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.

45. You Will Lose Faith

45. "You Will Lose Faith"

The decision to go out and hunt some dough was all too easy to make. Sheriff Woodland was surely looking all over town for them right now, so Sherwood wasn't safe, and when he inevitably realized that he'd have to comb the city, they'd be foolish to be caught in their daily attire, so they might as well costume it up. The only other remotely logical option was to hole up in the van in the junkyard, but it was too hot for that, it would be too easy to get trapped if he somehow did find them there, and besides, they hadn't done any robbing recently. Not just for the poor of Nottingham, but also to pay back a suburban wolf kid whose house may or may not have acquired five digits' worth of damage as a direct consequence of them having been there.

After a quick wardrobe change at (what remained of) the Major Oak, they'd headed to Zoar Park, a mixed-income neighborhood where they would likely find a good mix of friendly faces to brighten their day as well as gullible rich people to hoodwink (no pun intended).

Take, for example, the well-dressed bison woman walking down the street who was startled to hear a sudden sobbing coming from one of a pair of homeless people on the street, sitting on a filthy quilt at the edge of an alleyway behind a Dunkin' Donuts. They appeared to be an interspecies couple. He was a bear, she was a… brick-red wolf? A really tall fox? One of those maned wolves you hardly ever see unless they're congregated to protest the destruction of the Amazon? Whatever she was species-wise, she was inconsolable as she wept, cradling a dirty and damaged baby brown bear doll swaddled in a soiled blanket.

"Oh, don't cry, Billy, please don't cry!" the strange woman pleaded between sniffles before kissing the doll three times on its fractured forehead. "I know you're cold, Billy, but your mommy's here to keep you warm! Mwah, mwah, mwah!"

The ursine gentleman had an arm wrapped around the ambiguously canine woman, looking on at her with a morose countenance. Then he turned and looked the bison right in the eye.

"Oh!" the bison stammered, embarrassed to have been caught staring. She shielded her eyes as she began walking away. "I-I'm so sorry! I-"

But the bear stopped her, putting on an exhausted-looking smile as he held up a hand. "No, no, you're fine, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just…" He glanced at his presumed partner and let out a big sigh before returning his gaze to the bison. "We were doing just fine and dandy with money before our son got sick. Then he needed treatment, and insurance only covered so much of it…" Now his eyes looked like they were glassing over too. "All our money. All of it. We bankrupted ourselves to save him and it still wasn't enough…"

"Oh my god…" one could hear the bison mumble as she put a hand up to her gaping mouth.

"I-I know you're hurting, Billy, but it'll all stop hurting soon!" the red woman continued; she had her eyes wide open, staring straight ahead past her doll, looking at nothing at all. "A-and then grandma will take care of you! Mwah, mwah, mwah!"

The bear turned back to the bison, still forcing a friendly face. "He never got to say goodbye to his gramma since they were in different hospitals at the same time…" He sighed again. "Not that we got a much better return on investment paying for her mom's treatment, either. Or the funeral the state made us have for him since they wouldn't let us bury him down by the creek in his favorite forest preserve like he'd asked us to do to him… God, that kid loved nature. Always wanted to know how to climb a tree, I told him I'd teach him when he was old enough, but… the best-laid plans often fall apart, now don't they? At least we got a lot of good memories out of the time and money we put into adopting him, but… can't tell a lie, we were both hoping for more..."

By now, a small number of other people were standing around the exit to the alley, not directly staring at the scene but obviously keeping an ear on the tragic tale while badly pretending to look across the street.

As for the bison, she found herself staring at the bear doll. Something about the crack on its temple and the soft, dead-eyed smile on its face was absolutely destroying her inside.

"Um… you two don't… don't, uh, have any family members who could help you out?"

The bear shook his head, no longer having the energy to put on a smile. "Both of our families kind of… don't talk to us very much. They don't very much care for the whole intermarrying thing." He patted his wife's shoulders. "Her mom was the one big exception."

Then the red-furred woman pulled the baby away from herself so she could look it in the eye as the tears kept flowing; the bison woman hadn't realized until now that one arm was in a cast. "No, Billy, Mommy won't be able to see you there. I'm going to go to where they send all the bad mommies who can't protect their beautiful little boys…! AAAAAUGHHH, HAUGH HAUGH!" she sobbed as she pulled the doll in for a hug twice as tight as before, pursing her eyes shut as she wept. "I'm so sorry, Billy! Please forgive me! AAAAAUGHHH, HAUGH HAUGH!"

And as she kissed the doll again and again through self-loathing tears, the bison could swear she felt a pang inside her chest.

"She's attempted three times already," said the bear, "but it just won't stick."

"'Attempted'?" asked the bison.

The bear simply nodded. "I guess God wants her to stick around a little longer."

The bison gasped slightly as she realized what 'attempted' meant.

"Of course…" the bear continued, "... I'd be remiss as her husband not to take her to the ER every time she tries, so there's even more bills… you see the cast on her arm from when she swan-dived off a viaduct, it's amazing how much a hunk a' plaster can cost... and at this point, the idea of getting her mental health care looks like it's always gonna be a pipe dream."

The mother was out of things to say. She just rocked back and forth, clutching the doll with its ominously unending smile as she didn't even blink, her eyes flooded with moisture.

And the bison felt her eyes get itchy, too.

"I-I'm sorry," she began, "I-I don't mean to be condescending, but… can I help you guys out… in some way?"

The bear smiled again.

"Well… if you have anything you can spare…" he trailed off as he held up a tiny little backpack designed with drawings of planes, trains, and automobiles all over it, its main compartment open and empty. "...Every little bit helps."

The sight of the backpack was what got her whimpering. She reached for her purse and promptly pulled out a checkbook. "Who do I make it out to!?"

Little John had to suppress a panicked face. "Oh, um… they actually seized all our bank accounts, we don't have access to them anymore. We won't be able to buy food with a check."

The bison looked worried for a moment before she put her checkbook away and gestured for Billy's backpack. "May I borrow this? Just so I don't, um… my bank has a branch around the corner, I just don't want to carry all that cash out in the open."

"You know what? I'll walk you there, if that's alright with you. A lady shouldn't have to walk alone in this city. I'll be right back, honey, okay?" the bear said as he kissed his redheaded wife on the cheek and stood to escort this bison to the closest Chase ATM. After they left, a few of the bystanders reached into their pockets and purses and wallets and tossed some fives and tens and twenties into the empty box next to the catatonic mother.

A little later, just long enough for Robin to start worrying that perhaps this woman was also a good actress herself and had led Johnny to a trap after realizing who he was, the bear came back and dropped the fictional cub's backpack at the fox's feet.

"A thousand Jacksons," he said matter-of-factly.

"A thousand!?" Robin had been so excited by the first two words that he hadn't caught the third.

"A thousand Jacksons," Johnny corrected with a smirk as he sat down next to Robin. "I told her it'd be suspicious if we had all that money in Benjamins and she agreed. Nice lady. Name's Melissa. I didn't catch exactly what she did for a living, but she and her husband are both high-ranking executives somewhere or other; this isn't even a drop in the bucket for them. Apparently she's got a kid around Billy's age, too."

Robin put on a playful confused look. "Well, how old does that make Billy, then? I don't think we ever disclosed that!"

Johnny shrugged. "Man, I dunno, she just literally said 'I've got a son about Billy's age' and that was enough for me! ...Oh, by the way, if we see her again, your name is Christina now. And I'm Shane."

"Good to know, Shane."

"Yup. So…" Johnny playfully elbowed Robin a couple times. "The Daytime Emmy for Best Performance in a Soap Opera goes to…!"

"Oh, Johnny, maybe I get the award for acting, but you deserve the credit for writing! I was merely insinuating the poor lad had been lost; you filled in the blanks and more in excruciating detail! The part about the poor boy missing his granny's passing because he was busy dying himself… my heartstrings, Johnny! They can't take another tug! By the time we got to the part about never being able to climb trees together… my god, man, I was about to lose my composure for real!"

"Yeah, but you still took what I was making up and ran with it! You got my waterworks running just as much as I got yours! It's almost like we work well as a team!" Johnny joked.

"We should start an improv troupe," Robin quipped. "And who says a Theatre degree wouldn't give me useful life skills!"

And for a few moments they sat in silence, content with their success and each other's company. But then Robin felt compelled to elaborate.

"... I'm not usually that good at crying on command, though. I… kind of had some help."

Little John was confused. "Uh… how so?"

Robin broke eye contact to fish for his words. "Well… a lot of that was channelling me mum… a very strong woman, but when she fell to pieces, she fell to pieces. And the 'I know you're hurting but it'll all be over soon' was paraphrasing something she'd actually said to me a couple times."

"What, were you deathly sick or something!?" asked Johnny, shocked to hear. Recall that there were large gaps in his knowledge of Robin's life just by virtue of Robin never having seen the need to share them.

"No, no, I wasn't ill, it was just… me being a gigantic freak again. There were at least a few nights when I was very, very young when she stayed awake with me because the growing aches were just too much to bear and the painkillers they'd put me on weren't doing good enough of a job." He took a breath. "Every inch of my body would be screaming in agony, and I was just a little kid, I was outright crying from the pain, and I don't know if it was that that caused her to cry too, but as she sat on me bed with me and we hugged each other - of course, it was more like she was the doll I was holding than the other way around - she just let me hug her and squeeze her until my bones hurt a little less, and we cried there together. She kept assuring me that the doctors insisted my growth would slow down soon and the pain would go away, but I was already a toddler bigger than an adult tod! For God's sakes, I was bigger than the doctors who kept saying I'd level off soon! She had no way of knowing if those doctors were right and I'd ever slow down! Nobody did…"

Little John had no idea what to say. "Jesus Christ, Rob, I'm sorry that happened."

Robin sighed again. "Oh, don't worry about it, Johnny, it was long ago. Eventually the pains stopped being so chronic and the pills became an as-needed sort of arrangement by the time I was… what, seven? Eight? Of course, by then I was a foot taller than the bloody pediatricians who kept insisting to my mother that I was going to hit my adult height any time now and be done growing for good - that didn't happen!"

Johnny didn't say a word. He was incredibly tempted to make a remark that Robin's was a problem Young Johnny would find good to have, but he bit his tongue and told himself to be a good listener.

"Not to discredit my stepfather," Robin continued, still looking bummed out. "When he entered the picture, he'd sit there with me and me mum too, but by his own admission he was sort of a third wheel to it. He'd simply wrap an arm around me and my mother and we appreciated that he was there for me, but he rarely said a word when that was happening. Years later the three of us were talking about those bad nights, and he mentioned that that was before he felt comfortable doing anything that might seem like he was getting between a woman and her son who wasn't his…" One more sigh. "...And while we were on the topic, me mum mentions how she didn't know if she was being strong enough for me because she was terrified that her son was suffering… and there was nothing she could do to help me. The existential horror of a mum who can't fulfill her duties as a mother."

Johnny let out a sigh of his own; this was a very sigh-heavy day. "Well… nobody can deny that your parents cared a helluva lot about you." Yeah, that sounded like a good thing to say.

Robin nodded. "Yeah… and for that I'm grateful. Don't you ever think I don't count my blessings... Of course, I repaid them for all that kindness by disappearing and now they're probably both convinced I'm dead, because I'm just a terrible son, but eh, that's a story for another day-"

"Robin, hush. You know damn well they'd both be proud of what you're doing to help all these people. And if they raised you, then they hafta be the kind who wouldn't give up on hope easily!"

"...Thanks, Johnny." Robin turned his head to face his friend and put on a tired smile. "So that's where I dug into for my Oscar-winning performance… I'm certainly not talented enough to have pulled that completely out of my arse…"

Then the bear put an arm around the fox and said something Robin really wasn't expecting:

"Hey… I know how hard it is for you to open up about your upbringing." Little John had a huge smile on his face. "And just so you know, man, you might be embarrassed by stories like these, but I guarantee nobody worth a damn would think less of you just because you had… y'know, a brief moment of weakness when you were a literal kid! Ya see? You don't need to keep the… mildly unflattering parts of your past a secret for us to still think you're a great guy! Anybody who meets you can tell you're a great guy. Anybody."

Now Robin was the speechless one. He appreciated all of his friend's kind words, but… Johnny didn't know that the thing with Brianna wasn't even the major thing that had Robin's heart hurting. Why was it so hard for him to talk about his childhood with his mum? Because he had his mind on a related concept. Should he mention what was really bugging him? He had precedent to believe Johnny wouldn't like it.

"... I'm proud a' you, bud," Johnny continued. "And I'm honored that you trust me with this information."

...That did it. Robin needed to get this off his chest.

"Well, Johnny, that… wasn't the only thing dampening my mood. You may recall the name I gave the doll…"

"What, Billy…?" It took him a few seconds to connect the dots before he threw his arms up in frustration. "...OH! Jesus Christ, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-!"

"No, no, Johnny, you have nothing to apologize for!" Robin had been right; telling him had just caused Little John to think self-loathing thoughts about having accidentally made Robin feel bad.

