"We passed two places on the way here, Nick," Bo protested, scratching his head as he looked up at the simplistic 'Phil's' sign. The severe lack of foot traffic made it seem abandoned, but from its position in town it would be a regular place at any other time of the year.
"Cost-to-distance ratio, Punch," the fox grinned, "but most importantly, this unique establishment had no reviews in the past two weeks, so it should be relatively free of visiting rabbits."
"Whoa, now hold on a minute," the rabbit protested further, grabbing Nick's shoulder to get his smug attention before he could enter the nearby door, "Why am I 'Punch'?"
"Oh," the fox further grinned, doffing his shades to rest atop his brow, "It's multi-faceted, but I'm afraid an explanation would diminish its effect. Judy is 'Carrots', Gideon is 'Bangs', Esther is 'Cherries', and you, ol' buddy ol' pal, are 'Punch'."
"But I don't wanna be 'Punch'," the rabbit griped, "Can't I be, like-"
"Ah ah ah," he tsked with a wag of his finger, "You don't get to choose your nickname."
"Well, maybe I have a nickname for you?"
"I would love to hear it," he dared with a shrugging smile, "after all, I'm already known as 'Slick', 'Stretch', and 'Blue'; respectively. However, you must choose wisely, young buck, for there is a power in names that affects not only me, but yourself and all those we hold dear. A nickname reflects your perception of those whom you name and reveals to all your judge of character; thus, the strength of your character."
Bo stood with stony trepidation, once more treating Nick to the machinations of his cognitive gears.
He makes this so easy that I almost feel bad about it, the fox mused, and then reached around to clap Bo's back, "And have fun with it, that's the big thing to keep in mind."
Nick entered to the door's quiet swing, a cursory glance of the establishment revealing more than his expectations dared to speculate. There was the bar in front of a wall mirror and bottles of beverages on display. There were the the booths on the facing wall, behind the unanchored tables with chairs stacked atop. At the far wall was the the pool table, a smaller pool table, the jukebox, and the taller standing tables. In the wide, empty floor space provided by moving all the tables was a peach-shirted, fat goat with an extraordinarily red nose, and shaggy, earthen clay red fur. At the end of the bar was a large, rotund pitch-black boar, who looked like his entire day was dedicated to nursing a tall glass, not even addressing the low-volume news program from the wall-mounted TV.
"You kids lost?" grunted the goat, bent over a broom handle and sweeping a floor made clear by the lack of patronage, "Either pull up a stool or beat it, I ain't got time for goo-goo eyes." For a goat, he was short, but that still made him bigger, if by only a minor margin, than both the fox & rabbit. He didn't seem altogether interested in their answer either, as he continued his stiff bristling of the hardwood floor without sparing them another moment of attention.
"I like this place," Nick said to Bo, and then walked in, holding the rabbit's introduction with a raised finger as he approached a nearby barstool. Bracing against the footrest, the fox fluidly seated himself upon the high cushion; he did not forget how to live with larger mammals after only a few days in Bunnytown, after all. 'Punch', perhaps more accustomed to a rabbit-centric society, made his own leap atop the stool in a single bound, but was far less graceful about it. Once again, Nick held Bo's query for attention with a single finger, demonstrating proper tavern etiquette by relaxing one's elbows atop the bar and awaiting service.
The sweeping stopped to a cloven clop as the presumed "Phil" came around the side of the bar. "Pull yer pants up, ya' bum," he reprimanded with a muffled 'thwack' of wood on fat, triggering a guttural squeal from the boar but otherwise no response; until he reached back to apathetically tug a drooping waistline over offending cleavage. "So, what'll it be?" he asked the newcomers, preparing a mug by wiping it down, although it obviously did not need further cleaning.
"Two ciders for my friend & I," the fox grinned, clapping Bo's back with one paw and showing two fingers with the other.
"New to town, huh?" the old goat pointed out, filling a pair of mugs with 'cold gold' and setting out a coaster for each, "Thought all the foxes scampered on out of here."
"Visiting family & friends," Nick reported, taking up his mug and clinking it against Bo's still bar-bound drink for a quick chug. It seemed Bo's cognitive gears worked overtime, because he barely realized there was also a drink for him until it was he heard the gentle collision of glass. The barkeeper's eyebrow arched with blatant skepticism.
