L'EDgendary

by dobanochi

A few years since we last saw any of them, the Peach Creek Boys and the Merry Men run into one another at just the right time, working together to undermine an oppressive city government as well as their burgeoning insecurities. An action-comedy-drama character study about friendship, leadership, self-esteem, and the divide between who we're born as and who we choose to be.

10. Profiles in Anarcho-Monarchism

10. "Profiles in Anarcho-Monarchism"

Before he stepped into the limousine, he took off his top hat and stuck it on the head of his assistant.

"Hold this for me, Hiss."

"Yes, sssire." Charles's voice was muffled now that his head was entombed by the top hat. The armless weasel actually looked not unlike a coat-rack in this current arrangement.

Mayor Norman pivoted his head in every conceivable direction; his neck was killing him, but it was a small price to pay to look classy - or, perhaps more accurately, to look the way he thought he looked best. While there was a great public debate in those days - as there is still today - over whether the old adage of don't worry about what other people think really was a virtuous ideal that promoted being okay with oneself in the face of ridicule and wayward malice, or if it was actually a rather tone-deaf and narcissistic way to go through life (with the idea being that people might have legitimate reasons for disliking you and you'll never grow as a person if you don't take their criticisms into account, even if they are from mean-spirited strangers) - or, third option, if that old adage simply worked better in some situations than others - nobody could deny that "Prince" John Norman embodied that mantra to a tee. He simply did not worry about what other people thought of him if it conflicted with his own self-opinion and if the person did not have the power to immediately endanger his life as inspired by their disdain for him. There was only one person, living or dead, whose approval Prince John desperately sought, and she had long since stopped living and become dead, so at the behest of a therapist (whom he no longer visited), Prince John tried desperately to put her in the past and live only in the present; he succeeded more on some days than others, though an outside observer could usually tell what kind of day it was for the mayor by looking at how dry or wet his thumb was at any given time.

The rhinoceros who was holding the door open was trying to find something else to look at as the mayor continued working out the crick in his neck all while making seething and high-pitched moaning sounds for the better part of a minute. Eventually, toward the end of the performance, the bodyguard did happen to see his recently-promoted sheriff and sheriff's deputy jogging toward him. Woodland and Nutzinger's respective new statuses had been made official earlier that day in a closed-door ceremony. Mayor Norman had been debating whether it would be convenient or just tasteless to present the new sheriff and deputy in the same press conference that he acknowledged a minor had just been the victim of police brutality, but his mind was made up when Ward and George weren't back from their lunch break in time for the conference. Mayor Norman did, however, still want them to at least be present for the press conference, so he tried to borrow them some time, but they didn't take the loan.

"We're here, Mayor!" called Woodland as he approached, catching his breath.

"Maybe against our better judgment, but we're here," Nutzinger mumbled.

"Exssscuse me!" Hiss, uh, hissed, all the while still having his head engulfed in the mayor's top hat and relying on sonic clues to determine which direction he should turn to in order to face his addressee. "Deputy Sheriff Nutzinger, how dare you insssinuate that it's anything shy of an honor to be in the presence of Mayor Norman!"

"No, no, Hiss," said the mayor, "Deputy Nutzinger has a valid fear that it would be, shall we say, unwise to show his and his superior's faces immediately after they led me to make a fool of myself. Gentlemen, may I inform you that I delayed the press conference from one o'clock to one-thirty, then to one-forty-five, and even began that eight minutes late because I refused to give up hope that my loyal constables would show up?" The shame that the mayor felt was, of course, entirely self-imposed; it was entirely coincidental that the rest of Southern Delaware agreed with his self-assessment that he looked like a jackass after delaying a press conference by fifty-three minutes.

"Oh, Mister Mayor, Nutsy and I do apologize a thousand times over!" Woodland said.

"Sheriff Fatass here decided that he really, really wanted Hardee's today," Nutzinger added. "I know you don't eat fast food too much, Mayor, so let me tell you that the closest Hardee's is waaay out in the suburbs. Like, it's not actually all the way in Maryland, but it might as well in Maryland."

"Yes, it's true, I couldn't resist! There's something about their chicken strips that just gets me going!"

"And why, pray tell, couldn't you answer when I had other officers try to contact you over the police frequency?" asked Prince John.

"We were way out of town, Mayor," said Nutzinger. "We were probably out of range."

Prince John had no idea how police radios worked, and probably didn't care, so he didn't know that a county-level police department's radio frequency should theoretically be able to reach all parts of the county. For that matter, his temporarily-blinded assistant didn't know either, and while Rocky the Bodyguard knew, he also knew that he was there to be seen and not heard. Mayor Norman and his assistant completely bought the story that Ward was so possessed by his own gluttony that he'd do something so stupid.

And Ward and Nutsy knew that they could play up Ward's affinity for junk food to cover their asses despite an enormous plot hole in their alibi. In reality, after having been working for many of the last forty-eight hours, they decided to turn off their squad car's radio and pass out for awhile. When they woke up and realized what time it was, they quickly agreed that a fake story about Ward having an insatiable hankering for burger-joint chicken tenders would be less embarrassing than confessing that they had been blatantly derelict of duty mere hours after a major promotion. Maybe sometime soon they would have to spin a more sophisticated yarn to someone who wasn't so easy to dupe, but they'd cross that bridge when and if they came to it; if nothing else, they could just say they were helping an old lady across the street again, except this particular old lady was very, very slow this time.

"Well, since it may be beneficial for me to parlay an abridged version of the events," the mayor began, "the people are displeased by this development."

"Shocking!" Nutzinger remarked.

"Deputy Nutzinger," Hiss said, "do not use sssuch impudent sssarcasm in the presenccce of our mayor!"

"We've already established that I don't regard you as an authority figure, Uriah Fucking Heep!" Nutzinger spat at the doubly-impaired weasel from the safety of the monstrous wolf's shoulder. George Nutzinger had never actually read David Copperfield, but first learned of the character of Uriah Heep from a high-school extra-credit project on famous literary archetypes, at which point he realized that the infamous yes-man was also the namesake of one of his dad's favorite bands, and having made that connection, he never totally forgot the name after that; never had Nutsy ever thought he'd actually say the name out loud, let alone use it to address somebody who embodied the character disturbingly well. As for Woodland, he had absolutely no clue who his deputy was talking about, and perhaps that was for the better, as he was keeping quiet so as to piss off neither his superior and his sycophantic servant nor his little buddy who could bite him in the jugular at any time if he really wanted to.

Hiss, who had read David Copperfield since it was required reading back in school in England, let out an offended gasp and turned vaguely toward the direction the mayor was standing in. "Mayor Norman! Why do you allow sssuch…" - Hiss realized he could see a little out of the bottom of the hat, and turned more to more accurately face his boss judging by where the lion's feet were - "...sssuch rude characters to be the heads of your police force!?"