"I'm sorry I put him in your head again! I was trying to put positive memories in there to replace the negative ones!"

"Johnny, no, seriously, you've done nothing wrong! He was your friend too and you shouldn't have to feel like there's a moratorium on talking about him! And I appreciate the effort to try to instill a positive mood on his memory, truly I do!" Of course, the way his brother had gone out, Robin would probably never be able to think of his brother and not just feel terrible.

The bear let out another sigh, though this was bordering on more of a groan. "I didn't even make the Will/Billy connection, it's just such a generic name-"

"Correct!" Robin insisted. "My brother would have stuck you in the eye if you called him Bill or Billy, and his name was generic! Possibly more generic than yours! But I realized I needed a name for the doll, and all I could think of were Robert and Bobby and John and Jack and Edward and Eddie, and… obviously, we can't use any of those! So taking those out of the equation, the only other name that came to mind was… another generic name... William."

Johnny put an arm around Robin again as the fox picked up the baby bear doll and looked it in its lifeless smiling eyes.

"You mentioning him earlier may have put the name in my head, but I was the one who let myself dwell on it until it hurt me… If this doll were a fox… or if I'd slipped up and called the doll Willy… I probably would have had a breakdown for real, Johnny, I really think I would have." Feeling the urge to do so, he pulled the doll close and hugged it, rocking it back and forth, not caring how dorky it looked. "I failed him, Johnny. I did. It was my job to give him guidance and keep him safe and I failed to do that. Oh, William, I'd beg your forgiveness if I didn't know I didn't deserve it."

"Oh, c'mon Rob, you weren't his keeper! You didn't even hardly grow up with the guy! I know you blame yourself for causing him to do what he did, but ultimately, you weren't responsible for his decision! Although… man, now I feel shitty for saying your character tried to kill herself…"

What was he on about? Oh yeah, now Robin remembered.

"But just like I said earlier, you were a great brother to him and you have nothing to be ashamed of!"

Oh, no, Johnny. That was one part of Robin's past he had no interest in opening up about.

"You know what, Johnny? You were a good brother to him, too, and I'm sure he'd not hesitate to call you one. Heaven knows you two were often closer than you and I were, and frankly I was frequently jealous of you two."

"You were!? Aw, hell, Robin, I'm sorry, bud, I hope it didn't seem like I was playing favorites-"

"No, no, I understand! He offered you certain things as a friend better than I could, I get it! We all have our strengths and weaknesses… and one of my weaknesses was… well, a fear that in the very group I started that I'd turn out to be the only one without a mate to call a best friend."

And that one confused the bear.

"You were actually that worried about that?"

"Like I said, at some times more than others, and in retrospect it was all incredibly foolish of me, but… I wasn't lying when I told you at the train station the other day that for as many friends as I had as a lad, none of them whose names didn't rhyme with Darian would have made me their first choice at anything. That's why it messes with my head when you think that this so-called magnetic personality you think I have is so foolproof, because after all those classes my biological father made me take, I won't deny that I can get along well with most anyone… but where's the depth in that? I often wonder if being trained to be someone who everyone could like came at the price of not having a unique personality. Yes, I can have a pleasant conversation with anyone, and maybe seventy-five percent of them would want to have a pleasant conversation with me again in the future, but… what comes next? What comes after that? What about when they want something more? It really does seem to me like once you scratch beneath the surface, it's the quirks that charm people, not the one-size-fits-all joviality that was instilled in me. What you insist on calling 'charisma' might help me make a good first impression, but lasting bonds are built on the fine details." Robin shook his head and clicked his tongue a few times, smiling an 'isn't this ridiculous?' smile. "Just like old Errol, knew he was a star because he was handsome and charming on the outside but knew good and well that there was nothing interesting about him inside that. I've always wanted to be like that old wolf - maybe I'm already more like him than I thought!"

"Rob, seriously, are you insane?" Little John felt the need to interject. "Everybody in this town would probably say that you're the most unique and interesting person they've ever met!"

Robin let out a scoffing chuckle. "And I understand fully, for plenty of people, being an actor-turned-outlaw is plentifully interesting enough! But… what about when that isn't enough? What about when they grow bored of that and want more out of me? What about when they want to know who I was before I started this mission? A damned good thing I'm an expert at lying on the fly, because if anybody were ever to ask me about my hobbies outside my dual professions… I wouldn't know what to say…"

"You don't seem like the type to lie about yourself to make yourself seem more interesting."

"And usually I don't, God knows those damned etiquette lessons they drilled in my head explicitly discouraged lying for conversation's sake, so on the rare occasion they ask about what else I'm about, I just laugh and tell them I'm boring beneath the surface, and they laugh along and think I'm just being modest, but one of these days someone's bound to realize I'm not…" Robin giggled nervously at himself again. "Honest to God, Johnny, in a lot of ways, I'd love to be more like you. Or my brother. Or most of the people we meet. You have depth, Johnny - and I'm not just talking about your voice!"

Right on cue, the bear let out a baritone giggle. "So just to be clear… we're talking about the depth of my gut, then, right!?"

And they both laughed heartily at that.

"But… yeah," Robin said as the laughter petered out. "In any other situation, I'd like to think I'm emotionally mature enough to be okay with not necessarily being anybody's favorite person, but… but in a group I founded? I simply couldn't stand the thought. And I'm aware that was probably an immature desire as well-"

"Naw, man, no," Little John said as he gave Robin a few more pats on the back. "That was a perfectly reasonable desire. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like second choice."

Robin genuinely couldn't tell whether Johnny was just being overly kind or if the bear really did have such deep-seated residual self-esteem problems that he legitimately felt guilty for not giving his friend a sense of favoritism to which Robin was far from entitled. Either way, the fox just nodded and returned the back pats.

They were both silent for a moment as they dealt with their thoughts. In Johnny's case, his mind was blown. He hadn't woken up this morning expecting to get so much personal information out of his friend. The thought had genuinely never crossed his mind that Robin had things about himself that he was less than pleased with - he definitely knew Robin had things in his life he was less than pleased with, but they were things like having a shitty birth-father and a strained relationship with his half-brother and an acting career that effectively ended before it had even begun, but those were all external grievances rather than internal. And God knows this fox had done a bang-up job of convincing everybody in this town that he was the most self-contained person to ever walk the earth. The bear still had a million questions he wanted to ask, but he could tell his friend was exhausted with the conversation and he'd already gotten more out of him than he'd have ever thought he would.

As for Robin, his thoughts were much less complicated: he was afraid he'd already said too much.

"By the way, these thoughts really did all start before you even mentioned my brother," said Robin. "What really started this was walking through the wolf boy's house and investigating his parents… that really got me in the mindset of thinking about family, like my mother, and my brother… and that got me thinking about what I'd do if I ever got to raise a family, what I'd do differently than Eddward's parents, what values I'd teach my children… if I should ever be so lucky…"

"I'd bet my bottom dollar you and Mari are gonna have a bunch a' beautiful little kits."

"'Beautiful kits'? Dearie me, someone call the authorities, we've a pedobear in our midst!"

And they laughed.

"For real, though," said Little John after a good guffaw, "I call dibs on being the firstborn's godfather!"

Robin scoffed with a smirk. "Oh, not even a contest. It's yours. Best Man has your name on it, too. But you've got to return the favor!"

"Aw, hold your horses!" Johnny chuckled. "We'll cross that fuckin' bridge when we get there!"

"Oh, ye of little faith…" Robin cooed with a tsk tsk tsk.

And then they just sat there and enjoyed the moment for a bit, happy that this long, strange conversation had ended with them smiling.

Robin picked up Billy the Bear again. "Shall we get back to work? Or are we content with what we've made already?"

"Man, we can never have enough loot!"

"Ah, that's the spirit, old boy!" the fox exclaimed as he and the bear high-fived each other.

"But, uh…" Little John began, "...maybe let's use a less depressing backstory this time?"

"You know what? I can't argue with that," said Robin as he gave the doll a good look. "How about… how about the cub was your child from a previous relationship, then you divorced and married me, the doting stepmother, but then we lost all our money for one reason or another and the state took our son away? Hrm, but how would we have lost our money? Investing in Beanie Babies? No, no. Can't be anything that makes us seem foolish, or they won't be so charitable towards us. Hrm. Aha! I've got it! Identity theft after somebody robbed me of my purse-!"

"THEY ARRESTED THEM!"

The duo were surprised to hear someone shouting from the street, followed by a chorus of others:

"THEY DID!?"

"THEY ACTUALLY DID IT!"

"THE SON OF A BITCH DID SOMETHING RIGHT FOR ONCE!"

The fox and the bear were metaphysically scratching their heads at these cheers.

"Um… what son of a bitch are they talking about?" asked Little John.

"I haven't the fuzziest," said Robin. "I can certainly think of several but I have no way of knowing which."

Most of the people walking by on the street seemed indifferent to this vague news, but a few people certainly seemed elated.

"Might as well ask somebody," Robin said quietly in his real voice before walking up to the edge of the street and approaching a European badger walking hastily past. "Excuse me, sir," Robin said in his 'mother' voice, "do you-?"

"I don't have any cash, sorry," the badger muttered without even looking at the fox, not missing a step as he kept walking.

"What an asshole," remarked Little John.

Robin tried again on a hare happening by. "Pardon me, ma'am! Would you happen to-?"

"I don't, I'm sorry." She did at least give Robin brief eye contact and a look like she was somewhat ashamed of herself to be blowing him off, but she didn't slow down even a bit either as she did indeed blow right past him.

"...Was she afraid to talk to me because I'm a fox or because I'm a mad homeless woman?" Robin wondered aloud.

"Eh, could be both, could be neither," Johnny offered. "Hey, even you and me've had to scoot past homeless people when we were in a legit hurry."

"Yes, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating…" Robin trailed off just as he and Johnny both heard a door opening behind them in the alley.

"And it's like, okay, if you're this unhappy with me, then just fuckin' fire me at this point!" A llama grumbled to her muskrat coworker as they walked out the back door of the Dunkin' Donuts. The muskrat clearly wasn't the 'you' she was referring to. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with an asshole like you and I can collect unemployment! But no, you just wanna maximize misery for the both of us!" Neither even seemed to notice the homeless couple in their midst as the muskrat grabbed a wooden block to prop the door open and the llama extracted a pack of cigarettes.

Robin and Johnny glanced at each other, wondering how these two hadn't even seen them.

"Yeah, but D.J. seems like the kind of guy who'd tell ya that making decisions with his heart didn't get him to where he is," the muskrat said as he accepted a square from the llama. Perhaps as a force of habit, they both kept their backs to the main street.

"Yeah, and where is that!? Is he even making that much more than us!?" The llama paused to light her smoke before passing the lighter to her coworker. "I swear the way he talks, he's suggesting he's still on hourly too. Congratulations, D.J., you worked your ass off to suck up to the franchisees, and what's your reward? More work. Don't complain to me about working open-to-close six days a week when you were the one who got tricked into thinking that was an honor!"

"Well you just know that guy wouldn't have anything better to do with his time if he wasn't at work!" the muskrat quipped.

Hrm, just like how I wouldn't know what I'd be doing with myself if I hadn't discovered this calling, Robin found himself thinking as he approached the two employees.

The muskrat was chuckling as he continued. "I can just imagine on his days off he's just sitting alone in a chair in an empty room, like, staring at the wall, completely silent except for, like, clearing his throat every couple minutes-"

"Pardon me, friends," Robin said in his regular voice; he was willing to bet these two wage-earners wouldn't be on the side of the establishment.

Both the employees almost dropped their cigarettes as they were startled by the voice behind them.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed the llama. "We'll smoke farther away from the…"

But as they looked upon the red-furred creature wearing that damned handsome smile, and a bear right behind him with a smile that wasn't too shabby either, they knew immediately who these individuals were. They knew the smaller one was a fox, but despite his dress, he sure wasn't a vixen.

"Oh…" said the llama, speechless with awe. "Um… hi there, um… sorry to blow smoke in your faces-"

"Oh, you weren't blowing smoke in our faces, you needn't worry," Robin insisted.

"So, uh… how're the woods these days?" asked the muskrat, just to make sure.

"Man, the fuckin' city sent a couple guys to cut our base camp down!" said Little John. "Only cut through her halfway before we scared 'em off, but still… they cut halfway through her."

The employees look distraught at the news.

"Aw, man, that sounds just next-level evil," said the muskrat.

"And while we agree, it says something that it took them seven years to even find the blasted thing!" Robin said with a nasal chuckle before taking a bow, just as he was raised to do, extending an arm for a handshake. "Robin Hood, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Johnny Little," said his friend with a bow of his own. "But the tabloids call me Little John."

The llama gave a curtsey and the muskrat gave his own clumsy bow as they introduced themselves and took turns shaking hands with their heroes.

"Anita."

"Clay."

"It's so cool to actually get to meet you guys in person," said Anita. "Um… can I offer you guys a smoke?"

