A day in the life of Ash Fox and Kristofferson Silverfox.
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AN: For those on Fanfiction, welcome back!
Now, first off, there's not one but two pieces of art for this chapter up on A03. One by Zeigelzeig, the other by myself, and as they're embedded in the text you may want to read this chapter over there.
Anyway, as I said before, we'd be returning to the Fox and Silverfox families and here we are! This is going to be a four chapter fic and about as slice as life as you can get, following the pair of young foxes on a (not quite) ordinary school day.
Can't be that interesting, can it?
Well, maybe at the end of this chapter you'll begin to see otherwise, XD.
This was a real treat for me to write, one of those times when the words just flow and flow, and I hope you all enjoy it to.
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Chapter 1
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The shrill cries of an alarm clock pierced through the dreamy mist, breaking through the layers of clouding sleep like a silver ray of sun piercing into a black cave, before it became a blinding light. It went on and on, ringing and ringing, until a russet paw smashed down onto it, silencing it for good.
Ash Fox looked at it, his fussed up face most definitely unimpressed, even as the clock tumbled off the side of his bunk and hit the floor.
His scowl increased as it screamed out again, forcing him to slip out under his warm covers and slide down the bed's ladder. Picking it up, he placed it on his desk, under where he'd been sleeping, and made sure that it was off.
It was.
Good.
With a giant vulpine yawn, his mouth gaping open and his tongue coiling up, the young fox got to work. With just his striped boxers keeping him modest, and a pair of sweat bands on his wrists, he was feeling a slight chill in the air, even as his already puffy fur puffed up some more. There was only one solution for it. He jumped up, grasping his duvet, and hauled it off his bed and right on top of him, before wrapping it over his shoulders like a thick cloak.
And then swapping the side that was facing him.
He'd got the cold side the first time around. It always annoyed him when that happened, but no use getting all hung up about it. Pausing, he glanced over to an old cassette Walkmammal on his desk. Sure, he had his phone, but he'd found the thing in a store and had an odd fondness for it. He grabbed it and clicked it on, the kick of the live recording playing out with a flourish of drums and guitar.
Monday Morning you sure look fine…
He didn't, but then again it wasn't Monday morning.
Friday I got travelin' on my mind…
Walking forwards, he exited his room, stepping into a tight spiral staircase that linked the various floors of his house. All carved into an oak tree, he slept on the fourth of five floors, the one above him housing an empty guest room. Stepping down the stairs, his duvet dragging behind him, he passed the floor his parents slept on before taking an exit into the lounge. The room, varnished wood all around, was lit up harshly with the morning light. Still, it helped to wake him up a little. He was still rather groggy though; he'd rather be back in bed sleeping or relaxing, warm under his covers. He'd grown to savour that feeling of bliss more recently, taking it as one of the good things in life he could hold onto and enjoy, and it wasn't like he could do it all the time, especially as catnip didn't work on him.
First you love me, and then you fade away…
Still, it was a school day, so he had to go to school, even if he didn't really feel like it.
I can't go on believin' this way…
The front of the lounge opened up onto a mound of grassy earth that rose up to it, and at the back there was another storey still to go to ground level. There, through a door, was the family bathroom, right above the kitchen. After depositing his duvet outside the door, Ash sauntered into it. His mother was fine with him moving around with it like that, so long as he always put it back and made sure it didn't get wet.
I got nothing but love for you…
Inside the bathroom, he flinched slightly as his pads touched the cold tile floor. There was a toilet, a sink and a white bathtub, all linking to the exposed water pipes that ran up and down on one part of the wall. Ash hung his boxers up on one of the brackets that kept them all fixed together, before pausing.
Tell me what you really want to do?
Holding back.
First you love me, then you get on down the line…
Closing his eyes, pushing through the slight sense of nerves that filled him, he took off his sweatbands and hung them up too, before turning to the shower controls in the tub and turning them on.
But I don't miiiind… I don't miiiind, Yeah!
His parents often used the little shower in their private bathroom, so there was hot water in the pipe, and it quickly came through. Stepping into the tub, making sure to set an egg timer to five minutes and a second to fifteen, he pointed his muzzle up into the hot stream, smiling as the water dripped through and down his face, percolating to the skin below.
I'll be there if you want me to,
No one else could ever do,
Gotta get some peace in my mind…
He was certainly getting some of that, and his smile widened as he started tapping out to the tune. Taking the shower head, pulling it off its rest, he quickly got to work getting his fur all wet, before shampooing it. Soap suds covered him, and he managed to get them off just as the first timer rang.
He smiled.
Ten minutes of 'me time'.
