Once Katz had showered, he had gone to bed - Clara's bed - for a nap. She let him. She herself felt a bit tired. She let him have her bed while she lay on the couch, expecting to drift off. She turned on the radio and wondered faintly if Courage would wake with sore muscles. There was guilt there that she had left him on the couch, but she couldn't face his questions. Even now, she didn't have many answers.
Clara stared at the ceiling, thinking for a long time...until she wasn't. She had fallen asleep before ten in the morning. Undoubtedly her sleep schedule was messed up. Bit by bit, her muscles relaxed, her lips parted, and her breathing slowed rhythmically. Her concerns about Courage, the article, and Katz vanished.
In her dream, she was being spun in the air by Francis. He was alive, healthy, and they were laughing. They had bought the house and were moving into it with their meager belongings, laying on a blanket in the living room and talking of where they would put pieces of furniture around once they got them. Then they were quiet in her dream. 'It's all yours', Francis said, his voice real in her ears, 'forever if you want. Or for six months if you want to sell it. But make no mistake...no more street-living for either of us, Winnie.' He swore.
It was so sweet, the dream. It was sweet, peaceful, comfortable, and endearing. Francis laid next to her on the floor and murmured softly, alive and well. They were secure and speaking of their next gig. They had a good one, one that would bring them enough money to take the season off.
Then it all changed. The Francis in her dream next to her suddenly wasn't able to talk. The sound of choking filled the air and when she looked, he was foaming red froth at the mouth and had a wide glassy-eyed look at the ceiling. In the dream, she shook him and shouted, but the only sound that filled her ears was the phone ringing and his damn voicemail. She shouted his name again before she felt her conscious shift.
Bit by bit by bit...and she was pulled out of the nightmare. She pulled herself from the nightmare until she gasped loudly on the couch, her heart pounding and her eyes stinging with tears unshed. She lay there for another moment, collecting herself, before she sat up and rubbed at her eyes free of tears.
She was in the living room at her home and Katz...Katz was upstairs. She remembered. The nap she took couldn't have lasted long. Perhaps if she washed her face to rid the last bit of sleep and nightmare, she could go visit Francis outside. Before she could stand, however, she saw a shift to the side. Clara turned, half-expecting to see the curtains waving and half expecting to see Katz sneering at the noises she made. What she saw, unfortunately, was neither.
Before her just feet away was a man. He was young, her age, but it was hard to tell given the large sunglasses. His hair was orange, he had orange ears and a bushy tail, and...and...he was a stranger in her house. "Mornin' Cherie." The accented voice rang out sharp in the otherwise still air.
It took just the second for Clara to process what this meant. There was a man in her living room. She felt the blood in her face drain. Clara turned and made to jump over the couch, to make her way upstairs or outside - somewhere, anywhere away from this stranger, when she felt his arm around her waist.
A hand slapped across her mouth from behind, muffling her shouts. "Shh, shh, shh! No need to wake the whole house now, hm?" His hot breath hit her ear as he murmured to her. She grabbed his arm and tried her best to pull it away, but failed. Somehow in her struggle as he was pulling her away from both the door and the staircase, she managed to sink her teeth into his hand. A sharp yelp left him as he pulled his hand away from her mouth, giving her just a split second of time to act on instinct.
"Katz!" The shout left her without reservation, traveling up the staircase and surprising even her. No way would she have thought to ever call out for his help, yet here she was. Within seconds, Katz was at the midway of the staircase, alert and tense. The stranger's arm kept tight around her waist even as she dug her nails into him, trying to free herself. His free hand, which was undoubtedly smarting from her bite, grabbed her arm as she struggled.
The red haired man studied the scene for a second. His tail flicked in annoyance, sharp and pointed. "So...you're the owner of that horrific excuse of a car." He said simply. It was almost as if he was more annoyed to have been awoken from a nap, perhaps even having failed to catch the intruder before he entered, than having Clara in the man's grasp. She wasn't sure why, but that bothered her on some level.
The orange haired man made a noise that sounded a mix of tsking and sucking air through his teeth. "Why, now I do declare, I take great offense to that! There's nothin' wrong with my car! Bigger and better than that little clown car out yonder."
Clara had stopped struggling and took a second to process the pair snarling and sniping...about a car. She exhaled sharply and turned to look at the man, but only saw her reflection in his sunglasses, then back at Katz. They didn't seem...terribly upset about one another. Well, not in the way she had anticipated. If the scowls and tension in both of their frames suggested anything, it was that they didn't like one another...but not that they were surprised to see each other. "What…" Her voice sounded strange to her, edged with unease, "...what in the hell is going on? You two know each other?"
Katz crossed his arms across his chest and scoffed. "Kindly do not insult me. I do not 'know' backwater foxes."
That seemed to do the trick - the fox released Clara with a slight shove as he made his way around the couch and towards the staircase. "I'll show you 'backwater', you lousy stuck-up pussycat!"
Before he could get more than a couple steps, Clara snapped loudly, "Hold on, the both of you! Stop!" Was this a dream? "You!" She pointed to the fox. "Who the hell are you and why have you broken into my house?"
It seemed to work for the orange haired fox turned and put his hands on his hips, smirking playfully. "What, you forgot me so easily, cherie? Oh, that hurts my heart, it does. And here I thought your little trip down the bayou had scarred you for life - I know it did me."
And then it all came back to her.