"Oh, Charles, do you not think before you speak?" asked the mayor, who was also familiar with the novel and character as a consequence of his English education, and who actually thought the comparison was not only rather fitting but also a tad bit amusing. "You think yourself in the right to chastise Deputy Nutzinger for what you perceive as insubordinate behavior, and yet you turn to me and question my decision making immediately afterward? Are you trying to be ironic, Hiss?"

Nutzinger just smirked, and Woodland, feeling proud of himself for understanding the words chastise and insubordinate and ironic, was trying not to laugh. Rocky was glad he was wearing sunglasses to maintain his poker face. Hiss, who really hadn't seen the irony in his actions until they were pointed out, simply hung his head in defeat.

"Er-I- I'm sssorry, Your Majesty, I-"

"Brother, did you just call him 'Your Majesty'?" Nutzinger interrupted.

"Oh, he really is such an obsequious little soul that he sees me as like royalty!" said Mayor Norman. He thought he did a bang-up job concealing his shock that Charles had let slip one of his secret regal titles for him. "Give me my hat back!" the mayor said as he liberated the weasel from his confinement and placed the hat carefully back upon his own maneless head.

Ward and George were just nodding along with everything; even George, who sometimes read books recreationally, didn't know what the fuck obsequious meant. He was starting to wonder if he had bit off more than he could chew when he decided to drop in a literary reference to prove to the mayor and his aide that he wasn't just another uncultured American - perhaps it had worked all too well.

"I'm sssorry, sssire-"

"Now you're calling him sire?" asked Nutzinger.

"I believe he was calling me sir, Deputy," said Mayor Norman, getting frustrated by his assistant's uncharacteristic carelessness. "I believe it may be an accent quirk from his region of our homeland. But I admire your resolve to ask the questions that others wouldn't dare, George." John turned back to Mr. Hess: "Hiss, don't you see that this defiance is an indicator of bravery? A bravery we need in our city's police force?"

"Yeah, Chuckie!" said Ward, who now thought it was safe to speak again. "We're the badasses Nottingham needs!"

Under his mortified countenance, Hiss was fuming. He tried to remind himself that some day soon he'd be the one in control of all of them, and then they wouldn't think of him as such a Uriah Heep-type anymore, but he was losing his patience waiting for that day.

"Not quite the word I'd use, Eddward - 'badasses' - but I'll allow it," said the mayor. "But, er… oh, a thousand apologies, gentlemen, it seems I've lost the plot after our little spat here. Where were we?"

"'Shocking!'" repeated Nutsy. "You said the people didn't like the news. You didn't specify what news they didn't like, but we couldn't imagine anybody not liking anything when you say it. We were absolutely flabbergasted. Our feeble minds couldn't comprehend such an eventuality." Nutsy didn't break eye contact or even blink as he reminded the mayor of the topic they'd been discussing.

"Ah, sarcastic as you may be, Deputy, you do speak truth to power, and I commend that," the mayor lied. "But as for public opinion: to put it simply, we have much work to do, and I'm relying on you lads to help me. Now, because someone decided to defy my judgment-!" - he stopped to try to give Hiss a stern look of disapproval, craning over the weasel and starting to look down before he realized his hat was slipping off his head, at which point he reeled back, tried to catch the hat, failed miserably, and watched it land back on Charles's head; much blood was shed as Woodland, Nutsy and Rocky all bit deeply into their personal tongues trying not to laugh their asses off - "- I won't have much time to give you the full details of my plan, and indeed the plan may still change based on what resources may become available or unavailable to us as we go along," the lion said as he repositioned his hat delicately. "But suffice it to say this: we will need to make the people of this city, and this county, and of whatever other lands and jurisdictions we may find under our thumb, feel like they can trust us."

Wait, what does he mean by that?, thought Woodland.

I don't feel comfortable hearing this guy say the word 'thumb', thought Nutzinger.

"We've already made one large step forward by convincing the people that the county police force are a bunch of brutish bullies," John continued.

"I'm not so sure that we've convinced them that we're much better," said Nutzinger.

"That's the next step, George," said the mayor. "Now… how can I say this as theatrically as possible?"

"Jesus Fucking Christ, just say whatever it is," Nutsy let slip. "Oh! I-I'm sorry, Mayor, I-"

"No, no! No apologizing! There's that brave brazenness that I wish I had myself again!" said the mayor. "So to be blunt: while I convince the people that I am the most trustworthy of all authorities, you gain the trust of the people and convince them that they cannot trust themselves. Find the bandits in Sherwood, and any other ne'er-do-wells you may encounter, and make them regret who they've chosen to be. A-and make it clear to the people that they are evil and we are good! Give them the impression that there would be chaos and disorder without the Nottingham Police Force!"

The mayor delivered that line with a flourish and a self-impressed grin. George Nutzinger - who, unlike many of the other gentlemen in this story, was usually completely at peace with his physical size in the scope of mammalian society - just this one time wished he was lion-sized so he could knock that smile off Mayor Norman's face, preferably in a manner that would cause physical pain and mental anguish. Ward Woodland would likely have shared the sentiment if he wasn't spending all of his mental energy trying to keep up with whatever the hell the mayor was saying and trying to remember whether he knew what the heck a nairdoohell was; for all his time spent in the mayor's presence, hearing him use big words didn't mean anything if nobody was going to tell them what they meant.

"While you make the people fear a lack of power," Prince John said, "I'll make them fear power itself - except for my own, of course! And then when the people want a strong leader…" - the mayor extended his arms out at his sides and glanced to his left and then his right - "...they'll look around, and all they'll see is me!"

Nutsy almost got knocked off of Woodland's shoulder during the mayor's demonstration, since Ward had turned his own head to try to see what his boss was looking at.

"Jesus, Ward, watch it, buddy!" said Nutzinger, grabbing hold of the wolf's snout to keep his balance.

"Aw, sorry, Georgie. I guess there ain't nothin' to see."

"Give this your patience, boys," the mayor said, "and there will be much to see before you know! And you're going to like what you see, I assure you!"

"And we're going to be the pawns in your vague little plan to take over the world?" asked Nutzinger; he was now getting the hunch that the mayor wouldn't want to undo all of his work at interrupting the status quo by firing his sheriff's deputy the same day as his appointment, so he was feeling a little more flippant than usual.

"You know what, sssir?" piped up Hiss. "I will! I will sssay that I have doubtsss in your choiccces for the sssuperiors of your policcce forccce!" His tongue slipped on s sounds more than usual when he was flustered.