Pointing his muzzle up, he let the hot stream run down it again, before opening his mouth and gargling, letting some of it flood in.
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A few short beeps of an alarm rang out, before being quietly silenced by a silver-furred paw. Sheet off of him, Kris shook his head slightly to clear the last vestiges of sleep. He'd probably been awake for five minutes at this point, though he didn't really know. It didn't matter that much, so the silver fox paid it no mind or hindsight. Instead he got up, made his bed by putting the pillows and his light sheet back in place, before stepping out into his lounge, a fur brush in his paw. Turning left, he opened a sliding door and stood out on the balcony, looking over the district below.
His father, Dr William Silverfox, had, on emigrating to Zootopia after recovering from his illness, wanted a place that would help with his health. There were still bits of healing to do, and he was still weak in places, something that a frigid dry air might make worse. So, when looking for a place to live, he'd focussed on the Rainforest District. After talking with Kris, he'd also made sure to find a place within reasonable distance of his son's new school. He'd already been torn from the school and classmates he'd known for much of his life, and his father wanted to prevent that from happening again. Thankfully, it was only a short rail trip and a bus transfer, little more than half an hour, to get to the school in Savannah Central where he went to from here.
Being at the edge of the Rainforest, with fantastic views over both the buffer area between the two Boroughs and of Downtown itself, alongside the great transport links to several major areas, the neighbourhood was very upmarket. If you weren't picky about your location, fox-sized housing was generally pretty affordable. His father had been picky, but he could afford it comfortably.
Kris could enjoy it too.
His flat, built into the corner of a large concrete tower that was sculpted like a cliff and pockmarked with clinging trees and vegetation, had both the best views out to Savannah Central one way, and of one of the Rainforest's major commercial areas the other. He looked over this view and relaxed. Lines of sky trams sailed over the canopy of the buffer area, ever constant, with a light rattle coming through now and again as each cabin passed over a particular tower. Sunlight poured down on the trees and woodland, and Kris turned a particular way, spotting the top of the tree that Ash lived in, far off in the distance. Turning back to the rainforest below, crowds were busy doing their thing. Flowing this way and that in chaotic order.
Sitting down on a soft mat, the silver fox unbuttoned his light blue pyjama top and placed it down beside him. His pyjama shorts were rolled up, and he began attending to his leg fur with a brush. He was already calm, but the sense of the repeating strokes made him more so. Working one leg methodically, and then the other, he crossed them lotus style before working on the top of his body. Arms, then torso, then around his head before going down his tail. All calm. All getting back in order. All soft and relaxed, Kris smiled as he placed down his brush and looked out over the commercial district.
Traffic went this way and that.
The sky trams rattle overhead, sending out a slow beat.
The odd songbird added to the tune, the lyrics to the backing track the city provided.
Everything calm.
Everything peaceful
Kris liked it like that.
He closed his eyes and let the few thoughts in him drift out completely. Though blind, he still knew what was going on out there. The rattling of awnings going up, mammals seeking cover and, on cue, the sound of the climate system's sprinklers began, drumming rain rattling out.
The air felt clearer and cooler, and Kris smiled.
Music in his ears, he felt like he was calmly sitting at the banks of a river of time. Under a tree. Serene and happy, content to watch it flow by.
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A second egg timer ran to its end and a paw hit the shower controls hard, shutting it off. Ash picked up one of the timers, turning it to five minutes, before placing it down again. Making sure the shower curtain was secure, he began vigorously shaking himself off, droplets of water tearing off his fur and landing all around him. It got most of the wetness out, but not the damp, and he felt a slight shiver already.
Out of the bath, over to the fur dryer. It was a personal hand-held device scaled for something like a lion or a larger wolf, but it had been very cheap secondhand and it did the job. In any case, it wasn't like they had the space for a stand-in one. Making sure it was plugged in and grabbing the handles that they'd glued to its muzzle, Ash pulled back the fabric belt tied around the trigger and a rush of hot air was let rip, blasting up against the fur grain and down to his skin. He quickly got his wrists dried, placing his sweat bands back on as soon as he could, before he worked on the rest of his body. It was quickly dried down most of the way and, angling himself forwards, he let the blast of air push his fur down against his skin again. The last bits of moisture stuck it all back together before drying it out.
Off with the dryer, he grabbed an old hotel towel and used it to do the last bits of work before putting his boxers on again. A quick scan of everything and he pushed the remaining errant tufts of fur down as much as possible, before a single brush over quickly got it sort-of in line.
Brush down. Dryer back in its place. Ash gave himself a quick check in the mirror as the egg timer rang out again.