"Oh, no thank you," Robin said with a closed-eye smile and a raised hand. "But we appreciate the-"

"Don't mind if I do!" Johnny interrupted as he accepted a cylinder from the pack of Camels.

Robin found it strange and more than a bit off-putting that Little John was smoking a cigarette for the second time in two days, but as his training had taught him, saying something that might seem like he was calling out his friend would make him look like a dick as well.

Johnny borrowed the lighter and ignited his square; you could tell by the way he could move it from the front of his mouth all the way around to the side without using his paws that he knew his way around a cancer stick. Honestly, if tobacco products had still been in fashion, we could have seen a reality where Little John was the one everyone thought was as cool as a cucumber while Robin was the one who was still decently suave in his own right but still fretted that he could never compete with a bear who made Joe Camel look like a poser.

"Appreciate it," he said as he handed the Bic back over. "Y'know, a wise man once said, 'Now that I quit, I can have one… because I quit!'"

Apparently Clay was into the same weird art-house short films as Johnny's old roommate, because he recognized that line immediately. "Oh, like Tom Waits said to Iggy Pop?"

Johnny snapped his fingers and pointed at the muskrat. "Iggy! That's the son of a bitch! I used that line just the other day and I drew a complete blank on his name!"

Anita had no idea what they were talking about but saw this as a good segue. "Interestingly enough, we were just talking about you two the other day!"

"Ah, all good things I hope?" asked Robin, smiling because he was sure the answer was yes.

"We were actually talking about how those cops who beat the crap out of that poor hyena kid in your neck of the woods got lucky you didn't stumble upon them," said the llama.

"It's a shame you couldn't have gotten there and beat their sorry asses," added the muskrat.

Robin and Johnny must have done a good job preventing their nervous Um, about that… thoughts from affecting their facial expressions, because their audience was none the wiser.

"A shame indeed," said Robin. "Hearing how those power-mad men bullied a literal child into a coma simply boils our blood. We'd have loved to have had our way with them!"

"And if we ever run into those stupid sons of bitches," tossed in Johnny, "they'll have hell to pay, believe you me!"

Only now did Anita and Clay look confused. They gave each other a glance as if begging the other to do the deed of correcting these esteemed men.

"I'm… guessing you two haven't heard the news?" asked Anita tepidly.

"Well, to be fair, we only heard it ourselves, like, eight minutes ago," said Clay.

The Merry Men had no idea what these two were talking about, but the preceding course of the conversation had given them an idea.

"Considering we have no clue what you're talking about, we must be out of the loop," said Robin.

"Oh, Elkins and Goldthwaite got arrested," said the llama.

"They did!? Just today!?" asked Little John.

The muskrat nodded. "Like, not even an hour ago."

And the bear and the fox looked pleased.

"Huh!" Robin said in surprise. "Sometimes justice is served by those who're meant to serve it! This can only be a good thing!"

But the employees' tone was a bit… shall we say, bittersweet.

"I mean, yeah, good they finally got around to putting actual bad guys away," said Anita with a strange air of melancholy.

"Gee, I guess you guys really are optimists," said Clay, "because if I were in your position, I'd be at least a little bit pissed that the Chief's getting a whole lotta good PR out of this."

Robin and Johnny's faces lost their spark of hope almost immediately.

"I beg your pardon?" was all Robin could say.

"I mean- the Sheriff, he's the Sheriff now, my bad," the muskrat clarified. "Sorry, that's still gonna take some getting used to-"

"But still, ya mean Woodland, right?" asked Little John. "Just 'cuz he's the head motherfucker in the department they're giving him all the credit!?"

"Well… we're only going off what we heard when some guy popped his head into the store to make the announcement and the guy we were serving at the time happened to have heard more information…" Anita was trying to be careful with what she said because the truth was surely going to further upset them. "...It sounds like Woodland did it himself. Didn't make anybody else do it, just went alone and… took initiative himself."

"Yeah, the customer who told us said he had a brother who was in the fire department so he heard this through there," said Clay, "apparently Woodland heard the protesters were demanding they be arrested so he just… did it."

The outlaws were speechless. Luckily, another person in the street filled the dead air:

"HEY, MAYBE HE AIN'T THAT BAD OF A GUY AFTER ALL!"

Our editing team has contacted several world-renowned historians, all of whom agree that they struggle to think of a more awkward silence in the annals of mammalian history than the once between those four characters in that alleyway that day sixteen years ago.

"I mean… hey, maybe this is a good thing!" said the llama. "I mean, like, uh… if this is the beginning of Woodland bettering himself, then hey, we should welcome it! I mean, pshaw, it probably won't be, but… you gotta have hope, right? Isn't that what you guys are always preaching?"

Hope. Optimism. A positive attitude. These were indeed all things Robin had spent the last seven years preaching. But after several recent events - and especially after several recent encounters - Robin had found himself wondering a lot recently whether that was all for naught if nobody had been heeding his encouragement. Whether believing in oneself was foolish if absolutely nobody else believed in you. And he really wanted to ask these two a question right about then. It was a question that would almost certainly make them feel weird and awkward - a violation of the first rule of charm school: it's all about how good you make the other person feel in your presence, and it doesn't feel good to feel awkward. But the curiosity was killing him.

"Yeah, I mean, knowing how things usually shake out," said the muskrat, "this could very well be the only positive thing he ever does, but he and the mayor both know how starved most places on Earth are for compassionate leadership, so they're probably gonna be milking this one good deed forever, but…" He looked around and nodded. "...like she said, if you don't have hope, you're just hopeless."

"Well we're honored that we inspire you guys to keep on hopin'!" said Little John.

That was it. Robin couldn't take it anymore.

"Indeed, we do preach these things!" Robin exclaimed (though the other three noted that the syntax of this statement didn't really fit with the rest of the conversation and kind of sounded like he hadn't even heard what Johnny had said). "And all this talk of hope is making me feel still more hopeful! But… this does make a question cross my mind. You see, my friends, Johnny and I keep running into such miserable people trying to discourage us. The nerve of them! They tell us that the majority of the downtrodden of Nottingham have lost faith in us, that they don't think we'll succeed in our mission - and the people telling us these things are themselves the downtrodden, so what motivation would they have to mislead us!? All we can think of is that they've grown so hopeless that they're wishing to infect us with their cynicism and take us down with them!"

"Uh, Rob?" Johnny prodded.

Don't be silly, Dear Reader, you know proud Robin wasn't going to let his sidekick interrupt him. "So as long as we're in the presence of friendly, hopeful, unbiased working-class people, we might as well jump at the opportunity to ask… do you two have faith that we'll succeed in our mission?"

Precisely as forecast, the two employees looked shocked and a tad embarrassed. The big friendly grin on Robin's face was doing nothing to assuage their discomfort.

Johnny, just as confused as their new friends were, grabbed the fox by the shoulder and gave him a gentle but thorough shaking. "Rob, no, don't put them on the spot like that, you're just gonna drive yourself crazy if you go around asking people these questions."

"Ah, perhaps Johnny's right, friends, maybe the way I phrased that came across as a call-out," Robin said, completely ignoring the other thing the bear had said. He seemed to be speaking much more up-tempo than usual; for a guy who knew well that the rate of one's speech was inversely proportional to their perceived confidence, this was worrying. "So please, if I may pitch a second draft: would you two, as people not infected by despair and as working-class people who surely know many other working-class people… would you say that the typical resident of Nottingham believes we'll achieve our ultimate goal?"

The four of them kept staring awkwardly at each other, three of them looking confused, Robin smiling desperately.

"A-and don't trouble to spare our feelings," Robin stammered uncharacteristically. "We need as accurate a picture as we can get to know where we stand with the public we serve. So tell us, to the best of your knowledge, do the poor of Nottingham trust we'll succeed more than they don't?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. He had a nasty sinking feeling about all of this.

The muskrat looked nervously up at the llama, and the llama looked down at the muskrat just as nervously. It wasn't clear whether this was because the answer was an obvious yes and they were anxiously confused about why this was such a contentious question, or because the answer was an obvious no and they were afraid to be the bearers of bad news, or something else entirely.

Robin kept on smiling bright as he often did. He was emotionally prepared for a yes just as he was emotionally prepared for a no.

He was not even remotely ready for the answer they gave him.

"Well… maybe we're not the best people to ask about this," Anita began, "but… if not… this…" She gestured broadly at the fox in women's clothing. "...then… what is your ultimate goal with all of this?"

As Little John started brainstorming all the ways he could do damage control if Robin started to have a full mental breakdown right then and there, Robin could only muster a single syllable:

"...Huh?"

"Well, like, hey, we don't speak for everybody," said Clay, "but, uh… I mean, if we're being completely honest? I, y'know, I don't know how every single person in my life feels about this, but, um, I, I'd say that we… and I-I don't mean me and her, I mean we…" He spun his hand around in circles in the air above his head. "...We just kind of thought that this… was your endgame. Like, robbing from the rich, giving to the poor, and keeping on doing this until… doing this until you couldn't do it anymore."

The llama nodded along as the muskrat spoke.

And the fox simply looked devastated.

The employees could tell that he had failed to handle the truth, so they tried to mend the damage.

"B-but, um, hey!" the muskrat continued, "Th-this can be a learning opportunity! So, um… te-tell us! What is your big plan? For real, we wanna know!"

"Yeah!" the llama concurred. "Uh… maybe we're just not getting the big picture! So… fill us in! And we'll be sure to spread the word!"

Robin still looked shaken, but he wasn't too shaken to speak what was on his mind:

"It- the plan is to scare Prince John into resigning! And Woodland while we're at it! And we're going to scare the crap out of all the plutocrats who run this city so they'll know better than to mess with the people of Nottingham ever again!"

The two employees had gone from looking like they were afraid of hurting him to looking like they were afraid of being hurt by him. Not to say Robin had a threatening tone; it was more of a voice of bitter frustration.

"Rob! Keep your voice down!" the bear begged. "People walking by can hear you!" But to no avail.

"We're trying to end corruption by teaching these elites that they can't just tread upon the vulnerable without consequences!" Robin kept barking. "Oh! Is it such a ludicrous goal to end all corruption!? Well we almost did it once, goddammit! Do you not recall how we were this close to getting Norman to resign four years back before we were blindsided by Al-Qaeda!? If we got that close once, is it truly so ridiculous to say we can get there again and seal the deal this time!? I certainly don't see anybody else with a better plan!"

Johnny took a spot behind Robin and started giving the fox a thorough shoulder rub as he looked over his head at the llama and the muskrat.

"I'm so sorry for that, guys," said Little John, "we keep butting heads with a bunch a' Negative Nancy's we keep encountering, they keep trying to tell us we'll never make it out of this position alive, and you know how it is, nobody's that headstrong that they can take that much negativity without letting it get to them even a little bit. He's going through a tough spot and you didn't deserve to have to be talked to that way."

Robin was too flustered to find the words to interject.

The employees were torn. It was clear that Robin wasn't personally angry at them, but he had nevertheless yelled while making eye contact with them. They felt bad that the city's greatest hero was plainly losing his mind, but he didn't have to take it out on them.

"Well, hey, man, I'm just saying, he asked us to be straight with him, and we were," said Clay, trying to be straightforward without being too stern.

"Yeah, he told us not to spare his feelings, so we didn't," said Anita with much the same tone.

"The God's truth is no, as far as we know, the people in this town can't believe nor disbelieve in your end goal because we honestly didn't even realize you had a specific goal to straight-up depose the city government," said the muskrat. "We honestly just thought you guys felt this was your moral duty to be vigilantes of charity until you were… um-"

"In prison," said Robin gruffly. "Or dead."

And as Robin stared at them, looking like he was about to start angry-crying, Anita and Clay gave him looks to signify that they weren't here to hurt him, but they weren't gonna stand down either.

"You know what a lot of people would ask you?" asked the llama. "How do you… how do you know that the next mayor won't be as corrupt? Or the one after that? How do you know corruption won't just come back as soon as you stop?"

Robin said nothing. He just kept his eyes locked on her while taking deep breaths through his nose. Very shaky, very uncertain breaths.

"And we're not trying to pick on you or anything," Anita continued. "We genuinely want an answer."

"You want us to have faith in you?" asked Clay. "We're letting you know exactly what you need to do to instill hope in us. We'll have more faith in you if you can give us a good answer to a question like this."

Robin had no answer.

Not that he'd have had my time to give one, as a female voice was approaching from inside the store.

"Guys, D.J. wants you back inside." The service door flew open and a jackal stuck her head out. "Don't make me be the bad-"

She saw that the two of them were staring at some entity or another and turned to see who or what it was.

"...guy."

Robin definitely wasn't in the headspace to meet someone new right about then, and Johnny was feeling pretty nervous and awkward by proxy, but nevertheless, they both put on stupid grins and tried to seem sociable.

"Erm… hi…" Robin squeaked with an anxious smile while Johnny gave an odd wave with all his fingers flailing.

"Uh… hi," replied the jackal, realizing who she was seeing; it's amazing how much of Robin's accent one can hear in two little words. She glanced at Anita and Clay. "Are… are these two who I think they are?"

