone else's cub. Anyway, the stairs are mainly here for looks so you'll be better off using the elevator."

They walked past the common area and there, sitting around a table and chatting with some of the house staff, were Ryan and Natalia… Lanny noticed Ryan, first, whose faux-mane coat was slung over the back of the couch… he looked happy as he smiled and laughed, reclining back where he longed… Lanny then saw Natalia's face and felt his ears grow warm and chest swell… but he was glad that they had not spotted him. He was not ready to be seen, just yet.

"C'mon, nurse, I still need to show you to your patient," Vanessa reprimanded, tapping her foot impatiently on the next flight of stairs, "And don't even think about chasing tail while you're here. Remember, you promised you'd make it to the weekend, at least."

"Right, of course," Lanny agreed, shouldering his duffel bag and lowering the bill of his cap… especially as he dodged a portrait of the "Missing Prince" himself, Simon King. It wasn't the first one he'd seen on the estate, and those he saw would often have vases of flowers set up on tables near it… as though to remember him by. The city had long since gotten over his disappearance but it was clear to Lanny that the Kings had not… at least, Memphis and Sarah hadn't. Twenty years was a long time for a broken heart to live without closure…

Twenty years ago…

The noonday neon and cacophonous merrymaking of the Palm's casino took their toll upon the well-to-do lion and retreating to his private suite was all he could manage. Time was that he brought the party along with him but currently, he was just exhausted, yearning for the unlit solitude of his luxury bed to rest up for the huge day ahead; it didn't help that his danger sense constantly ticked like some faulty smoke alarm. It certainly didn't help that some buffoon slipped a playing card into the lock of his door, causing him further delay and frustration. Time was he would tear up the card or flick it away… but he looked at it… and at long last, it was the danger he sensed all night prior. It was the Jack of Hearts.

No medicine or rest sobered him faster or surer than the realization that he was to be visited by some "guest" he could neither invite nor dismiss. A phantom that plagued him and his partner with good fortune, amazing fortune beyond anything either of them could have ever imagined… ever since one such "guest" flickered into existence all those years ago. Payment had come due, no doubt. The well-to-do lion thrust out his chest, squared his shoulders, corrected his attire, and smoothed his immaculately buoyant mane; lions were made for war and he was no exception. The hotel suite door opened to allow the towering frame and austere light to creep in, his ringed paw immediately clapping for the light switch but…

"I'd advise against that," the darkness said, some pointy-eared silhouette outlined by the moonless night of the singly opened curtains. The lion, indeed, paused as his physique eclipsed the distant glare and noise. So, he calmly slid in and shut the door to stand amidst the sepulchral isolation, broken only by a flash of eyes, glowing with an unnatural green that churned like pools of some witch's brew. They were joined by a suave, pointy grin, and soon enough, the lion's own nocturnal orbs. "Please, sit, chat," he offered, a shadowy paw gesturing to the chair opposite a table on which sat the suite's ice bucket, two glasses, and a decanter.

A fox. Of course, a fox. What else would mask their scent so thoroughly that even a fellow predator could not distinguish who they were except for a general inclination of their species? It was not even the scent of a fox but the lion knew that the Jack of Hearts dealt with the shiftier end of the predator spectrum, and by his size and shape, could be little else than a tod. A sharply-suited tod, no less, but given the circumstances, it was no great surprise.

"Suffice to say," the tod conversed, sauntering to the ice bucket, utilizing the tongs to add "rocks" to his drink, pour hard spirits for himself (the stopper set upon a napkin as he used both paws to hoist the massive thing; it was to some amusement that he fumbled the glass stopper), and then punctuated his act by plugging up the decanter again. It was a challenge to the lion… a ballsy one, at that. He then turned fully, back facing the lion so that he might sit and continue, "Mr. Corlione will be quite cross that we are using his room without permission, so let's be brief."

A parley… and a chance to allow the lion his maintained anonymity. "Indeed," he agreed, and mimicked the action by pouring himself some of the same hard spirits and sitting down, not drinking until a quiet, terse toast was made to their impending negotiation, and as was custom, his "host" drank first, "and… to whom am I addressing?"

The tod arched his brows for but an instant. "No one, except myself," he assured with grinning nonchalance, crossing one leg over the other as he remained upright in the lion-sized chair. He amiably continued to the reflexive quirk of an eyebrow that he was not representing anyone (perhaps more surprising than actually sneaking into the suite in the first place), "but you may call me 'Foxglove'."