"Oh yeah, sure, all those 'family & friends' out on a cruise," he scoffed, and then looked blankly at the nearby rabbit, whom said nothing as of yet. "And what's a greenhorn like you hopping around my joint for? Figured you'd be with the rest of those cottontails up the street."
"Hey-!" Bo began indignantly, earning a swift, nonchalant swat from Nick's tail.
"He's showing a city fox like me around Preds Corner," aided Nick, "Such hospitality." Phil's keen eyes returned to the fox and studied him harder, to which he did not surrender even the slightest lip-curl, "How about you, holding down the fort?"
"Like I had a choice," he snorted, "that 'Caribouan Cruise' was a sham from beginning to end. Would I like to take a week off without worrying about my bar? You betcha, who wouldn't. But that mashugana pennypincher only sends the preds! Oh yeah, sure, us prey get a 'discount', if you can call it that," he mocked, hoofed knuckles air-quoting with all the substantial sarcasm available to a surly old goat, but calmed as quickly as he was riled and rested a cheek in his palm, "Anyway, it wouldn't be so bad if it didn't feel like all these out-of-towners are deliberately avoiding the place."
"You yelled at a bunch of kids and made them cry, Phil," said the boar matter-of-factly.
"Shaddup, Erym!" he bleated, flicking at the excess of fur off his chin, "They kept tryin' to pull hairs outta my beard!"
"One of them did," 'Erym' continued, "Another wanted his foot."
"And I gave it!" and then kicked the air.
"I bet that made you popular," smirked Nick.
"Certainly didn't help," the goat grumbled.
"This 'pennypincher' you mentioned, was that the Hexward CEO?" inquired the fox.
"Who else would I be talking about?"
"That'd be Felix Oswald Lapis," Bo chimed in, and then added proudly, "He's actually one of the biggest philotherians in Zootopia, everything from charities to youth centers to soup kitchens; you name it. As it so happens, I went to BU on the 'Lapis Scholarship'."
Of course Nick knew about Lapis, he'd be deaf & blind if he didn't, "Ah yes, Bunnyburrow University," he recalled, "where you got your degree in nutrition."
"Yep, 'B the U that U can B!'" he recited, "I got the chance to meet him face-to-face at a career fair, a real genuine sort of rabbit; he was the one that offered me an internship when I got out of the MMA."
"The MMA, you?" Phil snorted, and then guffawed, looking to Erym and pointing a thumb at Bo, "Can you imagine, this guy in the Septagon?"
Bo's ears went pale and tucked behind his head, brow pinching as he seemed conflicted to which negative emotion he should express at the moment.
"Don't discount him so quickly," Nick interjected, "A bunny though he may be, he's no pushover. I've seen his strength firsthand, and all things considered, I'd say he stands a fighting chance." Bo's face lit up in grateful reverence.
"It ain't 'cause he's a bunny, it's 'cause he's a bum!" the goat snapped, "You got all those muscles but you ain't got steel! You think the MMA is a summer camp? Ya' wrestle around for a few weeks, and then off you go to your dream job at Hexward?" The outburst almost caught Nick off guard, but it certainly glued Bo to his stool. "Yeah, you must be that 'Bo Briar' I heard about, gonna be the 'first bunny in the MMA'. Is that your reason to fight, gonna be some big bunny hero? Well, whoop-dee-doo, you'll get past the preliminaries on dumb luck and be steamrolled by a real fighter with a real reason to fight. I've seen would-bes bigger & stronger than you that couldn't go the distance because they didn't have the heart."
Nick awaited Bo's response, no intent to correct or hush him this time; it was his reputation on the line, after all. However, Bo was neither indignant nor rueful, but starstruck. "I know who you are… you're Phil Octaves! Nick!" he turned to the fox and excitedly shook his shoulders, "I just got yelled at by Phil Octaves, the legendary MMA trainer!"
"Shaddup, kid, I ain't no legend," he grumbled. Nick's head spun from the violent thrashing and braced himself against the bar, remembering the headache he experienced earlier by touching the side of his skull. Phil set a glass of cold water on a napkin for the fox. "If you know anything about me, you know not one of my boys won a championship. The 'Cursed Coach' is what they called me, yeah, because whenever I got a fighter up to the final round, something happened. Car accident, lawsuit, terminal disease, death in the family; pretty soon, the rookies were so scared something would happen to them, I couldn't get one to save my life."