Her coworkers nodded.

The jackal looked back at the bandits. "From… Sherwood."

The Men's faces both clearly relaxed a little at the recognition. They nodded emphatically, still too mentally exhausted to speak just yet.

But while the jackal didn't seem unfriendly… she didn't seem all too friendly either.

"Um… I didn't expect to have the opportunity to ask this, but now that I do, I gotta ask… is it true you two crashed the civil rights rally in the park yesterday?"

Aaand their faces got anxious again.

Under the impression that Rob was still unable to speak, Johnny offered an answer. "Oh! Well, uh… we definitely didn't crash it, like intentionally wreck it or anything, hehe! It's more like-"

"Who told you about that!?"

Robin hadn't raised his voice or anything, but there was clearly a level of desperation in his voice. His face matched it. But he wasn't about to start weeping again; he was all wept out.

"Who told you about that?" the exasperated fox repeated. "How do you know about it!?"

The jackal shrugged as she returned a stare that was just as awkward and nervous as it was displeased. "You're… popular guys. Word gets around."

"Yeah, I heard that too last night," said the muskrat. "I… I just assumed it was a dumb rumor."

"Yeah, me too," said the llama. "I didn't think you guys would actually… do something like that…"

Johnny again attempted damage control. "Now, there were some social faux pas committed, yeah, but at its roots, it was just a big misunderstanding, and we apologized for it-"

Robin once again interrupted him. "My friends, please spare us the anguish of having to wonder: ...have we… have we irrevocably tarnished your opinions of us? The… the people's opinions of us? Please… don't make us wonder."

The three were silent, their faces expressionless.

"Cassie!"

A male voice from inside the store got all three of the employees' attention.

"They coming back inside or what?"

The trio all glanced at one another before looking back at the Merry Men, then shuffling back in through the door.

"Sorry guys, we gotta go," mumbled Anita.

"You guys take care," muttered Clay.

But the heavy back door took a while to close, so that wasn't the last the fox and the bear heard of the llama's and the muskrat's voices.

"Man, they're a lot less cool in person. Like… awkward."

"Everyone is more awkward and less cool in person, everyone."

"I know, but… they really crashed a-?"

Click.

Robin and Little John stared at the closed door for a few moments before Robin let out another frustrated sigh.

"Oh, what on earth is coming over me?" he wondered aloud as he grasped his head and paced in a small circle. "I didn't mean to go off on them like that, Johnny, truly I didn't."

"I know you didn't bud," said Johnny, standing still and playing calm. "That's not who you are."

"And it's not who I wish to be," Robin said as he stopped pacing and stared at the wall for a beat.

"Rob, we've had a rough couple a' days," said the bear. "Shit, we watched a dude die yesterday. It'd be weird if you weren't losing your mind at least a little bit."

"I know, I know, I just…" the fox took a breath. "These last few days have given me more than enough to feel bad about, and I'm simply not used to feeling this bad about this many things in such a short span of time."

Oh, tell me something I don't know, Little John found himself thinking.

"So…" Robin mumbled, "...the people really don't believe in us, eh?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rob, they're probably just college kids who aren't even from around here! I bet they don't even remember when we almost knocked Prince John off the chessboard!"

Robin was still staring at the lines of cement between the bricks. "But they'll certainly always remember when we interrupted a civil rights protest and made it all about ourselves. And evidently a lot of other people will, too."

"Aw, we've built up enough goodwill with this city that people shouldn't assume the worst of us, haven't we? This isn't the end of the world, Rob!"

Robin sighed again. "Ah, perhaps you're right…" And perhaps you're wrong.

Little John desperately wanted to change the subject. "What, uh… what'd ya like to do now?"

Robin pondered for a moment before answering.

"I need to go off by myself for a little while," Robin said as he turned back to face his friend, then started changing out of his drag wardrobe. "It's nothing personal, Johnny, I just-"

"Need to clear your head?" Little John offered.

"...That sounds about right," said Robin, pulling other clothes out of their bag that didn't look anything like his regular attire.

"You want me to keep panhandling solo?"

Robin shook his head as he handed Johnny the child's backpack. "We've won enough for one day, you've earned a break as much as I have. Head back to basecamp or… hey, enjoy your day however else you wish. Go see some other friends you never get to see."

Oh, what other fucking friends, Rob? All my friends are your friends, too. "Sure thing."

Robin handed Johnny the baby bear doll. "Take care of Billy for me, he might come in handy for another ruse in the future." He started off down the alley, looking back as he did. "Stay safe out there, Little John."

Even though the fox was walking in the direction of their home, the bear understood that he was meant to walk in the other way. "You too, brother."

As Johnny walked away, the thought crossed his mind that he was completely free to go out and make new friends right then and there. But… he just didn't feel like it. It wasn't that he didn't know how; he'd seen Robin do it plenty of times, and in fact Little John had made friends for the both of them quite a few times. But that's just it: he'd always had Robin as a wingman. He believed he could meet new people and get them to like him all by himself now - maybe not with Robin's astronomical success rate, but he could probably hold his own - but after all these years, he'd have to imagine that anybody who'd be cool with hanging out with a member of a band of thieves would probably only think of him as that band's second banana (which by this point was also the bottom banana). Little John was totally certain that there were plenty of people in this town who would jump at the chance to hang out with a lauded partier like him, but they'd probably all only see him as Robin's Friend. And if that was the case, he'd rather hang out with no one at all.

Speaking of friends, Johnny had one other thought as he walked away: he would gladly have offered to be available to talk out what was in Robin's head, but Rob had done far more talking about his inner thoughts these last few days than he'd done in years prior, and he surely didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Little John was half right: Robin didn't want to talk about it anymore to him. Most of the time when Robin played coy with his past or his personal shortcomings, it was because he was afraid that unflattering details might jeopardize the modern-hero image he so desperately craved and had worked so hard to cultivate. This wasn't to say he went out of his way to withhold negative information about himself in a vainglorious effort to get everyone to think he was literally perfect; as a matter of fact, those classes in his youth had done well to teach him that an imperative part of coming across as truly self-confident was being able to laugh at oneself and poke fun at one's own flaws, something Robin was very good at - but those same lessons also warned him plainly: don't let these self-deprecating jokes stray into topics you're actually insecure about, or people might start feeling comfortable bringing it up. And Robin had plenty of things he was actually insecure about. Most people who knew him would probably agree that underneath his cool and confident persona, Robin probably had at least a few things about himself he was less than pleased with, every sapient creature did… but he could care less to be known as someone who had just as many as your typical person. He didn't want to be equal to Joe Shmoe in terms of self-doubt; it just didn't seem heroic in his mind.

And after these last few days had reminded him of all his intrapersonal displeasures - and maybe even added new ones to the list - Robin may now have had a higher than average number of them. And especially weighing on his mind today was one thing that, if made public, would be far worse than embarrassing. There were several pieces of information he was genuinely afraid of being leaked, but this was the only one of them where he couldn't even think of a logical reason not to be afraid of what would have become of him if people found out. Nevermind looking dorky or uncool, this would make people think he was downright wicked; Robin couldn't conceive an outcome where they wouldn't.

-IllI-

People who had been raised in other sects might have been surprised by how St. Ursula's differed from the version of a Catholic church you typically see in popular media. The seating was arranged in a semicircle around the altar rather than rows and columns; parishioners frequently attended wearing street clothes rather than their Sunday best (many didn't even have a Sunday best); and there was no separate confessional booth sitting in the back.

Because the parish was perpetually strapped for cash, getting one of those booths was prohibitively expensive, but the situation actually led them to make an inadvertently more progressive choice. Those old booths couldn't fit very big mammals and very small ones could hardly access them any better, so when they instead made the parish library double as a confession room, all they had to do was put in a chair with a five-digit weight limit and little ladder for those who needed it, and boom, most anybody could sit and confess their sins to the priest on duty, who would be sitting behind a segmented wall and would speak with you through the square hole with a mesh of bars across it to obscure the face of the sinner.

Of course, very few of the parishioners were really that religious so as to be into the whole "confessing" thing; the infamous "Catholic guilt" wasn't strong with this congregation. But the confession room was available for those interested, in the room accessible on one side from the main nave and on an adjacent side from the extra-hours side chapel, with one of the parish's four Fathers sitting there waiting, usually reading scripture or planning their next homily. The only time that there was no priest on duty in the library confessional room was when Mass was in session, so as not to take away from the sermon under way.

It's interesting; as much as we've drawn attention to the tremendous stature of our vulpine protagonist compared to those of his own species, the priest currently sitting behind the wall in the confessional room was similarly tremendous for a badger, but in his case it was less impressive. Reason being that while red foxes on both sides of the Atlantic might as well have been long-lost siblings, with badgers there was a much more notable physical difference between those who landed their ships in North America and those who had already been there; mammalogists even classified red foxes across the northern hemisphere as literally the same subspecies, while European and American badgers weren't even considered to be part of the same family. Then colonization happened, and to grossly oversimplify history, eventually the natives and the colonizers got comfortable with intermarrying, and today there are relatively few full-blooded Native American badgers running around, especially not in urban areas. And one of the quirks of their crossbreeding was, good God, did the growth inhibitor get lost somewhere along the line? Like, you know how ligers are gigantic as a quirk of being a hybrid? Yeah, same thing here. Thus gave rise to the "New American Badger", an entirely new subspecies that completely dwarfed its ancestors by several magnitudes in sturdiness, stockiness, and stature. (Indeed, many over the decades have pointed out how the New American badger was a living, breathing anti-racism PSA, the product of mixing cultures being something clearly superior to the product of homogeneity.) So if Father Tuck were to walk outside and cross paths with a hoity-toity full-blooded European badger, one would find that the height difference was probably even greater than even Robin encountering an average red fox - Tuck was a smidge taller than Robin, after all, and average European badgers were a decent chunk shorter than average red foxes - but it just wouldn't have been as special.

Besides, his height was at best the third thing you'd find interesting about Father Tucker Brock's physical appearance. The first two were a toss-up between the large bald patch on the top of his scalp and one of the most rotund torsos you'll ever see. Like, not even trying to be mean, dude looked like a sphere. But he had the peace of mind of knowing his corpulent physique was the consequence of actual clinical issues that weren't his fault, and for the longest time while he was a full-time member of the Merry Men he was able to be almost as mobile and agile as a gifted athlete - which made sense, he was ex-Navy. But after the health scare that took him out of commission for good, his physical abilities had started slowing down. Yes, this happens to all of us as we age, but he was only in his late forties, and the physical burden of carrying around all that extra mass (and of having lived outdoors for a combined quarter century) was starting to more than make up for lost time. So while it was a bit of a hassle for him to get out of his chair to leave the library as Father Andrew was about to start Mass, he was kind of relieved when someone came in at the last possible second and gave him a reason to sit down again.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said to the person entering from the side chapel door, "the confessional just closed for the night-"

"What? You can't even make time for an old mate, love?"

...Well, that wasn't an accent he heard everyday - or at least, not anymore.

"Robin!?"

"Oh, I thought these little windows were supposed to scramble my face and conceal my identity!" the figure joked as he sat down and got a good up-close look at said window for the first time ever. "Or… wait. This window really doesn't obscure your view. Is it supposed to be like this? Or is this just a consequence of the church being broke?"

"Well, traditional confession windows have a thicker mesh, yeah, but if this were any other Catholic church, the priests would probably come to recognize the confession regulars eventually anyway," said the Wisconsin badger whose face the fox could see almost perfectly behind a field of vertical and horizontal lines maybe three-quarters of an inch in breadth. And he could see the fox just as well. "Good God, Robin, what happened to your arm!?"

"Fell out of a tree," Robin said, shrugging coolly. "About time, honestly. But Geoff fixed me up good, no worries."

Tuck nodded nervously. "But seriously, Robin, you can't be here right now."

"What, were you about to run to the loo?" Robin said with a smirk.

"No, because Mass is in session!"

And right on cue, the sounds of a choir of amateur vocalists could be heard beginning to sing an ethereal tune through the door to the nave.

"You remember there's three other priests at this church, right?" Tuck continued. "It's Father Andrew's turn to lead Mass tonight with Deacon Iglesias. You're lucky you even found me in here because there was a three-quarters chance it woulda been someone else!"

Robin's jaw was hanging open just a little as he looked at the door and tried to verbalize why this seemed so odd to him. "But it's a Saturday night!" the agnostic Englishman remarked incredulously.

"Yeah, we have Saturday evening Mass here," said the priest. "You know this neighborhood, Robin, lots of working people who have jobs on Sunday mornings… and a lot of people who wanna sleep in on their only day off!" Tuck was smiling as he made that quip, but his countenance quickly grew concerned again. "But seriously, Robin, it's great to see you and all, but you'd best come back some other time."

"Would you rather I risk making an even bigger scene walking through a sermon in session?" Robin asked with a foxy grin.

Tuck had no such grin as he pointed to the door Robin came in through, the one that led to the side chapel with an outside exit completely uninvolving the main part of the church.