The mayor turned his head slowly toward his assistant and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Well if you think we ain't fit for the job," said Woodland, "why don't you do it yourself then?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, there's no need to fight!" said Prince John. "I'll say this to all the three of you: I believe in my heart of hearts that I need you each in the world I'm trying to build." He then regarded the rhino for the first time since the cops had shown up: "And for that matter, you too, Rocky."

The bodyguard nodded stoically. He was still holding the limousine door open and his arm was starting to fall asleep.

"As they say," continued the mayor, "no man rules alone."

"It's an honor, Mayor," said Ward.

"Yesss, yesss, Mayor! A right honor to be a part of your plans!" said Charles, trying to one-up Ward.

"What they said," said George.

"Now, Eddward, George," said the mayor, "if I were to send you into Sherwood Forest right this moment to go to that tree where the bandits may live, would you know precisely where to find it?"

"We'd certainly find it, boss!" Woodland said resolutely, hoping his ambiguous-but-determined answer would instill confidence in his boss.

"Your determined - but ambiguous - answer does not instill confidence in me," Mayor Norman frowned. "You two need to be not just confident, but correct in the thoughts you're confident about."

"Mayor Norman?" came a female voice.

The five gentlemen turned to see Nottingham County Commissioner Doty Roe approaching, with her own assistant and bodyguard in tow. The deer appeared to be speed-walking, just a touch slower than Ward had been when he arrived, and looked like she was a turbulent mix of inwardly anxious and outwardly pissed.

"Ah, Commissioner Roe!" said the mayor. "What a pleasant surprise it is to see you here!"

"Mr. Mayor," said Rocky, "Do you allow these people to be in your presence?"

"Oh, I welcome their presence, Rocky, but good on you for thinking to ask."

"I'm glad I got here before you took off," said the county commissioner, sounding just a bit winded herself. "I called your office, but your secretary didn't answer the phone. And then I-"

"My assistant was with me," the mayor said as he gestured to the weasel. "You know he goes wherever I go."

"I… did not say your assistant, Mayor, I said your-"

"I'm afraid we may have a misunderstanding here, Commissioner; Mr. Hess is the only one who answers my phones." The mayor did not use Charles's serpentine moniker outside of his inner circle, and with the commissioner's mongoose assistant present, it seemed like it would have been a bad joke waiting to happen if he did.

The county commissioner just looked confused for a second before her assistant whispered something in her ear:

"Um, Miz Commissioner, I think I remember hearing that Mayor Norman fired his secretary when he bought a new answering machine last year," she said.

"Uh… th-thank you, Krupa," Commissioner Roe muttered. Returning her attention to the lion: "But I came here and walked right up to your office security guard demanding to speak with you in person if I couldn't get a hold of you on the phone, and when he told me you were on your way out, I ran myself over here to catch you, and-"

"Commissioner, I'm flattered that you've gone through such an incredible journey just to see me, but I really must be on my way."

"...As I was saying," continued the commissioner, "after all that, I don't think it's too much to ask for a moment of your time."

"Oh, it is most certainly not too much to ask, but unfortunately, it is a tad too much for me to fulfill at the moment."

"It won't take long, Mayor. It'll only be a moment."

"Ah, but these gentlemen right here-" - the mayor put his hand on Ward's shoulder right behind where George was standing - "have already requested a brief moment of my time, which I was kind enough to grant. If I were to grant my time to everyone who said it would not take long, then that would add up to very long indeed, now wouldn't it?"

"Can we go now?" asked Nutzinger. Everybody ignored him.

"If you absolutely insist on speaking with me, Miz Commissioner," the mayor offered, "you can accompany me in my ride to Bethlehem General."

Doty blinked. "Mister Mayor… our car is parked here."

"Oh, that's quite fine with me."

Commissioner Roe couldn't tell if John was being stupid or being an asshole. "Mayor… our car is parked here-"

"They will not tow you, Doty, I assure you."

Yup, he was definitely being an asshole. "-and you're offering us a one-way ride."

"I beg pardon, Commissioner, but I only recall offering you a ride."

The county commissioner was frustrated by this conversation, but she didn't want to go back out into the world before her bone with Mayor Norman was thoroughly picked.

"Ryan, would you and Krupa take the car and meet me at Bethlehem General?"

"Sure, Commissioner," the towering tiger said, "but are you sure you're fine being out without either of us after the… uh…"

"...Unpopular announcement?" Krupa finished Ryan's thought.

"I've made it this far as a woman in politics; I'll manage," said the commissioner.

"Don't you two dears worry; Rocky will watch out for all of us until we rendezvous again," said the mayor. "Now, Hi-Hess, if you would please set up the private compartment for the Commissioner and I? And make sure the chauffeur hasn't dozed off waiting!"

"Certainly, Mayor!" the weasel said, and he hopped into the limousine.

"After you, madame," said the mayor, gesturing. The commissioner looked at her aides and nodded to dismiss them; they returned with nods and walked off as the doe made her way into the vehicle. "I'll join you in just a second; I just need to say some parting words to my police officers!"

"Surely," Doty said morosely as she disappeared into the limousine's private compartment.

"Now... Eddward," the mayor said slowly and deliberately, "these words are especially for you."

"Okay, fuck this!" Nutsy shouted and started shimmying down the chief-cum-sheriff's torso. "I'll be in the car."

"Nutsy, where are you going!?" asked Ward.

"I literally just said 'to the car'; are you fucking deaf?" George stopped at Ward's breast pocket to fish the car keys out. He regarded the mayor one last time: "Sayonara, Prince John-Boy," he scoffed and hopped his way down Mount Woodland.

As Nutsy scooted off, the Prince Mayor relished in his regal nickname, and he took a small moment to fantasize about the day when he would have convinced his public to start calling him "King John" without his persuasion to modify the moniker seeming too inauthentic and obvious.

"Eddward, you understand that I trust you, yes?"

"Yessir, Mayor, sir."

"I wouldn't have selected you as my Chief of Police if I didn't."

"Yes, sir."

"And your loyalty is something that I wish others strove to have themselves."

"Thank ya kindly, Mayor."

"But surely you know that I don't like feeling betrayed."

"...Y-yes, Mayor?"

"I don't want this to feel like an attack, Eddward; I trust you, I really do. But we are not friends; we're professional partners. And in that way I can never fully trust you like friends or lovers could trust one another. Please don't take it personally, Eddward; you're a good man."

"I mean, I can't help you if you're lookin' for a lover, but if you're lookin' for a friend-"

"Ward, I worded that poorly, and I apologize for-"

"'Cause if you wanted to go bowling or sumpthin'-"

"Eddward, I misspoke, and you misunderstood. I'm not asking you to be my chum."

"...Oh."