"So," Nick said after a sip of water, "you retired and opened up a bar in Preds Corner?"
"What's it to you?" he grumped, and slung the rag over his shoulder, "Is that why you came by here, to mock an old goat about his past? I guess I should be grateful, you two and Erym over there are the only customers I've had since everyone went on that sham-of-a-cruise."
"It was a 'cost-to-distance ratio'," Bo corrected, "and because there're less bunnies."
"Present company excluded," Nick grinned and socked Bo's shoulder, and then turned to Phil once more to discretely rub his sore knuckles, "Although I wouldn't mind asking you about a more recent & general past; let's say, I don't know, Mr. Lapis sending all the preds on that 'sham-of-a-cruise'. If you'll remember, Bo, Ms. Clara was 'envious' that the Greys were going, and my initial thought is that it was only them-"
"Yeah, well it wasn't," Phil interrupted, "It was all the preds, but only those in Preds' Corner. You'd think with all his billions, he could afford to include the lot of us."
"Indeed," smirked the fox, "I'm lead to believe that Mr. Lapis wanted to use Preds' Corner as a temporary, private town for whoever's behind those red banners. In terms of pred-tolerance, Bunnyburrow is leagues ahead of the other two major burrows, so it simply wouldn't do to have a bunch of preds walking around during the TBR. This wasn't a problem twenty years ago, but nowadays, us preds are everywhere."
"Yeah, you must be that 'Nick Wilde' character, first fox cop in ZPD history," Phil said, "I s'pose you're here on official police business, Officer Wilde?"
"Me? No, strictly off duty," Nick answered, and winked at Bo, I'll need to be a bit more obvious with my subtlety around this rabbit, he realized, "I do love a good mystery, though, and while I figured out what the symbols mean, I'm still in the dark on what they're all about." Nick sipped thoughtfully from his mug as the nearby bunny almost vibrated in anticipation, and quarter-turned to face him inquisitively, "Bo-?"
"It's the Trifecta of Blessings," burst the rabbit, "each representing one part of the Tri-Burrows. The hoof-&-foot is-"
"Cool yer jets, kid," Phil interrupted, aptly deflating Bo, and then turned to Nick, "You've heard of the 'House of Blessings', right? They're the ones which decide what's lucky and what ain't. A buncha superstitious nonsense, if you ask me."
"Hey-!" Bo began indignantly, and was not stopped by Nick's swift tail-swipe this time, but rather caught it with his foot and continued, "Those tenets were passed on for centuries, and there is historical proof that its practices saved lives. It's what built the bond between horses and rabbits, after all, and every other mammal in Zootopia."
"Sorry, kid, I didn't realize it meant so much to ya'," he relented, and frowned, "I'm jus' an old, washed-up goat, after all, maybe I'm a bit jaded to things like 'luck'."
"Hey, c'mon, I didn't mean it like that, Mr. Octaves-"
"Call me 'Phil'."
"Right, sorry," Bo said, "I didn't mean it like that, Phil. You're a great coach, the best the MMA's ever seen! Some mammals are lucky, and some aren't, it's just how things are. But look how many times you took rookies with no hope and got them to the championship, despite your bad luck."
Phil stared blandly at him, and then scoffed a chuckle, "You're alright, kid."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Then… d'you suppose I could come by sometime for training-?"
"No."
"It was worth a shot," Bo sighed.
Half-past-noon sun flooded the bar as the door swung open; Nick squinted & reflexively flicked his sunglasses back over his eyes. He leaned around the bodybuilding bulk that was Bo and caught a glimpse of long-eared silhouettes walking in from the sidewalk; frowning, he returned to his drink, Here we go.
"What a dump," said the lead rabbit, a butterscotch rabbit with dark coffee-colored spots between the ears, wearing a light jacket over a polo shirt. He scoffed at the interior, "Are you closing up early, gramps? Because that's an awful lot of empty space."
"It smells weird in here," said another rabbit.
"Hey, ya' mind closing the door?" Phil asked, "You're letting flies in."
The group, some four male bunnies, swaggered in and allowed the door to swing closed, "He doesn't even have the pool tables up," complained another rabbit.
"Hey Grav, isn't that 'Mr. Fox'?" asked the fourth rabbit.
"Ya'know, I think it is," answered 'Grav', walking up to where Nick & Bo sat at the stools with his paws in his pockets, "And what luck, he's got Bo Branches with him, too. How ya' doin', Branches, still diggin' up rocks?"