Robin turned and looked at the door, turned back to the Friar, and decided it would be best to stop trying to play it cool.

"Please, Tuck, I just need your audience for a few minutes! I'm losing my bloody mind and I need to talk to someone and… and I don't have anybody else I can say this to."

Now that certainly got Tuck's attention. "Really? Not… not even Johnny? Did something happen between you two?"

"No, no, this isn't about him, but this is… this is something I simply can't tell him."

The priest asked himself what Jesus would do, and the answer quickly seemed obvious. "Alright, Robin. If you wanna talk, I can talk. But for both of our sakes, please keep your voice down."

"You have my word," Robin said in a low voice as he found the strength to smile again. "But to clarify, Friar, I was hoping for more than a mere conversation. I was actually going to ask if you could humor me with the rite of… oh, what's the proper name for it, absolution?"

"You want me to absolve you!?"

"Ah, now who's not keeping their voice down, Tucker?"

"Robin…" the badger began gently, "...if you have something weighing on your conscience that you wanna get off your chest, I can hear you out and talk you through it, but I can't formally absolve you unless you're a Catholic."

Robin gave a chuckling scoff. "Oh, that's no problem at all! I have Catholic roots, you know my grandmother was from Ireland - and I'm not talking about the Northern part! Oh, and let's not forget that I'm engaged to a girl who has a good amount of French extraction in her blood, certainly not Huguenots! Hey, isn't Marian a Catholic name!? 'Of or relating to the Virgin Mary'? I know how much you lot love the Virgin Mary!" He crossed his arms in satisfaction. "How can you tell me I'm not as Catholic as they come?"

Father Tuck just blinked, his face unimpressed. "...I also remember you mentioning you were baptized Anglican-"

"Okay, so I was baptized in the Church of England, yes-"

"-and then never went to church again after that."

Robin kept smiling even though he knew he was quickly running out of ammunition. "Hey! I went to weddings and funerals at churches! Even a Catholic service for my granny, God rest her-"

"Robin, I know the rest of you didn't take my faith seriously, but I do. Rules are rules. Maybe this would be another story if you at least had some background in faith, but I know you don't."

"C'mon, Tuck-"

"Can you even name ten books of the Bible?"

Robin winced. "How many are there?"

"Sixty-six."

"Really!?"

"In most Christian denominations, yes."

The fox chuckled nervously. "Well that's certainly unfortunate! One six away from the Devil's number!"

"The Number of the Beast is six-one-six," Tuck stated with absolutely no expression. "You might know that if you'd ever read the Bible."

Robin kept a reflexive grin on his face as he wrung his paws together.

"Are we talking King James version or New American?"

"They have the same books, Robin. They're different translations of the same text."

Robin really wanted to be granted solace, so he put his thinking cap on.

"...Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, bless the bed I lie upon!" Robin began. "I know those, those are easy!"

"Okay, there's four."

"Uh… Genesis! Not to be confused with me mum's favorite band!"

"There's five."

"Revelation! The one where all the bad stuff happens!"

"Six."

"Erm… there's one called Exodus, right? I always thought that was a depressing name."

"It's a depressing name because it's a depressing story about an exodus. You're at seven."

"Er… isn't there one that's just called Songs or something?"

"You mean Psalms-?"

"No no, Song of Solomon! Song of Solomon!"

"...I think you mean Song of Songs."

"...Yes, you're right. Heh, Song of Solomon was a novel they made me read in university. But do I get Song of Songs?"

"You get Song of Songs, and I'll give you Psalms too, that makes nine. One more."

"Erm… I know there's… there are a bunch that begin with numbers, like… the Second Letter to Hezekiah or something or other like that?" Robin looked up from his lap. "Am I on to something there? Something with numbers?"

Tuck rolled his eyes. "Aw, heck, the Book of Numbers makes ten. Congrats, Robin, you've impressed me."

"So you'll absolve me!"

"Oh, heavens, no."

The fox looked dejected. "Then why did I do all that then!?"

"Honestly, I didn't think you were gonna pull it off."

Robin groaned. "Come on now, Tuck! What would your god want you to do in this situation!?"

"I've already consulted my conscience and I decided He'd want me to take time for my friend to help ease his own conscience… but not go so far as to hand out absolutions like candy to people who I know damn well aren't gonna put any effort into participating in His church or, oh, y'know, believing in Him. That's kind of a big one, Robin."

Robin took a breath. "Can we perhaps just go through the motions, then? Keep it off the books. Just play along and let me experience a piece of your church's culture."

The priest sighed. "Alright, alright… you wanna go through a mock confession? We'll do a mock confession. So first you make the Sign of the Cross - please tell me you know the Sign of the Cross."

Robin had a soft smile as he crossed himself.

"Good boy. Now you say 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.'"

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." Despite his professed guilt, the fox was smiling even wider now.

"Alright, there ya go! Okay, now, just…" The badger shrugged and threw his hands up. "...Let loose! I stay quiet and listen until you're done."

"That's it?"

"There's more at the end, but for now, just let it all out. Admit every sinful thing you ever remember doing, and I can forgive it - hypothetically."

"Erm…" Robin let out another nervous chuckle. "...All that lead-in and now I'm drawing a complete blank!"

"Take your time, reflect if you need to. These things have a lot of long pauses, it's not that weird."

Robin cast his eyes down toward his paws as he got to thinking what he wanted to say.

"Well… I may have… I may have accidentally… hijacked a civil-rights rally…"

Tuck nodded.

"...And I may have snapped at a few people in ways I'm not proud of, for… things that were not that bad of them."

Tuck nodded.

"...And I may have had thoughts of… thoughts of violence against- initiating violence against people who didn't deserve it… including, sometimes, women, and… arguably, children…"

Tuck nodded.

"...And I may have-"

"You shouldn't be saying 'you may have,' you should be saying you did."

"Oh! My apologies, erm… I did do all these things… and I've been a very bad friend to Johnny, up to and including… finding myself thinking that he deserves it… when I belittle him and question the content of his character, and when I withhold information about myself because I so desperately want his admiration, even though I don't do enough to prove I admire him in return…"

Tuck nodded.

Robin glanced up. "You're really not going to ask questions about any of this?"

"It's not my place to ask questions here, I'm just here to listen. You tell me as much or as little as your conscience tells you to."

Robin nodded, then placed a paw over his eyes and let out a deep sigh as he contemplated whether he really wanted to say this. But he remembered that this was the entire reason he'd come here; he had to say it now or he never would.

"...And I've made a very, very big mistake that has… probably irrevocably ruined the lives of a great many people."

Tuck did not nod.

"Alright…" said the priest, "I'm gonna have to ask you to be more specific than that. You can't be that vague."

Robin looked straight at the Friar and tried to maintain eye contact. But it just hurt too much.

"By that I mean…" Robin said to the wall, "... becoming… a, er… becoming a vigilante."

After a few moments of silence, Robin forced himself to look at the badger, who seemed unfazed.

"What, were you… expecting that?"

"Well, kind of," Tuck admitted. "And it's natural that you'd have at least a little bit of guilt after seven years of robbing and stealing for a living, but we all know you do it for good reasons-"

"Goddammit, Tuck, that's not what I meant!" Robin snapped. "I-I meant… I meant the part where I've… the part where I've damaged the lives of people who didn't deserve it!"

"Shh!" Tuck pleaded.

But Robin kept going, his voice quickly breaking. "How I've not once but twice had to leave the love of my life abandoned for multiple years with no way of contacting her! How I've surely led my parents to lose sleep at night because they surely must think I'm dead! How I got Skippy and Toby put in prison and made Amanda lose her bloody mind! A-and I got stupid Alan put in prison too! And you almost died from a fucking tick bite! And poor Johnny's wasting his goddamned life twatting about with me and accomplishing nothing, and... and my brother-!"

And that was when he buried his face in his hands and wept.

"Goddammit, I'm such a fucking idiot!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Tuck cooed as he got up and pulled his chair around the wall to park up next to Robin, putting his arm around him. "Robin, calm down! None of those things were your fault!"

"None of them would have ever happened if I hadn't made this decision!" He still couldn't look at Tuck.

"And half of those weren't even bad things! I was homeless before I met you! Alan had nothing going on in his life, Johnny had nothing going on in his life! You gave us purpose!"

Robin wanted to correct him, but his respiratory system was too busy spasming for him to speak.

"What you did was a good thing, Robin!" Tuck continued, smiling wide. "And sometimes in life, bad things happen, and sometimes it's not even anybody's fault! You might not feel like it, but you're still a young guy and it's okay to still be realizing this! You're a good man, Robin! And what I told you all those years ago, I still believe: one day you'll be known as a great hero! I know you will!"

And to his credit, old Father Tuck was doing an amazing job of acting wise and fatherly. But he just didn't get it.

"Tuck, you don't understand," Robin said as he dared to look the Friar in the eyes. "...We haven't even been making a difference! My plan hasn't even been working! We're no closer to our goal then when we started!"

"Robin, do I need to remind you about all the people whose faces light up whenever they see you? Wasn't that your goal? To spread hope and joy!?"

"That was meant to be a side-effect of the big goal, which was to scare the people who run this city into not daring to be corrupt and abusive to their people ever again!"

"Robin, that was always a tough goal, and you got closer to it in 2001 than any of us ever thought you would-"

"So you didn't believe in the mission, either!?" Robin shrieked.

"Shh!" True, the room was partially sound-padded for privacy, but that could only do so much.

"A-and I'm sorry to snap at you, Tuck, but…" Robin paused to sniff some snot back into his snout. "...We've spoken to the people. We're not merely drawing cynical conclusions - they don't believe in us! They say so plainly! Hell, most of them don't realize there is a big plan, they just think we'll be doing this until we're in prison or dead and that 2001 was just a fluke! The fact of the matter is that the city government hates the poor now more than ever because they hate me but can't get back at me so they take it out on them! If anything, the lot of the poor is even worse than it was when we started this journey! Please explain to me how this has done anything other than backfire!"

Tuck patted Robin's shoulder just like Johnny would. "Robin, with your charitable contributions to the people of this city, I can guarantee you you've saved at least a couple of lives."

"Well I know for a fact that I've caused the end of a few lives as well."

"Robin, you weren't responsible for what your brother chose to-"

"They've gunned down burglars they thought were affiliated with us and refused to take care of infrastructure in poor areas causing at least a few fatal accidents and at least a few people have died in gang violence because increased taxes have led to increased desperation and just recently they put a poor hyena kid into a coma because in the dark of a Sherwood night, they thought he was me!"

Tuck realized that reasoning with Robin wasn't going to work, so he tried a new approach. "Robin… even if God Almighty thinks these things were your fault… He can see your remorse, and He'd forgive you. I know He would. And for what it's worth, I would too, but honestly, I don't think there's anything here for me nor Him to forgive. You've done nothing morally wrong, Rob."

Robin spoke to the floor. "Even if that is true, I've still indisputably made a foolish decision that's wasted everybody's time. And if I've ruined nobody else's lives, I've most assuredly thrown away my own. I started this all as a twenty-four-year-old kid with no foresight and no exit strategy. The naysayers are right about one thing: I've no idea how I could ever go back to being a civilian from where I am now. It's either life in prison… or worse."

The priest couldn't argue with that.

Robin let out a self-loathing groan. "Argh, my parents always did tell me that it was good to help people, but only if you knew exactly what you were doing, because if you didn't, it could quickly go badly for you and the people you're trying to help… and I was arrogant enough to think I could figure it out as I went along, and now look what's happened! Everything's worse for everybody because I was all self-confidence and no actual mind to plan things out-"

"Robin, a lot of people in this town couldn't live without you."

The fox looked up at the badger again. "That doesn't make me feel better, Tuck. That makes me feel worse that I'm the only thing keeping these people from starving to death. Really? Nobody else is going to start caring about these people? And none of them can figure out how to help themselves, either? I did this to inspire people to be better, that hasn't been working! Even if I am a good person, what's the point of trying to be the only good person in the world!? Clearly it must be an evil men's world and I'm merely a guest in it!" He sighed. "But I'm being uncharitable to the people of this city-"

"Ironic," Father Tuck couldn't help but remark.

"-they'd probably be just fine without me. They certainly organized a rally completely independent of me, didn't they? And it sure seems like most of these people don't even think about me in their daily lives."

"That's because most people only think about their friends and family on a daily basis, but you? You're better than their friend. You're their savior."

Robin needed to chuckle, but still couldn't look at Tuck. "A bit sacrilegious coming from you, isn't it?"

"Aw, I've talked to God enough, He knows what I mean!"

Robin nodded a little. "I'm just being completely honest with you, Tuck… I knew when I dove into this world that things would never go one hundred percent as planned, but I've realized these last few days especially how things are straying even further from what I'd ever imagined, and maybe this is foolish or selfish or immature of me, but… the reality of my situation is just bumming me out. Truly, Tuck… there's only been one time before when I wanted to give up on all of this more than I want to now."