"You know what? Let's take a page out of George's handbook and try straightforwardness: if I feel like you're going to betray me, I will not hesitate to replace you."

"...I see."

"Please… don't make me do such a thing. I would hate so deeply to do such a thing."

"Uh… yes, Mayor."

"I like you, Eddward. You're the perfect Chief of Police, and you'll be the perfect County Sheriff. You're aggressive and driven, you're forceful and commanding, you're big and strong…"

"Why, thank ya, Mayor."

"...and personally, I find your accent quite amusing. It cheers me up when I'm feeling low."

"Thank… you?"

"Not to mention, while it's rare that I get to witness it, it's always a side-splitting sight watching someone your size and shape running."

"...Uh-"

"But if I get the feeling that anybody - anybody, be it George, or some stranger on the street, or even Thomas or Matthew after a reinstatement to the Force - if I feel that anybody would be a more perfect Sheriff than you, I will replace you. Understood?"

"...Yes, Mayor."

"You've been doing splendidly so far. There's no reason to foresee you slipping up now."

"Thanks, Princey!"

"One thing, though, Eddward?"

"Yessir?"

"Spell 'sheriff' for me, would you please?"

"Uh… su-sure, um… S-H… E-R-R-"

"Oh, dear, Eddward. Pick up a dictionary; it may help you be a more perfect sheriff. Or do you prefer to stay the Chief, since that's easier to spell?"

"Uh… if you want me to!"

"Spell 'chief', then."

"C-H-E-I-"

"Eddward, your first assignment is to pay a visit to the library. I don't care what you and George do there, as long as it strengthens the community's trust in the police and government, and it involves you learning to spell all the words you should really know how to spell."

"Did I spell 'chief' wrong, too?"

"Speaking of George, perhaps he should have stayed around for this. Be sure to relay the message to him that if he falters, he will be replaced at my earliest convenience; he may need to hear it more than you do. Good day to you, Eddward." The Prince Mayor turned and entered his limousine. "Thank you, Rocky," he told the bodyguard, who himself turned and nodded at the sheriff before making his own way in and closing the door behind him. Elsewhere, the chauffeur was chugging a Pepsi to wake himself up and get ready to drive to the hospital.

When Woodland arrived back at the squad car, he glanced in the window and saw his rodent partner passed out on the wolf's favorite car-pillow. He tapped a claw-nail on the glass.

"Gah! God… dammit!" Nutsy shouted as he was awoken, and turned to see his boss making himself comfy in the passenger seat. "Ugh… so what did Mayor E-Norman-ous Asshole want?"

"I thought he was asking me to hang out with him 'cause he was lonely, but it turned out to just be a spur-o'-the-moment spelling bee."

"Did you pass-? Hey!" George protested as Ward picked him up to reclaim the pillow.

"I passed fine enough."

Nutsy was going to try to at least pretend to bite Ward's hand, but he didn't have the energy.

"By the way," Ward continued, "who's that 'Yuriel Heaps' guy you two were talking about?"

"'Uriah Heep'. A character from a British book I had to read about but never actually read, but those limey bastards probably both understood who I was talking about. I swear, the Brits mock our educational system for being nothing but one big circle jerk, even though theirs is basically the same thing."

"But what's so special about this guy?" Ward asked as he tried to position the pillow just the way he liked it.

"He's an archetype. The ultimate suck-up. A kiss-ass to the point of being a manipulative asshole."

"Heh! Like ol' Chuckie could manipulate shit!"

"If I were Charlie, I'd have fantasies of, like, puppet-string power, too, if I didn't have any fucking arms."

"Yeah, but he ain't never gonna get it as long as he acts like as much of a suck-up as he is."

"Agreed. I pissed him off good, though, now didn't I?"

"Hey, when he 'manipulates' Prince John, you're gonna be the first person he has killed!"

"Oh, I'm shaking."

-IllI-

"John, what the fuck is wrong with you!?" The private compartment of the limo was as soundproofed as you could get for the midsection of a moving vehicle. Commissioner Roe was sitting on the right side of the limousine, opposite Mayor Norman.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Commissioner; it seems I've overdressed for this highly informal conversation."

"Do you think saying things like that is going to ease the tension, John?"

"Oh, Commissioner, I do beg pardon; I couldn't help myself but to-"

"I'm not the county commissioner right now; I'm Doty right now. And right now, Doty's pissed."

The mayor took a slow sip of his wine, tilting the glass to his mouth and keeping his head perfectly steady so as not to trouble the hat. "Now, I do have my hypotheses for what you may be cross about, but I'll let you speak; in my years on this side of the Atlantic, I've been made quite familiar with the vulgar little American colloquialism about what happens when one does assume."

"Why did you bring my name up?"

"Please explain to me how I could go about-"

"Answer the question."

Prince John raised an eyebrow and took another sip; this time he accidentally shifted his head just a little bit, and the hat started to slide down the back of his head, and although he did catch it and reposition it in time, the save didn't look nearly as smooth as he'd hoped.

"I am well aware of the poor form shown in answering a question with another question, but to better understand your query, I must ask: How could I have explained that we were merging police forces without invoking your name but once?"

"Just don't say it! Take responsibility for your idea, and when the press asks me later if I cosigned on it, I can answer in my own words!"

"But do you not want the people to think it was your idea, too?" The Mayor wanted to take a heartier swig of wine, so he said screw it and took his hat off and put it on the seat next to him. "Don't you want them to think you're a strong leader who makes strong decisions? Did you not want credit for action?" Sluuurp.

"You know, John, in most other cases, I'd say yes, but I correctly predicted that this wouldn't go over well with the suburbanites. I didn't want my name on this." Doty wasn't planning on consuming any of the wine offered her, but she was getting riled up enough to change her mind. Glulp. "I've already got to deal with egg on my face after stupid Tom and Matt beating the everloving shit out of a kid; if there were ever a day to be humble and run around with my tail between my legs, today would've been it."

"Can that tail of yours even reach between your legs?" the lion asked the deer.

Doty gave John a mortified-but-angry look. "I don't know what they teach you in aristocratic British society, but over here, it's not polite to say anything involving 'between your legs' to a woman. That figure of speech was for me to say and for you to hear and that's all. With your inability to read social cues, I don't know if you'd ever be elected to any office legitimately."

"Oh, I'm not always so egregious in my faux pas." Prince John uncrossed his legs and crossed them the opposite way; he didn't even flinch upon hearing the commissioner's closing comment. "But back to our point, Doty, I cannot see any eventuality where I wouldn't have included your name and title."

"Then why didn't you think about that before you promised not to use it!?"

The mayor couldn't help but smirk. "Why didn't you think of that before you believed me?"