One side of his head was a bit bushy. Grabbing his comb, he made it wet before running it through a few times, solving the problem.
That just left an annoying puff of fur just below one of his elbows. Exiting the bathroom, picking his duvet up once more, Ash made his way back to his room, his face buried in his arm as he went. Tongue out, he gave the annoying bit of fur a good going over, even snaggling it with his teeth a few times, until it stayed put. Inside his room, duvet thrown back on his bed. Old boxers off and thrown into a drawer full of old clothes, he got out a new pair and put them on.
He grabbed some socks too. Most mammals went barepaw or, like Kris, chose to wear socks and shoes. Ash, meanwhile, liked the feel of socks on his feet, even more so than shoes, and so wore them often, even when outside. Coming home every day, his mother made him put his dirty pair into a bucket of water to soak them, helping to get the dirt out even before they went into the wash. Still, they were always stained. It didn't matter to him, though; he liked his socks.
Out came a pair of white joggers which he pulled on, tucking them into the socks. Then a chequered shirt with a collar. It was a grey with white and cream stripes, and he buttoned it up on him. He smiled, admitting that it did look nice and his mother had a point in buying it when she took him out shopping. Finally, a grey sweatshirt with a hood, which covered all of the shirt bar the tops of the collar. He liked the hood as it hung behind him, sort of like a small cape.
All sorted out, he began to make his way back down again only to pause, gulping.
One of his sweatbands was gone.
Looking around, a slightly frantic look in his eyes, he spotted it on the floor near his door and, on inspecting it further, he noticed a little tear in it. It must have caught on the door handle. "Don't do that," Ash scolded, as he placed it firmly back on his wrist.
He felt a sense of smartness with his new clothes, but he also felt lazy. He still felt a slight drag of sleep, wanting to pull him back, along with a general apathy to the day ahead. He felt irritated, and a bit moody.
Nothing too far out of the ordinary.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in, filling his lungs with air as Kris had taught him to. He let it slowly filter out of his nostrils, before he repeated the whole thing. "Sweet things in life are worth enjoying," he parroted, "always go and enjoy them." It was some of Dr Amy's advice, and he followed it, going over to a fruit bowl on his desk and grabbing a kiwi fruit, slicing it open before digging into it with his teeth.
He liked kiwi.
Nice tasting fruit.
And it made him feel good as he ate it, exiting his room again and walking down the stairs.
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Kris stood up as the rain ended before stretching out. Legs first, then his arms, wrapping them around the back of his head for some of his exercises. The stretching felt good, a mild warm glow where it pulled.
"Mind if I join you?"
Kris paused, before looking behind him and smiling. There, thin as a rake and with short, thin, dry fur, stood his father. There was a slightly aged look about his face, changed from the more learned one it had before his long illness. It filled Kris with a slight sense of melancholy, but that was pushed aside with happiness. He was with his father, and he loved that.
"Of course," he said, and they took up positions together. Kris only had the last few stretches to do in his routine and his father copied him. The younger fox looked on as, even with a slight strain or worried flick of his ear, his father was still able to bend his body as far as he could before. Kris pushed further, feeling the endorphin burn and feeling good to know that they could do this together again.
They ended together before he stepped back inside. Some toast was put into the toaster, while a saucepan of water was already at the boil, Dr Silverfox adding two eggs into it. He then brought out some jars of jams and uncovered the butter, before setting the table. The younger fox, meanwhile, was busy on the balcony. There were planters full of berries there, and a number of plants growing up among the vines that covered the building wall. Kris, his pyjama top back on, was looking around, picking up all the newly ripe berries and filling a small bowl just as the sound of the toast being ready rung out. Four pieces, two of which his father quickly buttered.
"What jam do you feel like today?" he asked.
"I was thinking redcurrant," Kris replied, as he came back in. "It's a bit of a contrast from what was ready." Placing the bowl down, it was mostly full of blackberries. There were a large number of strawberries that needed a few more days, and the same could be said for the raspberries. They'd had a lot of blueberries the day before, the poor bushes needing a bit of time to recover.
His father nodded, pushing the redcurrant jam over. He scanned around what was left for a little bit, before smiling. "Same reason I quite like the idea of some marmalade."
The pair spread their jams over the two pieces of naked toast before the older one took the jars back to their place. He then pulled out the eggs with a large slotted spoon, blasted them under cold water for a second or two, before placing both in an egg holder. Over they came, Kris thanking his father and cracking off the top with a spoon. The inside was nice and runny, orange yolk dripping off the bit of crust Kris had torn off and dipped in. He savoured it, alongside the fruit, and the jam on toast.