Tuck had to ask. "Was it… after…?"

Robin nodded. Neither needed to finish that question.

"Now Tuck, don't worry yourself, I'm not feeling nearly as down on myself as I was then…" Robin trailed off as he chose his words. "...But that was an especially dark time, so being second to that is saying something."

At this point, the Friar was having his own personal worries about his failure to make Robin feel better. "Robin… you have done so much more good than harm in your life. You'd be doing the world a disservice if you stopped doing good now."

Robin didn't seem to be listening. "When I was a lad, I just wanted to be a hero… and for a time, I believe I was. But I should have let myself burn out before I faded away-"

"Robin!" Tuck snapped, concerned for his friend.

"Oh, don't worry, Tucker, I won't quit now, I've invested too much," Robin said calmly. "I'll just be losing my mind trying to find a way to get back to feeling like a hero again."

"Well if you need to talk, my door is always open."

"Except when service is in session."

"Yes. And if I'm not in here, find me in the clergy house."

Robin nodded at the floor.

"...Am I good to go back behind the wall?" asked the priest.

Robin nodded to the floor.

"Alright. Gimme a second," the big badger said as he stood and picked up his chair to move it back behind the fragmented wall. Still staring at the floor, the fox couldn't help but notice the badger's footwear.

"Still a fan of sandals, I see?"

Tuck chuckled as he sat down again. "A fat old guy like me isn't ever gonna look fashionable; might as well dress for comfort!"

Robin smiled and nodded through the window before his gaze drooped again. "But you understand why I can't tell Johnny any of this, right? If he finds out I've lost faith in myself… then why should he have any faith in me?"

"I understand completely."

"And you know what? Maybe it's not myself I'm questioning my faith in… but I'm certainly wondering whether anybody could have made my methods work. Maybe the correct solution to the problem of corruption really is something you have to do by the book, because taking the law into my own hands doesn't seem to have been worth the trouble."

"Robin-"

"Chill out, Friar, as I said, I'm following my plan through to the end, just saying… maybe if I knew what I knew now, I'd have been a little less… reckless in my plans."

"It's okay, Robin. You get older, you learn. Happens to all of us. We all have things we'd do differently if we'd had the chance."

Robin didn't think this was a maturity or wisdom issue, but he was quite ready to stop talking about all this. It felt a little good to get this off his chest, but he felt more embarrassed than anything. And then there was the matter of the other thing he was debating confessing…

"Is there anything else?" Tuck asked with a friendly smile.

"Er… if I can have a moment to think about it…"

"Take as long as you need to," the priest said, nodding gently. "And I'll be ready when you are."

The library fell quiet as Robin contemplated whether it would be a good idea to say it. Tuck really did consider him a hero, and Robin appreciated that immensely - but he felt like he needed to challenge Tuck and see if he still thought that way about him if presented with new information.

Amid the silence of the confessional room, one could hear the congregation singing a hymn in the main hall. Although the crowd didn't seem to be singing along very much, the choir and instrumentalists had microphones and a speaker system, so you could hear every word perfectly through the closed door. And although Robin was the furthest thing from religious, he would freely admit that church music could be strangely touching.

I, the Lord of sea and sky,
I have heard my people cry.
All who dwell in dark and sin,
My hand will save.

I who made the stars of night,
I will make their darkness bright,
Who will bear my light to them?
Whom shall I send?

Robin noticed Tuck hold up a finger and smile as the song reached its first chorus.

Here I am, Lord.
Is it I, Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night.
I will go, Lord,
If you lead me.
I will hold your people in my heart.

"That's you, Robin."

"Huh?"

"This is one of my favorite hymns, and I can't help but let it remind me of you every time I hear it. You heard a calling and followed it. And I've always believed He's been leading you without you even knowing it; that's why He's been keeping you safe all these years. That's why it's killing me to hear that you're having second thoughts about it after all this time. You're a good man, Robin - you're doing the Lord's work whether you believe in Him or not, and you hold all God's people in your heart."

Robin didn't know what to say, so he kept listening to the song.

I the Lord of wind and flame
I will tend the poor and lame.
I will set a feast for them.
Whom shall I send?

Finest bread I will provide,
Till their hearts be satisfied.
I shall give my life to them.
Whom shall I send?

It didn't take a college literature professor to realize that the lyrics of that verse were even more unnervingly befitting of the fox in the confessional room than those of the earlier verse.

Here I am, Lord.
Is it I, Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night,
I will go, Lord,
If you lead me.
I will hold your people in my heart.

"Gee, who do I know who would give his life for the poor and lame like only a man sent by the Lord Himself would?" Tuck asked coyly with an elbow in one paw and the other paw tapping his chin before turning out his palm and pointing toward the fox. "Do you know who that could be, Robin?"

So it seemed Friar Tuck genuinely believed Robin was a man on a literal mission from God. High praise indeed, but as much as he was raised to never deny a compliment, he would just feel too guilty accepting this. He didn't deserve to be a hero to Tuck. He didn't deserve to be a hero to all the people of Nottingham. And he knew for a fact that he didn't deserve to be the hero in his own story, for he simply knew the story all too well.

He had done such a good job for all these years of putting it in the past and forgiving himself, but recent events had made him realize that there was a very real chance that he had forgiven himself all too easily. Maybe all the terrible luck of the last few days had been the universe giving him his due punishment - and if that was the case, with all the penance he owed, the worst was yet to come. Maybe this would be the first step toward balancing his karma.

"There is… one more thing, Father."

"Whatever it is, I'm ready for it when you are."

"No, you misunderstand… this is a bad one. This is by far the worst thing I've ever done. I… I fully expect you to hate me for this."

Tuck shook his head with a smirk as though Robin was being silly. "Robin, you're a good guy. I'm sure whatever it is, it can't possibly be that bad." Then his face got worried briefly. "You didn't… you didn't hurt Marian or anything… right?"

"What!? Oh, no no no no," Robin said, shaking his head violently. "It's- unless you're counting abandoning her as hurting her. But… no, it's… it's worse than that, honestly…"

Tuck looked worried again for a moment before realizing that that wasn't the face Robin needed to see right then, so he put on another warm face. "Well, listen, I've heard a lot of preeetty bad things confessed in this room, so whatever this is, I can handle it."

If Robin didn't have the courage to admit it now, he never would. But still-

"And whatever it is," Tuck continued with a paternal smile, "I'll be proud of you for being brave enough to admit it, and so will God above. I promise."

-this was gonna hurt.

Robin took a deep sigh before beginning. "That sounds like a challenge, mon père."

-IllI-

Sammantha and Vincent Lupo got home that evening and promptly freaked out about the destruction of their house.

Edd was awaiting their return and told them that it was the doing of his friends Ed and Eddy. He assured his parents that it was purely accidental and that he had done all he could to remedy the damage by himself. He offered no further details or explanations.

His parents accepted this explanation with no further questions. They set off to inspect the damage themselves and dial the insurance company and that was that. The entire conflict between them and their son lasted thirty-two seconds.

And Double-D knew that all he had to do to explain away this destruction with minimal interrogation was to pin it all on his friends. After all, these were the same reckless and destructive trio who had caused at least a few thousand dollars' worth of property damage to every house in this cul-de-sac at least once, including once completely collapsing the Branch house (thank God the koalas were hippies who couldn't bring themselves to sue) and not to mention that time they flooded the entire town by plugging up its namesake creek. These were the kids who singlehandedly sent insurance rates in this suburb through the roof and property values through the floor - and the reason why Samm, Vincent, Mat, Hill, Toni, and Terry couldn't make friends with their other neighbors. And as long as the Lupos were paying so much in home insurance rates, they might as well have gotten what they paid for without wasting time fussing about the fine details of what caused the damage this time around.

But although the lie was simple and believable, that didn't make Edd feel any better about telling it. Apparently, though, this would be something he'd have to get used to, as the last few days had taught him that being obedient and playing by the rules doesn't get you as far as he was led to believe.

What was it his uncle had said earlier? Something to the effect of 'everybody in the world believes on some level that it's okay for good people to do bad things to bad people for good reasons, and you'll just have to grow up and accept that instead of being an ineffective goody two-shoes your whole life.' Something like that. That sentiment seemed easy enough to rebuke and refute when the two criminals in the woods espoused it, but now that the lawman who represented their polar opposite had told him basically the exact same thing - on top of the fact that the culture he lived in thought that it was appropriate to tell and sell children stories of figures like Adam Bell and other heroes who used underhanded cunning and unrestrained violence to defeat evil while making it clear that in those characters' universes, defeating said evil via means within the confines of the law and traditional morality had been tried and simply weren't working - man, it was just getting harder and harder to dispute the notion that the common mammal had little patience for staying on the straight and narrow if it didn't immediately produce the desired results… which it rarely would.

Because you know what? Maybe Double-D still was morally in the right about this. But did that matter if he was the only one? He could argue the ethics of being wild and being reckless and saying 'it's okay when I do it because I'm good and they're evil' - but how could he argue against the fact that most people just didn't seem to care?

As he sat in his room, the glass shards and cactus quills long ago cleaned up and a plastic garbage bag duct-taped over the broken window, the young wolf was thinking about the author of that 1100-page behemoth of a novel he'd read over spring break. The writer was a guy who strongly believed that American society was growing weak with mental corpulence, thanks in no small part to media and entertainment becoming more and more unchallenging, digestible, and addictive - as he put it, "the candy's gonna keep getting better." Therefore he set out to pen a massive tome that was deliberately difficult to read as a way of getting the masses some much-needed cerebral exercise - exactly the kind of novel that would be right up Double-D's alley. This guy was far from the first author to write a book that was intentionally hard to read (and for what it's worth, this narrator stopped by the library and flipped through it and read a few pages at random, and it didn't seem nearly as antagonistic towards its readers as the excerpts I've seen from shit like Gravity's Rainbow or Naked Lunch or heaven forbid Finnegans Wake). But of note was how the entire plot was all about warning people of a world where we all eat too much entertainment for dessert.

As Eddward Lupo summarizes the plot for me (because I'm not reading eleven hundred pages of experimental literature for a blog barely a dozen people are reading and Wikipedia can barely make heads or tails of the story either), in this book published in 1996 and set in a speculative 2008 or '09, there exists a film that is so compellingly entertaining that it basically wipes your mind's C-drive and permanently leaves you as catatonic and docile as a baby on morphine. Also in this near future, under the leadership of a president who was a beloved singer with no political experience (but with a crippling germophobia issue), America annexed Canada and uses northern New England (states that didn't vote for their entertainer president) as a giant garbage dump - spilling over into southern Quebec, whose people hardly wanted to be part of Canada, let alone this new frankenstein country. So when some nutty Quebecois separatist rogues catch wind that there's a videotape out there that can brick people's brains if they catch even a glimpse of it, they set out to acquire it to do terrorism with.

With this theme of entertainment sometimes being toxically entertaining established, we can take you back a few months to when Double-D had just read the book and was going on a bit of a kick learning all of its hidden secrets and behind-the-scenes bonuses; it was either spend all his free time doing that, or spending it researching arguments for and against the morality of Adam Bell again. Interestingly enough, however, in searching for the first thing, he accidentally found the second thing. Edd had stumbled upon an interview with the author wherein the guy mentioned that despite focusing on a strangely niche issue like addiction to movies and television, he wasn't blind to the other ills of the modern world like blatant prejudice in damn-near every aspect of modern life, and yet that played in oddly well with his passion problem. He mentioned that this obsession with making things as entertaining as possible had infiltrated the way we think of how we would choose to improve society, and although sane and sanitary options were available, most people would rather choose a loud and lively path, as mainstream society found that that form of rebellion sexier than something more subdued; the people wanted a revolution that would make a good film. But as he told his interviewer, he believed, to paraphrase, the acts of revolution that would actually do something of consequence would be very quiet and boring - a sort of white-collar coup that would be very straight-laced and wouldn't be very cinematic at all.

Very quiet and boring. Very bland, very bureaucratic, and very well-behaved. Sound like anyone you know? Double-D was not ignorant of the injustice in the world, and it pierced his heart just as much as it did Robin's and Little John's. So when Edd heard the author say that, you better believe he hung onto it. Double-D had been on the receiving end of injustice too many times in his life to not strive to save others from the same fate. Hearing such a well-spoken man say that exponentially strengthened his resolve to bring about that revolution in the hard drives of computers and the back rooms of science labs. He was more sure than ever that he would embody that quiet, boring revolution which may not be as entertaining as a big and boisterous one but would certainly get more done.

And then along came the Merry Men, who demonstrated how much they'd accomplished playing by their own rules and how little those who followed the law to the letter got done. You've already seen what happened after that.