Quaint. So quaint, in fact, that the lion could not help but boisterously (and mutely) laugh at such a notion. "Foxglove", indeed. "Very well," chuckled the larger of the two, willing enough to play the charade, even honoring the vulpine visitor with a double bluff of his own, "then you may call me… 'Lionheart'."

Foxglove shared in the laugh and once more they toasted but to each other's clever subversion. "So, to business."

"Quite," said Lionheart, the buzz reigniting in his skull but he managed it, all the same, flicking his wrist to slide the Jack of Hearts across the table and earning a wry smirk as the green eyes caught it, "What message shall I forward onto Vincenzo Corlione?"

Those green eyes studied the further imbuing lion (for the vintage was quite good) while the fox in which they rested leaned forward to set the half-finished drink upon the card with a soft sound. "It's to do with a matter most dire, Lionheart."

"You must be more specific, Foxglove."

"True enough… this is a great burden that I know you - of all mammals - would vehemently shoulder, as I had this past month. And believe you me, keeping him hidden was no small feat."

Lionheart's keen mind and eyes narrowed upon the fox, sitting up to loom as he set down his own emptied glass with a sound considerably less soft. A single, solitary "burden" came to mind that had plagued him and all closest to him since a month ago, only one that warranted such gravity. "Tread carefully, Foxglove, for I am not in a mindset to take mockery on the chin, especially about what you imply…"

Foxglove's grin softened but diminished not a wit. "No mockery… but it is about Simon King-" The lion, perhaps in the pit of annoyance from his drained civility, dug claws into the chair's arms while his dark lips curled to threaten with glistening jaws, thus revealing the gaping aperture of his thunderous maw. Foxglove swiftly shushed and then pointed his raised finger to the grand bed, "He's sleeping."

The air cleared as the maned head whipped around to address the bed… there was someone in it, someone small. Lionheart was no naïve cub, though, he was a worldly lion (perhaps even jaded) and so he pushed the wave of his mane back again to doubt the fox square in the eye, fighting back the day's weariness with every ounce of strength he could muster and taking stock of every possibility. "And I am just supposed to infer your word on this?" he demanded… if quietly.

"No, of course not," the fox assured, relaxing and gesturing for the lion to do the same… he did, if reluctantly, and glared over his steepled, padded fingertips, "I expect you to check him after I leave and to heed my warning: Simon King was hunted, Lionheart, and I hid him as well as I could but he will be a target once more when they do not find a body."

Tension strained the hotel's walls in the silence between them both. "Let's say I believe you," Lionheart finally permitted, paws relaxed in a gesture of his parting fingers, "Who are 'they' and what's it to do with Simon?"

"Who else?" Foxglove posited, "They take children. They destroy families. They control City Hall and Precinct 1. They run rampant but invisible, for as long as Zootopia stood… probably longer. Nowadays, it's known by the select as 'Pleasure Island'." The name hung in the air like a guillotine from a fraying rope. "You can neglect their influence skulking around the Palm as of late if it helps you sleep tonight, but they seek to kill or corrupt Simon; if they want to make another Prima Gévaudan, I can only dread as to why. The fact of the matter is, fate dealt him a cruel hand one month ago… too much for a cub to handle but it is information he has all the same, information that could destroy them. That's why he and Ryan Wild fled and it is now your duty to keep him hidden."

The lion remained quiet during it all, the day's weariness aiding him to not fly off the handle. "So… you scoured Horseshire and Bunnyburrow, finding the one mammal that the rest of the city could not… Assuming that's the case, why not bring him back to Memphis and Sarah? Surely he could not be safer than with them," he said, "Not to mention a handsome reward (that never crossed your mind)."

The fox scoffed. "He would only be in danger yet again; it is a miracle that he got a second chance at all. Not that it would matter, reward or not… because he's not Simon King," Foxglove riddled, gesturing to the cub, "The trauma claimed his memories: parents, life, friends… gone. Who you see there is an orphaned cub from South Savannah, convinced his family died in a car accident. Simon will return, he must… but Lenny shall protect him until then; if you doubt me, ask him yourself and he will be more than happy to tell you his name."

