A/N

Well... it's been quite a while hasn't it haha. Unfortunately I've been back and forth with this site as always whilst balancing my life but I did get round to finishing this off for you since you've been enjoying it so far.

Things are going to get a bit more interesting from here on out.

Chapter IIIV: Immigration Control, Part I

"Don't even think about it Woody."

The words mean very little to Bigby Wolf, being spoken before every fight the two Fables ever had. In this case, he struggles to keep the woodsman away from multiple plaid carpets being flogged his way in the market.

"It's my apartment wolf, if I want a good, solid carpet then I can buy one myself," the Woodsman returns, eyes slobbering over the cheap looking furniture. "At least this one looks like you're claws couldn't tear straight through it."

"It looks like a pen could do that Woody," the sheriff sighs, eyeing up the now curious flogger who is still holding up the carpet.

"They say Fables have a hard time breaking habits. Woody with his absurd plaid decor, the Big Bad Wolf with his penchant for murder and mayhem - sounds like they were always right."

Both Woody and Bigby apparently ignore the quiet rambling of their animalistic companion, whose mouth has been carefully covered by a thin mask to make sure no-one notices that a pig is currently cursing them into oblivion.

"You're right," Bigby agrees, his demeanour turning sour. "And then there's Colin. Always far too annoying and eventually, something bigger and scarier decides to take one for the team and swallow him whole."

Colin swallows at the suggestion nervously.

Luckily for the old swine, Bigby doesn't think the mundies would enjoy watching him eat Colin whole whilst trying to sell their wares to all kinds of other humans. Colin said this place was popular for 'tourism' and now Bigby is beginning to notice what the word means. People mill around needlessly, waving off the various tradesman trying to sell what they have in store whilst grinding to a halt in front of a small shop selling ugly sunglasses.

"What is 'tourism'?" Bigby asks the pig, trying not to draw to much attention to himself as he does so.

"Do you like the weather back home?" Colin counters with a question of his own, but before Bigby could answer the pig continues on, what could have been a concise answer slowly turning into a longwinded ramble. "Guess not. It rains a lot, so people like to get away from all that you know. This place is making me sweat more than when you blew my house down and that's saying something. Mundies have a weird habit of getting to warm and burning themselves. Weird they torture themselves like that."

"You got anything for the pig?" Woody asks the vendor, who peers over his low counter and shakes his head at the wet and complaining animal, the sweat from his armpits quite literally pooling around his front legs. "Sweaters?"

"Don't want to kill Colin off Woody," the Sheriff sighs at the sight, taking a piece of clothing from his right despite the owners complaints and wiping Colin down as best he can. "Sorry."

Throwing the soaking clothes back to the salesman and earning himself a rather furious glare, the Sheriff throws the finger in return.

"Be a bit more polite wolf," the Woodsman shakes his head as though looking through the back of his head at the gesture.

Politeness is not in Bigby Wolf's repertoire and thousands of years has not changed his rather serious outlook on the matter. Being polite tends to end in him being walked over, so the opposite is better in most circumstances. As the Sheriff of Fabletown, his duties more often than not involve being as impolite as smashing someone over the head with a glass bottle in order for them to pay for glamour's.

He wonders whether Woody has ever forgiven him for that. And the countless other negligible offences the wolf has committed in the name of the law.

"How do you think they are doing with you?" the Woodsman finally buys the plaid shirt he's been savouring for the past few minutes and turns around, showing it up to the two with a happy twinkle in his eyes.

Waving off Woody's happiness with a roll of his eyes, Bigby places his hand at the bottom of his chin as though in deep reflection.

"Chaos," he states with a smirk. "Maybe Snow will have to deal with some of the misery I've been subjected to over the years."

"Lingerie Thursday," the Woodsman voices his agreement with a small shiver. "Those damn twins."

"Wonder who came up with it - Tweedle Dee or Teedle Dumb," Colin asks through panted breath.

"You don't," both Bigby and the Woodsman answer.

"I think we've done enough sightseeing for the day boys," the Sheriff rubs the sweat from his brow.

Although none of them answer, Bigby can see the boredom on Colin's planted on the top of the pig's face and the Woodsman simply nods his agreement in the matter. Folding his newly acquired clothes and placing it underneath his sweaty armpits, Bigby takes a moment to wonder whether he should advise the lumberjack against it before deciding to ignore it and carry on.

Moving back through the crowds and vendors is just as infuriating as it was when they entered, Woody muttering profanities under his breath as he has to swat a hand away from him when they stroll too casually past one of those cheap sunglasses stand.

It takes them far too long to move out of the market and down into the various streets adjacent, the bulky frame of Woody and Bigby taking up much of the narrow streets and forcing other groups to turn back around and find another way.

Thankfully, none of the mundies decided it was a great idea to try and barge past them as Bigby had already decided he wasn't moving for anything except his companions.

"Trouble ahead," Colin wisely wants the two large Fables as it appears the street ahead has been blocked by three humungous ruffians.

Stretching his back and neck for a showdown, Bigby hears the Woodsman do the same with the addition of cracking his calloused and rough hands, worn down from swinging his axe day in and day out.

Stopping in front of the group, Bigby takes the lead before Woody can do something a bit too rash. The Sheriff wouldn't be a good lawman if he didn't give them a chance to move without bones being broken.

"Step aside please," the Sheriff warns, making sure to show them his fists clenching together.

"This how you greet fellow Fables."