Doty had had a feeling that she'd get a response like that, but she'd felt the need to try asking anyway. She took another draw from her wine. "John, just so you know… unlike your citizens, I don't think you're stupid. I just think you're evil."

Prince John looked intrigued by this revelation. "And when, may I ask, did you decide this?"

"Oh, long ago, John."

"Was it before I paid your house?"

Doty was about to take another sip of wine when she heard that; instead, she put the glass back down. "Why does that matter?"

"Because I wouldn't want to give gifts to people who think so... unflatteringly of me." The words tasted good in his mouth as he spoke them. "So if it were the case that you thought I was evil when I did you such a kindness, I would very much like to rescind my gift. What about the car?"

"I'm… not giving them back to you."

"Now, my memory is foggy - did I buy you a Maybach or a Jaguar?"

"They're in my name and you aren't getting them back."

"'They'? Oh, yes, I bought you both, now didn't I? And a nice Land Rover for Sundays with the family!"

"John, you lose this one. I manipulated an evil man for my own gain and his loss. I win; you lose."

John took a sip of wine and tapped his fingers as he conjured the most melodramatic way to deliver his next thought. "Very well then; if I cannot get them back, I would like to at least receive credit for buying them for you… that is to say, in the public sphere."

"...The hell are you talking about!?"

"I have the records. Receipts with my name on them, squeezed into a manila folder next to documents showing title transfers wherein I legally resold each of them to you for a dollar apiece."

The commissioner picked up the wine glass again, but had no intention of drinking from it; she just wanted something to hold. "You really have your bases covered, don't you?"

"If I understand that basketball metaphor correctly, then yes: I have all my eggs in a row. A lesser man may destroy the evidence, but I like to keep it around. Partially as a sort of scrapbook of memories, partially to give Charles something to do…" Sluuurp. "...but mostly for moments such as this."

"And you're willing to take yourself down with me just to get back at me?"

"I do beg your pardon?"

"You want to show the world that you embezzled money and spent it on bribes?"

"Oh, nowhere does it say where I got the money from. For all you know, it may still be what I've received from my family. In fact, as a matter of statistics, some of that money surely must have been mine legitimately."

"I'm looking at a regular Machiavelli, aren't I?"

"My, my, you really do think I'm simply evil, now don't you?"

"Convince me otherwise."

"Oh! Oh, but I shall!" And he got himself comfortable in his seat for his defense statement. "I have heard my people cry. I know that they are skeptical of my methods. I know also that a great many would describe my actions as selfish. But you must see, Commissioner, that I have never neglected the heart of my subjects - I am simply preoccupied. For most of my life, I've been torn between my altruistic desire to be an effective and helpful and good person, and my - shall we say - animalistic drive to better my own lot first and foremost. And now I've-"

"That really seems like the sort of thing you should have straightened out before you assumed public office!"

The mayor tilted his head and feigned disappointment, as though he'd just witnessed a child make an outburst. "Now, there are many things I could say to that; I could say that the opportunity to become mayor only came once, and I was not going to allow it to pass me by; I could say that I believed that having such responsibilities thrust upon myself would then inspire me to 'straighten myself out,' as you say. But quite frankly, Doty…" Siiip. "...I simply wanted to be mayor! There's that animalism again! Let me make this clear to you, Miz Roe: I truly believe in my heart that I will be a much more selfless person when the selfish side of me is satisfied."

"Th-then when the hell will it be satisfied?" spat the commissioner, flabbergasted. She was beginning to lean ever so slowly forward.

"When the moment comes, I will know it. And I am just as impatient in waiting for it as you, madame. And as are my people; I yearn for the morning when I wake and I suddenly feel that I don't need to tax my people to death to feel a numb, tired sense of victory. And yet it sets up its own endgame: the weaker my people become, the more powerful I will become, and if all goes well, the time that I am satisfied with my power will align with the time when my people recognize my power and turn to me for guidance when there are no other powerful figures to be found. When there is nothing to challenge me, I will surely have the confidence to lead them to bigger and better things."

"'Leading your people to bigger and better things'- what the hell are you talking about?"

"We've already thoroughly discussed my need to feel satisfied for myself before I can feel confident in letting my guard down and letting my inner advocate out; did you think I was content just being a mayor of a midsize city in a nation full of hicks that I'm only in because my family dragged me here? Why do you think I let people call me 'Prince John' to my face? It's because I'm holding out for the day that that title organically evolves into 'King'." Siiip. "It's strange; this is much the same conversation I had with my men before you showed up. I almost feel the need to apologize for repeating myself."

"Well… hey! Speaking of your family, why aren't you content with your family's wealth, you maniac?"

"Partially because I don't only wish for material wealth, but more-so because it just feels better to have earned something for yourself instead of being gifted it, wouldn't you agree?"

"I would disagree."

"...Then that is your problem." Sluuurp.

Commissioner Roe worked her hands all around the wine glass as she stared into her reflection in the liquid, which rippled in every direction as the limousine tumbled along the streets of Nottingham. She was now leaning completely forward and had barely noticed her position shifting before this point. "I-I'm sorry- are we going to see me in the hospital? Did I hit my head on something, and this is a coma dream? Or did you really just confess that you're going to Stockholm Syndrome your citizens until they help you take over the world?"

"And my citizenry is larger now as a consequence of your agreement to merge our police forces, and for that I thank you."

The doe's eyes were starting to sting from being excessively pursed open in disbelief. "You've gotta be joking."

"Must I be? I confess that I've implicitly signed off on your using excessively dramatic words and terms like 'Stockholm Syndrome', but I think my main point is clear enough."

"You're a madman," said the commissioner; she was so appalled and yet fascinated by what she was hearing that it was like a lucid dream, and now she wanted to say exactly what was on her mind, no matter how simple the thought, just to see what would happen next.

"If that's how you feel, I will gladly take my blood money back."

"You don't belong in politics."

"Oh? And you do? Do you or any of your other cohorts who've accepted my bribes? In the privacy of my mind, I've always considered that to be a means of networking, whereas it seemed that you and all the other elected officials in this state simply saw it as a greedy end."

"That's regular politician stuff. You're some next-level crazy. And evil. I don't know which word describes you more at this point." Roe started to wonder if the driver, bodyguard or assistant could hear her outside of the little compartment. She didn't know if she should care.

The mayor recrossed his legs; he still had not broken an emotional sweat. "You know, Commissioner…" -siiip- "I don't actually very much like politicians. Or politics at all, for that matter. Nor government, really; it's so easily manipulated, no matter the systems in place…" -swirl, swirl- "Perhaps by the time my people have come around to me, they'll share in my sentiment. By then, perhaps, they won't see me as another politician - just the leader they need to guide them out of the darkness."