Tremendous though the tension in the air was, it trembled all the same to the lion's low growl. "That's an awful lot to take at face-value, Foxglove, I would be remiss to simply let any of it slide… perhaps foremost is that you said 'after I leave'. What makes you think I would allow such a thing?" he coldly warned, casting a shadow within the dark room after standing at full height.

Bright green eyes smiled as Foxglove hopped from his chair and approached the decanter, removing the stopper and sniffing it, "You don't even know how I got here… just like you-" he then chuckled as Lionheart's eyelids and shoulders drooped, his head snapping upright since he could no longer hide its leaden weight, as he had throughout their conversation. Foxglove carefully picked up the napkin on which the stopper was once rolled about on, folded it, and tucked it into a coat pocket, "I must say, Lionheart, you certainly put up a fight but what you ingested would have dropped an elephant by now."

The room spun and the lion gripped his head, stumbling into his chair as he tried to stay awake but even an iron constitution wasn't enough to weather whatever tranquilizer iced his weariness of the day.

Dawn broke, at last, and Vincenzo Corlione was shaken awake by one of his consorts, who found him collapsed in a chair. "Vinny!" the lioness alerted.

Sunlight hit him almost as hard as the freight train from the night before, blinking dumbly at the new morning. "Wha-… What time…? Aslan's mane!" he roared, checking his watch and springing to his feet, any drowsiness dispersing like smoke in a gale, "I need to get washed up… oh, my head's going on the wall for this," he worried, shrugging off his coat before the lioness grabbed his elbow, "What?" Her throat cleared loudly and she nodded to the stirring lump on the bed.

"Who is he?" she discreetly demanded, eyebrows flicking critically.

A flat, calculating stare observed the still stirring cub. "He's my nephew," Vinny casually assured, snapping the tie from his shirt before unbuttoning it.

"He says his name is 'Lenny'-"

"Yes, short for 'Leonardo'-"

"'Wild'."

"From an estranged half-sister," Vinny swiftly explained as he then wrapped a paw around her shoulders, shirt unabashedly open to compassionately explain, "I just found out about him… that his parents were recently taken in a car crash…" The lioness gasped and melted for the cub's plight. "I need to shower and redo this disguise before my rendezvous so see that Lenny is bathed, fed, and gets a fresh set of clothes."

"The poor thing…" she whispered and he nodded, "Don't worry, Mr. Corlione, he'll be safe in my care."

"He's also very skittish and has amnesia, so I don't imagine he'll take to me too well," the lion continued to explain as he turned towards the shower while the lioness whisked over to the bed. Vincenzo Corlione and his bronzed fur were washed down the shower drain to leave the tawny Leodore Lionheart alone with his thoughts, trying to decide just how much of the prior night actually happened… whether there really was some "Foxglove" or other that came by or just another phantom, like "Jacky Savage" from years ago… Maybe the cub had sweet-talked the housekeeping to letting him into the room. Maybe Leodore was still so distraught over the loss of Simon King that he, in an inebriated stupor, dreamt it all up. After a thorough cleaning, Leodore reapplied his disguise so that Vincenzo Corlione could be seen leaving the Palm Hotel & Casino, fresh and unsuspecting.

There was no sign of the fox. No sign of the Jack of Hearts playing card. No sign even of whatever it was he drank that knocked him out so thoroughly. All who remained was some oddly smelling new cub that the consort grew attached to, some "Lenny Wild" who remembered only his own name and was zealous in its certitude (also denying any mention of a fox caretaker but was not as averse to that possibility). Most peculiarly, he was otherwise withdrawn and anxious, whereas Simon King was bold and charismatic. Lenny grew spiteful at any notion that he resembled Simon… and retaliated if someone insisted on it; a worsening circumstance as he grew larger with each month. Any claims of "Foxglove's" were insubstantial at best and Leodore knew that even an attempt to confirm the identity of a "Missing Prince" would draw far too much attention… especially with so many frauds already caught in so short a period. In a best-case scenario, Lenny unknowingly played in one of the most insidious hustles yet.