Double-D had no choice now but to conclude that this writer was such an epitome of an eccentric and esoteric author that he was just as out-of-touch as Edd probably should have expected. And the clues were there that this dude may have been a little off his rocker: this was the same guy who swore he never wrote a single joke in eleven hundred pages of text which contained such absurdities as conjoined twins being promising doubles partners at a youth tennis academy, another teenage tennis player winning countless matches by playing with a gun held to his head and threatening to kill himself if someone dared beat him (which someone eventually did), gigantic radioactive feral pets roaming the shores of Lake Champlain, an NFL where the hottest commodity was a punter (and where the Oilers still existed), a famous person with no experience in public office being elected president on name and populism alone, a guy committing suicide by removing the glass from a microwave door and nuking his own head, and of course the cabal of francophone terrorists who were all in wheelchairs due to an initiation ritual that involves playing chicken with a freight train; this author swore that none of these were instances of dark humor, but rather over-the-top tragedies.

Yeah, no. That guy was delusional if he thought that those "tragedies" weren't too off-the-wall to be tragic; Double-D should have known it wouldn't have been a stretch that the guy was delusional about quiet, personal rebellion being more effective than loud, collaborative rebellion, too. Edd felt stupid for ever believing it.

And come to think of it, the biggest red flag was that the author's story didn't even follow his own worldview. The novel's story structure was far from traditional, and the narrative abruptly stops once the main characters' personal arcs are complete - which is well before the terrorism plot is resolved. It's at this point the reader is supposed to realize that the opening chapter was actually the last chronologically, and upon revisiting it, one realizes: our heroes lost, and the extremists won.

So fine, Double-D could admit he was wrong. He could admit that he had been overly-idealistic in his morality and insufficiently skeptical of what his elders had taught him, and he could admit that he was an imbecile for not realizing all these mistakes earlier. It would hurt, but he could do it. After all, at the risk of doubling down on how wrong he was and making it look like he hadn't learned his lesson, he still believed that that author was right about two things: that it takes great personal courage to let yourself appear weak, and that no single, individual moment is in and of itself unendurable.

But he wasn't ready to admit it just yet. Before he abandoned his hope in law and order, he wanted to appeal to a higher power - specifically, a holder of public office.

The typed out and proofread and edited and condensed the entire thing in Microsoft Word before writing the final draft all out by hand, which he believed would make a stronger impression. When the time was right, he picked up a pen and a sheet of lined paper, and scrawling very slowly to preserve legibility and decrease the chances of a mistake, he wrote:

Representative Richard Norman
1199 Longworth House Office Building
Washington, DC 20515

Dear Representative Norman,

My name is Eddward Lupo and I am fourteen years of age; the majority of said years having been spent living in Peach Creek, Delaware, a suburb abutting the city you served as mayor for well over a decade. But while I am not a denizen of the metropolis made great in no small part thanks to your contributions and leadership, I am close to several individuals who are far more familiar with the city and its situation than myself, and I am writing you to say what they do not have the luxury of time to tell you: all is not well in the city of Nottingham.

Representative Norman, few are content with your brother John's leadership of the city you worked so hard to build into its present state. It seems that he harbors contempt toward the poor and (what remains of) the middle class in Nottingham while constantly trying to curry favor with the wealthy while lining his own pockets with tax money; those more familiar with his ways than I tell me that these attempts to please and join the rich are the closest attempts he can make to winning true friends.

Far from merely neglecting the poor to suffer in crumbling infrastructure and dangerous environs, he seems to be actively taxing the working class disproportionately under the guise that they must foot the bill for upgrades to their streets and structures and public safety protocols, without burdening the wealthy who need no such things. This excessive taxation is pushing these citizens to the point where many can hardly afford to keep their lights on and feed their families, let alone afford to relocate to a less hostile setting. It should seem that many in Nottingham are trapped in a state of suffering as a direct consequence of your brother's implementation and abuse of a tiered municipal tax system.

I will now get straight to the point, Representative Norman: because the common people have found themselves powerless to fight back against this injustice through any sort of legal means, it seems - as I have been made privy - a rouge band of vigilante outlaws has arisen to strike back against your brother's corrupt leadership; I do not have access to more detailed information, but to my understanding, these individuals work well outside the confines of the law to strike against the rich to the benefit of the poor, and as much dismay as it brings me to say it, it would seem that they've done far more to help this city than anybody else has since you left to serve in Congress.

Representative Norman, let me be clear: I was raised to follow the rules. Not only that, but I was raised to believe that law was good and lawlessness was evil, and that much like how good would always triumph over evil, lawfulness would always triumph over lawlessness. Frankly, Mr. Norman, seeing the situation currently transpiring in Nottingham is a most jarring and quite honestly disturbing experience as it flies in direct contrast with the worldview I was raised to have regarding law and order. I see the laws in place and I cannot in good conscience describe them as a force for good, and while I hesitate to call these modern-day bandits morally right and just, I cannot deny that they've provided more help - and more hope - than anybody currently in the city council seems to care to provide. These impoverished people have put their faith and trust into these criminals over any sort of lawful authority. I do not like this, Mr. Norman. This troubles me to no end.

Good sir, you have done an excellent job of serving your constituency in Delaware's Second Congressional District, but for lack of a more direct resource for help in this situation, in the words of Lincoln, we must appeal to our better angels. My plea to you is simple, Mr. Norman: help end this blatant bullying toward the most vulnerable inhabitants of your city, and in such a way that will restore the public's faith in law and order and render such reckless extrajudicial rebellion obsolete. How this is done, I leave entirely up to your wisdom; I would never be so foolish to be prescriptivist towards an authority such as you, and I will not dare to tell you what to do. I only ask that this dilemma be resolved in such a way that once again brings assurance that civility will trounce anarchy to the common people - and to myself.

Representative Norman, I understand that you are but one man and a mere mortal who cannot singlehandedly move mountains, so please do not hesitate to tell me what I can do to help toward this common goal. Your dedication to stand up for your people's interests in Congress is admirable, Mr. Norman, but it is a faraway and disconnected leadership like a king fighting for his country in a distant land, and through no fault of your own, a problem in need of addressing has arisen in your absence. But I trust your ability to address it.

Though I must make clear, Mr. Norman: if the current state of affairs continues unabated, I will have to sorrowfully concede that my entire philosophy on life has been little more than a foolish whimsy, and that there is no good and evil, simply greater and lesser evil. Pardon what may come across as excessively dramatic diction, Representative, but I cannot think of a more fitting way of saying it other than this: I will be forced to resign to the fact that my life has been a lie.

Apologies for the long-windedness of this epistle, Mr. Norman; as the old witticism goes, if I would have had more time, I would have written a shorter letter. But I felt the need to make haste and alert you of the situation in your city at once. For the sakes of many more than myself, Mr. Norman, I wish you good luck in solving this issue. Farewell and godspeed.

Sincerely,
Eddward Marion Lupo

Double-D was rereading his letter when he heard the sound of something ripping. He turned to his window to see part of the duct tape holding down the garbage bag popping off the sill as a small colorful backpack covered in cartoon vehicles gently fell into the hole, as if someone really tall walked up to the window and dunked it in like a basketball.

He stood from his desk and quickly walked over, ripping the bag further off and peeking out to see who had put the bag through the window. He thought he barely caught a glimpse of a green-clad grizzly running away, but maybe that was just his brain filling in the blanks.

Edd didn't know who else could have put the backpack into the window except for two people who would have had an active reason not to piss him off by dropping a bag containing a dead frog or an IED into his bedroom. He took a leap of faith and opened the backpack without any of the safety precautions he would usually take; the bag was dirtier than he'd have cared to touch or have on his floor, but he urgently wanted to see what the heck was in here that demanded such a hasty delivery.

To say it was an obscene amount of money would have been an obscene understatement.

...Well, they said they'd offer to pay back the damages, and here they had clearly made a valiant effort to do so. But come now, how was he going to present twenty grand in twenties to his parents? And money that was likely stolen, no less. Besides, insurance had it covered.

And yet the bad guys had found a fast and efficient solution to a problem much more quickly than the lawful bureaucrats at the insurance office who weren't even going to touch this until thirty-six hours later on Monday morning. Once again, they had made a fool of those who chose to waste sticking to the designated path while they knew a shortcut. They didn't know it, but they had again struck fear into his heart that he had been a stupid little child for following where the foolish elders in his life had led him, and now maybe even an affirmative response from his letter's audience wouldn't be able to bring him comfort - because who's to say his recipient wasn't a fool as well?

This is not to suggest that Double-D ever did receive a response from Representative Richard Norman. We would gladly have formatted this part as an auxiliary document had we had access to the actual document itself, but alas, while Edd did save the draft of his letter to his hard drive, that was several computers ago, and the file was eventually either deleted or simply lost; therefore the above transcription is Eddward's best recollection of what he had written. As for the physical paper and envelope, when he put it in the mailbox, that may well have been the last time anybody saw it. We weren't able to get in contact with Richard Norman himself for comment, but we were able to track down someone who worked as his assistant around that time. Wishing to remain anonymous, this person points out that while the inland suburbs were in the First Congressional District with the rest of the state northward, Norman served the Second, which was entirely contained in the city of Nottingham proper, and if he received a letter with a return address not within his territory, he probably didn't even open it.

-IllI-

Despite the bars obscuring his view, Robin could clearly see the priest's face was something beyond stunned. The badger couldn't return the fox's gaze, and it almost looked like he was having trouble breathing.

"...Oh, my God…" Tuck finally stammered before dry-heaving.

Robin buried his face in his hands. His worst fears were coming true, just as he'd anticipated.

"I told you it was bad," was all Robin could say.

"Yeah… yeah, you did…" Tuck muttered, nodding as he faced the wall. "...Hell, you win that round!"

Robin kept his paws over his eyes as he leaned forward. He was a cowardly sinner who wasn't brave enough to face this holy man.

The Friar was taking deep breaths, trying not to have a heart attack from the shock. "You… I can't believe you…"

"Neither can I."

"And you've been so calm about it over the years! Was the guilt seriously not eating you up inside!? Do you even have a conscience!?"

"It was! I do! But… but I'd've been no good to anybody if I'd've walked around hating myself for it forever, so I tried to forgive myself-"

"But what have you done to make up for it!?"

"What could I do!? What's done is done! I couldn't fix it then, and I can't fix it now! I told you, Tuck, I didn't mean to do it!"

"Robin."

"Yes?"

"Look at me."

"..."

"Look at me, Robin."

It took every ounce of courage in his heart for Robin to look up and stare Tuck in the eye.

"Tell me one thing you did to try to atone for what you did. Not even fixing an unfixable mistake, what did you do to even try to… cleanse your soul?"

"I dunno! I laid awake at night, dwelling on it, hating myself for it, and… and I decided that the only way I could make up for it was to keep doing what I was doing and seeing this noble goal to the end! There was nothing I could do to remedy the mistake, Tuck! And it only would have impeded us if I were to try! I couldn't beat myself up over it forever! I knew I wasn't evil, I knew I hadn't meant it! It was an accident, Tuck!"

"What wasn't an accident was lying about it!" the badger barked.

Robin shut his mouth.

"That's what's really evil about all of this, Rob," Tuck continued, much more subdued now. "You chose to lie about it all these years. If it really was an accident-"

"It was!"

"-then why couldn't you have just admitted it? I'm not saying it wasn't an accident, Robin, but choosing to lie about it and cover it up was a choice you made."

"...And you wouldn't have hated me then for what I'd done?"

"Not nearly as much as I hate you now for having waited all these years, which you'd spent acting like everything was hunky-dory inside your head!"

"But it wasn't! It's been burning in my heart ever since!"

"And you could have told us that at any time, and you chose not to." Tuck shook his head and turned to glare at the wall again as he thought about what he wanted to say next. "Honestly, Robin? ...If you weren't you, I'd be calling the cops right now. My hand to God I would. Not just for what you did, but for how you didn't even have the guts to admit it… for all these years…"

Robin sunk his face into his hands again. "I fucking hate myself…" he squeaked.

The priest didn't want to give this sinner comfort.

The room was silent again, and you could once more hear the congregation singing a hymn. Once again, the common parishioners weren't too into the whole "singing" thing, so the choir and musicians were doing most of the heavy lifting, but with their sound system and speakers, that just made it all the more easy to hear:

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me,
I will lead you home…

...I love you and you are mine…

Maybe it was a bit of a stretch to connect those lyrics to the shame Robin was feeling in that moment and to what had just confessed, but in his mind, it seemed just as eerily fitting as the earlier song.

"...Are you still proud of me for being brave enough to admit it?"

Tuck raised an eyebrow, astounded that that was a serious question.

"I mean, I guess!" said the priest, arms thrown in the air. "I guess it's better than you going another couple years bottling it up! Am I really the first person who you've told this to? Does Johnny even know!?"

Robin could only shake his head.

And Tuck could only scoff, roll his eyes, and shake his head.

"...Does God forgive me?"

Tuck forced himself to fulfill his duty. "Honestly? If you were a Christian, it would be a different story - not even a Catholic, just a Christian, a believer. Hell, even if you were Jewish or Muslim you'd still at least have a connection with the same God! Not even believing in Him? Hmph… why would He bother?"

Robin nodded meekly. "But… you forgive me, right, Friar?"