He savoured it all, especially the fact that he was sharing it with his father.
That was something so very worth savouring.
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"Morning guys," Ash said, as he opened the door to the kitchen diner on the ground floor of his house. He paused slightly as he only saw his father, currently at the stove and hovering over a big pan, which was spitting and hissing intently. Great smells were coming from it, but he couldn't help but notice that something was off. "Where's Mum?"
"Well," Mr Fox said. "Remember how she always comments about the meat I bring in from my jobs potentially not being that good?" he asked.
"Yes. And we ate a vegetable stew last night."
"And so it wasn't my meat that gave her her little stomach bug," he pointed out, finger going up in the air. "It was her own vegetables."
"Or the leftover gravy made from your meat that we used for it."
Mr Fox shook his head a little as he brought the large frying pan he'd been using into the middle of the table, placing it down on a mat. There were some large eggs (maybe goose?), plus some large bug sausages, some smoked turkey bacon rashers and fried bread. Ash smiled, his mouth getting watery slightly as he licked his chops. This looked and smelled good!
"We'll just plate you up," he said, getting a spatula out and doing so. "And, just to remind everyone here, everyone had the gravy when it was fresh, and we're all fine!"
Ash paid him no mind, instead thanking him for the food as it was dropped beneath him and taking a few deep sniffs. Out came his knife and fork, and he was soon digging right in. The dark and meaty, nutty flavoured, bug sausages soon got coated in warm yolk, and Ash eagerly began gobbling it all up. Stabbing bits with his fork, tearing with his knife. He'd poured some brown sauce onto his plate, and bits of that ended up staining the fur around his muzzle as he savagely devoured the hearty breakfast. "It's really good," he noted, through a full mouth.
Mr Fox, currently holding part of a sausage that he'd stabbed with his knife, smiled a bit. "Maybe I should do some more cooking."
"It would be appreciated," a third voice piped in, as Mrs Fox entered.
"You okay dear?"
"I'm fine," she said, her voice authoritative, as she sat down, gaining the last of the food. "We'll also need to teach you some healthier recipes," she said, pointing down at the meal in front of her.
"Remind me, whose meal last sent someone bending over the toilet?"
Her eyes narrowed a little, her tail swishing a few times. "I did hear your conversation," she said, before looking to Ash curiously. "How did you know it was the gravy in the stew?" she asked, curiously. "You weren't there when I cooked it."
This time, his eyes narrowed, before he rolled them. "It tasted like the gravy," he muttered out, irritated at the patronising treatment. "Gravy was in the fridge before, and it was gone after. I kind of figured it out."
The words fell harshly, and Mr and Mrs Fox looked at each other with a sudden sense of concern. The latter reached out, touching the shoulder of her son as he chewed vigorously, sending him flinching a bit.
"What!?"
She looked at him and sighed. "Ash," she said, deep concern in her voice. "Are you okay?"
"Yes Mum," he replied. "I'm fine, thank you." He then turned back to his food, eager to continue.
"Are you sure?" his father asked.
"Yes…"
"Are you certain?" they both said, their voices rising slightly.
"I. Said. Yes," he spelled out for them, turning to glare at both her and him.
She looked at him for a second and then sighed. "Sorry," she said, looking away. "You just seemed grumpy and moody, and as you know we're…"
"-Worried about me all the time as I tried to throw myself off a bridge," he interrupted, before sighing. "I get it… Can I please just eat my food in peace."
"If we can talk about this afterwards," she said. "Sure."
"Fine."
"Thank you."
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"I like how you handled that," Mr Fox said, looking at his wife.
She nodded. "Guess he just wants to enjoy his food first."
"I'm here you know."
They looked at him for a few seconds, before he jumped off his chair and walked over to the bread bin, ready to hack a slice of bread off of the homemade loaf. It was a rough and ugly cut, producing a doorstop of a slice, and as he brought it off a few crumbs fell on the terracotta tiled floor. Sitting down again, he began mopping up the fat, oils and juices, before tearing off the saturated chunks of bread with his teeth.
"Anyone want orange juice?" Mr Fox asked, realising he'd forgotten it. His wife and son both nodded, so up he went, pulling the big bottle from the cupboard and pouring a bit into the bottom of three glasses. Blasting the tap water until it had cooled down, he filled them to the top, before planting the glasses at each of the table's places. Both his wife and son thanked him, the latter immediately downing half of his drink in one long gulp. Felicity meanwhile, half of her first turkey rasher still hanging out of her mouth, turned to her husband, her ears pricked right up.
"This tastes… unique."