"If you don't like politicians, then why are you saying that to a politician? Are you an evil genius, or just an idiot?" Amid the flurry of emotions Doty was feeling was a strange sense of excitement from poking this odd creature. "I can tell all the other politicians in town how you really feel. About them and everything else."

"Oh, they all hate one another anyway, now do they not?" Sluuurp. "Besides, I'll just bribe them again until they're on my side once more. Have you noticed how I give ten times more bribes than I receive, and the ones I do receive near-exclusively come from civilians and not civil authorities? It's because when I want money, I can simply raise my taxes and get it like that; from other politicians, I crave their power. I can demand money from my people and I can demand power from my colleagues; the opposite is not the case."

The commissioner stared at him blankly for a second, then coughed out a nervous chuckle. She leaned back in her seat, grasping the wine glass with both hands, and seemed to collapse into a state of delirium as a few more confused chuckles came out.

"I knew you'd used me, in the way that all of us use each other," she said. "But… I'd never thought it was this… calculated."

"Oh, I'm flattered, Doty." Siiip. "Though even I would be the first to confess that at times I went ahead setting up for plans I hadn't fully fleshed out. But the best memories are borne of spontaneous decisions, are they not?"

Doty's gaze had turned to the ceiling and could be described as inward. So John Norman here was just openly spelling out that he was much more than the selfish piece of shit that everyone believed him to be. And the whole 'selfish-side, selfless-side' thing - was this guy for real? How much alcohol did she drink? Was she drunk? Was she even awake? Did she fall from bed and hit her head and not wake up in the morning? Did she fall into a coma from an undiagnosed brain malady and now she was experiencing some hallucinations too mundane to be described as a fever dream but too implausible to be confused with reality? If this was actually happening, this John Norman character would be a great villain in some legendary tale of a ruler gone mad in every sense of the word at once. But in that moment, she decided with finality that this was, in fact, not really happening.

"So why are you telling me this?" she asked, still looking at nothing but the ceiling. "I-I mean… why are you telling me this?"

"After all you've done for me today, Commissioner, the gift of awareness is the least I can repay you."

"But you hate politicians."

"Well, you are a special one-"

"Do you hate politicians because of your brother?"

When she realized that he wasn't answering, and that she could hear the sound of the tires treading on the pavement, Doty looked back down to be met with a glaring face. Any pretense of joviality was clearly off the table. But Doty still wasn't sure whether this was just another element of the fantasy that overlapped with reality.

"I invite you to retract your statement, Commissioner."

"I didn't make a statement; I asked a question."

The Prince Mayor put his wine glass back in the cupholder. "Commissioner-"

"I mean, in confidence, Mayor, you can tell me."

"Doty-"

"Because I totally get if you'd be bitter that he's in a much better position to take over the world than you."

John answered by pounding on the window to the driver's compartment. "Lawrence! Lawrence!"

The mayor continued pounding as the window slowly rolled down. "What?" asked the driver.

"Pull over at your next convenience."

"You gonna say please?" asked the horse.

"PULL OVER AT YOUR NEXT CONVENIENCE!"

"This thing won't fit in a parking lane on the side of the-"

"Lawrence, STOP THE BLOODY CAR!" John hald-stood and stuck his head in the open window.

Lawrence, ever obedient, slammed on the brakes, much to the chagrin of all the cars behind him, whose drivers honked in protest, as well as to the chagrin of the limousine's own passengers, who all jolted westward with the sudden change in inertia, most chiefly the mayor who had requested the stop in the first place, who found himself flying halfway through the open window with his face in the floor-mat beneath the passenger seat and the windowsill's lip pressing unwelcomely into his netherregions.

The door to the compartment clicked with the key of the bodyguard, and Rocky popped in, with Charles Hess dutifully behind him, trying to catch a glimpse of his employer.

"You alright, Mayor?"

"GET HER OUT OF HERE!" he shrieked. That seemed to awaken some sense of cogency in the county commissioner.

"What, just kick her out of the-?"

"YES!"

"Wait…" Doty now, for the first time since their riveting conversation had begun, had the mind to look critically at the landscape outside the window; she now believed again that this was indeed happening. "Where exactly are we?"

"You're the head of this county, Commissssioner!" the weasel jeered. "Shouldn't you know this placcce like the back of your hand?"

"Do not speak to the Commission-!"

"GET OUT OF MY CAR!" hollered Prince Floor-Face.

"You're just going to kick me out of your limo and make me walk-!?"

"What the bloody fucking hell does it look like, you stupid bitch!?"

"Miz Commissioner," said Rocky, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave-"

"Just grab her!"

"Miz Roe, please don't make me grab you. I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that."

And the commissioner could see in the rhino's face that he wasn't too thrilled himself to be following the lion's orders, but that he also didn't feel like he had much say in the situation.

"He doesn't need to grab me," she said as she got to her feet and made her way toward the exit. "I'll see myself out. Take care, you thumb-sucking motherfucker."

She had now invoked Richard's name and said the m-word all in the span in a few mnutes; this infuriated the half-incapacitated mayor, who grunted as he kicked wayardly around the cabin in an attempt to land a blow on the commissioner, but only succeeded in making contact with the bell of his wine glass, which promptly shattered, with much of the wine spraying onto the top hat on the adjacent seat and much of the glass embedding itself in the pads mayor's foot-paw. John immediately stopped flailing his legs and started screaming again, but this time he wasn't angry at any specific entity. And he was crying.

"Watch your step," Rocky said as he helped the fuming commissioner out of the limousine. "Did you have a briefcase or a bag with you, or…?"

"No, Krupa has my briefcase. With my cell phone in it." Doty looked around the neighborhood again, not knowing if she should be nervous or angry. The area didn't look crummy so much as it just looked old, architecturally speaking. The streets were populated by pedestrians who didn't look mean, but who didn't look nice either, and several of these neutral nihilists were staring either at the out-of-place limousine stopped in the middle of an intersection or at the doe who looked strangely familiar.

"There's a, um, pay phone, like, around the corner and down a block. It's in front of a liquor store, if I remember right."

"You know this area?"

"Yeah, I grew up around here."

"What part of town is this again?"

"Georgetown."

"...Oh." The commissioner, having been raised in Apple River herself, always had heard of Georgetown as a bad neighborhood. Now she had to remind herself that it wasn't that bad - it was the kind of area where its lower-middle- and upper-lower-class residents weren't so much violent as they were rough around the edges and perpetually bitter about life in general, and understandably so. It was the kind of neighborhood where most people wouldn't mess with you unless you personally gave them a reason to, but once you did, they would not hesitate to mess with you. Doty was afraid that her actions earlier today, publicly disclosed on regional television, might constitute a personal offense to these people whose policing situation hadn't changed but whose tax rates almost certainly soon would. It really could go either way.