"What? Oh, heavens, no! If you told me when this happened, I probably would have, but after lying about it and acting like everything was normal for all these years… my GOD, Robin!"

"I know…" the fox whimpered. "But… isn't it your job to forgive me?"

"No, my job is to catalyze repentance between Earth and The Guy Upstairs. I'm a medium for His forgiveness - I speak for Him, but He doesn't speak for me. I'm entitled to my own opinions and judgments. That's why there's a mesh over the window to conceal your identity. And we're not even doing a real confession, remember!?"

Robin sniffled back the moisture that was starting to leak out of his nose. "I knew I wasn't the hero the people in this city think I am-"

"Evidently!" Tuck remarked.

Robin was afraid to open his eyes because he didn't want to discover them to be blurred with water again.

"...Would Marian even forgive me?"

"I can't answer that for you; I don't know her that well."

"And would my… would my own mother… would my mother still even love me!?"

And Robin started weeping all over again, hot tears that melted through the fur of his cheeks and burned his skin like the fires of hell - a feeling he figured he ought to get used to.

Tuck knew well that Robin was distraught with regret; he'd known that from the moment of confession. But the content of the confession was so extreme that he couldn't bring himself to feign compassion for a good while. Now that Robin was having a clear emotional breakdown, the Friar felt the need to give this poor sinner some mercy - he still wasn't comfortable with what Robin had done and withheld for years, but in that moment, he needed to make himself a vessel of God's grace.

The priest didn't bother taking his chair around the wall with him. He just waddled around and came to stand over Robin, putting a hand on the weeping fox's shoulder.

"Now, Robin, I can tell you're regretting what you've done - and what you haven't done - and I'm here to provide you with guidance down a redemption path. But I'm not gonna make it easy on ya, okay? You've done something evil, but I've still seen you be a good guy, so I know you can do it, and at the end, you'll earn my forgiveness. Sound like a fair deal?"

Robin took a second to look up and nod.

"First things first, you need to tell Little John."

"Oh, no no no no no!" Robin yelped as he fell out of his chair, looking up at the priest the entire time. "I can't risk him taking it even worse than you did! He'll be furious with me, there's no way he wouldn't be! And we'll both surely be dead if we can't cooperate with each other!"

Tuck took a deep breath while maintaining a pitying look. "Well, you should have thought about that before you kept all this from him for so long. But he deserves to know just as much as anybody else. You want my forgiveness? You'll need to ask for his first. I'm making that a prerequisite and I'm not budging on it."

Robin looked down at his feet for a moment before nodding.

"Then what?"

"Hey, hold your horses there! Let's see you cross off the first step before we get too far ahead of ourselves, huh?" Tuck reached down to grab Robin's arm and help him up. "Come back and talk to me when you do and we'll discuss where you're at from there. In the future, check the clergy house first, okay? I'll make sure the other Fathers are friendly when you come a-knockin'."

Robin was regaining control of his respiratory system, still looking spooked. "...Okay."

"Robin, you're a good man, but you did something really bad, and I need you to get out of here and give me at least a day to process it before I can talk to you again. Sound good?"

Robin simply nodded and exited the library shortly thereafter.

The fox stood at the door leaving the side chapel for a few minutes trying to regain his composure before stepping outside. He didn't want to be seen going to pieces in public. He had an image to maintain.

The church was so dark with its dim mood-lighting that even the evening sun made the world seem bright white as he opened the door, and the fact that he belonged to a species whose eyes had been adapted to nocturnal life wasn't helping. He couldn't see a thing as he was quite literally blinded by the light, so it was especially surprising when he heard a pair of disembodied voices address him.

"Wait, is that…?"

"Oh my God, it is!"

Robin's eyes adjusted and he saw that two women were stopped in the parking lot of the church, staring at him. A donkey and a beige-furred brown bear, both seeming about his own age, each carrying exactly one plastic bag.

"Oh! Heh… hello, there, ladies! Pardon my rudeness, I couldn't see you for a second there, eyes set to Night Vision and all in that dark church!"

"Oh, it's - heh - it's not a problem!" said the bear; judging by her voice, she sounded like she had been the first one to speak when he'd opened the door.

"A-and we're sorry to bother you," said the donkey, "but we just… we didn't think we'd see you of all people magically pop out of the church!"

"Were you visiting a specific priest?" the bear asked with a knowing smile.

Robin nodded with a smirk of his own. "Yes, ma'am. That I was."

"I knew it!" said the bear. "I- we don't even go to this church, we're not Catholic, we were just cutting through the parking lot, but we know who hangs out here."

"Well, hey, um…" the donkey sputtered bashfully, "...we know you're probably busy doing, you know… heroic stuff like you always do, but, uh…"

Oh, honey, you don't realize how much it hurt Robin to hear you say that. Not that the smile on his face provided any hints.

"Should I ask him?" the donkey asked the bear.

"Well, you basically already brought it up in front of him!" her friend responded.

The donkey turned back to Robin. "Can we get your autograph?" she asked with a shy grin.

Robin couldn't say no to a face like that. "Certainly, ladies! What would you like me to sign? Unfortunately, I don't have a pen on me…"

"Oh, I've got a pen on me…" the bear mumbled as she dug through her purse.

"Yeah, but what can he sign…?" the donkey wondered aloud before she dug into her grocery bag. "Wait, I know!" She pulled out a receipt, but her bear friend swatted her hand down.

"Are you forgetting what's printed on that receipt?"

"Huh?"

"What did we just buy?"

"Oh, he's a gentleman! He's not gonna judge!"

"C'mon, you're putting him in an awkward moment!" Note that the bear still had a playful smile as she said this.

"Oh, this guy doesn't have awkward moments! He's magic like that!" The donkey handed her receipt to the fox. "Here ya go!"

The bear rolled her eyes - still smiling with pleasureful embarrassment - as she handed Robin a pen along with a checkbook. "Here, you can use that as a writing surface, and… can you sign one of the checks for me? Like… heh, can you make it out like it's a real check?"

"Surely." Robin first examined the donkey's receipt, looking for a blank spot to sign. Apparently she'd just stopped by Walgreens to buy some generic cosmetics, a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, a Sprite, and… oh, there it was. Well, every woman has to buy those once a month, but it was still commonly kept hush-hush, especially in the presence of men, so Robin realized what a tremendous display of trust it was that these women he'd just met were comfortable sharing that information with him - an honor they surely wouldn't be giving him had they known what he'd just confessed inside that church. "And to whom am I making this out to?"

"Mary," said the donkey. "Boring old biblical name, I know, but hey, maybe it reminds you of somebody!"

"Oh, will you stop hitting on him for two seconds!" her friend teased. "You know he's taken!"

"I know he's taken, that's who I was referring to!" Mary replied laughingly. "And the best part about him being taken is that now I can talk him up all I want without him thinking that I'm, like, awkwardly flirting with him!"

"Yeah, because we both know you suck at flirting!"

Never a fan of cursive, Robin printed his name in calligraphic all-capital letters on a mostly-blank space on the back of the receipt, drawing the "D" in "HOOD" as a bow with an arrow sticking out of it for a nice little touch.

"And to you, ma'am?"

"Alberta," said the bear.

"Like, seriously, I hope Marian knows how lucky she is to have dibs on a guy like this!" said Mary. "How often do you meet a guy who's this handsome and still cares about other people?"

"Oh, God, Mary, control yourself!" Alberta joked.

"What? I'm just saying, usually guys who know they look good let it turn them into douchebags! But instead for this guy it just turned him into… possibly the most giving person I've ever met in my life! Seriously, I'd take a guy like him who looked like he got splashed in the face with acid, but if I could get the best of both worlds? Oh, I'm taking it in a heartbeat! If we should all be so lucky to fall in with a charming, smart, handsome gentleman who's the closest thing to a superhero we'll ever see!"

Robin finished doctoring up the check, playing along and signing his name properly and using his birthday to spoof the amount of money he owed (had he been in a better headspace, he would probably have asked for her birthday to use instead), but still made a point to doodle a little arrow sticking into the "O" in "Robin".

"You call me charming, and yet I've hardly said a word this whole time!" he said as he handed the materials back.

"Oh, you don't even need to say a word, you just have that aura about you!" said the bear. "Seriously, where'd you learn to be such a gentleman like that?"

"Oh, c'mon, Al, you know he's just born with it!" said the donkey. "Heh, and being British probably helps!"

Well, that saved Robin from having to play coy and say he'd just picked it up over the years and certainly hadn't learnt it in a classroom. Thank God Johnny wasn't here to hear this.

"You just can't control yourself today, can you?" Alberta asked, still wearing a teasing smile.

"Aw, you're just jealous that your favorite isn't here!"

"Well… hey, actually, where is Little John?" the bear woman asked as she turned to the fox.

"Oh, erm… he and I split up for the day, nothing to concern yourselves about!" Robin sputtered.

"Aw, that's a shame, I'd have loved to have met him, too," said Alberta, wearing a half-joking sad face.

"And I'm sure he'd have loved to have met you lovely ladies, too! We always appreciate meeting our adoring fans!"

"Well, uh, tell him we said hi!" the bear said anxiously.

"Yeah, and ask him if he's open to hooking up with a Middle Eastern bear chick who has a crush on him!" the donkey said with a laugh. "Though maybe wait a few days, because she's on her time of the month right now!"

"Oh-!" Alberta playfully smacked the ass on the ass, then turned back to Robin. "Seriously, though, we never thought we'd have the chance to thank you in person, but… God, thank you so much for all the things you do for this city. You make life in this town bearable."

Robin raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Bearable? Is that a pun, dear madam?"

That joke was so adorably stupid that all three of them couldn't help but laugh.

"But… but seriously," the bear continued when the laughter died down, "don't ever stop doing what you're doing! We need you guys!"

"And thanks for the autographs, too!" added Mary. "We'll let you go now, we're sure there's plenty of other women in this town who wanna have a chance to get to see your greatness up close and personal!"

"Oh, c'mon, Mary-! Bye! Thank you so much!" Alberta waved to Robin as she led her donkey friend away.

"Take care, ladies!" said Robin; another time and place and he would have offered to escort them to wherever they were going, but he knew he couldn't handle that right now. "Stay safe out there, and don't hesitate to call upon us if you ever need us!"

"Oh, we won't hesitate, I can promise you that! Bye, uh- Robin!" said Mary, giggling as she turned back to Alberta. "Ooh, it feels so weird actually calling him by his name!"

The two kept speaking as they left the parking lot.

"Do you have any idea how awkward you must have made him feel?"

"What! He's the perfect man! You can put him in the most awkward situation ever and he'd handle it like a king! Just like he does with a bow and arrow! Or anything else he does, as far as I can tell!"

...Well, it was certainly a good thing Johnny wasn't present to hear all that, though it was a crying shame he didn't get to meet a woman who clearly regarded him as the more attractive of the duo - granted, yeah, she was also a bear, but it still counted.

Johnny. Robin would have to tell him eventually what he'd told Tuck. But only when the moment was right. That could be tonight, that could be ten years from now. But it had to be the right moment or things could end up a whole lot worse.

And I'll tell you right now, Dear Reader, that moment didn't come that night.

But… wow, talk about timing. Robin reveals his whole self to someone for the first time and that person agrees that he doesn't deserve all the praise he gets… and then along come these two women heaping all the praise a man could ever ask for upon him. Maybe he was too weak to admit his sins to his friends any earlier than today, but it was an impressive showing of strength that he didn't have another breakdown when they just wouldn't stop going on about how great he was. If they only knew. They never could.

And the timing just got weirder from there. They say once is an event, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is a trend. He'd already had two instances of overhearing music that seemed disturbingly relevant to his situation, songs with lyrics that openly mocked him and his self-loathing anguish. And now came the third instance.

As Robin walked back to the main street, some wolf pulled up to a stoplight in an old 80s Camaro IROC; remembering an old and not-very-PC joke Johnny had taught him, Robin observed that this man in the IROC was indeed out cruising, but there was no way of knowing if he was Italian. On this June afternoon, the wolf was driving with the windows down, and he was blasting music that fit the era of the car. At this moment, he was playing heavy metal; not something trashy and thrashy, but something more slow-paced and almost orchestral. The song was fairly obscure, and its title probably made some people confuse it for a more famous Styx song, but people really into 80s metal probably could recognize it, and anybody into rock music surely at least knew of the lead singer (another odd coincidence, given the frontman's surname and how well it went with the fact that Robin had just walked out of a church). The wolf was nodding along slowly to the song as it reached its coda, completely unaware that the fox on the sidewalk was about to lose his mind as his brain processed what he was hearing. Robin was among those who had heard the singer's name before but didn't recognize his voice offhand, and he'd never heard this song before and hadn't since, but he still remembers those few lines of lyrics all these years later, and he still shudders when he hears them now as he had on that summer day long ago, words that made him wonder if there really was a God up there who wanted to see him drown in a sea of shame and sorrow.

They say you're beautiful,
And they'll always let you in,
But doors are never open
To the child without a trace of sin…

Sail away...