Those at the bar remained still, the burlier rabbit begging for cues from the fox, but the former-hustler remained icier than his cider, which he sipped in the ensuing lapse of conversation; Bo followed suit. With an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, he set his mug down with only a bit remaining, before he turned half-way about and reclined an elbow on the bar, one leg crossed over the other.
"My good gentlerabbits, I was wondering when you'd catch up," Nick began with a broad smile, and then gestured to Bo, whom fully spun around after draining his mug, attempting to copy Nick's casual position, "I was talking with my friend here about that charming group of yokels - excuse me, locals - following us through Preds Corner. You gave quite the chase, too, I was so sure we lost you after that drainage pipe."
"So, all those 'shortcuts' were-?" Bo began.
"A tour through town, of course," Nick quickly said with a wink, setting his sunglasses back up on his brow to do so, "They certainly kept pace despite running along fences and through alleys; wouldn't you agree, Bo?"
"Um, oh!" the larger rabbit realized, "You betcha, real athletes, they are."
"I don't know what yer talkin' about, fox, me & my buddies were on our way to Phil's," Grav shrugged, "It's a happy coincidence you were taking the same route as us, that's all. So how 'bout you and your boyfriend move over a few stools, so we won't have to split up the group?"
"Well, Mr. Briar & I were about to leave after I finished my drink," Nick explained, leaning back to reveal the remaining cider, "it'd be awful silly to move beforehand."
"I ask nicely and I get lip. Typical fox," he scoffed over his shoulder to his snickering buddies, "Look, I'm gonna ask again, but it's gonna be less nice this time. But ya'know what, I'm a patient rabbit, so I'm willing to give you the opportunity to reconsider your answer, now that you're a bit more knowledgeable of the situation you're in." Grav pulled his paws from his pockets and put them on his hips, casually holding the flaps of his jacket back to reveal a prominent rectangular bulge at the front of his trousers.
Nick, still smiling in his casual way, turned his back to them and chugged the rest of his cider. Leaning off his seat, he pulled out his wallet and set some bills on the bar for their drinks, and then spun around again to slide off; as he hoped, Bo also dismounted from his stool. "Hypothetically speaking," Nick said, taking a single step towards Grav with one paw pointing to the ceiling, and the other paw hanging by the thumb hooked into his waistband at the front, "I could beat a dumb bunny like you with one finger," and waggled the gesturing digit.
Grav closed the distance immediately and yanked NIck's face in by the necktie, "Who're you callin' a 'dumb bunny', fox?" The dark hatred in his eyes and the crimson anger in his ears drained pallor to the crackle of electricity from below his belt; whatever piss & vinegar that was in him now soaked his slacks. The 'one finger' which Nick held up nudged Grav to fall back on the floor, gentle wisps of smoke rising from burn marks on his crotch.
"Dumb bunny reason #1: you keep a fully charged 'fox-taser' tucked into the front of your pants," Nick began, stooping over and tugging Grav's shirt to reveal the aforementioned item, which he carefully pulled out to remove the batteries, "Reason #2: you paid the extra money for a 'fox-taser'," he continued, tossing the batteries onto the shallow-breathing, butterscotch rabbit, and setting the taser on the bar behind him, "Reason #3: you fell for an obvious trap by stepping in close enough for me to activate said taser. If you have a weapon, use it, before your opponent does."
The remaining three rabbits were neither amused nor deterred at the defeat of their leader. One reached into his jacket and pulled out a knuckleduster. Another flicked his wrist to the quick 'shink' of a knife. The third, a larger rabbit, stood in back for a very specific reason, tapping the end of a metal bat along the hardwood floor as he walked around and shouldered the bludgeon. Phil ducked behind the bar some, keen eyes watching the conflict unfold; Erym, in his usual manner, remained disinterested on his favorite stool.
"Well, we tried to find the middle ground," Nick said with a shrug and then exchanged glances with Bo; for the first time since they met, the nuance was understood. They both approached the trio calmly, walking around Grav's weak gasps towards the cleared floor, and did so in such a way that the group of rabbits split for a pincer position; the bat-wielder on Nick's side, and leaving the other two for Bo.