Regardless, that mysterious cub escaped from the consort's care for the umpteenth time, disappearing with hardly a trace that he ever was; she eventually left "Corlione's" employ for bigger, better things. Vinny, or as he was really known, Leodore could not find it in his heart to chase after the chronic runaway yet again, not with his own cubs to look after. Worst of all, he lamented that he hadn't come to love and be loved by Lenny as his own cub… it was just far too heartbreaking to see those bright, crimson eyes and the sprouting, fiery mane and not think of his lost godson, Simon King…

Nowadays…

Lanny followed along the grand, open hallway with the manor's central skylight illuminating every corridor, every surface… it reminded him more of a museum than a home. Apparently, Pride Rock was equipped as a disaster shelter (and the storm shutters were artfully-hidden), since according to Memphis, "a true King serves". The words resonated in Lanny, deep in his core… and every time he heard about Pridelands in the news, about how it seemed to direct its business towards profit at the expense of its customers… it just burned him up inside… as if it were some direct affront to him.

Vanessa approached a gaudy set of solid oak double doors framed in marble bas reliefs of deific lions standing guard. "That's Mom and Daddy's room; do not ever go in there," she warned and strode right past to another set of solid oak doors, and while marble did also frame them they boasted no stone-chiseled warders but rather a simpler metal-cast lion down the very center, whose offering paws were held before him to replace the door handles… and as Vanessa pulled the doors open, it looked as though his arms spread wide. "Uncle Memphis, I have the new nurse," she tersely called, nudged Lanny in and whispered, "Good luck. Just last the weekend, then do whatever," and closed the doors behind him.

As it was throughout the manor, Memphis's room was naturally illuminated (or mimicked it, barring any open windows) and meticulously cleaned. Unlike the rest of the manor… Lanny immediately felt unwelcomed, hiding the tremble of his knees by gripping the floor with his toes and wringing the strap of his duffel bag (eyes darting about to the cameras in the ceiling's corners that kept an eternal vigil of the ailing lion, just in case any mishap should befall him, as was explained to the nurse during one of his first stops in the tour).

Memphis lay in his bed… so unlike how he was remembered. His once golden fur faded to an ashen pallor; the blazing red of his mane… a dense, rusty cobweb that not so much reflected the light above him but spat it back like gravel from under a semi truck's tire. The sleeping shirt which would have been filled… hung off his thin frame. The machines around him beeped and hummed and pumped as he removed his reading glasses to set them upon the book soon closed beside him; he peered over the oxygen mask wrapped around his face. His eyes, though… like lances they pierced into the nurse from clear across the room and yet he hardly seemed trying at all. "Lanny… Wild, was it?" he critically asked.

"Yes, sir," he answered and swiftly approached at the permitting gesture of a wilted paw… a paw that once was probably strong enough to bat Lanny out the window if it were so inclined. Hearing about Mr. King's condition was one thing… but seeing him was another… Yes, the loss of his son hit his spirit like a runaway train but it was the internal organ damage that nearly killed him… The Pridelands Charity Marathon held on Stampede Street that he always ran in, one year boasted its highest attendance from a sudden influx of wildebeests. He tripped and was nearly trampled to death by a hundred different sets of hooves… no charges were filed for the "terrible accident" but Memphis never truly recovered. Lanny smiled his most professionally and set down his duffel bag to sit on the side of the bed, something he learned from more experienced nurses that helped to build a rapport with the patient. "It's great to meet you, Mr. King."

He huffed and breathed harshly through his mask. "I find that hard to believe, considering you were offered this position several times in the past," he stated, "but then, all of your predecessors were a bit too eager to get in here…" and scowled, sweeping with disdain at the nightstand pharmacy prescribed to him, "Even that stuffed-shirt was determined to poison me, just like everyone else," he grumbled and sank back into his pillow, paws folded on his chest.

Lanny chose his words carefully… figuring anything off the top of his head was already mentioned (and thus, rejected). So, he stood and addressed a sample of the plethora of pill bottles, mouthing out the names as best he could. "Some of these are for conditions you don't… or can't have; best case scenario, your body would be completely unaffected by them."

"Finally, some sense, maybe you will last the week," the old lion wheezed, "not that it matters."

"With all due respect, Mr. King, why wouldn't it matter?" the young lion asked, perusing the prescriptions until he recognized the one that might actually prove beneficial, "If I have anything to say about it, I'm getting you well enough to lift crates down on the docks again," and then leaned in to smirk, "I already promised the other lions I would."