Louisiana, the recipe, the contest, the fox. Francis and Clara had stolen one of his prized recipes and sold it to his competition in a contest for a few grand. Undoubtedly he had lost that contest and all subsequent from a couple years ago.
Clara felt her skin crawl with nerves that felt like ants. She knew she had lost whatever color she had regained in that moment. Fuck. The orange haired man's smirk grew wider, more satisfied at being remembered. "There we go, I knew you wouldn't forget about little ol' me, cherie."
"How did you find me?" That seemed more pressing than 'what do you want'. Perhaps she had her focus on the wrong thing though, given that the fox - what was his name again? - had tried to drag her away without alerting Katz moments ago.
The fox raised his eyebrows over his sunglasses, sparing Katz a glance before looking back at her. "Same way this joker did, I'm guessin'." Which made Clara hold her breath, for this was a question she hadn't received an answer to just yet. "I went to…"
"That's quite enough idle chitchat, Fox," Katz interrupted, "Perhaps you need new glasses because you clearly missed that I was here first. So do us all a favor and...shoo."
The dismissive tone brought the fox's attention fully on Katz. "Is that so, huh? Fine, you get her and I'll get that slinky man she had with her - speakin' of, where is he?"
The desire to know what the fox was going to say about how he found her, the irritation at being discussed as if she were an object or not there, and the unease of having two men she had scammed not too long ago in her house all went away. It was replaced by the heaviness of sorrow and grief, dragging her shoulders down just a bit and making her, if only for a moment, apathetic to why they were here or to herself. "You're too late, Fox. He died not too long ago." The words felt like thumbtacks in her mouth and she couldn't spit them out quicker.
The orange haired man tilted his head forward as he looked over his sunglasses at her. "Is that so?" He gave that same sort of 'tsk' noise he made earlier. "Shame," he said as he stood straight once more, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose, "I was hopin' to give him a good lickin'."
"Now that you have sufficiently brought the mood down, Cajun," Katz said coldly, "you can see yourself out."
"Not before I get a taste of what's owed to me!" He looked back at Katz who remained on the third stair or so. "I take it you got dinged from this here girlie too, but surely there's plenty of her to share." He licked his lips, amused at how Katz snarled.
It didn't make sense. Why had Katz stayed up all night with a knife for a possible intruder, but was letting this man exist without assault? He hardly seemed bothered by the talk of...of...of what exactly? "What, are you going to cook and eat me?" There was sarcasm in her tone, but it was weak. She was still recovering from the reminder of her lost partner.
Cajun Fox - yes, that was his name, she remembered - smiled slowly and eerily. He stepped over to her in swift, slightly wobbly steps. To her credit, she didn't budge, but neither did Katz. She wasn't sure how to take it, but she assumed that Cajun wouldn't be a threat or Katz would have...what? Saved her? Stopped him? It didn't match last night's behavior. It begged for more questions than answers.
Clara focused on the fox though as he stopped and stood just inches from her. She raised her chin, looking up defiantly at him and refused to give any sign of fear. Not even when he reached up and let his fingertips travel lightly up her arm. "And if I did? You look awfully tasty there, cherie," his fingertips moved over her shoulder and up her neck, sending goosebumps over her flesh, "so pretty and dainty. I know exactly how I'd cook you up too," he took hold of her chin and slowly licked his lips, "and where I'd start lickin' first."
To her shame, Clara shivered and exhaled shakily. She could see herself in his sunglasses and just a hint of his eyes behind them, no more than what she had seen peeking out earlier. There was no fear, she was glad to see, but there was definitely something else in her gaze that she dared to think he might be reflecting behind his shades.
A clearing of the throat snapped her out of the spell. It was Katz who had cleared his throat. She blinked and swatted Cajun's hand away from her. Whatever she had expressed was replaced with annoyance. "I'm not on anyone's menu, Fox."
"Oh, please, call me 'Cajun'," he sounded smug, knowing the effect he had on her, "I feel we're on a first-name basis," his voice shifted to one of displeasure, "after you stole my recipe from me!"
Clara took a step back, not expecting the sudden shift of moods. At least Katz was a sour grouch from dawn to dusk. Cajun, however, was all over the place and she wasn't sure if it was play-acting or not.
Cajun continued, his voice taunting her, "And I wouldn't say you aren't on anyone's menu, cherie," he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, "or else ol' Mad Dog wouldn't be…"
A hand shot out and covered the fox's mouth. It belonged to Katz, who had moved so swiftly and silently that it made Clara jump. The words had been said though, and she latched onto them. "What? What are you saying? Mad Dog wouldn't be doing what?" She looked between the pair. Fox elbowed Katz in the side, prompting him to grimace and remove his hand. Perhaps what was more damning was that there were no curses, name-calling, or scoffs between them at this sudden invasion of personal space. "What do you know that you aren't telling me?" She glared at them both.
To absolutely no surprise, Katz' lips thinned and he crossed his arms, a signal that he wouldn't comment. Cajun, however, looked delighted at her question. "Ooohhh, what's this? You don't know, mon petit voleur? Ol' cranky pants here hasn't spilled the beans?" Clara didn't respond for he knew he had her captured. The fact that Katz didn't react or move spoke in volumes - just as his attempt to silence the fox had spoken loudly. She wasn't going to like this. The fox reached forward and took a strand of her long blond hair and raised it just to his nose to catch a whiff of day-old shampoo. "Mad Dog has a hit out on you," he finally explained.