The fox continued walking in a wide arc around the bat-bun, almost waddling as he favored one foot and then the other, his bushy tail sweeping behind him prominently. As he suspected, the bat-bun's eyes caught sight of the tail, and yet tried to stay on Nick. You're a strong one, ain't ya'? the fox grinned, and dove forward in a zig-zag as his tail spun like a propeller behind him, triggering the brutish rabbit's reaction to strike with all his might in a wild swing. The cudgel approached and, as the fox knew it would, grazed the fluff-&-flex of his tail, harmlessly throwing the rabbit off balance as Nick slipped by and outside the attack.
He reached inside the rabbit's forearm, turning on a dime to pivot and rake his claws along the flexor muscles, strong enough to relax them but not enough to cut the flesh. His other paw cradled the newly released grip, grabbing the handle of the bat and, using his tail for balance, swung around and behind the rabbit. Nick followed the momentum in a wide, spinning arc to collide the bat with the rabbit's skull, and his tail swept the rabbit's legs; the hooligan fell against the floor face-first like a ragdoll. At the academy Nick could not wrestle or box like the other cadets, but he excelled in a feint-&-disarming technique that even Judy herself could not yet counter.
Leaning on the bat like a cane, Nick turned to face Bo, and the result was exactly as he suspected: victorious & unscathed. With Bo's strength and reach, it was obvious from the first that he could take them each out with a single strike before they realized what happened. "How's it looking for you over there, Punch?" Nick asked.
"They bored me, Gloves," he shrugged, but grinned.
Cheeky, thought Nick, but grinned right back.
"I jus' swept this floor, and now there's bums all over it," Phil snorted.
"Want us to 'take out the trash', as it were?" Nick asked, nudging at a knocked-out rabbit with the tip of the bat.
"Nah-ah-ah, I know these punks, and I've got some calls to make about 'em," he bleated, "Hey you, Bo."
"Yes, sir?" he answered, ears up as he stepped over his defeated opponents.
"That wasn't bad, but it wasn't good, either," he grunted, "Your footwork is sloppy and you leave yourself wide open with each attack. These bums are pathetic, so you got lucky this time."
"Well, y'see, I'm mostly self-taught-?"
"Maybe if you had proper training, you might be halfway decent!"
Bo seemed at a loss, and glanced to Nick, who arched his brows and jerked his head at the broom to further prompt the rabbit.
"I don't suppose you've got an opening?" he asked, but added, "For a job, I mean. I could sweep, I'm fairly handy with tools, and I could keep out the riffraff."
"You? Keep out riffraff?" he guffawed once in mockery, "I'd have to keep a constant eye on you to make sure you're doing it right!"
"Great!" the rabbit beamed, "I can-"
"Start by moving these bums out of the way and set my tables back in place!" he cut in.
Nick offered to help, but Phil wouldn't hear of it, pouring the fox another glass of bitter cider to keep him busy; they watched Bo singlehandedly reset the tavern to its full operational positioning at the harsh instruction from the goat.
"I don't think I've ever seen someone so happy at manual labor," Nick whispered.
"He's a good kid, lots of potential," Phil whispered back in a much more understanding tone, "but he needs to go through the fire and come out stronger, if ya' catch my drift. MMA is big leagues, ya'know, only the best make it through there, and he can't be the best with that soft head of his."
"And what about your 'curse'?" the fox smirked.
"That's peanuts to a rabbit's luck," scoffed the goat.
"Come on, Phil, you can't be serious."
"I can feel it in these stubby, old legs of mine, the kid's brimming with it."
"How d'you figure?" Nick asked.
"He knows you, don't he? I'd say that makes him the luckiest rabbit in the world."
Nick wasn't sure if the goat was sincere or not, so he took a moment to sip and ponder what kind of luck a fox could possibly bring a bunny. It was at least an hour past noon by the time everything was back in place, and as Nick's second mug was emptied he made to pull out his wallet, but again, Phil wouldn't hear of it.
"It took him twenty minutes to do what I couldn't in twenty hours over this past week; I can't accept payment for a third cider from you guys. And you," he said, pointing at Bo, "ya' barely broke a sweat after all that. Don't get cocky, kid, 'cause if you ain't sweatin', you ain't workin', and there's only work that gets done here."
"Yes sir, Phil," chimed the bunny.
"Looks like we're off, Punch," Nick smirked, pulling out his phone and checking a text message, "let's go see what crazy things girls do to their toes."