Memphis seemed to laugh despite himself and then gave a crotchety harrumph. He sat and thought a moment, entering the new nurse into his calculations but sighing as the medicine and water were presented… he simply pushed it away. "Because I'm tired, Lanny. My heart broke twenty years ago after I did everything, everything a father could possibly do to keep his own child safe, but it wasn't enough… it will never be enough. And now my body has accepted it…

"I prayed that quack was the last nurse my brother would sick on me but then the love of my life insisted on one more… I shall abide by her wishes but I cannot live like this," he growled, gesturing at the whole of his circumstances, "Thank Aslan they haven't put a catheter in me. I was going to turn you away at the door but I couldn't do that to Vanessa," he groaned and chuckled, "She might be the only hope for whatever poor cub my brother and his mate plan to adopt. So… you'll stick around for the rest of the week, maybe receive a glowing letter of recommendation, and then you can be the hospice nurse for anyone in the world… someone who can be far more grateful than I for all the hard work of yours that I read about."

"Mr. King…"

"Please, just Memphis… 'Mimsy', if you like," he continued and then pulled off his oxygen mask to toss it aside with disgust, "All I want is to spend my last days in the company of someone who won't look on in pity for the lion that once was. Can you do that for me?"

Lanny's chin trembled. He refused to nod or shake his head, however, looking down instead at the colorful capsules, gently nudging them with his thumb… and then at the motley assortment for the old lion's consumption. He quietly pondered for some several moments and clenched his jaw, crouching to get a better look at them all.

Memphis sighed and drummed a single finger to his own knuckle. "No, I suppose I wouldn't have an answer, either, if begged for some merciful end to it all, as though back on the battlefield," he grumbled and picked up the oxygen mask again but flicked his eyes towards the nurse's flank, studying the uniform fitted to it and grinned. "If I might be so bold as to point out, Lanny," he said, a finger shaking with the effort it took to point it, "but unless I am very much mistaken… did your uniform come from John Wilde? His work is very distinct." Memphis then laughed at such a notion, "He used to be my tailor, you know, but he was more than that, at times, always a delight to have around… except for Tycho, of course, he could leave anyone 'in stitches'!"

The young lion's train of thought derailed as he addressed the invalid and then his own uniform, snickering first at the joke and then laughing heartily. "It needed some mending and John - or rather, Mr. Wilde - fixed it for me. His suits really are that prolific, though, aren't they?"

"It's uncanny…" he said ambiguously and to the inquisitive stare, continued, "I can't help but feel that we've met before… perhaps down at the docks? No, you're far too young." Memphis shook his head. "Never mind. Tell me instead, Lanny, what has so piqued your interest?"

"Well…" he muttered, making some room on the nightstand to spread out a pawful of pills, "I don't think you were poisoned."

All of the comradery from the previous few minutes evaporated as Memphis slumped back into his pillow. "I guess I am just a crazy, old, paranoid lion, then," he bitterly stated, snatching up his book and glasses again.

Lanny didn't seem to notice (and likewise, Memphis didn't pay him any attention, either) as he used his claw to dissect a capsule, carefully opening it and pouring out the contents. With a careful sniff and a moistened dab of his pinky finger, he dared a single taste… and his whiskers perked as he looked about the room. However, before Memphis could properly address him, he stood and pulled the medical tablet from his duffel bag to check it. "It looks like it's about time for your bath, sir," the nurse professionally informed.

The old lion's face sagged as he begrudgingly closed the book. "Hurrah."

"But," the nurse continued and even leaned in to whisper with a wry grin, "instead of a sponge bath, as it says here, would you like a bath bath? You know, get out of bed, soak for a bit… make a big, hot bowl of you-soup?"

Resigned though Memphis might have been to follow along with whatever routine his nurse was hired to inflict upon him, and whatever vehement reluctance he expressed from the mention of a "bath bath", his curiosity piqued at the fanciful phrasing. Lanny was already turning away to retrieve the nearby wheelchair and unfold it with a smooth click of its fasteners. "I've not heard such a thing in years," the older lion laughed, despite himself, and was politely joined in the frivolity as the covers were carefully removed from his legs, "My cub, wherever did you hear it?"

A meager but amiable shrug was all the nurse answered as he carefully and quickly detached his patient from the various monitors, "And we'll just unplug these for a bit… so long as you promise not to tell," he said and winked.

Minor glowering remained on the gaunt face but a good-natured, grateful confirmation was chuffed all the same. "I remember Sarah used that all the time with Simon," he quietly reminisced, looping his arm about the nurse's neck and propping up his knees so that he might be transported from bed to wheelchair.