"Thanks for the tip," she continued, "but I don't have any change on me."

"Neither do I," said Rocky. "I'd tell you which shops would let you use their phone, but-"

"Rocky, the Mayor requesstss you come back into the car," said Hiss as he poked his head out, only to immediately return to the private cabin to be with his superior.

"...But they wouldn't help a politician out?" Doty attempted to answer Rocky's statement.

Rocky simply said, "Well… they might," and shrugged as he turned his body back toward the limo before turning his head. "Good luck, Commissioner," he said and closed the door behind him.

The limo stayed there for a second - Commissioner Roe correctly guessed that they were pulling the Mayor out of the dividing window - and then took off through a red light, inspiring another cacophony of car horns that almost drowned out the distinct sounds of a fortysomething man with a British accent wailing for his mama.

-IllI-

Patients, visitors, and employees alike were instructed to stay clear of the hallways as the mayor and his entourage made their way to the hyena boy's room. The only people still left in the hallway were the presiding doctor, the photographer from the newspaper, and the hospital security guard assigned to watch them both, just in case. There were no actual reporters or journalists to go with the photographer; the newspaper had been made aware that the mayor would answer any and all questions via phone when he decided to call them at his greater leisure.

The room was at the far end of the hallway, and the two groups of three made steady eye contact with one another long before they were within speaking distance. None of the six of them could gauge exactly where "speaking distance" began, which was a bit of a problem.

"Aren't you going to stand before the mayor?" asked the mayor in a quiet inside voice from halfway down the hallway.

"What he say?" asked the photographer to the doctor.

The giraffe hadn't heard much better, either. "I don't know, but I think that I'm going to stand up just so he doesn't think we're disrespecting him," he said to the opossum. The doctor - whose head and upper neck was already well up against the ten-foot ceiling - got back onto his feet, and now had even more of his neck parallel to the ceiling. He wanted a transfer to a newer facility that would be less murder on his spinal cord, but he knew that even the most modern and accomodating public spaces would only give twelve or thirteen feet of vertical space before it became financially unfeasible for the buildings to be constructed any larger for the comfort of such a small, tall demographic. Moments like these made Dr. Jordan regret going into medicine, and also made him have a moment of clarity about why all the other men and many of the women in his family were content with their low-paying outdoor jobs, doing things such as working on power lines.

"Is that what he asked us to do?"

"Maybe. It kind of sounded like that."

"Did you hear him?" the opossum asked the buffalo.

"I did not," said the guard flatly.

"If anything, you should sit back down, Doc. It looks like you're not too comfy right now."

"Yeah, I'm going to go on break and stretch on the roof after this. But I'm used to it."

"That's kind of messed up that they make you-"

"Excuse me," said the mayor.

"Regards, Mayor Norman," said the buffalo unenthusiastically. The other two looked to see him standing there with his assistant and bodyguard, having seemingly just materialized out of thin air before them like ghosts. All three of them thought something looked off about him, as though he was missing a certain oversized accessory that had recently been soiled, but none of the three of them could put their finger on it.

"The mayor asssked you nicccely to ssstand in his presence!" said the weasel.

"I asked if that's what he said," said the photographer. "We couldn't hear you from all the way down there."

"I believe I'd made myself clear," said the mayor. John was getting vibes from the photographer similar to what he got from George Nutzinger, but this opossum's remarks seemed completely genuine and without an ounce of biting sarcasm.

"You really didn't," said Dr. Jordan.

"If it was so easy to hear, then why couldn't you hear us asking if that's what you asked?" asked the opossum.

"...B-because I didn't ask it, I said it!" said the mayor. "I said they ought to stand before the mayor!"

"Why?" asked the buffalo, to everyone's surprise. "You're the Mayor of Nottingham, not the King of England."

The mayor's face twisted in anger and rendered him effectively speechless, allowing his assistant the chance to cut in:

"Do you think that is any way to ssspeak to any cccivil authority, royal or else?"

"Brad, chill out," Rocky said to the buffalo. "It was a rough ride over here."

"Jeez, what happened to your foot, Mayor?" asked the doctor. The others hadn't even noticed that his foot was covered in a pile of Band-Aids that were so densely populated that they seemed to be impeding each other's ability to heal a wound.

"I was hoping you could check that out after we're done here, Doctor."

"Doctor Jordan. And I can get-"

"That's nice."

"...Um… and I can get you fast-tracked for some care downstairs with another doctor, but I really need to take my break soon. Or is it urgent?"

"May we get this photo shoot over with?"

"Brad, I've got the room, you can stay outside," said Rocky.

"Actually, Dr. Jordan, why are you even here yourself?"

"Um… I-I'm here to walk you through the kid's injuries-"

"No need. I've had a tumultuous enough day. I needn't be weighed down with more negativity. We'll have the photo-boy take a snap and we'll be on our way."

"You don't want me to-?"

"You may take your break now, Doctor."

The doctor was confused, but was in no mood to say no to a chance to alleviate the pain in his neck. He dismissed himself as the opossum followed the lion, weasel and rhino into the patient's room, and the buffalo shut the door for them to give them their privacy.

The mayor hobbled over to the hyena and got a good look at him. To try to describe his present appearance was almost futile, not because it was too grotesque to put into words, but because one could say - at the risk of sounding insensitive - the victim's injuries seemed almost generic at least at first glance. He didn't quite have his head bashed in concavely, but it had its share of cuts and bloodstains, and some visible bruising under the fur where the light hit his body just right, and the same could be said for his arms and any other segments of his body that weren't covered by the blanket. At first, the mayor was almost unimpressed by how straightforward the injuries were, seemingly a whole bunch of small, unremarkable injuries working in synergy by their sheer quantity. But as he examined the breathing tube and the precarious way it was perched in his mouth, the mayor realized that the boy's snout seemed to be bent, which led him to notice that one of the boy's eyelids was split open, and shortly after that he saw that there was a rip in one of the hyena's ears, and then he saw that there were two in his other. It was entirely possible that any of these unsightly scenes had been there before his encounter with Elkins and Goldthwaite, but what was the likelihood that all of them had already been present? Maybe he wasn't such a mundane beating victim after all. The mayor silently chided himself for being so unobservant at the beginning.

"Bloody, bloody hell. Charles, are you seeing this?"

"Yesss, Mayor," said Hiss.

"How old is this boy, Photographer?"

"Fourteen, I think?" said the opossum. "My name is Russell, by the way-"

"There's another question; what's the lad's name again?"

"Kevin Lafferty."

"I admire your recollection, Photographer."

"It's on his chart right there."