He smiled. "Pepper and salt on the eggs, and I tried a bit of paprika and some chipotle chilli flakes fried in the fat."
"It's good, I…" She paused, sniffing and looking up at him. "You used goose fat for this instead of oil?"
"Finest goose fat from the finest geese," he said, smiling. "Only the best for my family." He leaned back in his chair, giving a wink, two whistles and two clicks of his tongue, in the way that made Ash's ears flicker slightly.
She frowned, but then smiled. "You'll be doing some more cooking," she said. "But not before I teach you some healthier recipes," she said, as she shovelled some more food precariously onto her fork.
"And I'll be fantastic at them," he said, smiling.
"I could be too…"
Mr and Mrs Fox both turned to Ash, who'd put his paw up as he piped up. He looked around a bit and shrugged. "What? Just saying." He then stood up, clear and polished plate in paw, and walked it over to the sink, though not before giving a few last licks of his tongue to get some last bits of sauce.
Mr Fox looked at his wife. "Might be a good idea. You remember what Dr Lupuleli said about including him in? Making him feel important."
She nodded back, before looking to her son. "I've got tonight sorted, but how about you cook for us tomorrow? I'll guide you through."
He looked at them, pausing, and shrugged. "Okay." He then left them, walking upstairs again to wash his face and clean his teeth.
Mrs Fox looked to Mr Fox and sighed. "I didn't get to talk to him."
"I can do that now," he replied.
"You know what's up?"
"I think I do," he said. "You were mothering him a bit too much."
"I'm his mother," she almost sassed back.
"I know," he said. "I think he just felt a bit… patronised. That's all."
"You think?" she asked, slightly indignantly, an eyebrow raised as she looked at her husband.
"I…" he began, before looking away and sighing. "He feels like a stranger sometimes. It's hard to know what's going on. I'm concerned too you know."
Her ears drooped badly, and she looked down, fussing the floor with her feet "I'm still worried that I'm getting things wrong," she said. She paused, as she felt a pair of arms wrap over her shoulder.
"I do too, dear. I do too."
"Go talk to him."
"I will," he replied with a nod, before heading up the stairs after him.
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Fully dressed in some plain trousers and a light blue collared shirt, Kris finished his morning routine by brushing his teeth. He felt ready to meet the day ahead and, like always, was looking forward to it. He gathered up his books and files, placing them in a worn but well cared for bag. There weren't many tags or items sewn into it, but those that were on there were important and special. That was what mattered for him. There was a common saying that foxes were sentimental. That they liked collecting things. Mementos of certain times past, and of special memories. Kristofferson Silverfox was calm, he let the activities of the world float by him like a slow running river passing by his feet. But he was a fox. He was deeply sentimental. He rubbed some of the tags on his bag hard, before turning to a picture on his bedside table. It was him on his third birthday, snuggled up under the chin of a well built, deep red furred vixen.
Her name was Rosalind Silverfox.
She was his mother.
She died not long after that day from heart failure, brought on by undiagnosed high blood pressure.
He had but one memory of her. A bedtime routine. The night had been cold, snow falling deeply around. Peering out of the window, his night vision had let him watch the ships sailing up and down the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, amongst the ice drifts, as if they were the most magical things in the world.
His mother had stroked him, telling him it was time for bed, and he'd excitedly gone after the things he needed. A stuffed toy who he loved to snuggle, his fur brush, and a book. He'd placed them down in his bedroom and she carried him, fussing his ear, into the bathroom. She'd helped him clean his teeth, stepped out while he went to the toilet, before joining him in his bedroom. He remembered her letting him pick out a blue sleeper with snowflakes on it, before telling him how proud she was that he'd been getting through the night dry. He remembered being proud, feeling very mature, all the way back then, no matter how dumb it felt now. They'd read the book called 'little foxes' together and then she helped him undress before laying him over her lap. Brush in paw, but mostly using her tongue and teeth, she'd groomed him while kissing him and telling him that she loved him. He'd drifted off there, with her, and she'd then drifted out of his memory all together.
He'd been almost three then.
It was a few years later when what had happened really hit home. He'd known about his mother being gone, of course, and he'd known that there was someone dear missing from his life. He had known about death, in that censored way little kits did.
But it was as he held that picture of him and her, remembering that one precious little recollection that he had, that the full weight of the truth had collapsed onto him. He wasn't much of a crier, then or now, but it had hurt, and he had come so very close to breaking down back then. Holding that picture to his heart, knowing with finality that he'd be without her forever and ever and ever, as his attempts to focus on something just ended up with him staring sadly at the floor on the verge of tears.