"Did she?" Lanny grunted, surprised that the weakened lion could still be as heavy as he was and secured him thusly.

"Oh yes… Simon hated baths, said they 'messed up his mane'," the old lion mused, nostrils flaring for a moment, "But then one day his mother - clever lioness that she is - started peeling the soap like it was a potato, sprinkled in scents as if they were spices, and even used a big spoon to stir and pretend to taste it; she said it 'needed something more'. Always the curious cub, he wondered what she was doing… that's when she grabbed Simon and tossed him in. After that, baths were always 'you-soups'." Memphis chuckled as he was wheeled to the bathroom.

The walls were a dark earthen tone with the barest rocky patterns, the sinks smooth porcelain with brass spigots for faucets, large mirrors, gorgeously plush towels (and private blow-drying room adjacent); various toiletries for her and for him on their respective sides, decor of faux-masonry ceramics (but looked sturdy enough to survive an impact). The tub itself was an ornate basin with silicon cushions and holes for jets, two overhead rainshower heads… big enough to house two lions, from the looks of it. Memphis chuckled again as the nurse leaned over to turn the water on, the surrounding aesthetics similar to artistically curling shoreline plantlife. "Feels like it's been ages since I've been in here, most all of my hygiene was maintained at the bed… but then, most all of my other nurses couldn't lift me… aside from the rhino. Sarah would leave the door open so that I could see her, though; brush her fangs, I mean. She's always been a lioness of taste and had a keen eye for value… picked out most everything on the estate, back when we were newly mated."

"And you didn't get a say?" Lanny teased, pouring in herbal concoctions that he'd brought in his duffel bag, simply letting them churn with the running water.

"I only wanted whatever I could lie down flat in," the old lion rumbled quite jovially and stroked his waning mane, getting just a bit of color back in his cheeks as he muttered under his breath, "It was in this very tub that…" and then cooed, "but you don't need to hear that."

"I really don't," the young lion politely and succinctly agreed, daring one last glance at the ceiling to confirm that there were no cameras.

Memphis patiently sat as the water ran. "And they call me paranoid," he remarked, coughing for no specific reason than to clear whatever was in his lungs as he attempted to stand from his wheelchair, "Do you plan to keep that hat on the entire time you're here?" he asked… and seemed to notice that the tub was not filling with suds as he assumed it would, regardless of whatever was poured in.

Lanny rushed over and guided him back into his seat, earning more patience in the form of a direct glance. "No… I just didn't want to take it off, yet," he said under his breath.

"So why wear it? It certainly doesn't look like your favorite cap… it actually looks brand new. Come to think of it…" he added with a furtive leaning of his elbow on the wheelchair's arm, "I can't help but wonder if it's not because of some… bad trip to the groomer?"

"Well… it's a secret," he whispered, grinning and tipping the cap back so that it could no longer shade his eyes.

The piercing lances which struck from Memphis's gaze softened as he studied the younger lion's face, nostrils flaring again; even so, doubt riddled his features like rust. "Really…?" he aloud wondered, glancing about as he lifted a paw (not very high) to beckon him closer with a single finger, canting his head some and perking an ear, "Maybe it's something you shouldn't discuss too loudly, something about all those medicines?"

The younger lion's brow flattened. His eyes wavered and jaw clenched. He blinked the haze from his eyes.

"What's wrong, son? You can tell me."

"You see…" he continued, daring an impish smirk to tug at the corner of his lips as he raised his paw to cup it around Memphis's ear so that no wayward words could escape, thus urging his eager listener closer and - as sharply and softly as he could - bit his ear.

Author's Notes:

Zoë, Nuke, and Vanessa are based on the characters Zira, Nuka, and Vitani from "The Lion King 2: Simba's Pride"; similarly, the adopted cub Vanessa and Nuke spoke of references Kovu. Grandpa Ahab and Grandma Ursula (not based on the sea-witch from "The Little Mermaid") are derived from the names of Ahadi and Uru, the parents of Mufasa and Scar/Taka.

"Little Orphan Lanny" is a pun on "Little Orphan Annie" even though she is not a Disney character; forgive me this minor transgression.

Rambrandt and Andy Warthog are Zootopian analogs to Rembrandt and Andy Warhol, respectively. To my knowledge, "Deco-Sylvan" does not reference anything.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!