The mayor stopped scanning his eyes upon the boy's battered body and stared into space for a moment. Without looking, he could see a shape in his periphery that was likely the medical chart bearing the boy's name. John took a breath to process his mortification, trying to remind himself that this photographer whose name he didn't know wasn't the sarcastic asshole Nutsy was, but rather a simpleton with no filter who didn't know better than to not disgrace the mayor.

The moment passed, and the mayor took his paw and started stroking the hyena's cheek gently.

"Alright, take your picture."

"How do you want to pose for it?"

"I don't. Take your picture."

"And we're probably going to need a few."

"Then take a good one on your firssst try!" said Hiss.

"Thank you, Charles," said the mayor, still laying eyes upon the boy and caressing his cheek.

"Do you want to face the camera at least?" asked the opossum.

"That would be ingenuine."

"Um… okay, then," said Russell. He raised the camera, framed it up and got the best shot he could with the strange angle of the strange scene. He immediately pulled the image back up on the camera's screen, and wondered if a shot like that, despite it being the best he could have rendered given the circumstances, would have gotten him kicked out of photography school for poor form. But then he remembered that the art college he went to was a diploma mill, so they probably would have let him stay even if he had turned in a blurry picture of a homeless man defecating into a city fountain for every assignment.

"Are we ready to leave now, Mayor?" asked Rocky.

But the mayor was enthralled by what he saw in front of him. This stupid delinquent kid who had been dumb enough to cross paths with a bunch of cops in a closed forest preserve at night was going to be the catalyst for all the good things to come. This hyena was going to be his Franz Ferdinand, a martyr whose (forecasted) death would be the spark that would lead to a flame of bitter, brutal conflict among statist powers, a conflict necessary for the truly righteous to rise to the top amid the chaos. Prince John only hoped that his cheek-stroking was comforting the unconscious boy, because John would never be able to repay him for his sacrifice. Well, theoretically, he could have a statue built to the kid or do something else to immortalize him, but that would almost be an overpayment of sorts and wait.

"Does this look creepy?" the mayor blurted suddenly.

"What was that, Mayor?" asked Hiss.

"The way I'm stroking him, does that look weird? Inappropriate, even?"

"Why, no, Mayo-"

"It kind of does," said Russell, ever the honest type.

The mayor turned around sharply. "Rocky, what say you?"

"I, uh… kinda, yeah," he confessed.

"Show me the picture," the mayor said to the photographer.

Russell pulled up the image again and turned the camera around for the mayor to see. The mayor didn't like it. Especially the smile he saw on his own face. If that smile was on Jesus Christ Himself in a Renaissance painting of Him healing a dying child, maybe then that smile would look appropriate, but in any other context, it just looked uncanny. But beyond even that, John simply didn't like the way he looked without his top hat.

"We can take another picture if you want."

"Burn the film."

"It's a digital camera; it doesn't use film. I can just delete it-"

"Then burn the camera."

"I can just delete it, though."

"Burn the camera."

"The battery might explode."

"THEN TAKE THE BLOODY BATTERY OUT!"

"Mayor-" Rocky began, but it was too late. The mayor grabbed the camera out of the opossum's hand and, wincing through pain, quickly limped over to the window. He tried to open the window with one hand, but it wouldn't budge. Determined, he stuck the camera in his mouth and used both hands, pushing up with his legs to get more leverage, but to no avail.

"How are people supposed to breathe in this hospital if the windows won't open!?" the mayor hollered as he took the camera out of his mouth and held it up to heaven to show God what kind of an abomination his people had created.

"Year-round air conditioning," Russell said. "Can I have my camera back now?"

"Rocky, help me destroy this thing!"

"Sorry, bud," Rocky said to Russell as he walked reluctantly over to the window and grabbed the savila-soaked camera. He examined it for a second before finding the memory card slot and popping it out. He tossed the camera back to the photographer. "Here you go."

"No, I want the whole thing destroyed!"

"Relax, will you?" said Rocky as he looked around for somewhere to dispose of the card that was more thorough than just throwing it in the trash. Eventually, he had found his target. "Uh… eat this."

He grabbed Hiss around the back of the neck and head and popped his snout open and shoved the tiny memory card in his mouth, sticking it down there deep into the throat with one finger. Hiss was audibly struggling to swallow the thing, quite literally choking it down and reflexively flailing the near-invisible remaining fragments of his arms as the mayor and the photographer-whose-name-the-mayor-didn't-know stared in amazed bewilderment.

"There," Rocky said once the job was done, "we destroyed the evidence without destroying the poor guy's camera. He didn't do anything to deserve getting his-"

Cough, cough. "Ffflllbbbrrrggghhhuuuaaahhh!" Hiss retched, catching everyone's attention. He caught his breath and observed the mess he'd made. "Well… I don't sssee the chip in the… er…"

"Goddammit, I'll get a nurse," Rocky said, taking Hiss by the shoulder and sidestepping the puddle on the way out. The lion and the opossum just watched as they made their exit, unsure of what just happened.

After a moment, Russell started examining the puddle of vomit. "Yeah, I don't see my memory card in here anywhere. Boy, that's going to suck for him when it comes out the other end." He gave the mayor a casual look as though they were old friends making witty banter. "Hey, how does he wipe his ass, anyway?"

"Get out of here!" ordered the mayor.

The photographer put the strap of the camera around his neck and gave the mayor a dirty look before making his own exit. "Jeez, he could have just flushed it down the toilet," the opossum muttered as he closed the door.

The mayor returned to the hyena one more time, now having a moment alone with the one who had helped him so invaluably. Prince John slipped the fingers of his right paw through the fingers of Kevin's left paw and grasped it firmly.

"Mister Lafferty," he said quietly, "you may never know how much of a godsend you've been. You fell so that I may stand. I'll stand high atop the highest mountain, exalted up on high, and all the earth will be mine, and in this world where every man thinks the world would be a better place if he were its monarch, I shall be the one to know how it feels to actually have such power, and it will all be thanks to you-!"

Snap, crack, crunch.

Prince John's eyes popped open in fear and he released the boy's hand from his own, and the hyena's arm dropped back down onto the bed. The blood receded from the lion's paw, and it almost felt numb by comparison soon after. He looked hesitantly down at Kevin's hand and wondered if his fingers were already bent at that angle and he just didn't realize it. Prince John certainly didn't mean to do that; he didn't even know he had the strength to do that.

The room was empty and there were no sounds of anyone approaching. If he left now, he'd be in the clear. The mayor turned to run out of the room, but promptly slipped and fell in the puddle of vomit. He shouted in pain, his knee and ankle twisted and his foot further agitated, and crawled to the door to the hallway, reminding himself that his thumb was dirty with floor- and hyena-germs so as to resist sticking it in his mouth.