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Kristofferson Silverfox was a sentimental mammal. Almost a decade later, he stood as he had done then, but looked at his mother's image with a smile on his muzzle. He gently booped her nose with his own before turning back to his bag. Everything was in order, and he let his thumb pad drift over the Canidean flag that had been sewn on, over a tag of a snarling silver fox that was nearby, before letting it rest on a small metal badge, showing the Zootopian flag.
Pulling the bag up, he left his room, ready to go out for a new day. He paused, though, as he saw his father. He walked over to him, and held him tight in a hug, an act that was reciprocated.
"Have a good day," his Dad said.
"I will," Kris replied, as he exited the flat.
Dr William Silverfox smiled. Things were back in order. Things were fine. Things were good. It was 8 O'clock, and all was well in the world.
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Washing his face, cleaning his teeth, Ash tidied himself up and exited the bathroom, only to see his father waiting in the lounge. "Hi," he said smiling. "Mind if do a walk and talk with you?"
The younger fox paused, not sure what was going on, or why his father was acting different. Still, it was probably out of concern for him, so he chose to react warmly. "Sure."
"Great," he continued, "though on the stairs, it'll be walking behind you. Or in front of you. Your call."
Ash looked at him as he walked passed, before giving a little wave. Mr Fox followed, clearing his throat. "Do you like people telling you things you already know?"
"No," he replied. "I already know them."
"Right, and do you like people asking the same question over and over, even though you've already given the answer?"
"No."
"You also don't like it when mammals ask stupid questions that seem to belittle you?"
They reached Ash's landing, and the younger fox turned to his father and shrugged before speaking. "No. Who does?"
There was a pause, and Mr Fox leant forwards, putting his paw on Ash's shoulder. The young fox's eyes slowly traced down to look at it, like it was a really odd thing, before he relaxed slightly. A tiny smile appeared on the end of his muzzle, and one of his paws went up to touch his father's shoulder. "What's this for?" he asked, a hint of happiness in his voice. However odd this bit of affection was, Ash was enjoying it. It was nice. It was good.
"I'm just wondering why you reacted badly to your mother trying to do the same thing?"
"Same thing…?" he pondered, before trailing off. "You mean at the table?"
"Yeah."
"I was busy eating. Your food was nice. I wanted to finish it."
Mr Fox chuckled a little, before sighing. "Ash, I know that you know that we're concerned for you. We deeply care for you, both before your… -incident, and after. The thing is, we didn't see what you were going through before, and we're really trying, okay? We really are."
He nodded. "I know. But could you maybe not ask so many dumb questions?"
"We, well…" Mr Fox began, before sighing. He turned around, sitting down on the steps, before gesturing for Ash to sit beside him. There was a slight pause, before the younger fox did so. A larger paw found its way around a smaller paw, and Mr Fox carried on. "Truth be told, neither of us know what's going on in your mind. If you're happy, sad, afraid, grumpy…" He turned to his son and their eyes met, and he felt his paternal fondness for Ash grow. He was his son. To stand by. To protect. To love. And love him he did, even if things got lost in translation. "Truth be told, I have no idea what's going on in there," he said, lightly tapping Ash's head. "But we do worry, and we want to make absolutely sure that you're okay. That you're enjoying life. That we're treating you right."
"I am enjoying life," he said, looking away. "I'll… I'll tell you if I'm not. I promise."
"Please tell us whatever you feel," Mr Fox said. "And if you're angry with us, or just want to chain cuss…" He paused, smiling wide and happy as he heard a little guffaw come from his son. "How about you just come to us. Ask if it's okay to offload. And then do so. Please, don't bottle in any bad things anymore, okay?"
"Yeah," Ash said. "Okay. That sounds fair."
"And be kind to your mother, she does care for you," he carried on. "She's just looking out for you."
"I know…" Ash replied, rolling his eyes as a hint of irritation returned to his voice.
"Okay. I'll stop now," Mr Fox said, standing up. He turned to go back downstairs, only to pause as Ash spoke out, looking out of his room.
"Just to let you know. I'm mainly grumpy as it's the morning," he said. "Mornings are dumb. They suck. I feel grumpy. If you're going to poke me with a stick, try not to do it in the mornings? In the afternoon, I'd probably find it funny. Maybe… -You're still poking me with a stick at the end of the day."
"I'll pass that on," Mr Fox said, as Ash returned to his room. He smiled, before winking and giving two quick whistles and two quick clicks with his tongue. He'd talk with Felicity about this, and he had a good feeling that they'd be able to work something out.
Inside his room, meanwhile, Ash got his bag ready and left. He knew his parents meant well, but he didn't like mornings, and could they just let him get past that? He still felt tired and grumpy, and that meant he just wanted to do the motions as painlessly as he could. He did love them. Once he woke up, he knew he'd think of them better, and he'd be happier around them. Enjoying being with them, and appreciating the time spent. He felt he'd feel good helping his mother cook, too.
Just avoid the mornings.
Mornings sucked. He wished there was a pill he could take to make them not do so, but scientists hadn't found it yet.
Moving downstairs, he wandered through the kitchen, pausing as he saw his mother there. She turned to face him and smiled. "Have a good day."
"Thanks," he said, before looking away slightly and rubbing the side of his muzzle. "You too… -And sorry."
"Thank you," she said, and he smiled as he heard the relieved tone her voice took on. "In a mood?"
Part of him felt like barbing out, but he kept it under control. "It's called 'morning'" he said. "I just talked to Dad about all that stuff, and I need to go now."
"Right then," she replied, feeling better. "I'll talk to him."
"Sounds good," he replied, walking out the door. "Have a good day."
"You too dear!"
"I'll try…"
.
He would.
He would try. He was always trying, mostly succeeding, and it felt good. It felt good…
A new cassette went in his walkmammal, and he pressed play to start the song. A light tapping came out, then the bass line and the drums. He carried on, walking over to one of the sheds, and he pulled out his bike and climbed on just as the first lyrics hit.
Well I… -Won't back down…
No, I won't back down.
You can stand me up against the gates of hell,
but I… -won't back down.
His ears tilting back, he set off fast, racing down the drive.
No, I'll… -stand my ground,
Won't be turned around,
After that he'd go along a lane, and then onto a scenic walkway that took him up to the edge of Savannah central. From there, there was a path by the side of a drainage channel which would lead him to school.
And I'll keep this world from dragging me down,
Gonna, -stand my ground,
-And I… -won't back down…
He felt good riding, the wind whipping into his fur. He felt great as he went down the hill his house was on, excited as the adrenaline pumped through him. Life was good, and, like usual, his morning blues were starting to fade fast, just as the song kicked off.
(I won't back down…) Heeey… Baby,
There ain't no easy way out…
(I won't back down…) Hey… I will… stand… my… ground…
And I… won't back down…
.
.
.
.
Stepping out of the station, Kris walked up towards his regular bus stand. There was always a little variance as to when it came and, if there was to be a least favourite part of his journey, then this would be it. Oddly enough, there were more mammals standing around than normal, though he guessed that was due to a line closure or something that he'd heard about, taking place on another part of the network.
More mammals joined him, most smaller, some larger, though he didn't really mind. It didn't take long for the bus to turn up and for mammals to start filing in. Swiping his transit card, he walked down, his balance adapting instantly to the motion of the vehicle as it set off. There were large seats of varying sizes, from massive to large, for larger mammals, with similarly diverse seating areas for smaller ones beneath, semi-caged in for safety. Some of the under-seating areas would be large enough for him, but they all seemed full. Looking around though, he did spot a larger seat that was available, if a bit large for him. Walking over, he placed his bag down before putting his paws on it, the seat about level with where his bellybutton was. Thankfully the protective cages for the mammals underneath also functioned as ladders of sorts, and he found it easy enough to climb up before pulling his bag up onto his lap and sitting down.
Right next to a hyena wearing a green jacket over his white shirt and red tie, alongside a pair black trousers.
That wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, but Kris couldn't help but feel a strange sense of deja vu. He couldn't tell why, the hyena seemed fairly normal bar one unusual feature, a set of very noticeable snaggle teeth. Three of them in fact, sticking out from his lower jaw and pushing up, over and above his upper lip. The fox looked away politely, knowing it would be unfair to bring attention to it.
.
…
"Huh? Is that the Canidean flag?"
Kris' ears rose sharply, and he turned to look at the hyena.
"Your bag," he said. "The flag, you're from Canidea, right?"
"Uh… -Yeah!" Kris replied, smiling happily. His tail wagged behind him a bit, and he showed off the tags on his bag, tapping the red paw flanked by two red stripes. "I moved over about eight months ago," he said, happily. "From Prince Edward Island…" his paw moved over to the hockey playing silver fox, tapping at it.
The hyena nodded. "Hmmmm…. They have lots of silver foxes there, don't they? Something like a colony that was set up by them or something?"
Kris thought back to his history lessons and the stories his father told proudly, his eyes lighting up. "It was more that a very large royal house settled there after being exiled, and prompted many of us to join them. There's lots of foxes there regardless. I mean, ten percent of the population are silvers like me, ten percent other red fox morphs… Then you have the ten percent preds, with the rest prey."
"That sounds nice," the hyena said, almost a little wistfully, before he gave some light chuckles. "My species doesn't really have a place like that to call our own. Not that I'd go there! I mean, I do quite like it here in Zootopia."
"Me too," Kris replied. He looked away, his mouth pulled to one side a little in thought. A small flash of sadness flowed through him, and he sighed. "But I do miss my old home."
"I can imagine…" There was a pause, and a little laugh. "Though I'd probably be miserable, I hear it gets really cold there and all. Not my kind of climate!"
Kris paused, his slow flowing stream of thought briefly muddied. "If you've got decent fur, it's not that bad," he said, and he meant it. Sort of. Even now, he grew long winter fur which, combined with some decent winter clothing, kept you warm. He'd been to Tundra Town in the winter, which was colder, and he'd been okay…
Then again…
"I mean," the hyena carried on, "I've just got over a nasty case of pneumonia. Don't wanna go tempting fate..."
Kris froze, a sudden shiver of fear running through him. Memories flashed, a terrible chill spreading through the young fox's body. His ears rung with the sadistic whip cracking ice. Of his father's dreadful scream as he went under, and of his own yell as he threw down his fishing equipment and raced to help. He felt the ice burn on his paws and arms as he flung them into the scalding cold water, to try and drag his father out, all the while terrified of suffering the same fate. He remembered his father smothering and rolling himself in snow, as trained, to whisk away as much of the water as he could, to try and keep himself warm. But how could he be warm if the snow was so cold? The water was worse though, daggers and daggers of cold cutting into his arms in vengeance and fury before he did the same thing to them that his father did to his whole body. He'd shivered, gritting his teeth from the still terrible pain, as he and his father had gone back home. A hot bath had been run while they waited in the roaring fur dryer, even as they both shook and held in the tears, waiting to be able to immerse themselves and drive away the tyrannical chill…
That should have been the end of it, but it wasn't over…
As then the coughing had started, and then the wheezing, and him calling the ambulance as his father began dying in front of him. How his guide and mentor, the mammal he loved more than any other, ended up as a living corpse in a hospital bed. Machines breathing for him, drug after drug poured in to fight the infection, which had waited for its chance to dive in and start tearing and destroying him from the inside out. Waging war and winning, his father and himself powerless to resist. He remembered his father rendered unable to move, struggling to speak, a stranger… And he remembered being afraid, and then sent away to family he'd never met before, to look after him until his father finally recovered.
Or forever, if…
If that haunting ghost of an image would be the last he ever saw of him. Just another memory, like that of his mother…
"-Hey. Kitto?"
Kris snapped out of it, looking up at the hyena.
"You feeling okay?"
"I," Kris began, before he looked down at himself. He realised he'd been silent, staring off into the distance while his fur stood up on end. It had only been for a few seconds, but… "My father fell into a pond last winter, caught pneumonia. It took him months to recover," he said, looking up at the hyena.
"-Uh… -Oh gosh, I'm so sorry," he stammered out. He took a breath in and out before looking away, paw on his face as he shook it. "Tchh… Here I was, feeling sorry for myself for being in a hospital for a week. I do hope he's better."
"Mostly," Kris replied, feeling a bit better himself. "The whole accident was why I moved over to Zootopia in the first place, to be with family. My aunt and uncle looked after me, until my father was well enough to come over."
"Aaawww," the hyena cooed. "Well that's just nice. I like a happy ending!"
"Yeah," he said, a sense of relief in his voice. Everything was calming down again, easing out. He had his father back. Life was good. "-Anyway, I need to get off soon. But thank you for the chat. It was nice."
"Oh… -uh, You too!" the Hyena replied.
Kris nodded, and then grabbed his bag and made his way to a door. It opened up, he jumped off, and then walked the last little bit. He saw his school up in front of him and, his ears perking up as he heard a ring, he saw Ash ride past on his bike. He'd taken his hoodie off and tied the arms around his upper body, so the rest of it flowed like a cape behind him. Catching up, Kris watched his cousin lock his bike in place and then turn to him, his mouth rhythmically panting as he cooled himself down.
"Morning," Kris said with a smile.
"You… Too…" Ash said between pants, as they walked in together, ready to start the day.
.
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AN: The Aggretsuko one-shot IS coming... But I thought I'd throw you guys another bone, XD. Hang on in there!
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I put a lot of work into them, so dropping a comment (even a little one) is always super appreciated and puts a big smile on my face. Thanks, and looking forwards to next time.